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kiri-ah · 4 years ago

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File: Sector 5

Part of the Action Figure Collab hosted by @go-shotaro

Pairing: Kim Jungwoo x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned for reader), low key Taeil x Sicheng if you squint

Themes: Dark Matter (TV Show) AU, Elite Dangerous (Video Game) AU, basically space stuff, gunfights, lasers, hackers, set in the future, spaceships, Star Wars is mentioned like twice, Sicheng is a jerk, Mark and Johnny are half-brothers

Warnings: Major character death, gunfights, blood, two swearwords, mentioned burials, mentioned black market

WC: 3.7k

Summary: In a galaxy divided into factions, war is rampant. The ship files that you’re searching for could solve all of your problems - if only you can get into the classified sector of the space station where they’re housed. With Jungwoo on one side and Taeil on the other, nothing can go wrong. Right?

Taglist: @allegxdly , @stayctday , @leelatte , @dundun-baby , @kunrengui

Author Note: Welcome to my first collab fic! This is also my first full-length fic on tumblr which is pretty cool. When I saw the concept for this collab I decided it was perfect for my first foray into working with other creators. In the process I made a lot of new friends and I had a lot of fun. Plus I’m pretty proud of this fic. Please enjoy File: Sector 5!

You walk as quickly as you can while still being discreet. There are a lot of people that you wouldn’t want to notice you here. Jungwoo and Taeil, following behind you, seem to have had the same thought. Taeil has a cap over his projector glasses, and Jungwoo has on a black too-big hoodie that hides his give-away physique. In your earpiece there’s silence, but that doesn’t bother you. Yangyang told you to reach out once you got to the section of the space station you need. You still have a few more obnoxiously crowded spaces to traverse before you arrive, so you focus on draining the urgency from your movements and walking like you belong here. Like you’re not about to break into a classified sector and commit a crime.

You make your way through the bar, the ship parts market, and the casino with minimal issues. You think you see a familiar face across the way in the market, but he turns away a second later and you breathe easy once again. If it was who you thought it was, you wouldn’t be alive anymore. Nakamoto Yuta is famed for his cruelty. You enter Sector 5 and speak quietly into your earpiece.

“Yang, we’re in sector five. Where do we go from here?”

“I’m getting your location still, hold on,” comes Yangyang’s voice into your ear.

“Take a left here, and then head down for a few hallways. This is one of the permanent sectors like ours, so you can use your gun now if need be and not worry about puncturing an outer wall.”

You take the left where he says to and continue down, checking to make sure that Jungwoo and Taeil are still behind you. They are, and so is another figure.

“Get over here,” you hiss, pulling them into a side hallway. The figure doesn’t appear to have seen you and passes by, turning down another hallway. You recognize the face of Xiao Dejun, an infamous criminal like yourself. You try not to think about what would have happened had he spotted you. You wouldn’t be dead, but you would probably wish you were.

“What happened?” asks Yangyang in your ear.

“Security,” you mutter.

“Oh.”

You pull Jungwoo and Taeil out and walk down the hallway until Yangyang tells you to stop by a door. “You guys will need to get through this door without my help,” he says. “Beyond it, I can only get high energy drain levels. Be careful.”

Taeil kneels by the card scanner and pulls out his tools. You and Jungwoo turn around, standing guard in case another member of security comes and you need to shoot them. Taeil carefully prys the backing panel off of the scanner and maneuvers until he can see the wires. He scoffs.

“For a high security organization, their security is terrible,” he mutters. He cuts the casing off of a wire and does something you can’t see with it, and the door slides open. You continue keeping watch as Taeil packs up his high-tech phillip’s head screwdriver and cleans up the casing. When you turn around, you’re speechless.

“We found the source of the energy drain,” Jungwoo says in a low voice. Before you is a room of lasers, the kind you thought only existed in old movies. They cross back and forth across the space like an absurd red spider web and fizzle oddly like Redstone in that old game Chenle likes. Minecraft, was it?

“What kind of black market did they get these on?”

Taeil shrugs and walks into the room. “Looks like we can get in,” he tells you. “The lasers are designed like shark teeth - easy to get in, not so easy to get out.” The analogy doesn’t help you feel any better about the situation, and you clutch at your gun.

“Can you turn them off?” Jungwoo asks Taeil, seemingly as nervous as you are.

“I can, but we don’t need to to get in. Let’s focus on that on our way out.”

You nod and walk in, spotting the pattern like Taeil did. “Maybe their security is just bad,” you say. “This is so easy.” You swing your right leg over the nearest laser and start your way across. You get a finger close to the laser and feel the heat emanating from it. You turn to warn Taeil and Jungwoo of this, only to find that they’re already in the maze themselves. You duck under the next beam of red and feel the heat on the back of your head from the proximity, then step easily over one that reminds you of a tripwire - right at ankle level. You hear Jungwoo and Taeil following behind you, Jungwoo struggling a bit because of his wide shoulders. At some points you have to turn around and help him since he can’t see where his biceps are about to brush one of the heated red lines. At least Sungchan isn’t on your team, he’s even larger than Jungwoo. Chenle and Hendery will have to help him or find another way in. You almost laugh at the thought before deciding that you rather like all of your teammates, actually, and you don’t like to think about them dying by heated laser. Each time you stop to help Jungwoo, Taeil reminds you that you need to hurry. You eventually just tell him to please be quiet, because some people are trying to focus here. He shuts up, thankfully.

When you reach the end of the room, you’re faced with another door. Taeil tampers with the wires and it too slides open. The hallway is paneled with light gray and the floor is tile reminiscent of a hotel lobby. Your guns are poised to fend off an attack as the door opens, but nobody is there. You lower them slowly and Jungwoo steps out into the hallway. There are footsteps fading away down to your right, but nobody is watching for you here. You look for the source of the footsteps and spot who you’re pretty sure are the team Johnny and Mark, orphan half-brothers notorious for their sudden team changes depending on the paycheck. They’re for sale to the highest bidder, and they don’t care who that is. Your guess is confirmed when the shorter man laughs - you’ve worked with Mark before, and that laugh is both contagious and unique.

When you refocus, Yangyang is back in your ear and instructing you to go the opposite way that the pair is walking. He says that the door at the end of this hallway is the one you want. Your shoes shuffle against the tile as you try to go quietly, with Jungwoo in front of you and Taeil nervously watching your backs. He isn’t as confident with a gun as you or Jungwoo, he prefers to work behind the scenes. The nature of this mission required a tech whiz on site, though, and he came reluctantly. He knows how important it is to steal the USB drive with ship plans on it. The newest fighter models will make or break the war for your faction, and you have reason to believe that those ships also have teleportation devices in the plans. Not just lightspeed travel, but all-out teleportation. You can only imagine that sort of power on your own ship, the Phoenix.

You walk all the way down the hallway and find the door that Yangyang has pointed out to you. Taeil once again gets down to open the wire panel and gasps in delight.

“Finally a good security system! Give me a moment.” His face disappears behind the stand housing the card reader and he hums as he fiddles with whatever has made him so happy. Even laying at an awkward angle, his voice is beautiful. You sometimes wonder why he became a technician for a faction like yours when he could be a singer for one of the more powerful factions that aren’t always at war. When confronted with this question, he would smile a little and tell whoever was asking that his one true love was testing security systems, no matter how much his voice delighted other people. He said with a dry laugh once that the selfishness of that reason made him perfect for the job. Part of you doubted that story, but everyone working for your faction had baggage. You didn’t need to pry into his.

Eventually there comes a pleased “aha!” from behind you, and Taeil reemerges. His face has a smudge on it that you wipe away with your thumb.

“Have fun?”

You ask the question sarcastically, but Taeil nods happily. “That’s what I like to do. The other systems were easier, I think this room must be important.”

“That’s what I said,” grumbles Yagyang in your ear.

The door slips open with some prodding and you walk into a lab with pristine white surfaces and surfaces that look as though they’ve never been used. In the middle is a silver table covered in instruments of some kind, although you don’t know what they would be used for. The walls are lined with diagnostic panels, and one is a window into a secret hangar you weren’t aware of. Inside is a ship that looks a lot like the X-Wings of the Star Wars franchise. The movies are still iconic today despite how obsolete they are, and everyone knows that the X-Wings were never recreated due to a problem with their size in relation to the way they were meant to work. It appears that whoever made this ship has been hiding their discovery.

“Y/N, focus,” Jungwoo whispers. You nod and turn away from the hangar, albeit reluctantly.

You look at the remaining two walls, both of which are shorter and lined with counters. Taeil is looking at one, and you walk over to the other. You find a monitor completely shut down and follow the cords down to discover that it isn’t plugged in. That’s a little strange. You look at the computer tower and find a USB drive, labeled “Schematics.” That’s even more strange. Why would they leave something so valuable lying around? Hiding in plain sight, perhaps? You plug the monitor in and turn it and the tower on, opening the USB files. You’re low on time, you know, but you have to make sure this is the right drive.

Once the files are loaded, you gasp. “You guys, look at this.” Jungwoo and Taeil stand and look over your shoulders as you scroll through page after page of exact instructions and diagrams for the X-Wing.

“They even stole the name from Star Wars,” Jungwoo scoffs. Taeil laughs lightly.

“These are the right files, we should get out of here.”

“Agreed,” you say. You pocket the USB drive and unplug the monitor again, making sure to leave minimal traces of your passing through. “Let’s go.”

Yangyang repeats the directions out of Sector 5, and you walk quickly. You make it to the laser room without incident and go back through the doorway. “Taeil,” you ask, “can we get out of here faster if you turn off the lasers, or if we just walk through like we did on the way on?”

“Definitely turning them off,” he assures you. “It’s too time consuming to worry about things like this when we need to be worrying about the USB being reported missing.” He settles down by a panel near the start of the lasers and peels off the cover where it looks like maintenance might be done. You only know this because he tells you happily that there might be an off switch.

“Aha! Found it!” he singsongs after a moment. The lasers go off a second later and you’re about to celebrate when a siren screeches from the ceiling.

“All units to Hall Sixteen!” A voice yells over an intercom that you hadn’t noticed. “Lasers have been disabled!”

“Shit,” Jungwoo and Taeil say in unison.

“Let’s go!” you yell. There’s no point in being quiet now. You hear the clomping of boots down the hall and yelling from both ends of the laser room. Hall Sixteen.

You run out towards the exit and find yourself facing Xiao Dejun and another man you don’t know. They both have guns and are shooting the moment you get within range. You shoot back, missing Dejun by inches.

“Sicheng?” cries Taeil from beside you. He lowers his gun slightly. “I thought you were dead!” He runs towards the man, completely ignoring the battle around him. Dejun shoots at him but misses. Jungwoo hits him in return, a nonlethal hit to the arm. It’s enough to make him take pause though, and long enough for you to see with crystal clarity as the other man - Sicheng - raises his gun and shoots Taeil in the chest. Taeil doesn’t even have his gun up, and the shot tears right through his body. He collapses into the fall, blood spouting from the wound. It looks like Sicheng hit his heart.

Someone is screaming, and you realize it’s you. You feel your nose start to burn and your eyes brim suddenly with tears. Not Taeil! you want to scream. Taeil can’t be dead! Your body reacts faster than your brain, and you shoot Sicheng in the gut as he stares at Taeil’s body, looking almost shocked. Then you rush forward and kick the wound, making sure it hurts.

“You asshole!” you cry. “You killed Taeil!” You dodge another bullet from Dejun (it hits Sicheng in the upper stomach, and you have just enough brain space left to be smug) and spot Johnny and Mark behind Jungwoo. You scream and point, not even having words. Thankfully Jungwoo understands and spins to meet them. You shoot at Dejun, wasting bullets. One hits his left shoulder, and another hits a rib. You hear it crack. He writhes out of the way of the rest. You kick his gun hand to disarm him and knee him in the balls, a simple solution to his frustrating ability to avoid bullets. Having properly taken care of him, you turn to face Johnny and Mark.

They have Jungwoo cornered, and he’s desperately dancing out of the way of more bullets. He already has red spreading across his right side. It looks like just a graze, but it could have easily been far worse. You pick up Dejun’s gun and use it to shoot the back of Johnny’s thigh. He crumbles to the floor, blood already gushing angrily out of the wound. Mark turns to him, worried, and somewhere in the back of your mind you realize that’s sort of sweet before you shoot Mark too. He doesn’t deserve to die any more than Taeil did, and you liked working with him, but he’s the enemy right now. He needs to go down. You take aim and shoot him in the side, which is the best place you can hit at this angle. He looks almost surprised at the intrusion. You turn away. Jungwoo runs up behind you.

“Taeil?” you ask, looking down at his body. “Are you in there?” You reach down to feel his pulse, except there isn’t one. His neck is already cooling where he lays, a surprised look still painted across his features.

“Y/N, we have to go,” Jungwoo says.

“We have to bury him!” you screech. You didn’t even know your voice could sound like this. You suppose you’ve never lost someone as important as Taeil before, though.

“We’ll come back for him as soon as we get the USB back to home base,” Jungwoo mutters. “Come on.” He tugs on your arm, and you follow him, letting the tears flow. Jonny shoots one last time at you, but misses. Of everyone who could have died, it had to be Taeil. Precious Taeil with his lovely voice and sweet temperament, the person everyone went to if they needed someone to chill with. He would never again hear you complain about uncertain futures or how you missed your home planet. He would never again hug you or make you smile or gift your ears with his sweet tunes.

“We’ll come back,” you repeat, nose stuffing up. “We’ll come back.”

You leave Sector 5, only meeting one more person. Jungwoo shoots whoever it is before you even register their presence. Thank goodness that one of you has their head still on right. Getting back inconspicuously is a little harder with bloodstains on Jungwoo’s side, but you somehow manage to avoid everyone you don’t want to see. You sneak in the back way to your building and get up to Doyoung’s office. He’s the leader of your little group, so he’s the one you take the info to.

When you knock, he invites you in, and you enter the room. You’re never quite sure if he’ll be happy to see you, so you walk in with some trepidation. Thankfully he has one of his beautiful smiles on and welcomes you in.

“What did you get?” he asks.

“A USB Drive, it has files for new ships,” you tell him. “ Exactly what we were looking for.”

“Where are Jung-”

Doyoung gets cut off by a voice coming through the radio on his desk. “Sir! Doyoung, sir?”

Doyoung holds up a finger to you and presses the talk button. “Yes Yangyang?”

“Is Y/N with you yet, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Y/N,” Yangyang says, “he doesn’t know yet what happened.” Doyoung looks at you, eyes questioning.

“Okay Yang,” you say. “I’ll- I’ll tell him.”

“Okay. That’s all, sir.”

Doyoung looks at you across the desk and narrows his eyes. “What happened?”

“We got in without incident,” you say. “There was a laser maze, but we got through okay. We didn't get caught on the way in and found a lab. That’s where we found the drive. I made sure these were the right files, and then we left. Taeil-” You cut yourself off, tears threatening again.

“Taeil turned off the lasers so we could get out, but it activated some sort of security system. Some men came to kill us and Taeil recognized one. I think his name was ‘Sicheng.’ Taeil-” You take another deep breath. “He ran toward the man, gun down, like he thought the man wouldn’t hurt him. But Sicheng… He killed Taeil. Shot him in the heart.”

The tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now, and you make no move to get rid of them. Doyoung looks shaken for the first time since you’ve known him, and he stands up. He walks around the desk to hug you, mindless of the blood on your clothes.

“We’ll give him the hero’s burial he deserves,” he murmurs. “In the meantime, you should go and put the drive with our other ship plans.

You nod in the affirmative and leave his office. The file storage room is just down the hall. Your surroundings are a bit blurry from the tears in your eyes, but you make it fine. Yangyang is already there, and he pats you on the back as you plug the USB drive into its designated spot. It has a blood spot on the label and you sort of smile at the irony. You won, but at what cost?

A moment later the entire course lights up. “The Red Team wins!” proclaims a voice from the speakers. You feel the character you were playing melt off as your laser tag gun powers off. The dryness in your throat and the tears on your face fade away with the persona you became for the game. You high-five Yangyang and run to get Taeil from where he lays on the other side of the course, still playing dead. You run into Johnny on the way. “Good game,” he says, bumping your fist. “Hitting my thigh patch was a fantastic idea! You’re a really good shot.”

“Thank you. Your team owes us pizza,” you remind him smugly.

“I know.” He throws you a playful glare on the way past. “We’re going to the fifth floor dorms once everyone’s rounded up. I think Lucas and Jeno tied up Sungchan, Hendery, and Chenle, so I’m going to get them.”

“Sounds good. We’re gonna go get Taeil, Sicheng, and Xiaojun.”

“Okay. Meet you at the entrance!”

He walks off and Yangyang follows you to Sector 5.

“You did an amazing job acting!” he says. “It really helped me get into my role.”

“I thought I would actually cry when Taeil fake died,” you tell him. “He actually looked dead.”

“Well I couldn’t see, obviously, but after you guys left he just sat and hummed. It was hilarious. In one channel, you’re screaming your revenge and sobbing, and in the other, Taeil is humming Baekhyun-sunbaemin.”

Taeil meets you at the beginning of the laser hall. “That was so much fun,” he enthuses.

“Yeah it was,” you agree. “You did a great job with the puzzles!” You’re referring to the puzzles that kept Sector 5 locked. Supposedly they were hard enough to keep intruders out, but Taeil had gotten in pretty easily.

He smiles. “Thank you. You did a great job kneeing Xiaojun in the nuts, he was out for a solid minute.”

“ I didn’t hurt him too much, did I?”

“Nah, he’ll recover. He might want to punch you or something though, I don’t think he was acting with that part.”

“Oh.”

You walk back to the entrance with everyone in the group and do a quick headcount. Twenty-three men. Okay, you’re good to go.

You pile into multiple vans out front where their managers sit, bored. They congratulate the winning team and drive you to the dorms, where you all squeeze into the 5th floor apartment and Johnny orders pizza for everyone. You’re very glad that you don’t have to pay for all of the food for twenty-four people.

“We should do that again some time!” Mark suggests as you’re eating. There’s a resounding cry of agreement as everyone lifts their pizza slices to the idea.

You’re totally going to do that again.

End.

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totallynotafetishblog · 4 years ago

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Privacy

I’m super into The M/andalorian right now and couldn’t resist writing some sick!D/in.

1.7 k. Set some time in the first half of S2. There are some minor mess mentions. Enjoy!!

Din was startled awake at the helm of the Razor Crest by a blaring alarm and flashing red lights. His eyes jumped from scanner to scanner trying to determine the source of the malfunction, and his grip tightened around the controls, bracing for a crash landing, when the beeping and flickering stopped. Turning his head to the right, he watched the Child sheepishly remove his hand from a switch.

Din sighed. "I told you not to do that."

Though the alarm had gone silent, it still echoed in Din's head, and he could feel a headache budding. "I'll be right back. Don't touch anything while I'm gone." The Child leaned towards the switch again, looking at Din the entire time. "Hey. No." Din tried to sound his sternest, but a tenderness in his throat which hadn't been there before he dozed off prevented him from speaking as loudly as he would've liked.

"Here. You can have this." Din unscrewed the shifter knob and tossed it to the Child who cooed excitedly and rolled the silver ball in his hands. Now satisfied that his kid wouldn't cause mischief, Din proceeded to his quarters and pressed a button to shut the door behind him. He glanced back, confirmed that he was alone, and removed his helmet. He downed a pouch of water hoping to relieve some of the scratchiness in his throat and clear his head, but his symptoms persisted.

To make matters worse, an obnoxious prickling teased his sinuses. Din did nothing to stave off the expulsion, well aware by now that he was coming down with something, and he sneezed openly toward his chest. "GSHHHHuh! hh...h'EKSHHHoo!" He grabbed a rag to blot his nose. "Ugh. Dank farrik."

The Mandalorian didn't get sick often, and when he did, he always hid himself away in his ship for a few days so he could cough and sneeze without his helmet on. Now that he had the Child, that would be impossible. The thought of keeping his dripping nose in his helmet was disgusting, but the thought of showing his face to another living being was unfathomable. There was no convenient solution.

Resigned, Din blew his nose a final time and put his helmet back on before returning to the cockpit. The Child was in the same place Din had left him, laser-focused on his ball.

"Hey, kid. What do you think about spending a few days with Cara and Greef on Nevarro?" Din asked. The Child tilted his head curiously. "I have to take care of something on my own, but you should be safe there, and I'll be back as soon as I can."

The Child responded with a gurgle that Din took as an agreement. He sent a vague message to his friends on Nevarro stating that he needed help with childcare while he took care of a personal matter and left it at that. They were already in the correct sector, so the journey to the planet was quick and Din was able to keep his symptoms in check by breathing shallowly through his mouth, knowing that any attempt to breathe through his nose would be disastrous.

When the ship landed on Nevarro, they were met by Cara and Greef, the latter of whom squatted and held his arms out towards the Child. "There's the little guy!" As fast as he could, the Child waddled over to Greef and allowed himself to be scooped up.

"Thank you for watching him," Din said. "I should be back in a few days."

Cara put a hand on her hip. "I'm surprised you're letting him out of your sight."

"I don't want to, but I—" Din paused as an annoying itch spidered through his nose. Though wearing a helmet while sick was mostly a hindrance, it did allow him to covertly scrunch up his face, attempting to quell the sensation in any way possible. "I... hh! need to be alone for thi-IH!-s."

Greef frowned. "You okay, Mando?"

"I'm f-fine. hxtCH! ngx'CH!" Din stifled as well as he could, but he knew he would have to give the inside of his helmet a good cleaning.

"Yeah, that doesn't sound fine," Cara said, giving him a quick head-to-toe inspection and noting his tired posture. "Are you ditching the kid to take a sick day?

Din sighed, deflating. "Yes. I'll be staying here in my ship, so I'll be nearby if anything happens."

"Why don't you come stay in town?"

"A nice bed and a warm meal should heal you right up," Greef agreed.

"I need privacy," Din explained. Urgently, he wanted to add as mess dripped on to his lip.

"You'll have privacy," said Cara. "You can stay in the back bedroom at my place. I just use it for storage."

The Mandalorian relented. "Fine. Let me grab some things."

He frankly didn't have much worth grabbing, but he was desperate to blow his nose before heading into town. He did so, and while it granted him momentary relief, the congestion was persistent. Aware that he would be fighting an uphill battle against his dripping nose, Din filled a satchel with clean rags that would surely be sullied by day's end.

*******************************************************

"You can bunk in here." Cara drew back the curtain to her guest room, a cramped space filled with old shock trooper gear and unlabeled boxes on either side of a bed. The bed was small, but no doubt softer than the sleep mat in the Razor Crest. "Greef'll keep watch outside in case anyone tracked you here. I'll be hanging out around the house with the kid." She bounced the Child on her hip, and he giggled.

"Thank you," Din said. "Will you be okay watching him?"

"As long as he doesn't try to choke me again." The Child blinked at her with his big eyes and tilted his head.

Din knelt down so his visor was level with the Child's eyeline. "Hey. Be good. Cara has very kindly agreed to help us out, and I want you to be on your best behavior, okay?"

The Child made a gesture that Din took as a nod, and Din patted him between the ears.

Steadying himself with a hand against the wall, Din stood back up despite his muscles' protests. He felt utterly drained. Given his constant travelling, it was impossible to say where he'd picked up this illness which made it difficult to know what exactly it was, but it was hitting Din hard and fast. He turned away from Cara and failed to suppress a chesty coughing fit.

"Go rest," Cara said. "That sounds disgusting."

"Are you sure you can handle—?"

"Yes, Mando. Now get in that bed, or I'll make you get in."

Cara walked off with the Child in tow, and Din closed the curtain at the room's entrance behind him. Finally alone, he set his helmet on some boxes beside the bed and let himself collapse into the mattress.

*******************************************************

Din was startled awake by a knock on the wall outside of the room. Unsure whether he'd been laying there for minutes or hours and head heavy with congestion, he hastily redonned his helmet.

"Mando?" Cara called. "I'm leaving some food outside if you—"

The curtain opened, and Cara raised her eyebrows upon seeing the Mandalorian out of bed and in full beskar armor.

"You didn't take your armor off?" she asked, giving him a once-over.

"It's—" Din cleared his aching throat. "It's easier to leave it on in case something happens. I slept without my helmet, though."

Cara gave him a half-teasing, half-affectionate grin. "Nothing's going to happen. I promise. The kid is safe, and Greef and I have been keeping an eye out for any trouble. Just rest, okay? We've got your back."

Din nodded and accepted a bowl of soup from Cara. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'll let you have your privacy now, but I'm not far if you need anything."

Closing the curtain and setting the soup aside for the moment, Din debated the pros and cons of taking Cara's suggestion. On the one hand, he would be much more comfortable without the weight of cold metal encasing his body, but on the other hand, trouble was drawn to him like a flea to an Ewok. As a faint buzzing settled in his nose, Din decided to take the risk and remove his armor.

He tried to keep his hitching breaths at bay as he took off his helmet and tossed it on the bed. He brought a lazy arm up to his face, keeping it far enough away that he wouldn't accidentally slam his nose into his gauntlet if he pitched forward, but this rendered the attempt to cover was more symbolic than effective.

"ih-hih... IHhh’GYZSHHHuh!" Droplets gleamed on the smooth beskar. His armor had certainly seen worse, but nonetheless, Din felt a little gross. His mild disgust only served to increase the relief he felt as he stripped his armor off piece by piece, revealing his skin to the cool air. Though the sensation of anything other than metal against his body was welcome, it sent a chill through him that reignited the urge to sneeze. Din tented his hands over his nose. "hihh'IKshHHuh! hh'ATShHOO! hihhh-ih... G'SHHUHH!"

Din sniffled wetly against his fingers and bent over to grab a rag from his satchel. He blew his nose unceremoniously, and his head felt five pounds lighter. Tossing the rag aside, he fell back into bed and idly sipped the soup Cara had prepared, savoring a rare moment of quiet. He knew that Cara was right: he and the Child would be safe here, and his friends would be there should anything go awry. It was unusual to find non-Mandalorians whom he trusted so completely, but it was a pleasant feeling. Holed up in Cara's back room, Din felt more at peace than he had in ages, even with the obnoxious itch in his throat and stuffiness in his nose.

Maybe, mused Din, I should take a sick day more often.

#mine #sickfic #i spent so many hours on wookiepedia double checking that the details are accurate #my search history is like bed. soup. time.#(beds are officially called sleepers but 'bed' is still used in canon)#also: fleas are native to endor. i checked.#anyway #i'm way out of practice writing fic but i had fun with this!!#tnafb fic

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vanaera · 4 years ago

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𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟐 | 𝐣𝐣𝐤

Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Characters: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre/AU: Sci-fi, romance, angst, mystery, action (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 8.2k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); heavy descriptions of a hit-and-run; mentions of blood from injuries (PG-16 Rating)

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

The skies were gray and the streets were damp and yet the air remains humid. The scorching heat on the pavement permeates the soles of his leather combat boots. It’s the familiar stench of Down Hill. Jungkook could already smell it when he’s just reaching the boundary between it and Middle Town.

Jungkook looks down at the scrap of paper that’s been in his pocket since the day started. Namjoon had to write the address of this Y/N L/N, lest DOJ traces his electronic trail and take him in for unnecessary questioning. Jungkook himself had to make up some petty excuse of a “hurting arm” to file a day-off. He just hopes all of this spent effort will worth him something.

Jungkook nears the 7-Eleven sitting in the fork of the streets. Namjoon wrote Y/N’s studio is cramped among the apartments around this area. He said she never really penned down a home to accommodate covert meet-ups like this. All she has is her studio.

In “Mini Palais, 23-B,” Jungkook mutters again, huffing in front of a door with cracking cadet blue paint. He finds the unit after climbing up a series of stairs at the end of the alleyway jammed between the decaying 7-Eleven and a battered motor shop. Jungkook raises his hand to knock when the door bursts open.

In front of him is a girl. Namjoon already said so and although Jungkook thinks it’s accurate enough for the girl who’s looking up at him through chopped raven bangs, it also wasn’t really enough to describe her. Because the girl in front of him was an aberrant mix of a girl and a woman. Jungkook thinks she’s around her early thirties if he were to consider Namjoon’s history of working with her for about ten years in FJO. There are faint lines around her eyes to support that. However, her relatively small height, plump cheeks, and the natural rosy hue of her lips beg to decrease ten years off that supposed age. With her youthful face, messy half-bun, and the white, floral off-shoulder dress flowing past her knees, no one will argue with Jungkook if he were to say she’s just 22.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, um,” Jungkook flashes his badge, “I’m Jungkook Jeon, a captain in the Federal Justice Organization. Precrime, Murder sector. I’m here to um, avail your…services for a case.”

The girl cocks her head to the side and gives him a once over. “I’m sorry, I don’t do services for the FJO anymore.” She moves to close the door but Jungkook was quick to block a foot between it and the wall.

“I’m a contact of Namjoon’s!” Jungkook exclaims, “He’s Lieutenant Seokjin Kim’s close subordinate.” This is a card he didn’t want to use but it looks like he has no other choice left. Jungkook clears his throat. “Actually, I’m a very close contact of Namjoon. We’re best friends. I even live with him. He’s the one who told me to, um, consult you for the case I’m handling.”

The girl opens the door an inch. Jungkook hands a folded paper to her. She spreads it open and scans through the letter. Jungkook doesn’t know what it actually says. Namjoon just thrust it into his hands on his way out and told him not to open it. It must be an effective personal request because by the time the girl reaches the end, she’s pushing her door wide open, tilting her head to the side, beckoning him to come inside. However, her face remains grim.

“I’m Y/N L/N. This is my studio. I know you already know I prefer to transact business here even for ones intended to be covert. So first off, I want to say I’m sorry you have to travel to such a place like this.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “Oh no, it’s definitely alright—”

“I kinda think it’s not when you grew up in a comfortable life. You must be quite shaken up.”

Jungkook freezes. Y/N looks at him, “Oh, I didn’t look into you or something. It’s just a hypothetical guess, seeing your,” she motions to his silver watch. “That’s expensive. No one from here will be able to afford it anytime soon.”

Jungkook’s shoulders turn lax. Y/N points to a chair next to a table in the corner. “Just wait there. I’m about to finish this piece in just a sec. Then I’m all yours.”

Jungkook nods and makes himself comfortable on the seat. Unlike its appearance on the outside, Y/N’s unit is not much of a concrete wreck. It still looks a bit rough. The ceiling has cracks all over it. A small white bulb precariously hangs on its center. It looks too weak to illuminate the whole room when the night comes. Jungkook thinks it’s a good thing that the unit has huge gaping rectangular windows to let in the natural light. The floor is cemented in gray but the work on it is unimpressive as there are numerous uneven layers, rough patches, and dents that could only be ascribed to poor mason work. The white wallpaper is torn around, some even wet at the edges—probably due to a leak during rains.

However, the flowers painted on them is vibrant enough to uplift the dreary unit. Paintings are littered around. Many are big, a few are small. Some were seated on easels, several are just laying around on the floor. Newspapers are strewn across the majority of the floor. Buckets and tin cans of paints line up the corners like a prayer circle.

All the colors present in the room can only be attributed to the paint that’s strewn across the newspapers, the paintings, and the 6’ tall canvas of an owl in flight Y/N is currently working on. The girl is standing on a small foldable ladder, painting the feathers of the bird at the top of the canvas. When the wind blows her hair to the side, Jungkook finds a mirage of colors on the scarlet spider lilies inked on her spine.

After about two minutes, Y/N steps down and dumps her brush into a rusted bucket filled with water. She turns to the man on the chair and makes her way to the stool opposite his. She fixes down her dress and finally looks at Jungkook. “So, what case do you have for me?”

“This,” Jungkook slides a couple of pictures toward her. They are the screen captures from the CCTV records that caught the black Jaguar. “There’s an unknown driver who’s doing an illegal time jump patterned to Precrime’s traveling agents. We tried to run in the license plate but it just turned to be ‘invalid.’ All we know is that the suspect is male, slim, and tall. He’s interested in the Winston Assassination, and has probably inside ties in FJO since he easily entered the Special Operations Building just ten days ago.”

“None of the traveling agents has seen this man before? Precrime or Forecrime?”

Jungkook shakes his head.

Y/N licks a finger and flips to the next picture, “What about the car?”

“None of the agents has seen a suspicious sedan sports Jaguar before. It’s the first time we have someone presumably well-to-do threatening the justice system.”

Y/N nods. Jungkook inserts his hand into his pocket and retrieves a black USB. He hands it to the girl. “Here’s more of the screenshots from the CCTVs, taken in each second. I can’t give you the CCTVs because of the protocol. I can only give you these. Just imagine they’re moving,” Jungkook purses his lips as he looks at the girl. “I want you to identify this man for me.”

Y/N tucks the USB into her dress’ pocket. She slides the pictures back to Jungkook. “This seems to be a heavy identification check then. Not that I couldn’t handle, of course. However, Namjoon must have told you that my rates are quite high—”

“Money is not a problem.”

Y/N cocks a brow, “So you did grow up a comfortable life.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw.

Y/N chuckles, “Okay, I’m not gonna dwell on it more. It’s settled then. Send your weekly payment to this account,” Y/N tears a piece from the rolls of paper by her side, scribbles on it, and hands it to him. “Every Friday, 10 AM sharp.” Jungkook looks at the paper before tucking it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

Y/N crosses her arms, “We can start next week after you give me the downpayment.”

Jungkook zips open a duffel bag and places a stack of bills on the table.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Y/N smiles, “I like that.” She flips through the bills before deciding they’re legitimate and dumping it into a box by her feet.

Y/N turns to him. “Now, where are we? Oh—you must already know, but what I really do here is foreseeing the future for whatever cause you have. It’s not just trivial fortune-telling but a purposive one. I can accurately give you whatever you want to know.”

Jungkook nods. Y/N’s leans forward on the table. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really have terms and conditions with my clients. Or any contract to ensure them their protection, as what I do tend to…increase risks. Emotional security and mental stability on your part. Those two and physical toll on mine. It will be absurd to provide any contract as what I am doing is anything but guaranteeing protection. I can’t also be fully transparent about the mechanisms behind the things I will do for you. Otherwise, my gift won’t work. What I can only assure is I’ll never proceed on any memories you have set boundaries on. Should you decide to stop this negotiation anywhere in the future, I will automatically concede and keep the confidentiality of whatever that may happen. As long as on your part, you won’t consider asking for a refund.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” Y/N smiles, “Now first things first. Tell me any hurting point you have.”

Jungkook goes stiff. “Is this actually necessary?”

Y/N nods. “I know this is a tough question, but we’re talking about memories here.”

“I know but I can’t just divulge them to a stranger—"

“I think you don’t get what I’m saying.” Y/N lets out a humorless chuckle. “Look, Jungkook, when I attempt to see the future concerning this elusive driver you’re after, it is inevitable for the past to re-appear. There is no future without any past. Your past memories can clog up with the ones involved in the case because you are in the case. You’re heading it. Good or bad, memories will come up. That’s their thing. They spring up at the most inconvenient times. No matter how old they already are. No matter how long you must have already moved on from them. Memories demand to be remembered and you cannot just disregard them even if you will it to because it never gave anyone a choice to do otherwise. So, if you don’t set the boundaries on the memories you don’t want me to cross, I’ll just see everything in their utter unadulterated form.” Y/N leans forward, “And I can assure you, you don’t want that to happen.”

Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue. “Fine. I’ll give you my hurting point and that’s that. No further questions.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook digs in his back pocket for his wallet and flips it open. There’s a tattered white edge of a picture peeking through the flaps. It’s been years since he pulled it out. Its replica, now tucked in his shelf, has prevented him from doing so for so many years. Jungkook closes his eyes and slides it toward the girl. “This boy. Anything that concerns him, I don’t want you to cross or even bring up. Understand?”

“Okay.” Y/N hands back the photo to him. “We go to the second step then. You must already have your assumed suspects. Tell me their names.”

Jungkook draws back. “I can’t tell you that, that’s highly classified information. FJO’s protocol doesn’t allow it and—”

“Do you seeking my help part of the protocol?”

Jungkook looks down, “No.”

“Right. So, tell me their names. I need to know them to make a memory map.”

Jungkook’s brows meet “A what?”

“A memory map,” Y/N repeats, “It’s something I make to identify points of certain memories in time. It guides me to the memories I need to tread to reach what I’m really looking for. It’s like a demo version of Forecrime’s box trainings but except of a machine, I’m doing it manually by hand. For all we know, the real suspect must be close to these suspects.”

Jungkook’s brow quirks up.

Y/N leans forward, “So, tell me their names?”

Jungkook turns his face away from her, looking at his clasped hands. “Well, I…only have one.”

“And that is?”

“Leigh Anderson. Winston’s assassin. FJO has been after him for 17 years. He also has a number of sponsors who’s been sending him missions with promises of large sums of money. But most of all, he’s rumored to have access to time jumping technologies. Illegal of course. FJO is the only one licensed to be utilizing them.”

“That’s good,” Y/N quips. “Do you have any pictures of him?”

Jungkook turns to his duffel bag and retrieves a picture. It’s Anderson in the scene of Winston’s murder that FJO has pinned to their system. The one in the crime record Jungkook produced. He hands it to Y/N. “Is this enough?”

“More than enough,” Y/N smiles. She stands up and walks to one of her cupboards, reaching for a ceramic bowl. She pours some tap water in it and turns back to the table, a short, white candle in hand. She places the candle on the water, letting it float. She retrieves a lighter from her dress pocket and lights up the wick of the candle.

Y/N puts her palms open on the table. “Let’s start now. Do you have your clicker with you?”

Jungkook’s brows meet. “What?”

“Your time jumper,” Y/N grits.

�� Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “I don’t see any reason why would you need it—”

“We’re going to the past to have a tangible memory to start on my memory map.” Before Jungkook could tear himself away from the table, Y/N launches forward and snatches the small, black device hanging on the man’s belt loop. Jungkook shoots an arm out and grabs onto it.

But it’s too late. Y/N’s already pushed the button.

The air is knocked out of Jungkook’s windpipe. A numbing pain starts to settle on his chest, a migraine forming on his temple. His limbs also feel stone-heavy. Precrime traveling has always been like this and yet Jungkook can never get used to it. However, he’s not left wondering about it for long because in the next second, Jungkook’s standing in front of a dark road. Tall shrubs and trees shadowing the moon, CCTVs mounted on the lamp posts lining the concrete. It’s Somerset Road.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. Why is he here? He tries to move but his limbs are stuck by his side, unmoving as he grunts. He tries to take a step back but the effort is futile when his feet are seemingly glued onto the dark asphalt. Jungkook sighs and turns to the road in front of him again. And this time around, Jungkook’s mouth falls ajar.

Y/N is standing idly at the other side of the road, opposite of him.

“H-how did you travel here—”

A car zooms past. Jungkook turns his head to the sound. The air is punched out from his esophagus. It’s his car—the silver-gray Ford. And there at the other end of the road emerges a black sedan sports Jaguar. The Jaguar speeds on and drives into the Ford, swerving it around, tires screeching loud on the pavement. It topples down, rolling around, then round, and round. Three times, Jungkook counted. Just like the CCTV Hoseok retrieved. The Ford stops, upside down. The black Jaguar zips past it. Like the CCTVs have shown, the Jaguar reaches the other end of the street and disappears. A second passes. The body of the driver in the car drops onto the cold pavement. It lolls his head to his side, bloodied face turned towards the man standing on the pavement.

Jungkook’s facing right into his past. He isn’t reliving the memory. He is living it. There’s no anger but pain. Fresh, unadulterated pain that cannot be accounted to the lacerations on his injured arm.

The wind howls. Jungkook remains frozen in his position. Then suddenly, everything stops—the distant honking of the cars, the wind, the clatter of the crushed car pieces falling onto the ground. What the fuck is happening? Jungkook turns around, only to come face to face with the girl.

Y/N’s arm shoots forward and fists the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him down to her level. “You didn’t say this business is personal!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jungkook spits, tearing her hand off him.

“It is, Jungkook! You said you were involved. I didn’t think it was this level of involved!”

“It doesn’t change any fact that I’m still going to be involved either way! I’m still going to head this case because it’s tied with Winston. What difference does it make if I am the victim of this fucking man?!”

“A lot!” Y/N screams. Jungkook stops. Y/N sighs, “It does a lot of difference, Jungkook. We’re already risking a lot in this until it turns out you’re a focal point in this case! You’re a fucking victim of this culprit! A conflict of interest is highly possible. You will be unable disassociate yourself from this and objectively investigate this case—”

“I don’t need you telling me what I should do or not, Y/N.” Jungkook steps forward to the girl. “I know what I’m doing. And I know it when I say I can investigate this following all the legal protocols.”

Y/N tilts her head. “How can you say that when you’ve just been face-to-face with your past self?”

Before Jungkook can say anything, Y/N closes her eyes and clicks her finger. In just one second, everything around Jungkook falls beneath his feet—the trees, Somerset Road, his bloodied self. It rips themselves off from his senses until all he could see again is the dilapidated atelier, the barren ceilings, and, Y/N.

Jungkook hunches over, coughing as air fills his lungs again. “H-how could you do that?”

Y/N blows off the candle. “My gift.” She glances at the man. “The accident is taking a serious toll on you. I have to take us out of the time jump.”

Jungkook sits back and glowers at her. “N-no, what I’m asking about is—how could you snatch my clicker and make a jump without any remorse? You do know that’s illegal!”

“I know. ‘FJO’s traveling agents and officials are the only ones allowed by the law to engage in time jumping activities’ yaddah yaddah bullshit.” Y/N leans on the table, face hovering the Captain’s. “But involving a then-law practitioner, much more an outsider like me, into your case is also illegal. I have my gift, yes. But I can only see the future and I won’t be able to see it accurately if I don’t have some sense of the past. Plus, I have no other pragmatic choice to start this case on the right foot. I already saw the future of our negotiation before you sat down on that stool. There’s nothing else I could say other than it didn’t end favorably for any of us.” Y/N turns back to the table she’s clearing, “Not that it’s any different now. Especially when I just learned the case you’ve showed me is more personal than you presented it to be.”

Jungkook purses his lips. He stands up, gathers his things, and wordlessly makes his way out of the atelier. He didn’t bid the girl any farewell.

“Looks like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Jungkook looks up at his friend before looking down at his crossed arms, turning his attention back to his mug of coffee.

Namjoon takes a seat cross Jungkook. “Did something happen?” He twirls the tea bag around his own mug, “Care to tell why you’ve been sporting those dark eye bags since two days ago?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing when the doctor precisely told you to have a healthy lifestyle to help your wound heal faster.”

Jungkook looks at Namjoon.

Namjoon points to his bandaged arm, “It indeed doesn’t look it’s healing fast like it’s supposed to.”

Jungkook sighs. “Fine, you caught me.” He purses his lips then looks at his friend, “I’ve been wondering. You know our clickers are designed to identify the agent it was assigned to before it could work. But, is it…possible for clickers to work on someone that doesn’t belong to FJO as long as someone from FJO is present?”

Namjoon keeps his gaze on him. A look of surprise seems to wash over his face. But it soon gets replaced by a look of recognition. Namjoon places the tea bag onto the saucer on his left. “I see you already met Y/N.”

“Y-you knew that about her?”

“I do,” Namjoon mutters over his cup of tea. “I learned it when the Bureau looked into the Linton Park serial murders. Seokjin’s team, including me, followed the memory map she made for us—a trail of memories that specifically belongs to anything related to the murders. But then, we hit a dead-end for the supposed next victim. Can’t identify her. We only had images of flashing movement—blood splattering in a barn, people running on a green field. There are just cops and a woman.”

Namjoon places down his cup, “And so, Y/N told me she needed me to help her make a time jump in the past. I pressed on the clicker and,” Namjoon shrugs, “Y/N successfully made the jump. And also successfully return with the info of the victim—a girl working on a farm. Y/N tied it to the flashing images of the field and deduced the running was not about us chasing a murderer’s accomplice. But us running after a victim before Linton could. It was hard to tell at first why the victim is running away from us. Until we learned through Y/N she was an illegal immigrant.”

Namjoon pulls his lips into a tight smile. “I think it’s an additional gift. But at the same time, it’s also a setback. A rightful one at that. Y/N’s inability to time jump in the past unless with a clicker a meter radius within her balances the power of her future-seeing gift. She still needs to rely on the system even if her gift for the future is, hypothetically, unbound from any constraints.” Namjoon takes a sip of his tea. “How ‘bout you? How did you learn this…extra ability of hers?”

“She snatched my clicker from me,” Jungkook leans back in his seat. “She said she needed a ‘tangible memory’ to start on her memory map. She ended up thrusting us back into the time of my car accident.”

Namjoon freezes. “Excuse me? Did you say ‘us’?”

Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Yeah. We did the jump together, that’s why I’m asking you about this thing with the clickers.”

“Jungkook, she never did that before.”

Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “What?”

Namjoon scratches his nape, face scrunched up. “When she asked me to let her jump through my clicker, she didn’t take me along with the jump. It’s only her. Like it should always be as one clicker is only for one user. It’s always been like this in all the situations she asked me for a time jump in the past.” Namjoon looks at him, “I don’t know why you got in the same loop as her.”

The night was quiet but devoid of peace. Like an ugly pause in a running film that’s just about to unwind the questions they laid at the start. Even after intaking his blue pills, Jungkook finds it difficult to close his eyes shut.

“Big brother!”

Jungkook turns around. The small boy stands on his tiptoes, small arms reaching for him. Jungkook smiles, “You want to climb on my back again, Daehyun?”

“Yes!” Daehyun giggles.

“Alright then,” Jungkook crouches in front of him and Daehyun’s squeals grow louder as he loops his stubby arms around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook stands up, securing the boy’s short legs around his torso. “Ready for some wind, big boy?” He asks. Daehyun nods frantically and soon, Jungkook is zooming on the green field, turning the heads of the children and volunteers in the park. But all Jungkook could hear was Daehyun’s laughter filling the nice summer afternoon. It brings a huge smile on Jungkook’s face.

Then—flashing blue and red lights. Cold pavement. A lone school bus standing in the middle. Its yellowness highlighted by the police’s yellow tape surrounding the area. Reporters dot every possible space on the crossroad. “Shooter on the loose.” “Poor child.” “Blood splattered on the seats.” But all Jungkook could hear is the white noise of the chattering. And the call of “Big brother!” he’ll never hear anymore.

Jungkook jolts awake. He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s all in the past,” he mutters repeatedly under his breath. But no matter how many times he repeats it, it doesn’t shake off the horror he’s reeling in. He’s had this dream again and again for eight years straight. He should be already accustomed to it.

Jungkook sits up straight. He turns back to his computer and sees a couple of pictures open on the desktop. It was the screenshots of the CCTVs Yoongi gave them. He looks at the top of his desk. His notes empty of anything new other than Leigh Anderson’s name webbed next to an un-filled space for sponsors. Jungkook covers his face with his palms and yawns. Just then a series of text messages come in.

Unknown: This is Y/N. I know we left on bad terms three days ago. I’m the one to blame for that for overreacting. I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done a case for FJO. I’m still kinda hung up separating personal services from investigative ones. (2:13 P.M.)

Unknown: Nevertheless, I hope you’re free this day. Meet me at Somerset Road. 3 P.M. I don’t want you to waste the money you gave me yesterday (2:13 P.M.)

Somerset Road is a thirty-minute drive from the FJO Main Headquarters. However, it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook parks his car on the side road. It seemed like hours have gone by when the sun is about to set in the alcove of trees in the distance. It’s just three in the afternoon. Jungkook steps outside and shuts the door. From his position, he could make out a girl in ripped black denim pants and black tank layered with a pink see-through mesh shirt. From the striking red of the spider lilies on the top of her spine, Jungkook could tell it was Y/N. He almost didn’t recognize her. He wouldn’t know she has an undercut had her high ponytail didn’t highlight it.

The girl turns around and looks at him. “You’re late.”

“I have to bribe the Maintenance Office first to give me this afternoon’s CCTVs when we’re done.” Jungkook strides toward her, “How did you get my number?”

“Namjoon.”

Jungkook cocks a brow.

Y/N shrugs, “he wrote it in the letter you gave me. Should you, quote-unquote, be ‘difficult to deal with.’”

Jungkook keeps his lips in a straight line.

Y/N rocks on her toes, hands in her pocket. “Let’s get straight to it then. Take your clicker out and push it.”

“What are you intending to do—”

“A time jump.”

“Of course, I know that. What other purpose do we use our time jumps for?” Jungkook spits. “What I want to know is what we’re supposed to be doing first before I follow whatever you want me to do because I cannot just blindly trust you with this—”

Y/N turns her head to him, one brow cocked up, “Didn’t I tell you before I don’t fancy How-What-Why-Whatever questions to what I do or else my gift won’t work?”

“Yes, but—”

“Look, will you just push it or do you want me to snatch it from you again?” Y/N takes a step closer to him, leveling his eyes with hers. “I already did a read for today. I know its new hiding place.”

Jungkook remains unmoving in his stance.

Y/N crosses her arms. “If it would assure you, this session won’t end taxingly fruitless like the last time. I’m positive we’ll get something by the end of today.”

“How did you know?”

“I told you, I did a read for today. I saw you with an astounded face and me with a happy and proud smile. Obviously, we must have ended up finding something.”

Jungkook is still unconvinced.

Y/N sighs, “If you don’t want to do anything of what I can offer you, you know you can just terminate our connection anytime you want. Just so you know you can’t refund the 10,000 zials you gave me for the downpayment.”

Jungkook keeps his gaze on her. A couple of seconds pass before he sighs and shakes his head as he takes out his issued clicker tucked in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

Y/N smirks. “See? You know you’re gonna need me in the end and you still try to put up an unnecessary fight.”

Jungkook grunts. He turns the clicker’s indicator to “1-2 weeks” timeframe and pushes the button.

It was just like their previous time jump—like any other Precrime time jump. It felt like nothing yet also everything at the same time. An amalgamation of sensations and perceptions flashing in front of him in the blink of an eye as he is transported back to the night of his accident. Jungkook looks down at his feet. He’s back to where he last stood at—the left side of the road next to the corner where his car will come from. Jungkook turns to his left and he almost jumps in shock. Unlike their last jump, Y/N is no longer on the opposite side of the road, but beside him, shoulders almost bumping his. Jungkook takes a staggering step away from her.

Even if Namjoon laid everything he knows about Y/N’s skills yesterday, Jungkook still finds it hard to accept that a clairvoyant is able to look into the past with such effortless access. Aren’t they only supposed to see the future?

“What are you looking at?”

Jungkook tears his gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

“Thought so, too,” Y/N quips. “We’re here to work after all. Not ogle at each other.”

Jungkook tongues his cheek. He’s not left to his frustration for long as after a second, the burning of tires on the asphalt is heard on their side of the road. A silver-gray Ford appears and it zooms past them in a flash. A black Jaguar subsequently shows up on the other side, its form nearing them each millisecond that passes. It’s only time ‘til the two crashes and sends Jungkook’s car rolling three times on the road.

But, it didn’t happen. The howls of the wind stop. The screeching of the tires halts in awkward silence. And the cars are frozen still. The Jaguar’s bumper and Ford’s right door are separated by a mere inch. It’s the second before the accident happens. Paused in a picture-like frame as if someone hit the pause icon on a video.

Jungkook whips his head to his side. Y/N has her palm closed in a post-click of her thumb and middle fingers. Jungkook feels his throat clog up, “H-how did you do that?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Told you before, it’s because of my gift. And it’s also just seconds ago I told you I don’t like questions about how my gift works.” Y/N steps away from him and onto the road. “Follow me.”

Jungkook silently follows behind. It’s only a matter of seconds that they reach the side of the door of the silver-gray Ford. Jungkook lets his fingers touch on the coated metal. It felt cold on his flesh. Solid. Real. Jungkook can’t help but be astonished. This is no regular time jump. Totally unlike the first one he did with the woman. For this time, Jungkook doesn’t feel he’s living the film of the scene, just like any of the standard Precrime time jumping. This time, Jungkook feels he’s in the scene. Not in a film, not like the virtual reality experienced by Forecrime agents. But in real-time.

“Take your hands off your car.”

Jungkook tears his hands away from his car. He looks at the girl. Y/N gives him a pointed look, “I know this time jump doesn’t feel like the standard time jumps of Precrime so you may be astounded with,” she motions around them, “all of this. But I prefer you not to get too overwhelmed. We’re here for work.”

Jungkook nods, reluctant. Y/N walks further into the side of the road, now a foot away from the spot where the cars should crash. Jungkook quickly follows behind. When he’s by an arms-length away from her, he faces back to the scene in front of him. And then, Y/N clicks her hand.

The trees sway again. The winds continue their violent gush on the road. And the cars collide. The film is playing again.

But then, Y/N clicks her fingers. The scene stops, frozen yet again. The bumper of the Jaguar has dug into the Ford’s door, crushing the metal with its momentum. The side mirror is broken, glass shards shattering in mid-air.

“Come here,” Y/N beckons. Jungkook walks close behind as Y/N stops by the point of intersection of the two cars. From their position, Jungkook could see the past him hunched over on the wheel, seat belt digging into his torso. The window by his side is broken, a splotch of blood marring the clear glass. And on his right, Jungkook could see the driver of the black Jaguar. Non-existent.

Y/N looks at him, “So we know the man you’re after is doing an illegal time jump similar to the pattern of Precrime’s traveling agents. But what you don’t know is: he’s a professional.”

“W-what?”

“Look,” Y/N flicks her wrist and makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hand. The sound goes void again and the cars back away from each other in slow motion. Jungkook’s brows shoot up. The scene is rewinding. Y/N is turning back the time before the Jaguar collided into the Ford. And then, Y/N moves her arm horizontally to her left and clicks her fingers. The Jaguar moves forward again, but slowly this time. Jungkook could see the silhouette of the driver with arms taut on the wheel disappearing into a cloud of smoke until it turns no more but a nonexistent person on the seat as it hits the door of the Ford.

Y/N clicks her fingers and the scene pauses. “As you saw, it only took the driver,” she glances at her watch, “ten seconds before completely disappearing into his time jump. From how fast he disappeared, we could say it only took him twenty seconds in total to make the entire jump. I can only deduce this as the memories we have are short of the time we could see him in his solid form. The same way goes for the CCTVs you gathered. It only captured the last ten seconds of the whole accident. The Jaguar nonexistent in the frame from 20:23:39 and anything beyond before that time mark. The CCTVs only showed the Jaguar from 20:23:40 to exactly 20:24. The last 10 seconds, devoid of any driver.”

The girl continues, “Now, to be able to completely vanish in just 20 seconds, you must be a professional in time jumping in the past. Which can only be done if you’ve undergone training under Precrime. However, this could also be just any other outsider that’s gotten lucky doing an illegal time jump. Considering Somerset Road has a strong electromagnetic field that can help anyone do their time jumps faster and more successfully—including the risky ones that involve a huge time frame of unbounded jumps into the past. But to know that about Somerset Road, much less know how to effectively take advantage of its field during a time jump—you should be a long-time agent of Precrime.”

Y/N faces Jungkook, “The man you’re after is either a professional Precrime traveling agent or an outsider who’s fed with all the necessary information only a Precrime agent could know. It’s an inside job.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “No. It can’t be. Every time-jumping device has a permanent tracker that can never be taken out even by the best engineer. Allen McGregor designed it to be like that to ensure these devices will not be used for personal interest. Every agent is tracked of their traveling activities and logged straight into the Investigation Bureau’s files. They’re inputted in glass files similar to the crime records—void for editing, copying, and deleting. And should it be an outsider utilizing Precrime’s technology, a travel will still be tracked back to the agent whose device was used.” Jungkook looks at Y/N. “There have been no reports of anyone traveling on Somerset Road the night of my accident.”

Y/N shrugs, “I’m just saying what I saw. Especially this.” Y/N makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hands and the scene rewinds again. The Jaguar is frozen back into five seconds before it hits the silver-gray Ford. Y/N walks toward the car, Jungkook close behind. The girl motions to the passenger seat and Jungkook stills. There on the leather seat is a red file case. Unprecedented murder. Precrime Murder Sector. But this is not what rendered Jungkook immobile in shock. Rather, it’s the label on the file case.

“Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

“See?” Y/N smirks, “Told you we’ll find something today.”

A click of the hand and soon, the dark night sky of Somerset Road bleeds into the burning colors of the sunset. There’s no longer the silver-gray Ford and the black Jaguar. It’s just Jungkook and Y/N alone in the road, back to where they were before.

Jungkook hunches over, coughing as he beats his chest. When he finally stabilizes his breathing back to normal, he turns to the girl. “You…Ho-how can you be so sure with all of these vi-visions?”

Y/N looks at Jungkook, an indecipherable look on her face. “This is what you paid for 10,000 zials. I’m handing you what your eyes missed on just the way they are.”

Jungkook holds in his breath as he knocks on the glass door.

“Come in.”

Jungkook pushes the door open and salutes. “Chief Nathan Spencer.”

“Captain Jeon,” the Chief of Precrime glances up at him before returning back to the stack of papers he’s signing. He motions to the chair in front of his desk, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jungkook pulls back the black chair and sits.

“So, what brings you here?”

“This week’s report, sir—the joint investigation with DOJ on the unidentified black Jaguar.” Jungkook places a brown folder on the Chief’s desk.

The chief looks at the captain. “Still no progress in the identification?”

Jungkook shakes his head, face grim.

“That can’t be helped,” Nathan sympathetically mutters. “It’s not the first time FJO has handled a difficult case.”

“But it is the first time FJO can’t identify a suspect with its current system.”

“You’re right,” Nathan nods. He flips open the brown folder and skims the report. “How’s the auditor doing?”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Fine. Still…meddling with our processes.”

Nathan lets out a light scoff. “As expected of someone who’s running for a promotion. Always been a know-it-all jerk, this Min Yoongi.”

Jungkook makes a tight-lipped smile.

Nathan chuckles. “Forgive me. I’ve always had a prejudice against DOJ’s auditors. Most, if not all of them, always give us a hard time more than what’s necessary. Anyway, what else do you have for me, Jungkook?”

The captain sits up straight. “I would like to ask a favor, sir.”

Nathan clasps his hand on his desk. He leans forward. “What is it?”

“It’s for the investigation. DOJ has access to all of our files—Precrime, Forecrime, and even the Investigation Bureau. So I figured if I can also do the same since our sector seems to be their main target. If I have the same leverage on our own information as them, I can have control over this investigation and drive them away before they can even assume power over us.” Jungkook leans on the table, “We could see the problems first before they become visible to DOJ.”

Nathan raises his brow. “So what do you mean?”

“I would like to have unrestricted access in our archives. Everything that contains anything pertaining to FJO.” Jungkook leans forward, “Including the Memory Temple.”

The chief sighs, “That’s a big favor, Jungkook.”

“I know. That’s why Chief General Andrews told me to go to you.”

Nathan’s brows shoot up, “The Chief General?”

“Yes, Chief General Matthew Andrews. He said you’re good friends with Chief of the Bureau, Natasha Ryde. Chief Andrews wants to ask if you could do a favor of a friend for a friend.” Jungkook slides a white envelope underneath the folder, “Of course, not without considerable credit.”

Nathan purses his lips. A beat. He shakes his head, sighing. “Okay…I’ll try to put in a word for you. I can give you the entire archives tomorrow. But the Memory Temple could take a while. Two days or three.”

“That’s fine with me.” Jungkook smiles. He stands up and heads to the end of the room. Before he could disappear behind the door, he salutes one more time, “Thank you for the kind accommodation, Chief.”

Jungkook heads to the main elevator and hits the second floor below the Superiors’ Hall. The metal doors ding open and soon, Jungkook’s looking at a wide expanse of glass wall reflecting hundreds of shelves on the glass panes.

Jungkook heads to the entranceway and salutes at the guard, “Sally.” The guard returns the salute, smiling. Jungkook tilts his head, “Did the Bureau come by to retrieve Precrime files?”

“Not yet, sir. The Bureau’s still busy in their matters with DOJ. They halted the synching of files for now.”

“That’s good,” Jungkook quips and pushes the glass doors open.

Tall metal bookshelves snake like an accordion around the floor. The spaces between them is occasionally filled up by wooden desks that mandatorily come along with a wooden bookstand and black study lamp. It looks like a hedge maze made of old books, monochrome papers, and multi-colored files.

Jungkook heads to the leftmost aisle—Precrime’s archives. He weaves his way through the bookshelves until he stops in front of a separated room in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s made completely out of glass, just like FJO’s offices. The only difference is that this room contains five sets of desks and chairs, bookshelves, and the Archive Manager’s huge white station as the centerpiece.

And before Jungkook could finish leveling his eyes to the scanner set by the door, he could already feel the growing stare of Emily Young.

“Captain Jeon.”

“Ms. Young,” Jungkook nods to the manager.

Emily smiles, “To what do I owe your visit today?”

“Jonathan Winston’s Assassination case file.”

“As usual,” The thirty-seven-year-old manager sing-songs as she stands up and disappears into the back room. It doesn’t take long for her to retrieve what the Precrime captain is looking for.

A long expandable, red file with the label in Arial 12 print: “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

Just like in Y/N’s time jump. Identically the same. Jungkook looks at the manager, “Do you have a log of anyone who looks into this file?”

Emily chuckles, “I don’t think that will bring anything new to the table, captain.” She scans the numeric code of the file and turns the monitor of her computer towards him. “There’s no one who’s been looking at this file but you.”

Jungkook peers in. Indeed, the log on Winston’s file contains nothing but his name. From August 15, 2047, the date of Winston’s assassination, to the most recent date, August 3, 2059. The day after Leigh Anderson’s suicide. The day after the Winston case was closed cold. There’s no other name in the log for 12 years other than his name.

Jungkook looks back at Emily, “Are you sure this is the complete log on this file? No one borrowed the file earlier than July 12th?”

“That’s the whole log, captain. There’s no record on August 1st because we’re closed to do an inventory check.” Emily leans back in her chair. “Everyone knows you’re busy on a case in Down Hill for the entirety of June. The Allison future murder is all over the news. Of course, with a Metropolis resident as a future victim. And with you busy on another case, this Winston’s file is devoid of any viewers.” Emily releases a chuckle. “Every cop has an obsession with a particular case. Everyone here knows Winston’s case is yours. I think I will remember if someone other than you looked into this file because I swear that day will be a miracle.”

Jungkook purses his lips, face undecipherable. Right then, his phone rings loud. He turns to his back and picks it up. “Hello?”

“Captain.” It’s Jimin.

“What is it?”

“You have to come to the sector now. There’s a file from Precrime. It’s…a blank.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon,” Jungkook ends the call. He faces Emily. “Thank you for today, Emily.” The archives manager nods with a playful salute at him. Jungkook quickly returns the salute and pushes the door open. Soon, he’s tearing past the labyrinth of shelves.

It doesn’t take Jungkook longer than ten minutes to reach the left-wing of the 2nd floor. The cold sweat from the discovery in the archives is still clinging on his nape.

As soon as he steps into Murder Sector, everyone’s eyes are set on him. Including Yoongi. Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue as he slides in the gloves over his hands. “Jimin, give me the run-over.”

“Captain, Jeon. It’s a grayish-white file. Precrime, Property and Crime Scene Sector. Traveling agent in charge is Eric Williams. Crime record validated by traveling agents Hannah Peters and Ivan Park. Case number 3571, hit-and-run, destruction of property. Suspect is unknown. Victim’s name is…Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook whips his head towards the secretary, eyes wide.

“It’s your case, sir.” Jimin confirms, “Eric accidentally time jumped into the night of your hit-and-run while he’s traveling for a T-Bone accident in Middle Town. Property and Crime Scene figured this blank is a crucial update on your case.” He walks to the end of the glass board and slides the disk into the middle slot.

Jungkook turns to his front. The glass board lights up and a video starts playing. It’s Somerset Road and it’s almost pitch black in the grainy film. Eric stands frozen on the pavement for a second. But the seeming serenity of the scene soon dissipates as he looks down at his gear and frantically fumbles for his time jumper. Suddenly, hot blinding light fills his peripherals. Eric’s head shoots up. A car is speeding toward him. The headlights grow larger and finally, the car becomes visible. It’s the silver-gray Ford. Eric turns around and right then, a black Jaguar zooms past him, merely missing him by a hairsbreadth. But the Jaguar doesn’t stop and further increases its speed. It bulldozers right into the side of the Ford, sending it flying across the barren road. Eric picks up his feet and dashes to the cars. But his efforts are futile. The black Jaguar has already disappeared before he could even take his 12th step. And then, the record stops.

Before Jimin could even state the protocol run-through, Jungkook frantically swipes through the blank record. He slides across the frames in reverse, back and backward until he reaches the first second of the blank.

“Sir, I’m afraid we have to do the protocol first—"

Jungkook’s hand stills on the board. The frame freezes. It’s a close-up of the black Jaguar as it barely grazes Eric’s body. Jungkook zooms in. There inside the passenger seat of the car is a long, red expandable file. “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

Jungkook feels his blood run cold. It’s the same file he just had his hands on less than 15 minutes ago. It’s the same file he saw in his and Y/N’s jump. Y/N’s vision is true.

Jungkook feels his pocket vibrate and he quickly whips out his phone. However, he wasn’t able to dwell on it longer as a hard force pushes his shoulder backward, forcing Jungkook to tear his eyes off the screen.

Yoongi glares at him, “Why are you indifferent about this? You know something about this, didn’t you? Captain Jeon!”

But even with his name called out loud, Jungkook couldn’t hear anything. All that registers in his mind is one single message.

Y/N L/N: Have you ever heard of a Sooah Kim before? (11:14 A.M.)

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Note: This story is based on Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story, Minority Report (2002). That being said, this series may contain spoilers for the movie so if you want to watch the movie, please do so first before reading!

A/N | Hi hons! Thank you for reading the 2nd chapter! I hope I got you guys more curious about the story hehe. Anyway, I have some announcement: I have finals for a major coming up this week so I’ll spend the next whole week studying. So, I’ll try if I can update the next chap the week after next week, on Sunday, too. But nothing is certain yet as I still have some uni stuff to do. Don’t worry, I only have 3 projects left to do to finally finish this sem. So as soon as I’m done with them, expect more frequent updates from me!

If you guys wanna get notified as soon as I post the next chapter, I’m gonna add you all in my taglist! Just hit me up down the comments of this series’ masterlist so I can better track you all! The search function of Tumblr is messing with me and my notifs in my inbox usually come late so it’s highly probable your asks and DMs may get lost ☹

Once again, thank you for reading and giving a chance to My Time! :”)

Notes: As you know, this is a mystery fic. So, it will be most appreciated if any theories pertaining to the story be kept down the comments so I can entertain them all without spoiling our future readers! Once again, thank you so much for reading this!

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cosmic-conundrums · 3 years ago

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Coscon Intro: the hotel itself

Welcome to the Cosmic Conundrum Hotel & Cabaret

That’s what the sign says, the neon lights glittering out into the fathomless void of space. There isn't anything out here, in this forgotten sector of the galaxy. There isn’t supposed to be anything out here, and yet here it is.

How to describe it? It appears to be a normal asteroid at first glance, craggy and dark amongst the stars. But when you round it to the other side, it becomes something unlike anything you've ever seen.

The crags and hollows here have been shaped and molded as if by some giant hand, twisted into the edifice of a magnificent building. It’s carved directly into the surface of the asteroid, the walls and structure formed out of the rock itself. Through the windows can be seen light glittering in shades of gold and red and purple and green, seeming to shift every few seconds.

The entrance to this fever dream of a structure is framed by tall columns, and as you get closer you can see that these columns are carved all over with names, connected by a swirling ribbon dotted by stylized stars.

The doors themselves are made of delicate colored glass, patterns of warm, fractured sunrise on one door, a purple-black night sky shot through with silver stars on the other. They’re set deep into an overhang of dark rock, looking as though it has been painstakingly chipped away by hand. Right above this shadowed hollow is the sign, electric neon green and so bright it’s like staring into a sun. The welcome is in curling, elegant lettering, the letters themselves having to be at least a hundred feet tall each.

There's a landing dock branching out from the entrance, where docking ships are greeted by a curly-haired mechanic in turquoise coveralls and a spiky green dog that treats everyone like a friend.

The floor of the landing platform and the entryway is made of black-and-white tile, simple and elegant. The doors open for you as though sensing your approach, revealing a massive lobby decked out in golds and blues and blacks and silvers. The floor is the same black and white tile as the platform outside, although in here it is inlaid with silver-and-gold constellations. A massive winding staircase stretches up in front of you, facing directly across from the doors and spiraling up into the seemingly endless levels of floors. There shouldn’t be that many floors. There are rules to these things. But...maybe not in this place.

Two mechanical faceless spiders are waiting just inside to take whatever luggage you may have. They speak in chirping, polite voices.

There is a cat on the concierge's desk, blue-furred and six-eyed. It is not what it seems. It is a member of a species tasked with monitoring the time stream, and it has been exiled to this place for war crimes. It is the concierge.

When checking into the hotel, if you see the honeymoon suite is available, do not take it. It is a room full of bees. Other rooms are acceptable, although they may carry you to the ocean while you sleep or dissolve into nothing in the night.

Make sure to visit the cabaret during your visit. It is something you will never see the likes of anywhere else. There is a singer, a woman of nearly seven feet in stature, with ink-black skin and waist-length hair of every color imaginable. She sings songs of blood and fire and a hunt, and you cannot help but hang onto every word. There is a pair of dancers that appear humanoid when standing still, but when moving unravel into ribbons of silk that twist themselves into impossible shapes. There is a red-haired violinist with a snake tattoo winding its way across his temple and forehead, hiding a scar. He plays like he's dying, like this is the most important thing he will ever do, like the music is all that will be left of him. There is a card magician whose sleight of hand is so flawless you're convinced it is actually magic. When he smiles at you, captivated in the audience, you think you see pointed teeth.

You stop at the bar afterwards, receiving a drink from a green-skinned bartender with an 'ask for pronouns/any/all' pin. Also sitting at the bar with you is a woman in a long coat, a stylized wing design embroidered into the back. When you tell her you like it, she says that 'if i can't have mine, these ones will do'. She doesn't seem to want to speak further about it.

Everyone here has secrets, that is instantly clear. The building itself has secrets. There is a bottomless pit in the basement, and the janitor's closet opens upon a mass of tentacles. You peek behind the door labeled 'Staff Lounge' once, and find what appears to be the ruins of a vast palace. There is another door that you cannot bring yourself to open, although it seems to be following you, appearing at the end of every hallway you enter. You can hear sobbing behind it. You don't want to go in.

There is something living in the walls. Somethings, more specifically. They resemble tales you've heard of fairies, although these are built of scraps, of things left behind in the rooms. They steal your belongings, and you can hear them giggling in the night.

There is one resident who seems to have befriended these fairies, a dark-haired man in a wheelchair, goggles pushed up on his forehead, crimson-irised eyes sparkling with curiosity as he talks to the walls. He is shadowed by a broad, winged figure who observes everyone around him with distrust.

There's a pirate crew that stops by on occasion, led by a green-skinned captain resembling the bartender so closely that they can't be anything but siblings. They stay for a while, causing chaos and riding a dinosaur through the halls, and then they leave again for a while. They always return, however, and are greeted with a rare smile from the bartender and a roaring cheer from the woman with the winged coat whenever they do.

It becomes obvious that the staff cannot leave the hotel, although why you do not know. You watch the bartender watch their brother and his crew leave with longing in aer eyes, the anger that fills faer when it has to go back to work. You wonder if you can help. You cannot.

Despite all that you have seen, the most important thing about the hotel is the time jumps. They occur at random; one moment you're in the time period you were in when you arrived, and the next you are thousands of years in the future. And then the past. And then a time before anything even existed. The staff are clearly accustomed to this, and just sighs and marks down where the hotel has ended up in a heavy logbook.

You will never know who built the hotel, or even what it really is, but you do know as soon as you enter that it will stick with you forever. And sometimes, when you sleep, you will hear a little voice, urging you to return. And maybe you will listen. And who knows what happens next?

#this is just a little intro to the cosmic conundrum itself that i wrote #i'm gonna do more detailed character profiles later #but for now take this #i think about this space hotel constantly... i love it so much #ocs #my ocs #writing #my writing #coscon #coscon tag #coscon intro #original characters #original writing #long post #very long post #also: please feel free to ask me about this or the characters!!!#i would love to tell you about it and them!!

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onenicebugperday · 2 years ago

Note

Disaster has struck! For over a year now I have had a little companion, a small spider who lives on the outside of the window by my desk. She never leaves, and maintains a very fine web. I have seen her killing flies, battling with other wandering spiders, and even survive a wasp destroying her web. But today I came home to find a window cleaner that my landlord had hired! My little friend was pressed right into the corner and her web was completely gone! She's definitely moving now, but she's got her work cut out for her remaking a whole web. Also I think she may have lost a leg?

(very damp)

Because of how she sits on the window I can never get a good ID photo, but that's OK. I hope she's alright and that this doesn't make her leave the window :(

Here's the best photo I got in the last year if you want to have a go at ID I'm in the UK.

How do I always have bug drama, but never with the bugs I know (ants)!

Oh no!!! Her poor leg. Should be just fine without one, though. And it's okay that she has to remake her web, they're commonly destroyed by all sorts of natural things.

She is a silver-sided sector spider, which is of course a type of orbweaver!

#kai-herondale #submission #bugs #spider #injured bug #silver sided sector spider #arachnids

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dansnaturepictures · 1 year ago

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Sky and Silver-sided Sector Spider tonight, Hampshire, UK 8/10/23

#silver-sided sector spider #sky #sky scenes #photography #sunday #weekend #hampshire #uk #world #nature #beautiful #lovely #2023 #october #europe #eastleigh #clouds #home #outdoors

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herpsandbirds · 2 months ago

Note

Can I get an ID on my bathroom squatter, South-East England. Not fantastic photos, I apologise.

Spider ID - SE England:

Hello, yes, Its had to tell, but this looks like a male Silver-sided Sector Spider (Zygiella x-notata), family Araneidae.

Zygiella x-notata - Wikipedia

Zygiella x-notata | NatureSpot

Any other spider people have input on this ID?

#araneidae #ID #spider #arachnid #animals #nature #europe

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 4 years ago

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Motion Sickness: 5.2 Sector 7

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

“Alright kid, just follow my lead and stay quiet unless someone asks you something.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t screw this up for us.”

“Are you done?”

Dust crystals, weapons, and all other kinds of malicious paraphernalia were sold in the lower levels of Mistral. Beneath wired poles and under shady market stalls you could evidently buy pretty much whatever you wanted. In broad daylight. Probably pretty hard to enforce law when everyone was breaking it. The entire place was pretty openly criminal with people who were wearing masks purchasing put together bombs in full view of the sun. Or what counted for sunlight down here.

We followed a spider’s web marking on a wall into a dimly lit bar in which the only barrier between the inside and the elements was a flap with a Mistrali Flag on it. As though that was fooling anybody. It didn’t fool me and I colored myself as someone who was pretty easily fooled.

I took a look around the inside and noted several dozen people in similar purple drab. As if that weren’t enough, many people inside had that same spider web symbol tattooed to their forearms, bicep, or even their neck. I knew enough about gangs to know one when I saw one being so open.

I wheeled Qrow in.

“That's far enough now sweetheart.”

A woman sat alone at a table with two of what were clearly bodyguards on either side of her. I stopped pushing Qrow’s chair and held up my hands in surrender. I wasn’t about to start anything, even if some of the people we had passed were clearly on something and had glints in their eyes that made me want to draw my weapon.

Ether, I hoped, but perhaps even Hyper was on the table. Literally on the table as a dude did a line of white powder nearby.

I made no move towards my weapon anyways because it wasn’t like I could defend Qrow or myself in a tight space like this. We were very outnumbered and probably outgunned and entirely at the mercy of our hosts. I like to believe that I was alright in a fight, which was to say maybe I could take the lady’s two body guards if it was just the three of us and I managed something clever. This was something different. We were surrounded and they were in front of us, behind us, to either side, and, just to make things worse, above us. The place had two floors that I could see.

“Well if it isn’t Qrow Branwen. It's been a long time and you have gotten much shorter.”

“You know, you loose one fucking fight.”

“And who’s this? Some new protege or apprentice?”

The bodyguards came up to search me and I cooperatively handed over my sword and shield to the girl who staggered under its weight for a second before reclaiming her balance. “Jaune Arc.” I introduced myself as the dude patted me down. He came away with some fire crystals and an Atlas army knife. Nothing crazy for a place like this; I mean probably. I didn’t frequently search people who went to bars like this one.

“Didn’t answer my question, hun.” She probed. Jabbing at me with the spoon she held in a pudgy hand.

“He’s teaching me, yes ma’am,” I erred on polite caution.

“Good boy. You can put those arms down.” I did as she directed. “Now I’m sure you’re not here just to catch up with me, now are you?”

“I’m not no.” Qrow wiggled his stumps. I almost laughed. “I need a set of prosthetics, Atlesian or Valean or good enough for hunters.”

Would his prosthetics transform with him or-

“It’ll cost you.”

I’m sure it’ll be fine. Its magic so why not? I couldn’t think of a good reason why his new legs wouldn’t transform with him and Ozpin hadn’t said anything. Not that that meant anything.

“We don’t have much Lien.”

“Oh Mr. Branwen. Lien is how I run my business,” the spider said from her seat. She managed to glare down at Qrow still with a soft smile.

“You also run it with favors and errands.”

“A favor from the great Qrow Branwen.” She took a long drag of either tobacco or perhaps even some greens. It smelled most like tobacco, I think, though. “It would mean a lot more if he was capable of walking,” she jabbed easily. Which I think was perfectly fair.

“You provide the legs and I’ll do the walking. And if you don’t like that then the kid isn’t half bad in a fight either.”

“Hmm.” She pondered. “Okay.” She said with a sly smile. The dude handed me back my switchblade and crystals and the girl handed back my harness with my bigger blades sheathed as though that was some well rehearsed signal.

"I'll need real surgery." Qrow admitted begrudgingly. "Not those ones you just attach and pull off. I'll need them grafted on."

"Well that'll just cost you extra. Two favors.”

“Lets talk it over. Hey kid?”

“Hm?” I wondered.

“Why don’t you wait at the bar while we talk. You’re making me nervous just standing behind me.”

“Alright. Sure.” Why not?

I mosied up to the bar. The bartender in purple had a kukuri and some light armor. He didn’t card me or anything, just looked across the rosy counter towards me. “Whisky on the rocks.” Keep it familiar, keep it simple, keep it dumb, or else you’ll end up under some ganglord’s thumb.

My drink was slid towards me in a crystal patterned glass that I examined. It seemed clean enough. I had a sip. It was smooth. I had another sip.

“Who’s this Melanie?” A voice purred from behind me. A girl’s voice. I ignored it because ignoring women was my MO.

“I don’t know Miltiades, some new huntsman.”

“He’s decent looking.”

“Tall, too.”

I looked around. There were two girls looking at me. They had dark hair and pale green eyes. I looked them up and down. “Are you talking to me?” I wondered. It went against my MO. Explicitly, even. One had a pair of silver blades attached to white boots to match the overall assemble of a white dress. The other had red claws strapped to her back. The red claws matched a tighter red dress than the girl in white who could only be a sister. Maybe a cousin if I was stretching.

They looked damn near identical, though, so I was really stretching.

“Who else would we even be talking to?” I looked around, the girl in white made a fair point. There was nobody even close to me. They were to either side of me out in the open.

“So what brings a huntsman like you down here?” The girl in red asked.

“I’m with him.” I pointed to Qrow, not seeing any point to lying. I pushed him into this place afterall. Out in the open. “Need to get him back on his feet but we’re a little short on cash.”

“And what is he to you?” The girl in red asked.

“He’s not much to be completely and totally honest. Family of a friend,” I answered vaguely. “I didn’t catch your names.”

“I’m Melanie Malachite.” The girl in white introduced herself. “And this is-”

“Miltia.” The other finished. Malachite, like the woman in charge. Well I'd better be polite and not fuck things up. That was all the advice I’d been given.

“Well, can I buy the two of you a drink? Or drinks, rather?” I doubted they would be sharing.

Instead they just giggled a little at me. Cute girls laughing at me was nothing new though and after a few years it meant surprisingly little. Girls like this tended to laugh like that. It would be better for my sanity if I didn’t take it personally.

“I thought you were short on cash.” Miltia returned, hiding her smile behind a hand and failing. Probably intentionally.

“Short on cash for a pair of legs. Not for three drinks.” I lifted my glass to my lips. It was already empty and the glass clinked around in no liquid. “Make that four drinks. What’ll you two have?”

“A white russian,” Miltia said.

“A hurricane.”

I ordered for them and another whiskey for me. Then I slid the red drink to the girl in white and the white drink to the girl in red. I was sixty percent sure they were fucking with me. Somehow. And it was totally working. They were messing with my head completely and totally and probably for kicks.

But they took drinks from their cocktails with a familiarity that threw me off. Maybe they did drink these exact drinks a bit. I nursed my own, making sure to take it slower on my second glass of something straight.

The last thing Qrow and I needed was for me to be wasted.

"So where are you from?" Melanie pulled back from her red drink and bounced out the words. I hope she wasn't clumsy because that drink would stain like a nightmare on her white clothes.

"Vale. I, uh, I used to go to Beacon." I took my weapons off my back and set them on the stool to my left. The stool on my right was occupied by Miltia.

"We're from Vale too." Miltia said.

"Not really the biggest fans of Beacon students but we can make an exception."

"Lucky me." I slipped. "Well the 'ex-Beacon student' is kinda important anyways. I left that place behind after the attack."

"We left with the collapse as well." Melanie added.

"Decided it just wasn't safe enough." Miltia clarified.

"Makes sense. I was out of there in a hurry myself. How did you two get here then?"

"Airship." Miltia informed me.

"Our parents own several so we just flew." They were sisters, then.

"Must have been nice," I let myself grumble. The thought of my feet aching from walking ached.

"Sounds like there's a story to how you got here." Miltia pressed.

"I walked, rode horses, and took a train. Just extra steps comparatively. More monsters, you know?"

Melanie blinked. “You ride horses?”

“Well aren’t you a regular old fashioned knight.” She eyed me in my thick armor. She may be reading into my look and figuring some other things. They were all wrong but she was figuring some things.

"I had to learn on the way. It's not like that."

"Did Qrow Branwen teach you?"

"You two know Qrow?"

"We know about Qrow." Miltia corrected.

"Some hunters are famous like that."

"Him and his sister are both well known but there are others too."

"Winter Schnee, Glynda Goodwitch, General Ironwood." Melanie counted.

"Well Qrow didn't teach me that but I suppose he is mentoring me in other things."

"Like what?" Miltia asked.

"Like being a better fighter, I guess. He knows a lot about how to kill things, and not much else to be on the level with you." I reached the bottom of my drink and debated with myself before ordering another one. I was on the heavy side anyways, so it should be fine? "I really try not to take his advice on other things."

“You’re a heavy drinker.” Melanie watched me order more whiskey.

"Yeah. That's one of those things I really don't want to pick up from Qrow but it might be too late. I might have the sort of addictive personality that leans that way."

"You're not sure?"

"I'm really not the kind of guy that goes to bars much."

"You seem like a regular to bar or club life."

"Yeah. With the right haircut you could be a plain old ladykiller."

I blushed. "I don't think so..."

"Come on."

“I know, let us give you a makeover.”

"Nobody likes a good-looking guy with no confidence."

"Nobody likes a guy with the wrong kind of confidence either. Trust me on that one." I thought of Weiss. She really hadn’t been all that into me. Like at all. But hot girls not liking me was nothing new to my life. It was the rule and there were two redheaded exceptions. Weiss was… probably a friend? Now? I wasn’t really sure. I learned to dislike her a little as a self defense mechanism. And to be fair, while that was probably an unhealthy coping mechanism, it kept me slitting my wrists the short ways rather than the long ways. I sucked on my third drink. My vision was getting a little shaky and my lips and face a little looser. "Where did you girls train?"

"Train?"

"Get your huntswomen training, I mean."

"Huntswomen," Miltia giggled.

"I know he's so careful." Melanie laughed back.

"Listen, I have gotten my ass beat by so many women that it pays to jump through that kind of hoop. It just does."

"We don't have any formal training." Miltia returned to the previous question.

"We're from the mean streets of Vale."

"We're with the gang so…" Miltia finished.

"I see." I nodded along.

"You think it doesn't count?" Melanie prompted.

"It's probably more real than any training someone gets at like, Signal." I disagreed with her implication. "My real training came from after Beacon fell, in the wild. Hunting criminals and real Grimm instead of practice dummies or training partners."

"Plus whatever Branwen is teaching you."

"Eh." I managed. "The chair happened around the same time that I met him. Most of the training he has given me has been verbal rather than hands on. All-l, really-y." I slurred slightly.

"You seem perfectly capable anyways."

"Maybe gang life would suit you."

I watched Miltia trade drinks with Melanie. They took a pull from the others' drink in perfect synchronization. At my look she leaned over. "We don't mind sharing things." She winked.

"Uh huh." I managed stupidly. “So what kind of haircut should I get? Asking for a friend.”

“I don’t know.... What do you think Melanie?”

“Well he looks alright now but he could tame it even more. Slick it back and nice and short. Nothing to grab onto but it would be smooth.”

“Yeah, he’s sort of in between right now. Like go scruffy or comb it over. Pick one and commit.”

“Pick one and commit…?” I trailed.

‘Yeah. You’re scruffy-”

“But not full on scruffy. And you have the comb over-”

“But you didn’t commit to it. If you’d pick one and go with that one who knows what could follow.”

“No one likes a guy who’s indecisive.”

“Seems to me like you girls don’t like a lot of guys,” I cut in. “Indecisive, no confidence, wrong confidence. Boy, is there anything about me girls actually like. I’m honestly asking.”

“What should your angle be? You mean?” Miltia asked.

“Yeah? What cards do I play? I’m too nice for edgy and too honest for mysterious.”

“Well you’re tall and broad so you’ve got that going for you,” Melannie pointed out. “Everyone likes a huntsman. Who doesn’t like a huntsman?”

“Nobody.”

“Okay, I hear that. Let me ask you something. I met the most beautiful girl in the world when I was at Beacon. A smart, gorgeous huntress. Let’s say I was really trying to impress this girl and I tried everything I could think of. I tried singing. I tried asking her to the dance. I tried asking her alone and in groups and in and out of classes. I tried it all. Okay? I tried literally everything and the kitchen sink.”

“And nothing worked?” Melannie asked.

“Nothin’,” I said. “Nothin’ worked. Not a damn thing. I think she hated me.”

“Well it sounds like you were trying too hard. Nobody likes that.”

“And if you’re going to go honest you have to commit.”

“C-o-m-m-i-t,” Melanie hit the back of her hand into her palm with each letter. She spelled it out for me which was good because I’m fuckin’ stupid. “Honest is fine.”

“Honest is good, even. But if you’re dishonest in any way a smart girl will smell that from a mile away. You said she was smart right?”

“The smartest.”

“So what did you really do?”

“We can’t tell you unless you’re completely honest with us,” Melannie ordered.

“Real talk?” I asked. “I… I tried to fake my confidence… and most of my personality...”

“Yeah that’s not gonna work.”

“That’s not gonna work at all,” Miltia agreed. “You can't play the nice guy card and then try and fake it like that. A girl just knows.”

“A girl totally just knows. We would notice if you were faking it right now. It’s like a guy faking their orgasm. It’s not a thing.”

“It’s not like girls can really fake it either…” I pointed out. “It’s pretty obvious and world shaking when a girl finishes for real. And when you do it right she isn’t sure if she wants more or less. Can’t fake that. Come on.”

“He knows…” Melannie trailed.

“He’s onto our entire gender.”

“Who would have thought?”

“Scraggly, tall, and blonde has moves in the bedroom.”

“Please,” I waved off. “It’s so stupid easy to make girls come. It’s literally brain dead. If I can do it anybody can. The clitoris and G-spot are not hard to find. You can make a girl finish even when she is begging you not to.”

“Can you not with guys?” Miltia asked.

“Not a chance. It’s easy to get a guy into it but if he’s not completely into it you cannot get him off. Bet.”

“Is that a challenge?” Melannie wondered. “Are you challenging us?”

“Bet,” I repeated. I finished my drink.

"Are you done flirting." Qrow had rolled up on me without me noticing. No mean feat from the chair.

"I really wouldn't know flirting if it walked up and stabbed me in the front," I leveled against him.

"Well stop it. Come on. I worked out our favors from Lil' Miss Malachite." I said my valedictions, grabbed my tools, and wheeled him back over to the woman in charge.

"So what's the first favor?" I wondered.

"I need someone killed." She splayed her hands across the table. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Well it depends on who it is, doesn't it."

"Does it?" She pressed me.

"Of course. It matters who it is to you too."

"Smart boy. It's a dust witch in a rival gang named Eminence Kramer. She’s been a thorn in my side for far too long and she has made it clear that she has to go."

"And the second favor?" I continued.

"I need information out of one Don Corneo." She took a long drag. "You decide the order. I don't particularly care. After that we'll get Qrow here a new set of legs and the surgery to boot."

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #lancaster #weiss schnee #whiteknight #motion sickness #ruby rose x jaune arc #jaune arc x weiss schnee #jaune arc x weiss schnee x ruby rose #war of the roses #weiss schnee x ruby rose #white rose #whiterose

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lemonsandstrawberries · 6 years ago

Text

I am Iron Man

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony), MCU

characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, James Rhodey Rhodes, James Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

summary: When Tony used the Iron Gauntlet and erased Thanos and his troops, Steve thought he would have to watch his boyfriend die. Thanks to quick thinking of their team, Tony got a chance to live and the healing process starts.

length: 3 781

warnings: MAJOR AVENGERS ENDGAME SPOILERS

a/n: this is my last fic from the ones I planned to write after Endgame. the happy ending. totally self-indulgent and from a Stony shipper point of view! also, it doesn’t have to make sense if it makes me feel better. hopefully, it will make you feel better too!

——————–

I am Iron Man

He was looking at it, but he couldn't believe it. Alien troops fading away and turning into dust, just in front of his eyes. In the middle of it all, he saw Thanos taking his last breath, before he turned into nothing, vanishing from the face of the Earth.

They did it. They won. How did they win?

And then Steve saw how.

Tony. In the midst of a broken world, among dust that was left of the compound, his back leaned against some rubble, supporting him. Right hand covered up to the elbow with gold and infinity stones shining on knuckles, above from that dark and charred, black marks stretching all up to his face, covering half of it. Tony's gaze was unfocused and his breath was so shallow, it was almost gone.

Tony did it. He did the snap and defeated Thanos and his army. They won.

And yet...

Tony was dying. His Tony was dying.

The whole world around Steve slowed down, draining out of color and sound, eyes focused on his boyfriend's almost lifeless form.

Tony was dying. His Tony was dying.

He couldn't move, his body not listening to him. His whole body felt heavy and there was a painful silence ringing in his ears, stretching and consuming everything.

Tony was dying. His Tony was dying.

Rhodey was the first one to get to Tony. He opened his faceplate and leaned over his best friend, reaching to him, eyes wide and terrified.

Tony was going to die.

Steve couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. The weight of grief and pain smothered him, his knees buckled and Steve fell, digging his hands into the dry ground, hot tears blurring his vision and falling down.

Tony was going to die. His Tony was going to die.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

It won't end like this.

A bullet of fire and energy cut the air. Steve raised his head, watching Captain Marvel landing between Tony and Rhodey. Rhodey said something, gesturing to Tony and the glove, and Carol leaned down. Something snapped, just like a piece of wood snaps in two, dry and loud. Then a metal clank when the Iron Glove with infinity stones was thrown away, landing few feet in front of Steve, discarded like something toxic. Steve looked at the stones and gold, eyes wide and not understanding. There was another person flying past him and he recognized the silver and blue armor, belonging to Pepper. Carol and Rhodey moved aside when Pepper stopped, her hand reaching to Tony, a thick, foamy substance Steve had seen before spraying from her fingers and coating Tony's right side with a shell resembling frost. Tony's mouth moved, faint and weak, but Steve read the words.

'Hi Pep.'

Tony wasn't dying.

He was alive. Barely, but alive.

They still had a chance.

Feeling new energy coursing through him, Steve got back on his feet. He pushed his emotions aside and acted on instinct, falling back into the line of command. Time was crucial and they had to act quickly.

"Queens!" Steve called in a strong voice when Spider-man tried to make his way past him. The teenager stopped, hearing the call. "Go and find the wizard! Bring him here!"

"But- but Mr. Stark-" Peter hesitated in a broken voice, face pale and dirty and with droplets of dried blood near his nose and mouth. He kept looking away, torn what to do and just desperately needing to get to Tony.

"Go!" Steve yelled. There was no pleading note in his voice, just a rough, cold command. The kid was smart, he would understand. Peter took a last glance at Tony and turned around, searching and calling for Doctor Strange.

"Sam?" Steve put a hand to his ear, relieved to find that he still had the communication device on himself. "Sam, if you can hear me, find T'Challa or Shuri, we need to get Tony to Wakanda, now," he gave more orders. He didn't get an answer and his eyes scanned the battlefield looking for anyone he could turn to when the device crackled.

"Copy that," Sam said, cutting the connection.

They had a chance. There still was a chance.

Steve rushed forward, giving coordinates where Tony was, trying to organize everything as quickly and smoothly as possible.

Tony was not going to die. His Tony was not going to die.

***

It was taking forever. Why it was taking so long?

Steve couldn't find his place. He was pacing back and forth along the corridor, his shoulders squared and jaw tight with worry. Pepper and Rhodey were sitting in the corner on the couch, their thighs touching, Rhodey's arm slung over Pepper's back. They were silent and exhausted and worried. Steve looked around. Peter curled on the chair, holding knees close to himself, trying not to break. Bruce, Thor, and Clint remained silent, avoiding everyone's gaze. Even Nebula stayed, leaned against the wall with arms crossed and closed eyes, waiting for news.

The door to the surgery room opened and a female doctor approached them, everyone focusing on her.

"We couldn't save his arm," she said in a thick, Wakandan accent, "but he will live."

Everyone breathed out in relief, but it was Peter who uncurled and yelled out in excitement, getting a scolding look from the doctor and amused ones from the team. Pepper started to smile through her tears and Rhodey hugged her close, not even trying to hold back his own emotions, laughter mixing with sobbing. Steve felt a huge boulder lifting off his arms and the painful grip on his lungs and throat loosening.

Tony would live.

***

"I am sorry about your arm, Tony," Helen said, busying next to Tony's bed, examining his damaged right side. His arm had to be amputated at the shoulder and the damage from using the gauntlet spread all over to his face, leaving a network of scars and damaged tissue. Helen gently examined Tony's face, looking at his jawline and temple area. "After all this radiation exposure, you are still lucky the nerves on your face are intact."

"Yup. Lucky," Tony repeated, nodding to the words. It took days before he got well enough to do basic activities and still was on bed rest, confined to a small and bright room in the medical sector in Wakanda. His tone was light and optimistic and he even smiled at Steve, trying to lighten the mood and not deepen the frown on soldier's face. Steve tried to not look so worried, but it was difficult when he saw the dark network of scars on his boyfriend's body, not even imagining the pain Tony had to endure when he had slid the gauntlet on his arm. He tried smiling back and to match Tony's smile, but it came out as strained and forced and not genuine at all.

"Drink this," Rhodey handed Tony a green smoothie, some special blend of herbs and nutrients to nourish him and help to clear his blood. Tony took it with his left arm and sipped through a straw, not even protesting at the earthy taste. Pepper was also in the room, changing the display of flowers and balloons and 'get well soon' cards that were flooding to Wakanda from all over the world. Iron Man, Earth's best defender. Steve liked that title much more from the famous 'genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist' that stuck to Tony for years.

"I think we can fix this," Helen said, creasing her forehead before smiling and gesturing to the damaged half of Tony’s face and Steve looked hopefully at her. "It will take a long time and a number of sessions in the cradle, but I think we can get a good result with synthetic tissue."

Tony didn't say anything and quietly finished the smoothie. When he was done, he pushed the straw out with his tongue and turned to Helen. "Yeah, great. Maybe except that, let's not do it?" he asked, his voice waving at the last words. The room fell silent and Steve looked in shock at Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey pausing their work.

"Tony, what are you talking about?" Rhodey was the first one to break the silence. Maybe it was the painkillers speaking and Tony was just dazed and not thinking clearly.

"I am thinking that this," he said, using his left hand to point at the scars on his face, "is not lethal. It is not spreading and is under control. Improving this would be just for cosmetic reasons."

Steve stared at Tony is silence. The whole room was silent, and Pepper and Rhodey exchanged worried looks.

"Road accidents. Acid. Burning," Tony listed, not addressing anyone in particular, more of having a conversation with himself. "It all happens all over the world, all the time. And people have to live with it," he touched the damaged skin on his cheek. "Why I should be the one privileged asshole who can get healed while millions of people can't?" he asked, not really waiting for anyone to answer and let the question hang in the air. Then, he turned to Helen. "Your cradle is amazing and will revolutionize the medical industry. Please keep working on it and once it will be available to the public, I will sign in line. And until that happens," he faced Steve on his left, "you will have to get used to me looking like this," he said, sounding minimally sorry and a whole lot sarcastic.

It was the first time Steve had smiled for real in many, many days.

***

Thanks to T'Challa's hospitality, Tony and Steve stayed in Wakanda until the clearing after the battle and rebuilding of the new Avengers compound had been finished. Tony kept healing under the watchful eye of Wakanda's medics and kept working on projects, forming a bond with Shuri and welcomed to used her lab for the time being. Steve trained and sketched and organized a new life for the Avengers and for himself and Tony. The Guardians and Thor left to space, Doctor Strange and Wong retreated to Sanctum Sanctorum and Peter resumed his education, attending school once more like a regular teenager and swinging by the compound whenever he had a chance to visit Tony. Sam went back to VA, and Steve helped him during lectures from time to time, while Bucky enrolled in the group. Soon, Pepper shared the news that she and Happy were expecting and awaiting the birth of their firstborn, Tony calling dibs on being the godfather and Pepper accepted it with a smile, not seeing a different possibility. Slowly, everything went back to normal, the missing pieces falling back in their places.

"You know," Tony yawned, spread comfortably on the couch in the new compound, his missing arm hidden under a black shirt, "if they would put us together, one healthy dude would come out of it," he said, gesturing with his left hand between himself, Rhodey and Bucky.

Steve looked at Tony with a confused expression on his face, the same look mirrored on their friends' faces.

"He would have two pairs of legs, Tony," Rhodey said calmly, closing the fridge and holding a plate with a sandwich on it.

"Kinda like a human centaur," Tony mused out, nodding to himself.

"That is not a thing," Rhodey answered and grinned at Steve, catching his shocked expression. Tony was still on a high dose of painkillers and did tend to say the most random things from time to time.

"Hey, you, one armed bandit!" Tony called, sitting up on the couch. Bucky turned to him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Come here for a sec, I want to look at that arm Shuri made for you," he said, calling Bucky over.

"It is your arm that is missing, not your legs, come here on your own, Two-Face," Bucky retorted, and Steve gagged in panic, trying to scold Bucky solely with a look. Bucky only shrugged, not remorseful at all.

Tony seemed more amused than insulted and turned to Rhodey, hungry eyes focusing on the sandwich before flipping up to his friend. "Sandwich me, Rhodes," Tony said, sounding as flirty and dirty as he just intended to.

Rhodey grimaced, because no, painkillers or not, this just sounded wrong. "Get your own sandwich, Tony," Rhodey replied before Steve had the chance to jump in and offer to make a sandwich for his boyfriend.

"Un-freaking-believable," Tony said, raising his one arm up in a dramatic gesture, that admittedly looked a lot less dramatic. "How many times do I have to almost die for this planet to get some respect around here, not mentioning getting a sandwich-"

"Okay, okay!" Rhodey went back to the kitchen isle, opening the fridge and taking out some deli meat, cheese and mayo, putting it all on a slice of rye bread.

"Don't forget the pickles," Tony called, smiling sweetly when Rhodey send him a sour look. With two plates with sandwiches on, Rhodey walked to the couch, handing Tony one of them.

"Thanks!" Tony beamed a smile and grabbed the sandwich, standing up from the couch and walking away, Rhodey looking after him with a scoff. Tony made it over to Bucky and set next to him instead, too close and not having any issues with barging into Bucky's personal space. He put the sandwich in his mouth and used his free hand to urge the former soldier to put his bionic arm closer for inspection.

Steve put the end of the pencil to his lips and chewed it in thoughts, watching everyone in the room. Rhodey took Tony's place on the couch and bit into the sandwich, while Tony ran his hand delicately over the vibranium lines in Bucky's bionic arm, asking questions in a sandwich obscured hum, Bucky answering the best he could, trying to decipher the words. Steve kept looking in Tony's and Bucky's direction, his heart happy with seeing his boyfriend and best friend being on speaking terms. Still, he would prefer if Bucky was nicer to Tony, who still was in a delicate state and was recovering. Then he realized that Tony would absolutely hate if someone took pity on him and maybe sarcasm responding to sarcasm what was he needed, and not doting over.

***

In front of the team, Tony was coping remarkably well with a missing arm and scarred face. Just sometimes there were situations that gave him more troubles.

Steve heard a thud, when something heavy fell into the sink, a curse following. He waited for another sound and soon heard another thud.

"Babe?" he called in the direction of the adjoined bathroom. "You okay?" he asked, deciding to stay in bed for the time being.

"M'fine…"

Somehow Tony didn't sound fine. It was hard for Steve to accept, but he had to learn to not barge in whenever he suspected that Tony had troubles with everyday tasks. Tony was still capable of taking care of himself and rarely asked for help, unless it was absolutely necessary. Just something in the tone of his voice told Steve that he could use some help... Throwing the covers away, Steve got out of the bed and peered into the bathroom, leaning over the door frame. Tony was turned away from him and saw Steve in the mirror and smiled weakly. In his left hand, he was holding an electric shaver.

"I have some troubles," Tony admitted in a defeated sigh.

Steve clicked his tongue sympathetically, entering the bathroom. No matter the circumstances, Tony Stark had to keep his trademark goatee impeccable. In the last days, Tony had become nicely scruffed and rough, but it was time to get back to his usual look. Just it turned out to be more difficult than he expected.

"Can I do it?" Steve asked, holding Tony by the chin and examining his face. He didn't want it to sound like he was suggesting that Tony couldn't shave on his own. Steve felt that he needed that moment of closeness too. Just to feel connected to Tony again.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, handing him the electric shaver. Steve took it and put away on the shelf.

"Let's do it the traditional way," he smiled gently at his boyfriend, reaching for a disposable razor and his shaving soap in a ceramic bowl.

"You won't get a sharp cut using that thing," Tony grimaced.

"Try me," Steve kept smiling, almost challenging. How Tony could say no to that?

Tony watched Steve dipping the shaving brush into water and shaking it to get some of the excess water off. Then he rubbed the brush in a circular motion over the soap, creating some paste on the tips.

"Give me your hand," Steve asked and Tony reached his hand out, palm upwards. Dropping a few more droplets of water on his skin, Steve pressed the brush in the middle of the palm and swirled it around until the foam became dense and heavy, almost like whipped cream. With long strokes of fingers, Steve applied the foam over brunet’s jaw and neck and anywhere his face became too scruffy. Tony closed his eyes when the razor slid down his skin, getting the hair off and shaping his beard and mustache. Quiet, clinking sound when Steve rinsed the razor in a bowl of clean water from time to time, resuming the process. Steve took his time, trying his best to recall the shape of Tony's goatee. Tony was leaning into his touch, not wincing even once, putting all his trust in Steve and Steve felt a serene, full of love feeling taking over him. It was so domestic and comforting. When Steve was satisfied with the result, he used a damp towel to wipe his boyfriend’s face clean and patted it dry.

"All done," Steve said proudly. Tony opened his eyes and looked into the mirror.

"Huh," he mused out touching his smooth cheek and jawline. Steve even remembered to leave a thin strip of facial hair there, just like he liked it. "Looks good," he smiled at his reflection, turning around. "Thanks."

"Welcome, babe," Steve smiled, leaning down for a kiss. It wasn't aimed at any spot in particular, but Tony still turned, making sure that it would fall on the left side of his face. When Steve kissed his cheek and straightened up, he looked admittedly a little irritated and a lot heartbroken.

"Sweetheart, you know I don't mind it," Steve whispered, meaning Tony's scarred face and neck. Steve really didn't care. Tony seemed to not care either, just in their intimate moments he seemed a bit more self-conscious.

"I know, I know," Tony grimaced, looking back at Steve, a sorry look in his eyes, "I am just not ready yet," he admitted in a quiet voice.

"Okay," Steve smiled softly, agreeing. "I will wait for you to be ready."

After all, there was no rush.

***

"Tony, lunch is ready, we all are waiting for you -" words got stuck in Steve's throat as soon as he entered Tony's workshop and saw his boyfriend. It seemed almost wrong, after months of living and getting used to one-armed Tony, here he was, standing in front of Steve, one arm flesh and bones, other shiny metal.

Tony smiled brightly, pleased with the stunned reaction. He moved his right arm and spread fingers and closed his fist a few times, showing that he had full control over it. "It is enhanced with vibranium," Tony said and Steve remembered the long talks his boyfriend had with the princess back in Wakanda. "Shuri helped. She gave me the blueprints for Bucky's arm so I went through the design, creating something new. Took a few tries before I was satisfied with the result."

Steve walked closer. He was still in awe and looked at the artificial limb attached to his boyfriend, completely stunned.

"So, I think this is what I will be doing in the nearest future. Creating prosthetic limbs. Of course, not vibranium for safety reasons and not as flashy as this one, or maybe flashy, all depends on the wearer-"

"It is amazing," Steve said breathlessly, wanting to touch it, but not daring to. Luckily, Tony understood the need and reached his prosthetic arm in Steve's direction, making the move slow enough to give him time to move away, if he changed his mind. Steve didn't budge and Tony rested the mechanical palm against his cheek, fingers touching his ear. It felt hard and smooth, but not unpleasant.

"It is warm," Steve said, not expecting that.

"It is temperature controlled. It is set to match my body temperature, but I can make it hotter or colder, up to a point where it can change into a weapon," Tony explained.

Steve put his hand on the artificial wrist and slid his hand down, cupping the elbow. It was smooth and flawless, its dimensions matching Tony's left arm perfectly.

Just…

"Is this your everyday arm?" Steve asked carefully, unsure if he worded himself correctly. The prosthetic was hot red almost up to the elbow, inner arm was gold and the part near Tony's tank top was red again. Almost like in Mark 3. Iron Man classic armor.

"Yeah," Tony laughed, "because I am -"

"Iron Man," Steve finished, smiling with joy. "You are Iron Man."

"I am Iron Man," Tony confirmed a proud note hearable in his voice, before it was gone, replaced by hesitation, "but I was thinking that maybe for a while I could not be Iron Man and you could not be Captain America? That maybe we could settle somewhere calm, maybe in a secluded house near a lake or something-"

And Tony didn't finish, Steve already pulling him into a kiss. He was carried on the moment and cupped Tony's face with both hands, lips meeting long and sweet. When he drew away, his gaze was soft and full of love, but the look was quickly gone when he realized where his hands were.

“Shit, sorry-” Steve said quickly, withdrawing from the touch. To his surprise, Tony stopped him and held his hands in place with his own hands, one palm pressed to healthy skin held by a warm hand, the other to his scarred cheek and ear held by the prosthetic arm. It was a new feeling and a bit confusing, but Steve focused on Tony’s brown eyes and soft lips instead. After all, it was still Tony. His Tony.

"So, that's a yes to my idea, right?" Tony asked after the kiss ended, just to be sure.

Steve only smiled and kissed him once more, whispering 'yes' over and over again.

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