#star trek voyager fic

[grissomesque]

More of the Same @trektober-challenge: Day 3, 'Promotion.'

“It’s just that it’s so out of the blue,” Harry says. “Did you do something I don’t know about?”

Tom affects a wounded expression. “It can’t just be my roguish charm? My boyish good looks?”

It’s on the tip of Harry’s tongue to point out that Tom was only promoted because he’d first earned a demotion—so, no, it can’t­—when Janeway rounds the corner, wearing that small smirk that spells trouble.

“Gentlemen,” she nods, then pauses. Murmurs, “Not only that, Mister Paris,” and saunters off.

Harry feels his ears warm and redden, as Tom breaks into a wide grin.

[alphaflyer]

WIP Meme: Ooo what is Proof of Life? (Who is asking for it? And proof of who's life?? And what proof are they gonna get???)

*cough with embarrassment*

This one is my Big Failure, my Waterloo, my Semi-Eternal Writing Shame. That time I started posting before having most of the story at least partially written, and then lost the voices...

It's a Star Trek Voyager story, part of my post-Endgame (end of series) world for the characters, focused on Tom Paris, and was intended as the third in a trilogy involving the Orion crime syndicate. The first two, I thought, were pretty good, even though they were written close to the beginning of my writing journey. (They're called Off the Shoulder of Orion and After the Ashes.) Naturally, I started a third...

You will remember I had issues with the third in my Avengers/Bond series - this time, though, I didn't have an @inkvoices to make me an inspirational video! :P

So by the time we get to Proof of Life (I won't link to it because it's only on FFN and the last thing I need is more plaintive "ARE YOU EVER GOING TO FINISH THIS THING??" PMs), Tom Paris has seriously pissed off the Orion syndicate. They abduct his Dad, Admiral Owen Paris, mostly so they can lure him somewhere where they can take sweet, slow, nasty revenge for his interference with their business model. So it's Owen's life we need proof of. What proof are they gonna get? Well, that would be telling... :P

I've posted 4 Chapters; here is an excerpt of the unpublished, unfinished Chapter 5 - proof of life, as it were, that the thing is still "in progress" and may one day see the light of the Alpha Quadrant (yes, my pseud is based on Voyager!) Note I was still writing in the past tense then, which frankly is part of my problem in recovering momentum, and using rather more adjectives than I do these days:

__________

“So what do you plan on doing then, Tom?” 

Ah, there it was.  Somehow he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask, but of course that had been a tad optimistic.  On the contrary, B’Elanna’s fiery dark eyes had not left his face; she studied him intently, looking for a crack, a weakness that she could explore.

“Talk to them in a language they understand, I guess,” Tom finally replied, his lips tight and his hands clenching into fists.  There, he’d said it.  “Take something they value as much as they think the Federation and I value my father.  Offer a trade.”

[kitkatt0430]

So Voyager returns to the Alpha Quadrant, huzzah! Party time.

And Starfleet does throw a big party in their honor to welcome back. Very formal, lots of ambassadors, a lot of the Voyager crew is quietly bored with it thirty minutes in. Where's the fun in fancy hors d’oeuvres if you can't play 'guess the mystery ingredients from the most recent trade agreement/away mission?'

Anyway, the crew of the Enterprise is there because they're in their post-Dominion War Flag Waving era. And of course, Picard is expecting a number of things from a typical Starfleet party of very fancy standards. What he was not expecting was Q and Q Jr. to show up in a flash of light or for Jr. to throw his arms around the shoe-in-to-be-Admiral Janeway and exclaim 'Aunt Kathy! You made it home, and early too. That was cheating!"

Janeway sends the teenage looking Q to go hang out with Icheb, the quiet part-borg kid who has been strategically hiding in a corner with access to punch bowl and the nibbles with the most easily identifiable ingredients. Icheb proceeds to perk up and calls Q Jr. Q-Ball. Jr. calls him Itchy. Seven of Nine, who has been quietly shadowing Icheb and scowling in such a way that she has one yard of clearance on all sides at all times, unless a Voyager crew member or her aunt come over to talk to her, turns a very narrow-eyed gaze on Jr that the young Q is clearly unsettled by. (If he gets Icheb hurt again, no power on this plane of existence could save Q Jr. from Seven and he knows it.)

Q and Janeway watch fondly, chatting about the whereabouts of Lady Q and how the Continuum is doing lately and Janeway occasionally shutting down Q's attempts to flirt with her. For whatever reason, Janeway still agrees to dance with Q and laughs when he changes the music with a snap to something they can waltz to.

Picard is trying to figure out if he can sidle out one of the exits before Q notices him. As is basically the rest of the Enterprise lead staff. Finding out that Q made Janeway godmother to his son is quite possibly the most surreal part of the evening for Picard and that includes when Q gets bored with the music a few waltzes later and turns the whole thing into a disco.

Meanwhile Riker learns he was actually brought to Voyager by Q once and then made to forget it and is thus considered an honorary Voyager crew member along with Barclay. Riker decides he's cool with that and helps plan the after party with Tom and Harry. (He also tries to talk Harry into starting a jazz band with him.)

[what-happens-to-the-heart]

Check Out Second fic for May 10!

A very angsty look at Unity 🥳😈

My first year dipping my toe into the angst-iness of The Merry Month of Cohen! I decided to test the waters by lightly torturing Chakotay and wondering what really happened during and after Unity. Thank you to @what-happens-to-the-heart for all the fun 💛

Details below the cut!

Title: She Leads You to the River

Rating: General

Ship(s): N/A

Tags: Angst, Medical Trauma, Medical Inaccuracies, Post-Episode s03e17 Unity

Summary:

“It hasn’t been anything like this, but I have been having headaches for a while. Not too bad, but more than usual. Every week or so.”

But when is anything usual in the Delta Quadrant?

[leohtttbriar]

this episode starts from the point of view of the automated unit and then we see b'elanna's face her careful attention and then the voices of security and discovery appear over her shoulders and she makes her argument. and it's all from the explicit point of view of the automated unit. like the viewer is the object of interest--and it's ominous because the characters don't know they're being watched but it's also like, the robot is helpless, no matter what happens next. and we get to watch b'elanna's curiosity reach out from that point of view. as the helpless unit.

[aquamonstra]

Janeway every time she talks to Tom and Harry:

(shout out to @muiromem for the inspo 😂)

[trillscienceofficer]

Star Trek: Voyager 6x04 Tinker Tenor Doctor Spy B'Elanna, Harry and Seven

[milf-horta]

do you guys think that buster kincaid/captain proton was the spirk of the star trek universe. were the 1930s housewives writing procaid porn for zines and creating fandom culture

[ebonysolcum]

So, according to “Latent Image”, Janeway and Chakotay attended the same event some time before getting lost in the Delta Quadrant which means they canonically could have met before “Caretaker”.

And yet I haven’t seen a single fic about that potential alternate meeting …

[singeart]

[bumblingbabooshka]

What if one night Chakotay is coming back from dinner with B'Elanna and as he walks the dimly lit halls he thinks about the old days, days he and B'Elanna were just talking about, laughing about, and how she brought up one specific moment about the only time she ever heard Tuvok sing. He was there, Chakotay was the one who encouraged him to. It was in a moment of good cheer (rare in those days), they were celebrating something (rare in those days) and Chakotay had been hanging back, listening just outside the fire's reach. He can't remember the exact details, they weren't important at the time, just that a few of his crew were teasing, asking Tuvok to sing since they knew he played the lute and he was being resistant. Then Chakotay stepped forward and encouraged him to (a smiling "don't make me make that an order" joke) saying it'd be good for morale - even if he wasn't any good. Chakotay had been right, it had been good for morale. But instead of adding to the exuberant cheer, Tuvok's song had brought with it a certain...silence. A wistfulness. And Chakotay had found himself thinking of his father, his home, and for a moment he knew if he closed his eyes he'd be able to feel as if it was all right there in front of him again. But he didn't, he kept his eyes on the Vulcan. He might have been the only one. He was certainly the only one Tuvok gave his attention to when the song was done. "Was that satisfactory?" he'd asked, a challenge to his tone. He could hear the pride beneath it. "Well? How was that?" in his Vulcan way. As Chakotay passes Janeway's quarters he can hear it. Music. Tuvok's voice sobering the air and stilling the commander. He stops right outside the door and listens, realizing how tired he is. He knows without having to ask that Tuvok will never sing for him again. He'd never order it so if he wants to hear it he'll have to content himself with this: Listening to bits and pieces of another person's song. It's still beautiful. He closes his eyes and he can see...about half of it, if he rounds up. Half of what he lost is right there in front of him. Maybe the other half is the captain's. Or Tuvok's. Chakotay continues on before the song ends. He doesn't want to be there, waiting outside the door, when the hall falls silent.

[grissomesque]

• words: 5,782 (2/?)

• rating: M

• relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris

• tags: Workforce Parts 1-2 (Star Trek: Voyager), Academy Era, The Billings, Picard Season 3, (Jack Crusher will not be making an appearance), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Canonical P/T, Unrequited J/C, Star Trek Beta Canon References, Romance, Angst, (But not yet!), Finding each other over and over and over

• summary: He opens his mouth to speak and then stops, frowning a little. A pang of something trips through her chest.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “You just looked so familiar for a second there.”

This is not how their story starts. But it’s how it starts on Quarra. 

Inspired by Leonard Cohen's "By the Rivers Dark," for the Merry Month of Cohen.

[cactusnymph]

A Former Borg And A Half-Klingon Walk Into A Bar

“You did not tell me that we would be going to a bar”, Seven says in that tone of hers that always sounds judgmental, no matter what she says. And, as always, it pisses B’Elanna off.

“I don’t want to be here anymore than you do, alright? I was volunteered.”

“You would think that after all that time in the Delta Quadrant there would be more Klingons in Starfleet to be ‘volunteered’ for this sort of mission”, Seven responds, looking around warily. Her hair is in its usual perfect updo and she’s wearing—well. At least she’s not wearing one of her usual cat suits. But to say that she’s dressed well for the occasion would go a little too far. She looks extremely bland, dressed in a dark sort of suit.

B’Elanna thinks that maybe someone should have briefed her better on what exactly it is that they’re doing down here.

“Open some of those buttons”, B’Elanna says, gesturing at Seven’s button up shirt. Seven raises one perfect eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“Your buttons. You look like a business woman who took a wrong turn. This is a Klingon bar. If people in there are supposed to believe that you came here voluntarily you have to slut it up a little”, B’Elanna says. Seven’s eyebrow raises even further.

“’Slut it up’?”, she answers.

“Have you met Klingons? All they do is fight and fuck. So if you want to go in there and not do the fighting, you have to look like you’re there for the fucking.”

There is a pause in which B’Elanna thinks that Seven is going to punch her in the face or simply turn around and leave. Instead, she slowly raises her hand to undo four buttons of her shirt, revealing a terribly perfect cleavage. B’Elanna was never self-conscious about her body—aside from its Klingon features, of course—but standing next to Seven can make even the most confident woman feel a little lackluster.

She nods emphatically and tousles up her own hair while Seven stares at her unblinkingly.

“What?”

“I am simply trying to infer how your clothes look as if you are here to ‘fuck’”, she says. B’Elanna crosses her arms in front of her chest. She’s wearing simple dark pants and a vest that shows off her toned biceps.

“Seven. No offense. But this is a lesbian bar. Lesbians love a good biceps.”

Another pause.

“Lesbian. As in homosexual female Klingons.”

B’Elanna can’t help but snort.

“Yes. Why else did you think they would send you here? Could’ve gone with… I don’t know. Someone who���s not a walking fridge.”

“I assume that many biceps in this bar will be more impressive than yours, seeing as to how you are only half Klingon”, Seven says and B’Elanna could swear that there’s the hint of a smirk beginning to form in the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah, what can I say. I’m counting on being a fuckable novelty. Let’s go. And try not to look so—well. Like you.”

Being back on Earth has allowed B’Elanna many things. Taking a guest teaching job at the academy, getting back in touch with some old friends and also… well. Getting to know some of her new friends better now that they’re back home. She’s spent an astounding amount of time with Harry, seeing as to how the two of them couldn’t be more different. And after a while off from the whole Starfleet thing, she also decided to go back to active duty, ending up more often than not with Seven.

B’Elanna never thought she’d ever help anyone else adept to Starfleet Academy or find herself arguing on behalf of it or going on an undercover extraction mission with Seven to a lesbian Klingon bar. But when the Captain asks nicely, B’Elanna is bad at saying no. She owes that woman so much.

“Would it not make more sense to pretend that we are a homosexual couple”, Seven says, pulling B’Elanna out of her thoughts and back into the real world in which Seven’s cleavage is very distracting and the Klingon hard-rock coming from inside the bar is still very loud.

Now it’s her time to pause.

“You want to pretend to be a couple. With me”, she says.

Ah, there’s that eyebrow again.

“It seems the most logical course of action. And I would, in fact, not need to look as if I was searching for sexual conquest if I am already there with a partner.”

B’Elanna can’t help but laugh about that, but she decides that maybe now is not the best time to explain the Klingon love for an orgy or the concept of polyamory to her. Instead she grabs Seven’s arm and puts it around her own shoulder before she loops her own arm around Seven’s waist.

“Well then, Ensign. Are you ready to be a lesbian?”, she asks.

“I do not think—“

“It was a joke, Seven. Loosen up.”

“Right. A joke”, Seven says, not commenting on how she has never loosened up in her life or how ‘I am Borg. I do not loosen up’. B’Elanna thinks it to herself and chuckles quietly, trying not to think about how well they actually fit together like this as they step towards the bouncers—two enormous Klingon women, wearing very little—and push open the doors.

The music thrums inside B’Elannas ribcage as they make their way towards the bar. Most of the women in here are drinking bloodwine, but there are some non-Klingons who carry fancy, colorful drinks that sparkle in the low light. B’Elanna takes note of the brawls taking place over in a corner, of the door to a separate room that probably leads to something Seven has never seen before in her entire life, Borg or no Borg, and she scans the room for their target.

“I have found our target”, Seven says next to B’Elanna. “She is sitting at one of the round tables, playing what looks to be a game involving daggers and three very lightly dressed women.”

B’Elanna doesn’t need much longer to find Sukav Resh after that particular description. She is indeed surrounded by three women who wear barely more than leather underwear and some jewelry that proudly and clearly proclaims their sexual preferences to the entire room. Most people out in these types of bars wear it. It’s not because Klingon’s are too shy to ask, they simply value efficiency. Threatening someone and buying them drinks to get laid only to find out that they’re not compatible with you is a waste of time for everyone.

“Should we attempt to join in this knife game to get the information we need?”, Seven asks and B’Elanna can’t help it. It’s simply all a little surreal.

“Would you say that you’re a submissive bottom looking to be thrown across a room, bitten extensively and spanked all night?”, she asks.

“I am unclear what my own sexual preferences have to do with our target”, Seven says, looking puzzled. B’Elanna wishes it was easier to rile her up. No fun at all.

“The women she has at her table all wear jewelry signaling that that’s what they’re looking for and look at Resh’s chains and the metal piece on her right hand. She’s signaling that she’s looking for someone to rough up, to put it mildly. So I doubt she’d want us there unless we advertise ourselves as such”, B’Elanna says, stepping up to the bar and shouting at the barmaid in Klingon to get her attention and buy her and Seven a drink.

“You have extensive knowledge about these things, Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna hands Seven a drink.

“I dabbled. Back in my academy days.”

“Dabbled”, Seven repeats. “You have had many relations with male crew-members over the course of our journey, but none with female crew-members.”

“Seven, I’m not going to discuss my sexual preferences with you while we’re on a job”, B’Elanna says and Seven opens her mouth, closes it again and sniffs her drink before pulling a face that makes B’Elanna laugh.

“That’ll put some chest on your chest”, she says with a big grin and throws her drink back.

“I doubt that I need more ‘chest’ on my chest”, Seven says and it makes B’Elanna laugh more. She looks at Seven’s cleavage and then back up.

“Yeah. Maybe not.”

Seven sips her drink and looks as if she would love nothing more than to spit it back out. But, like a brave Klingon warrior, Seven swallows her small sip and then turns her back to Sukav Resh.

“If you have intricate knowledge of these… mating rituals. Then we should make use of them to get to the target. What kind of jewelry do I need to—signal all of that. What you said before.”

“You mean that you’re a submissive bottom who wants to be—“

“Yes. That”, Seven interrupts. Maybe her cheeks look a little red, but maybe it’s just the drink or the lighting. Either way, B’Elanna finds herself weirdly charmed by it. It’s not often that you see Seven of Nine even remotely flustered.

“You don’t have to do it. I doubt you’d survive two seconds at that table. I can do it. I’ll get the information we need and when I have it we’ll find the backroom they do their business in”, B’Elanna says, opening up her vest and starting to rummage around in her pockets. She finds what she’s looking for and hands Seven a heavy necklace while she puts three metal bracelets on her left wrist.

“You had all of this at home”, Seven says and it’s not a question. B’Elanna does not comment on it. She takes Seven’s drink from her, throws the rest of it back and then tousles her own hair some more before walking over to where Sukav Resh is sitting. She can immediately feel herself be appraised as she approaches and there’s a familiar tingle that makes its way up her spine and back down into her fingertips.

It’s been a very long time since B’Elanna went to a bar like this and what Seven said is true. But it’s surprisingly easy to fall back into old habits, even if those habits have been put away for a long time. She has no idea what Seven is up to, if she’s watching or buying another drink. The dagger in Resh’s hand spins and B’Elanna smiles before she punches one of the women sitting at Resh’s table square in the face, sending her backwards over a chair.

“So. I can see there’s a seat free here”, she says, grabbing the drink of the woman she just hit and throwing it back. Resh stares up at her and then she starts laughing, hitting the table with one hand.

“I can appreciate some healthy competition. You here to play?”, she asks, looking at the bracelets on B’Elanna’s wrist and the chain dangling between her boobs.

“Why else would I sit here?”, she says, holding out her hand for the dagger. Resh’s grin grows sharp as she hands it over.

“Well then. Let’s play.”

*

One of the reasons why B’Elanna stopped going to these kinds of bars is because of her non-existent ability to regulate her own risk-seeking behavior. Getting through the academy days was already shitty enough without running to the medical facilities every second weekend. The looks of the nurses when they saw the bite marks were usually enough to make B’Elanna’s skin crawl with old, internalized issues she never really dealt with.

Being thrown back into it is… weird. And thrilling. B’Elanna likes being rough and she likes it the other way around too, she simply has a preference of roughing up men and being roughed up by women. Seven doesn’t need to know that. B’Elanna might have thought about Seven being just as strong as a Klingon with her Borg enhancements. Usually the people B’Elanna fights—or fucks—can’t hold a candle to her strength. Most of them are humans.

But Seven could probably—well. It doesn’t matter. It’s not a road B’Elanna should go down. She has a job to do and a kid to raise with a husband she’s getting divorced from. Adding sexual desires for her former Borg colleague to the mix would simply complicate things too much.

After half an hour B’Elanna is tipsy bordering on drunk, has three minor stab wounds in her arm and has been promoted to sit on Resh’s right thigh. This is definitely not how she saw the night going. She has the info. But she needs an out so she can reconvene with Seven to find the backroom for that damned business transaction. Resh grabs B’Elanna’s chin roughly and turns it towards her face. B’Elanna maybe licks her lips, trying her hardest to remember that she’s here on a mission and that she’s on duty—but she doesn’t have to ponder this for very long, because right as she’s about to elbow her way out of this situation, she’s pulled out of Resh’s lap and before B’Elanna can say anything to stop it, Resh is thrown halfway across the room.

“The game is over”, Seven says, cheeks a little flushed and hair in slight disarray. It looks really good on her.

“What are you doing?”, B’Elanna hisses, trying not to stare at Seven’s cleavage or to think about how hot it is that Seven can throw a Klingon across a room as if they weigh nothing. Thankfully Klingons love bar brawls, fights and any kind of violence, so the second Resh is thrown over to the dance-floor, three full brawls erupt and they manage to duck away into one of the side rooms.

“Do you have the information”, Seven says, making her question sound like a statement as she’s so often want to do.

“I do. I could have gotten out of there by myself, you know”, she says, feeling a little flustered. Seven raises one eyebrow.

“I am sure you could have. But I was being propositioned by nine different women while you were gone and I was tired of waiting.”

B’Elanna snorts and looks around.

“The backroom is down this corridor. Third door on the right”, B’Elanna says, looking around. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here—“

Right on cue there’s a commotion at the entrance of the corridor and some shouting about “They went that way!” and B’Elanna doesn’t really have any great ideas aside from the one.

“Follow my lead”, she hisses and grabs Seven by the collar. Seven looks quizzical, eyes darting around to find an out. There is none. So B’Elanna does the only thing she can think of to justify them being in this corridor without immediately being thrown out by a bunch of angry Klingon lesbians.

She tucks on Seven’s collar, hard, pulling her down and forward before she presses herself against the wall, hoping that Seven gets the gist of it. The seconds their mouths collide Seven makes a sound that is half surprise, half something else and B’Elanna finds herself reveling in it, blood boiling and heat rushing through her body.

Seven’s lips are incredibly soft and incredibly clumsy.

But despite her obvious discomfort and surprise, she reacts immediately, grabbing B’Elanna’s wrists and pinning them to the wall above her head. B’Elanna tries to tug on them and yes. It would take her serious effort to get out of this. She makes a big show to struggle against Seven’s grip, kissing her hard and with most likely too much tongue and teeth for Seven’s liking, but the second the voices come closer and two people stare down the corridor there’s just loud laughter and some crude whistling before the women disappear to leave them to their make-out session.

B’Elanna almost forgets that this is her colleague and that they’re undercover, because her tongue in Seven’s mouth feels incredible and the tight grip restraining her is making her heart soar. Seven’s boobs are pressed up against her and… yeah. It’s hot. Hot as fuck.

The second they’re alone in the corridor again Seven releases B’Elanna’s grip and pulls back from the kiss. Her cheeks are bright red now and her hair has given up on staying tied up entirely. B’Elanna thinks she should wear it like this more often. They stare at each other, both of them breathing hard.

B’Elanna licks her lips.

“Sorry. That was my only idea”, she says a little sheepishly. Seven swallows visibly, then turns her head away.

“I will live”, she says, deadpan. B’Elanna laughs, a little breathlessly. So they make their way down the corridor and B’Elanna tries to think as clearly as possible through the alcohol and the aroused haze that has taken over her brain now.

There’s a beat of silence as they inch forward. Then.

“Will you explain the jewelry to me after this is over? For… scientific research.”

B’Elanna has to stifle a laugh and presses a fist against her mouth. The mouth that was just kissing Seven a few seconds ago.

“Sure thing, Seven. I can help you do some research.”

This mission definitely didn’t go as B’Elanna expected. But apparently that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

[newearthresolutions]

i wish there had been a movie set like a year after voyager’s return for so may reasons including all the obvious ones like seeing how everyone is coping (and seeing chakotay and seven break up and chakotay and janeway get married ahem). but mainly because i would’ve LOVED to see the cultural impact of miss janeway on the alpha quadrant. all the posters and the little girls emulating her hairstyle. the starfleet enrolment numbers going through the roof. the parasocial j/c girlies being just like me fr but worse because she’s a real person in their universe. it would’ve been fantastic and she would’ve hated every minute of it.

[remholder]

decided to drag myself out of some serious art block by drawing one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite fics: The Borg Have Never Looked So Good In Sciences Blue by @wickedheadache

though i will admit i took some liberties

[leohtttbriar]

ELANI: If Vulcans don't feel anything, does that mean you don't love them?  TUVOK: My attachment to my children cannot be described as an emotion. They are part of my identity, and I am incomplete without them.  “Innocence,” Voyager

for all that spock was conceived and framed as the voice of abstract reason in TOS, the way they created the biology and culture of vulcans is so much more sensual than it seems most star trek productions want to explicitly depict. by my read of this alien conceit, they have to be the most sensual based on the fact that they are portrayed as the most in control. this requires a conscious awareness of the body and its movements in the world and its internal functions and its relationship to other bodies and what it means to sense anything at all, how to categorize it, how to draw meaning from it, etc.

anyway it makes me emotional that this is the language tuvok uses to describe his devotion to his children. it always annoys me when fans and showrunners alike make the “unemotional aliens” into the “repressed aliens”, implying the absence of an emotion expressed is always the utter smothering of it. but this small description (“i am incomplete without them”) could be argued is either about an abstract expression or an embodied one and i think it really tries to imagine what it means to define oneself through Logic. and it’s not less for not being a love “felt” or even named “love at all—it’s interesting and good.