#[in which airi is a space diplomat]

[airi-of-hearts]

✨🪐💫 A Field of Stars ✨🪐💫

A story set in a galaxy far, far away…well, many of them. Written for the aib server prompt: Sci-Fi AU

The view from her penthouse in Imperial City was breathtaking. Airi had lived there for a few years and she was still overwhelmed by the vastness of it. Coruscant, the Jewel of the Core Worlds; trillions of citizens, human and alien alike. The city-planet had become the hub of galactic culture, education, finance, fine arts, politics and technology.

But Airi hadn’t moved there to flaunt wealth or mingle with high society, her reason was more pragmatic: Coruscant was home to the Senate Building, if she took her Diplomat career seriously, this is where she had to be. She wouldn’t be heard anywhere else.

So far, it hasn’t been exactly easy to earn her spot. Well-established–and frankly, old–Senators are always ready to tell her she’s too young, too inexperienced, her ideas too harsh, too radical, too alienating.

Kovacs had warned her this would happen. Takeshi Kovacs, a former Protectorate Envoy turned bounty hunter, the man she once believed would be the love of her life. Even then, he had been just another man telling her what she couldn’t do.

Well, fuck him. Fuck them all.

Airi paced from the living space to her bedroom and back again, reciting her next speech under her breath. She would speak at the Senate the next day and there was no room for error.

She raised her voice when he reached her main idea. ‘Just because the elites have made Neon City into their playground where anything goes, that doesn’t mean illegal activities should be tolerated. Crimes related to the drug known as Aurora don’t affect these rich tourists as much as they affect the lives and livelihoods of the most vulnerable sections of the population, and this has to stop.’ She would have to modulate her voice some more, she was almost yelling by the end of it.

People–other diplomats, even Senators–usually asked her why she cared that much about a random city many galaxies away. Well, she would tell them, for one thing she was not going to stand for injustice anywhere. And for another, that was her hometown.

The pleasure city of Neon was a tourist trap that catered to the extravagant tastes of those who could afford all that the city had to offer. And for the locals? Not a lot of options outside fishing for Chasmbass, the source for the hallucinogenic drug Aurora.

Airi might still live there, working for Xenofresh Fisheries if she was lucky, if it hadn’t been for her parents. Her mother wanted her to have a real education, so she’d sent Airi off-world under the care of the Protectorate to study.

It wasn’t as if her life in Neon was too bad, Airi’s father worked for a ship manufacturing company and slowly but steadily managed to rise through their ranks. Meanwhile, as a young girl, Airi spent her days roaming the mean streets of Neon, befriending (or bothering) the hardworking denizens at Ikuchi market, mapping the Ebbside, even venturing into the Underbelly on occasion… and picking up useful skills on the way; she still had a knack for picking locks and hacking into terminals.

A soft beep made her turn around, bringing her back from her memories.

BB-8, the astromech droid that had adopted her (Airi was convinced of this, she hadn’t chosen the little round droid, he had chosen her), had stopped rolling around after her when he realized the pacing would take hours, but he still seemed to be complaining.

‘I know, I know. I won’t be too harsh tomorrow. Well, I will try,’ Airi said, patting the robot.

She hoped she could keep her promise. Her outspokenness had attracted attention from the moment she started speaking up. It earned her many supporters, but many enemies as well. Important ones, the kind who could hire someone to kill her, they had already tried. Why? Well, rich people don’t like it when their source of income is threatened. But as Airi saw it, getting that reaction meant she was going the right way.

Besides, the United Colonies backed her up. They had even sent some of their best Vanguard members to protect her. Which reminded her…

‘Cheer up, BB. We’ll go on a little adventure soon enough.’

After the Senate session, Airi would travel to Neon. She knew some Senators would demand tangible proof of the illegal activities that Airi was denouncing, they wouldn’t ask her to go to Neon City outright but they would heavily imply it, so she had beaten them to the punch, by making travel arrangements. They surely hoped she would suffer some terrible accident over there, but Airi had already contacted the UC.

‘You will meet a member of the Vanguard there,’ the UC contact told her. They hadn’t said who it was. She hoped it was Andrómeda.

Incoming message, the androgynous voice of her penthouse’s AI announced. Airi let the first few words play over the speakers before deleting it. An invitation to a fancy dinner. A date.

She had much to do and… Who had time for love anyway?

[deepspacedukat]

Dripping With Affection

I mean...were you expecting me to leave my Romulan husband off of my SoC list? I'll take any excuse to write about Letant. Enjoy!

Day 26: Come Marking

SoC prompt list here. SoC Masterlist here. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Letant (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies sex, Human/Romulan sex, established relationship, slight jealousy (kind of?), possessive language, possessive behavior, come marking, dom!Letant, sub!reader, risk of getting caught, quickie, sex on a desk.

~*~

I could feel his glare from across the room. As palpable as the sun's rays, my husband's emotions were just as blatantly visible today as they were the day we met. I had to force myself to take a sip of my drink to hide my amused smile.

Letant had stepped away for barely a moment to speak with one of his colleagues about a private little war - political, of course - kissing my cheek and promising to return shortly. Almost as soon as he parted from me, a man's voice had sounded from beside me. Because of the high number of government officials present at this state gathering, there was plenty of security, so I wasn't exactly alarmed to find myself face-to-face with someone I didn't immediately recognize.

"My goodness, what is a lovely lady like yourself doing alone?" A rather short, plump Romulan man with cold, roving, steel-gray eyes offered what felt like a faux smile. "Perhaps I should keep you company. After all, it wouldn't do for your head to be turned by the wrong person."

I hadn't wanted to humor this stranger - in fact, I wanted to slap him for being so presumptuous - but for the sake of my husband's political career and reputation, I had to be as diplomatic as I could. Attempting to laugh off his comment in an airy, casual sort of manner, I stated that my husband hadn't left me without my own means of protection.

Though the man didn't disengage, he seemed a little more subdued, opting to make conversation rather than push his luck. He was well-behaved...for a little bit, at least. I glanced up at one of the many clocks around the room, which had been set up to keep the many officials there on schedule, and found that I'd been talking with him for twenty minutes.

How long could one man talk? I'd mostly tuned him out, nodding silently at his comments without really processing them, but something he said brought me back from my bored stupor.

"You know, if your husband doesn't come back soon, I may just have to take you off his hands. He doesn't deserve such a patient partner. How often does he leave you alone?"

My mouth dropped open, and I had no doubt that surprise was written all over my face - not at the man's second attempt at flirtation, but at his brazenness. To even imply that he'd try something like that with a Senator's wife was one thing, but to state it outright as he'd just done...oh, Letant would rip him apart.

Allowing a cold, disbelieving smirk to stretch my lips, I tilted my head slightly and addressed him.

"Are you actually foolish enough to believe that you'd survive that?"

"Survive what, my love?" Relief barrelled through me when Letant's arms encircled my waist from behind and drew me back against his torso. The man who'd been bothering me suddenly looked considerably paler than before, and his smile seemed quite brittle. "Have you been blustering again, Rakor? How sad. I thought you'd moved past your need to overcompensate for your stature."

A huff of laughter escaped me as Letant nuzzled the space behind my ear.

"If you'll excuse us, I need a word with my wife." The Senator didn't even pretend to wait for an answer, choosing instead to whisk me out the double doors, down the hall, and into a small, empty office in the span of what felt like barely a breath. Cupping my face gently, Letant gazed into my eyes. "You looked uncomfortable speaking with him. Tell me what happened."

What could I do but obey? As I spoke, I watched his expression harden into something dangerous.

"He's fortunate that I didn't snap his neck," he hissed lifting me into his arms. Letant carried me across the room and deposited me atop a desk. "I knew I should've done this before we came here tonight."

Before I could ask what he meant, his lips claimed mine, and I found myself melting beneath his touch. With practiced ease, the Senator tugged the hem of my dress up and brushed his fingertips over my lace-covered vulva. The intensity of his passion coupled with the movements of his skillful, dexterous fingers had me drenched and arching into his touch within mere moments.

I opened my mouth to beg, but before I could utter a syllable, voices sounded from just outside the door. We both froze until the noisy conversation had moved out of earshot, but he didn't move away. If anything, he seemed more determined.

"Anyone could walk in–"

"Yes, they could, but we both know you enjoy this kind of risk," he murmured grasping my jaw as the hand between my legs slipped beneath my panties. He wasted no time, slipping two fingers inside my embarrassingly slick entrance and curling them with precision.

My mate was always passionate, but as he moaned against my neck, I could tell that this desire ran deeper, delving into a much rarer, more primitive sort of hunger. He pulled my pleasure from me in record time, stealing away my screams with a well-timed kiss.

While I was still gasping from my climax, Letant tugged the crotch of my panties to the side, freed his length, and thrust his lok into me.

"So perfect for me, e'lev...such a good girl," he breathed threading his fingers into my hair as he set a fast, unrelenting pace. Smiling against his lips, I recalled how passionate he'd been last night. It wasn't as though there was a lack of opportunity for us to be intimate, yet every time we were drawn to near desperation in our pursuit of pleasure.

Pulling a second orgasm from me as easily as breathing, Letant tilted my head back and watched with relish as I fell apart on his lok. Trembling in his arms, I grasped at his tunic and bit my lip hard to keep myself quiet.

"Whose are you?" His gaze was so intense that it felt as though he was staring into my soul. The grip on the back of my head tightened just a fraction as his hips sped up, chasing his own end.

"Yours," I promised, and Letant muffled a shout against my neck as he reached his peak. The first warm spurt coated my inner walls, but he quickly pulled out and tugged my panties down just far enough to shoot the rest of his come on the inside of the fabric. I couldn't help but whimper when he slipped my underwear back in place. Swallowing the sound with his lips, he hummed contentedly against my mouth.

"There. That ought to remind any overly curious parties to whom you belong," he murmured as he tucked himself away and helped me fix my dress. I got shakily to my feet, and my husband caught my waist to steady me. His lips brushed over my cheek in a barely there kiss. "Careful, now. You're not allowed to collapse. At least, not before I can parade my freshly-scented wife through a ballroom full of dignitaries."

~*~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes @emilie786 @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

[disneymbti]

Mal and Ben from the Descendants franchise, if you don't mind?

Hi there, sweetie! I really hope you like this a lot!

Mal Bertha's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ISFP [The Adventurer]

ISFP types need plenty of personal space. Though they enjoy building connections with people, they need alone time to think and recharge.

They are very observant, especially focusing on the details more than the overall view. They live in the present and tend to base decisions on what they can see right now.

Adventurers also prioritize emotion when making decisions. They prefer to follow what feels right.

They don’t like schedules, but instead prefer to keep their options open. They are adaptable, spontaneous, and like to challenge the need for strict rules.

Big Three: Virgo Sun, Scorpio Moon and Capricorn Rising

Virgo Sun: Governed by communication planet Mercury, Virgos are the thinkers of the zodiac. Virgos process information with diligence and use facts to solve problems. 

Scorpio Moon: Scorpio Moons are known for their brooding nature that exudes passion. Once you win them over, they are loyal and unconditional in matters of love.

Capricorn Rising: Capricorn ascendants are known for their efforts and diligence when it comes to attaining success and prosperity. 

Enneagram Type: 9w8 [The Advisor]

Basic Fear: Nine wing eights are afraid of being separated from the world. They avoid this by preventing conflict; however, their eight wing also encourages them to be assertive, which can create an internal tension.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to be internally balanced. They seek to be at peace with themselves and others.

Advisors defend themselves by numbing their negative emotions through routine and repetitive patterns. They avoid facing their own internal struggles by distracting themselves in this way.

Ben Florian's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ENFJ [The Protagonist]

ENFJs are high-energy people who dislike spending too much time alone. They take initiative and tend to talk more than they listen.

They usually trust their intuition and focus on the future. They are good at analyzing complex ideas. 

Protagonists are motivated by feelings and values. They work to avoid conflict and are very diplomatic.

They like to make lists and schedules, preferring to follow a plan. They are hard-working and responsible.

Big Three: Libra Sun, Cancer Moon and Taurus Rising

Libra Sun: Libra is ruled by the airy part of Venus, making them bon vivants, critical, and artistic — as well as forever stylish.

Cancer Moon: The emotions of Cancer Moons have no limits, restraints, or depths. This is a cosmic placement that often leads to sweetness, kindness, emotional awareness and responsibility. 

Taurus Rising: Those with Taurus risings exude grace and sophistication, and handle business with a sweet disposition.

Enneagram Type: 1w2 [The Activist]

Basic Fear: People who are type one with a two wing generally have a basic fear of being immoral and making impure choices. They avoid this by making a conscious effort to make ethical choices.

Basic Desire: They also have a natural desire to be upstanding and humane. They try to fight for the rights of those less fortunate and love being hands-on in making a difference by volunteering in their community.

Activists tend to respond to negativity by redirecting their emotions in order to gain a sense of control. In type ones with two wings, this may lead to sudden outbursts or breaking points, as they work through their emotions more externally.

[orlissa]

Shadow and Bone, Narangerel Bilka

Although Mistress Bilka had worked in stately houses on both sides of the Shu-Ravkan border, nurturing the children of nobles, diplomats, and the richest of merchants, and thus was no stranger to highest levels of society, being asked to teach the two eldest daughters of the Tsar and Tsaritsa of Ravka was an honor beyond belief.

Her charges, the Tsarinas Nadezhda and Sofiya, four and six at the time she arrived at Os Alta, seemed to be lovely children at first—pretty and bright, eager to learn and please, and picking up the Shu she was primarily hired to teach them quickly. However, the… faults in their upbringing started to show soon.

She blamed the parents, of course.

Most often her employers allowed her to conduct the education of the children in her care the way she saw fit—they trusted her expertise, and not without reason. But their majesties were adamant about being unreasonably involved in the children’s upbringing. The Tsaritsa insisted on teaching the children how to read herself and seemed to draw great joy from painting and drawing with them, while the Tsar would tuck them into bed more often than not, filling their heads with heathen, nonsensical tales. This of course made the children ill-behaved, impetuous little menaces, who called for Mama and Papa—no matter how many times she tried to make them understand that the correct, respectful way of address should be Mother and Father, the very least—at the slightest inconvenience. And the royal couple of course indulged their whims, soothing their tantrums with gentle embraces, soft words, and sneaked sweets, leaving the children incredibly spoiled, and not conducting themselves in a way befit of an imperial princess.

Mistress Bilka kept her silence about it for a while—who was she to question the ruling monarchs of Ravka, after all?—, but even she had her limits, which she reached when she went to fetch her charges for their lessons on a late September morning, only to be told that the Tsar had unexpectedly taken them out for a ride. Going down to the gardens she could even see them, and to her absolute shock and outrage, the eldest Tsarina sat on her own pony, galloping in front of her father’s great black stallion, wearing breeches and riding astride, like some peasant wench.

This was the moment she knew she couldn't let the matter go unaddressed anymore—she would have to talk with the Tsaritsa.

She didn’t waste her time, but asked for an audience the very next day, which request, to her surprise, was swiftly granted—the Tsaritsa was willing to see her in her parlor, just after breakfast.

Mistress Bilka arrived just on time, as it was proper, and since there were no footmen standing by the door, she knocked politely, which was answered by a firm “Enter!,” so she took a deep breath and entered the room.

She had always found the Tsaritsa’s parlor somewhat odd—in a palace built for grandeur (admittedly, by the previous dynasty), where she could have taken up a whole wing for her personal use if she so wished, she spent a great portion of her time in this single room, the light and airy space somewhat serving as a receiving room, a study, and an art studio as well. A massive rosewood writing desk stood in the far corner, an easel and a small table holding art supplies was placed by the window overlooking the gardens, while the middle of the room was taken up by plush sofas and armchairs, where the Tsaritsa and her ladies could sit to converse, have tea, and do needlework. There was even a set of shelves full of toys and children’s books, as she often had the Tsarinas brought here as well, when she had a mind to keep them close. It was an awfully cluttered and unbecoming space in Mistress Bilka’s opinion, but she suspected she couldn’t have expected more, as despite her regal airs, the Tsaritsa came from humble beginnings.

She found her in the side of the room closer to the door, standing by a small table holding the model of a new orphanage the crown intended to build near the Fjerdan border. In one hand she held a few sheets of paper, intently studying their contents, while the other rested on her abdomen—she was currently expecting her fourth child, and although the birth was still some three months away, the curve of her belly was already prominent enough. Closing the door behind herself, Mistress Bilka curtsied respectfully. “Your Majesty.”

A small smile on her face, the Tsaritsa looked up, putting down the documents held in her hand. “Ah, Mistress Bilka. What do I owe the pleasure of your company? Should we sit? Tea?”

Straightening her spine, Mistress Bilka shook her head. “No need, Your Majesty. And I came to express my concerns over the children.”

The Tsaritsa’s face hardened. “What’s the matter with them? I thought they were progressing well.”

“They do excel in their studies,” she nodded, then cleared her throat, “but I worry about their behavior. They are spoiled and unruly, disregard the etiquette, behaving in a way that is unfit for young ladies of their status. And I’m afraid your, and especially the Tsar’s treatment of them only fuels the problem,” she said, her head held high.

A muscle in the Tsaritsa’s jaw twitched. “Is that so?” Rounding the table, she stepped closer. “Could you elaborate on that, please?”

“Beyond entertaining all of their whims and encouraging an overly familiar behavior, just yesterday the Tsar took them out to the gardens without notice, just as they were supposed to have their lesson. Ignoring how improper the way I saw them riding is, I’ve been tending to children for over two decades now, Your Majesty, so I can confidently say how important it is for them to learn what is expected of them, and to adhere to a strict schedule, without such nilly-willy excursions. Such things inevitably lead to the children growing up to be terribly spoiled, insolent little beasts. Therefore I would like to request greater control over the Tsarinas’ schedules—an authority to overrule such rash changes.”

“You don’t say?” the Tsaritsa murmured, leaning against the table, and regarding Mistress Bilka with an intense stare. “Well, I think my husband was right to take them out yesterday. The weather was so nice, and the saints know we do not have many days like that left before the weather turns. The girls need the fresh air and the exercise—not to mention some quality time with their father. And also, Mistress Bilka…” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What was your given name again, Narangerel? That’s somewhat mouthful. How do your family call you? Nara?”

Mistress Bilka’s face tightened. “I’d prefer if Your Majesty continued calling me Mistress Bilka. Anything else would be… improper.”

“Well then, Mistress Bilka,” she went on with an unexpected edge in her voice, “my husband, the Tsar, and I have a radical idea when it comes to the upbringing of our children: we want them to be happy. I’ll gladly have them to be spoiled, insolent little beasts—which they are most definitely not—who don’t give a damn about the etiquette, if they are happy and know that we love them, that they can always come to us. So no, your request is denied, and the overly familiar behavior and the nilly-willy excursions will continue. You can either learn to adapt to our vision for the children, or I’m afraid we will have to part ways. Is that clear?”

Barely finding the words, Mistress Bilka bowed her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else?” the Tsaritsa asked, picking up her documents again.

“No, Your Majesty.”

“In this case you are dismissed.” A short pause, then, “And would you please bring the children here in, let’s say, half an hour? I wish to spend the remainder of the morning with them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Mistress Bilka curtsied again, then turned around, left the room, and, despite the outrage simmering inside of her, closed the door gently.

Great honor or not, she was starting to see that she would never be a good fit in this palace.

[peterbarnes]

Finally Okay

Summary: You're a journalist who gets trapped in the GRC building the night the Flag Smashers attack it. What lengths will Bucky go to to get you back?

Word Count: 1.9k

Masterlist

“Buck, we got a hit,” Sam told him over the phone. His usual childish humor was completely absent from his tone, instead replaced with a rare intensity.

“Where?” Bucky swiftly responded, picking himself up from your couch and running to the bedroom.

“Right in your backyard. The GRC is voting on the Patch Act tonight, the Flag Smashers are planning to pay them a little visit.”

Bucky froze right as he went to grab his suit from your closet.

“Shit. Sam, I’ll be there, but I gotta call you back,” he rushed, fumbling with the phone.

“What-”

Bucky hit the red button on the screen aggressively with his metal thumb before clicking on your contact.

“Come on, come on, pick up,” he grumbled under his breath, his grip on the phone tightening. Any more pressure and it would crush between his fingers.

“This is [Y/N]. Sorry I missed your call-”

Bucky cursed, hanging up before calling again at least five times. He let out a frustrated sigh before deciding to leave a voicemail. He waited impatiently for the beep, his foot tapping against the wooden floor at an alarming pace.

“Hey, doll, it’s me. I know you said you were out working tonight and, knowing you, you went for the biggest story- the GRC. But look… Sam got intel that the Flag Smashers are going to be there tonight. I told you I wasn’t gonna get you involved in this shit, honey, and I plan to keep my promise. So please call me and tell me where you are so I can come and take care of you-”

The beep sounded and Bucky’s shaking voice was cut off. His heart started to race and the feeling was so debilitating that an airy feeling began to overcome his body. The world faded to blur around him as he tried to gain his barrings.

“Come on, soldier,” Bucky grumbled to himself, taking deep breaths and trying to get his panic to subside. Frightful images flashed through his mind- you getting shot, you getting tortured. So much blood. Anger bloomed in Bucky’s chest at the thought of someone hurting you. He gritted his teeth before snatching his suit from the closet and racing out the door.

---

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” Jimmy said from next to you. He was still holding his camera, but his hands shook so much you thought he might drop it.

“Well, I didn’t exactly expect terrorists to show up out of fucking nowhere!” You scolded, trying to keep your voice as quiet as possible.

You were both cramped under one of the diplomat’s desks, trying to stay out of sight from the Flag Smashers that had just barged into the Meeting Hall. They circled around the room, guns in hand, ready to shoot the next person who steps out of line. When you first saw them you tried to make a run for it, but the doors were barricaded and the only way out was through the windows… a hundred stories above the ground.

“You should always expect terrorists to show up out of nowhere!” He freaked out.

You felt your phone keep buzzing in your pocket and you itched to grab it but with the way you were positioned in such a tight space, you couldn’t reach it.

“Jimmy,” you whispered to him.

“What?” He shot you a glare.

“I need you to grab my phone from my pocket. I can’t reach and you’re right next to it.”

“Are you serious?! If you call 911, they’ll hear you!”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not calling 911.”

You stared each other down for a few seconds, daring the other to back off. After a few seconds, Jimmy huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Fine, hold on.”

He shifted a bit, trying to wiggle his arms through the confined space towards your jacket. After a few failed attempts in which your phone almost dropped to the marble floor, he finally secured it in his hand, passing it towards you.

“Thanks,” you whispered before clicking on the screen.

The brightness nearly blinded you and you were quick to turn it down before it drew anyone else’s attention.

12 Missed Calls From Jamie

1 New Voicemail

20 Messages From Jamie

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself, hurriedly unlocking your phone and tapping on his messages. They were all somewhat similar: Where are you? Call me back. Please tell me if you’re okay.

Your chest ached as you thought of how panicked he must be. Bucky had the biggest heart of anyone you’d ever met, and the idea of someone he loved being in trouble scared him more than anything- especially if that someone was you.

You: I’m okay

Jamie: Doll, where are you?

You: Top floor with all the diplomats. Flag smashers are here. Doors barricaded.

Jamie: I’m coming to get you, don’t do anything stupid

You: Hey! I don’t do stupid things

Jamie: Are you being sarcastic? I can’t tell over text

“Jesus Christ,” you let out, slapping your forehead with your palm.

---

“Okay here’s the plan-”

“No time,” Bucky interrupted as he barged through the front doors to the GRC building.

“What do you mean no time? Bucky, there are lives on the line-”

“I know that. Which is why I need to get up there now.”

Bucky’s breaths were ragged as he climbed the steps three stairs at a time.

“Bucky,” Sam started with a certain softness in his tone. “Who’s up there?”

“What do you mean? There’s plenty of people up there-”

“Who do you know who’s up there? I haven’t seen you like this in the field before- panicked, erratic.”

Bucky took a deep breath, pausing his movements on the stairs and clutching onto the railing.

“I… Her name’s [Y/N]. We’ve been seeing each other for the past few months.” He grimaced, uncomfortable with the sudden emotional weight of their conversation. “She’s a journalist and she’s up there and… I can’t let anything happen to her, Sam, I can’t…”

His voice trailed off as the images flashed through his mind again. The lump in his throat grew and threatened to force a sob from his throat.

“Okay, I understand,” Sam whispered. “But rushing into it with no plan isn’t going to help her. It might even do the opposite. So, here’s what we’re going to do...”

---

You noticed a few things about the Meeting Hall you were stuck in: the cries of panicked people as they tried to hide throughout the room, the red lighting that sent a shiver down your spine because of how ominous it was. What you didn’t notice was the figure in red, white, and blue barreling towards the window closest to you. The impact was loud and sent glass shattering to the ground. You jumped at the sudden noise and shielded your face from the shards of glass. You peeked out from under the desk, Jimmy right alongside you, and your jaw dropped.

“That’s Falcon!” Jimmy gasped in relief.

“I don’t think he’s Falcon anymore, Jim.”

“Sharon, Bucky, what’s going on on your end?” Sam spoke into his comms.

“Bucky,” You whispered before shooting up from under the desk.

“[Y/N]! What the hell are you doing?!” Jimmy called after you.

You ducked and dodged through the masses of people in your way, rushing towards where Sam stood heroically, shield in hand.

“Falcon- or, uh, Captain America, sir?” You stumbled, adjusting your outfit that had become immensely wrinkled since you put it on earlier.

He looked at you curiously before noticing the lanyard that lay on your chest.

[Y/N] [Y/L/N]- The Daily Bugle

“You’re [Y/N]?” He asked.

“Yes, yes, that’s me,” you told him while nodding quickly. “I heard you say Bucky’s name. Is he here?”

“Downstairs. I unlocked the doors, so start heading down, I’ll tell him to meet you. Be careful, we don’t know how many there are,” he warned.

His attention was quickly pulled away from you as a Flag Smasher came charging at him, knife in hand. Sam threw the shield so precisely it hit him right in the front of his calves, knocking the man off his feet and slamming his head into the ground.

“Go,” he repeated.

You quickly took off towards the stairs. Your legs moved so quickly, you were shocked that you didn’t fall at some point. They burned and begged you to stop but you refused. The only thing that was on your mind was Bucky.

Bucky. Bucky. Get to Bucky.

You were so caught up in finding him that you didn’t realize there was someone in front of you. You ran into them at full speed, smashing into their chest so hard it felt more like a wall.

“Ow,” you let out, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead as you stumbled back. “Shit, sorry about that.”

All you got in response was a chuckle, which then led to them letting out the biggest, most beautiful laugh. One that you’d heard many times before.

Your eyes shot open as you took in the tall, broad, and dark-haired figure in front of you. Tears stained his eyes although you couldn’t tell if it was from his laughter or from his utter relief that you were safe. Maybe both. But you didn’t take the time to think about it before launching yourself in his arms.

The first time he ever held you, you came to the realization that you had never felt truly safe before, because this, him, was what true safety felt like.

His arms snaked around your waist holding you to him tightly. He pressed scattered kisses across any ounce of you he could touch- your hair, forehead, cheek, nose, eyes, lips.

When he kissed your lips, it was meant to be a quick peck before he moved onto a different area of your skin, but you moved your hands up, cupping his face gently and pulling him into you further. He melted into your embrace, his lips melding with your own. The fluttering of his eyelashes against your cheek was familiar, and for the first time in hours, your anxiety eased.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your lips. “Love you so much, babydoll.”

“Love you too, Buck,” you whispered back, smiling brightly.

“Maybe stick to smaller stories from now on, huh?” He joked.

“No promises,” you snorted, rolling your eyes and pressing your forehead against his.

For all you know you could have been standing there with him for hours. Time didn’t seem to pass when you were around him. The outside world would blur, but he was clearer than ever.

“Come on,” he told you. “Let’s go home.”

He removed his arms from your waist but you instinctively grabbed onto his metal one, interlacing his fingers with your own. His heart skipped a beat, as it always did when you went for that arm. He didn’t understand how you could love it, how you could love him. But at the end of the day, it didn’t matter, because you did.

“You okay?” You asked him softly, noticing his pensive expression.

“Yeah,” he responded, wearing a slight smile. “I think I’m finally okay.”

[madasthesea]

Happy Star Wars Day!!! If today isn’t a good day for Star Wars AU, I don’t know what is.

The ship reverting from hyperspeed made Peter nearly fall out of his handstand.

“Master?” He called to the cockpit, his eyes still blindfolded. They weren’t supposed to reach their destination for several hours yet.

“Feet off the floor, Padawan,” Tony replied. He didn’t sound alarmed, and the Force was a quiet, if slightly queasy pool of light, as it always was in space, so Peter let himself relax a little bit, rebalancing himself on his palms.

“They are,” Peter protested. “Just as they have been for the last thirty minutes.”

“If you can’t take the punishment, don’t do the crime,” Tony said, his voice coming from the doorway. Peter could picture him leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his smirk practically tangible in the Force. An imagine transferred clearly across their bond of a fluffy baby flitterbat, sleeping upside down.

Peter scowled, both at the accusation and the comparison, which made Tony give an undignified snort.

“I would hardly label what I did a crime,” Peter gritted out, shifting his weight. A half hour was a long time to hold a handstand, even for a Jedi.

“You called me old.”

“The word old never came out of my mouth.” Tony grabbed his ankle as he wobbled.

“You’re right, you said, and I quote—” Tony put on a high falsetto voice that was clearly meant to be a mimicry of Peter’s voice— “‘Don’t worry, Master, you’re in good shape for a man of your age.’”

“Which is a compliment,” Peter interjected.

“Your diplomatic skills leave something to be desired,” Tony sighed. “But you’ve served your time. Down you come.”

Peter held back any remarks of about time and gratefully flipped onto his feet, shaking his arms out before reaching up and tugging the blindfold off. He blinked at Tony for a second.

“There you are,” Tony said, smiling a little. “Now, aren’t you going to ask why we’ve stopped?”

“Only since you so clearly want me to, Master.” Peter followed Tony into the small bridge, collapsing gracefully into the co-pilot’s chair. “Why have we stopped at—“ He checked the nav computer— “Stewjon?”

“Got a call from the Council. They’re requesting help with a local dispute and we were closest.”

Peter nodded dutifully, already mourning the astrocartography exam he was going to miss. Master Sibwarra always made the make-up exams much harder than the original.

“Relax,” Tony admonished gently. “It’s our duty, much more than exams are.”

“Yes, Master,” Peter responded. In the first few months of his apprenticeship with Tony, that would have stung, but he’d learned to take the compliments and instructions with the same level of appreciation. “I know.”

“Besides, you could pass that class in your sleep.” And even Peter had to admit, that soothed like liniment on sore muscles. “And it just so happens,” Tony continued, leaving Peter to follow his train of thought, “that I have an acquaintance with a diner in the capital.” He cast a sideways glance at Peter. “And an apprentice with a bottomless pit for a stomach.”

Peter perked up a little bit at the prospect of a good, greasy meal. The refectory at the Temple served only the healthiest of fare, with the occasional fruit for dessert.

Tony smiled, probably sensing Peter’s lifting spirits. “I’ll have a ‘thank you, Master,’ if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Thank you, Master,” Peter said, and Tony’s eyebrow twitched upward in surprise at the sincerity.

 They were received with a level of ceremony that was bordering on absurd, but they endured it with the  grace of trained diplomats. They were shown to an airy chamber where two farmers were bickering. One was accusing the other of poisoning his crop while the other spouted vitriol.

Tony and Peter exchanged a look.

“Gentlemen,” Tony called, stepping forward. Both quieted and looked Tony over, their eyes widening as they saw the lightsaber hanging on his belt. “I think this can be resolved fairly easily, so long as we all cooperate.”

They both nodded. They sat down at a long table in the center of the room, Tony at the head of it and Peter at his right hand.

“Now,” Tony said calmly, his voice clear in the quiet chamber. He turned to the accused man, who was wringing his hands under the table. “Answer me honestly. Did you poison the fruit?”

The man blanched; glanced down at Tony’s hip where the ‘saber hung. “M-Master Jedi,” he said weakly.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he admitted in a rush of breath. “Yes, I did.”

Chaos descended. Leaving them to it, Tony looked over at Peter. An image of a bantha burger floated across their bond, making Peter’s mouth water. Peter responded with an image of fried crezzils, golden and crispy, and nearly felt Tony’s sigh of longing. On the surface, they both maintained the mien of a stoic Jedi.

After a few more moments of uproarious arguing, Tony called order again, and quickly put Peter in charge of negotiating terms of reparation. The situation was so straightforward that even Peter—who was well aware that diplomatics were his worst area—managed it with ease and only the occasional need for back-up from Tony. They were then honored with an interminable tea ceremony (they both preferred caff, anyway) before they were finally free to find lunch.

Tony led the way through the fragrant merchant district, lined with shops and stalls selling a wide array of produce and handcrafts. Peter trotted along after him, looking this way and that, trying to take it all in.

“Iko-re does the best ixlatl cake in the parsec,” Tony said as they walked. Peter’s stomach rumbled at the thought—if sweets were a delicacy, ixlatl was the crown jewel. Ben had given him a bar of it for his twelfth lifeday and Peter had savored every creamy, sugary piece, shamelessly licking the melted remains off his fingers.

Just as they were passing through the most crowded part of the city so far—a square lined with carts and bins overflowing produce—there was a shout, followed be the unmistakable sound of a blaster firing.

More screams followed and people started running, scrambling over one another to get out of open space.

The Force was instantly taut with panic and fear. Tony and Peter snapped to attention, both of their hands going toward their ‘saber hilts.

Tony charged forward, pushing against the crowd. Peter, glancing upwards at the buildings around them, leapt up and grabbed a lamp sconce, hanging from it for a moment to see what was happening. Ahead, in a clearing of people, lay a middle-aged man, his eyes open and blank. A woman was crying over his body. And there, even further in the distance, two men were shoving people out of their way as they fled.

“Master,” Peter yelled, the loss of life ringing like a church bell in the Force, pounding in time with Peter’s frantic heartbeat.

“Go!” Tony answered without needing an explanation.

Calling on the Force, Peter went, jumping forward from lamp post to cart-top to balcony, sailing above the crowd instead of pushing his way through. He kept his eyes fixed on the murderers as he went.

As soon as he was through the square, he dropped to the cobblestone street, sprinting at full speed. He could feel Tony nearby, pursuing as well.

The men glanced behind them and their fear cut through the Force, sharp and acrid, when they realized they had Jedi on their tail. They veered down a side-alley.    

Peter summoned his ‘sabers to his hands, igniting them in a flare of blue light, the crystals humming in harmonized approval as he took chase. He hurled around the corner, springing off the alley wall with one foot so he didn’t have to slow down, only to immediately inhale a lungful of a foreign substance, making his throat burn. Coughing, he felt Tony’s concern echo through the Force as his master passed him.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, picking up his pace. The fire in his lungs cleared after a moment. Thinking little of it, Peter darted forward, ‘sabers at the ready.

The men veered into another street; this one narrower than the main road, with little stalls selling jewelry and linens. The shopkeepers ducked behind their wooden carts as they saw Peter following, closing the distance.

He let a tiny smirk curve the corner of his mouth. The Force coiled inside him like a spring ready to be sprung—Peter was nearly lightheaded with the power pooling in his veins. He prepared to leap.

He blinked awake to Tony leaning over him, his expression set in studied calm.

He looked around at the detritus around him and realized he’s crashed directly into one of the vendors’ carts, smashing it and its wares. Peter craned his head to peer further down the alley and saw the men’s backs disappearing.

“Master,” Peter panted. “Go.”

“Hush,” Tony snapped, trapping Peter’s face in his hands and peering at him intently. “You just fainted, Padawan.”

“They’re getting away,” Peter protested, trying to sit up more but he was hit with a wave of dizziness. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Stay awake.” Tony’s thumb pulled Peter’s eyelid up, which was good because it suddenly felt like an Aurodium coin had been placed on it, like the Feorians do before burial.

Peter slumped further, all energy seemingly drained from his body. He didn’t even remember passing out. He remembered chasing the men, then waking up, as if watching a poorly transmitted hologram with gaps in the recording.

“Peter.” Tony’s voice was firm and laced with power that Peter had little choice but to obey. “Stay awake.”

Peter wanted to protest that he was trying, even if there was no such thing as ‘try.’ Obedient to his Master’s command, he forced his eyes open again, barely managing to focus on Tony’s face, the lines around his mouth creasing as he frowned.

“Master,” Peter slurred, and then he knew nothing but darkness.

 He woke up on fire. Burning in every inch of him, every inch of his crude matter, going so deep as to set the Force alight, the core of him that was meant to be untouchable.

He sucked in a breath but it only fanned the flames.

A scream tore from his throat, try as he might to hold it back. Tears gathered in his eyes and fell, blessedly cool on his skin, but the shame of it welled in his chest, scorching in his veins until there was nothing but heat and pain.

“Padawan.”

A lifeline, a reprieve: like a sip of cold, spring water after a month under Tatooine’s suns. Peter stilled his unconscious thrashing.

“Peter,” the voice said again. “Calm yourself.”

A hand, so cool in comparison to his own blazing skin it almost hurt, brushed away the tears still clinging to his cheek.

“That’s it. The Force, Padawan. Find the Force.”

The Force? The Force was screaming from the top of a pyre.

But that wasn’t right. The Force was always placid, always tranquil. Calmer and cooler than the river in the Room of a Thousand Fountains when his peers convinced him to join them for an illicit swim.

“Breathe out the pain,” came the gentle command. A hand covered his forehead and the hurt was winnowed from him like flame into the vacuum of space.

Peter exhaled a sob, but it must have been close enough because the meditation continued.

“Breathe in the Force.”

The Force. Peter imagined himself submerging in the Light, in the inextinguishable plenum of existence. The thrill of a ‘saber duel, the vibrant peace of a buzzing forest. His Master’s warm hand on his shoulder.

“There we go. Breathe out the—”

“Master.”  

“Right here, Peter,” Tony assured. He tugged so lightly on Peter’s braid that he almost didn’t feel it.

“I’m sorry,” Peter gasped. For screaming, he wanted to elaborate. For crying. For wanting Tony to hold him while he trembled in agony.

Tony made a shushing noise, softer and warmer and more lovely than anything Peter had ever heard. “You’ve done nothing to apologize for, little one. Just breathe.”

Peter reached out blindly, wanting some comfort, even if a Jedi should be above that.

A foreign hand caught his, and it occurred to him for the first time that there were others there, bustling around him. For the first time, he recognized the chemical stink of a healers.

His hand was passed to another, and this one was familiar, calloused from years of ‘saber practice, engulfing Peter’s hand entirely.

“Master,” he breathed again, hoping that Tony could hear what he was trying to say through their bond. What he wouldn’t say out loud.

“Yes,” Tony sighed, pressing his thumb against the pulse in Peter’s wrist. “I know.”

Another wave of pain crested over him.

“Sleep, Padawan. It’s all right.”

There was enough Force-compulsion in the simple order that Peter couldn’t have disobeyed even if he wanted to.

 Peter felt sluggish when he woke and he wrinkled his nose in annoyance at the dizziness clinging to him.

“There’s my poorly tempered, Padawan,” Tony’s amused voice said. Peter groaned in response. “Ah, yes. I’ve been missing that acerbic wit, young one.”

Forcing down a smile, Peter opened his eyes to give a rather pathetic looking glare to his Master, who was sitting at his bedside looking almost embarrassingly fond.

“There you are.” Tony smiled more freely than any other Jedi Master Peter had met, but only when looking at Peter, who was always an eager recipient.

“Did you get them?” Peter asked when his mind was clear enough to form the question.

The smile dropped, but a bit of begrudging humor lingered in Tony’s eyes. “You are intractable,” he reproached. “You’ve been in the healer’s care for three days. Don’t you care to hear about that?”

“No,” Peter answered honestly. He wanted to forget about it, in fact, humiliation creeping up his spine and making him pout before he could catch himself. What a terrible Jedi he must be, to be taken by surprise in such a way as to inhale a toxin, and then scream and cry like a crecheling having a tantrum while dealing with the consequences.

Tony reached forward suddenly and tugged sharply on Peter’s ear. “Enough,” he warned, his voice stern. Peter stilled, realized that perhaps his mental shields had not been tight enough to indulge in such self-recriminating thoughts.

He looked up at Tony in mute apology.

“No, I did not ‘get them,’” Tony said after a long moment, and Peter figured the subject change was akin to forgiveness. “I, for some reason that is increasingly baffling to me, prioritized the health of my young charge, who had collapsed like a swooning maiden from a holo’ drama.”

Peter scowled deeply at his Master, but Tony only raised a challenging eyebrow and Peter backed down.

“Besides,” Tony continued. “They got in a speeder bike. I couldn’t have caught up even if I had pursued.”

“Oh,” Peter said, slightly mollified. There was silence for a long moment as Peter thought of the man they had killed. Tony’s mouth turned downward and he patted the back of Peter’s hand. Then they released their sorrow together.

“You owe me ixlatl cake,” Peter finally said, eager to change the melancholy mood of the room.

“Do I?” Tony said, his amusement glittering in the Force. Peter relished it. “Very well. You will get your ixlatl cake, so long as you beat me in a quarterstaff duel.”

Peter sighed, longsuffering, knowing that that was not so much a suggestion as a command. HIs quarterstaff technique was terrible and Tony knew it. He certainly would not be winning himself any cake. But Tony would probably give it to him anyway.

“Yes, Master.”

[summoner-kentauris]

and last but not least a big worldbuilding thing that i dont think i ever posted. i never finished balancing the population versus physical size versus economical power relative to medieval cities and at that point in my life that was very important to me

-

The three main cities in The Kingdom of Askr are the functional capitals of the three main power regions in the kingdom.

The Himiníoður peninsula

Himiníoðurik – The sole city in the Himiníoður peninsula. With a population of 51,583 people, Himiníoðurik houses a whopping 80% of the population of the Himiníoður region. Average population density for the region is 6 people per square mile; excepting the city, this falls to only 1 person per square mile.

Himiníoðurik is the second largest city in Askr. However, due to its out of the way location as well as the isolated nature of Himiníoðurik culture among Askrans, most people of Askr (excepting those on religious pilgrimages to the Tower of Heaven) do no travel to the city. Himiníoðurik supplies itself with staple farming from around the city, but largely engages in a great deal of oceanic trade with Askr’s norther neighbors. Despite the positioning of the capital of Askr, in times of peace, this is the main port where Askr and Embla trade goods.

Himiníoðurik is a deeply religious city, mirroring the people of the region. The religious authorities take care of the most advanced Zenikian library in the world (barring medical/healing advances, with which several Emblian institutions excel). Most Zenikian scholars, however, scoff at Himiníoðurik praxis, as the culture of the region has no interest in the slightest in gatemagicks, nor in the history or interactions of other worlds.

The city is known for its sprawling layout, yet simultaneously squat, stout, and fortress-like construction. Himiníoðurik has a series of ancient aqueducts and underground brickwork channels that handle the cities water and agriculture needs, as well as its sanitation. Despite being the most advanced city in the world by far, it is a bleak looking place, and fits right in with the windswept desolation of most of Himiníoður.

In the face of the recent devastation wrought by the first tempest, several parts of Himiníoðurik are growing rapidly. It is possible that the city could see the entire rest of the region’s population move to the fortress city in the coming days. The ancient and smooth system of supply and demand is currently undergoing a massive stress because of this, and food riots as well as disease are on the verge of breaking out all across the city. True to form, the crown in Efstrahæð has not noticed this in the slightest, nor has Himiníoðurik desired to let it know.

Central Askr

Efstrahæð – the capital of the Kingdom of Askr.

Efstrahæð is the smallest city in Askr by a margin of about 6,000 people. At a population of 45,000, Efstrahæð houses only a minuscule 4% of the population of Central Askr.

Largely a mountain city, Efstrahæð gets a good deal of its food from the surrounding towns. However, Efstrahæð itself does produce a fair amount of its supply within its own walls. While appearing a delicate and airy city on the surface, in truth, Efstrahæð is designed to withstand anything that its close neighbor Embla can throw at it. After countless historical surprises from its on-again off-again neighbor, Efstrahæð has been turned into a stronghold that, despite the gravity defying look of the central castle/manor, can withstand any siege anyone cares to throw at it. A great deal of the mountains to the southeast of the city have tunnels and buildings built into them, with the most advanced agricultural techniques stolen/learned from around the worlds put to making sure the population of the castle town, at the very least, can survive a siege if not indefinitely, then certainly for long enough to evacuate the population through the legendarily difficult to navigate mountain range. Most of the true valuables belonging to the powers-that-be in the kingdom are also stored in vaults in the mountain, including the Forbidden Library with Askran records of the full known histories and known futures of all the worlds.

Most residents of Efstrahæð don’t know any of this. And the ones who do, hope the main population never has to learn.

Efstrahæð itself is made up of three main sections:

Athrpallr is the first,and it located to the north of the city. Athrpallr is more ruins than city. It is the oldest part of the city, and rests upon ages and ages worth of ruined temples and religious constructions. Most of Athrpallr is abandoned and disused. The people who do live there are perhaps the most insulary of any people in Askr. Most in Efstrahæð believe Athrpallr to be haunted. They’re probably right.

Aeþiliis the second part of the city, and is the formal name for the tiered fortress that surrounds the castle, as well as the noble homes and main military installations. While the nobles who live on the lower tiers of Aeþili spend more time in the bulk of the city, those who inhabit the castle have more of a town of their own. The official name of the castle/manor is Aeðrastóll.

Aeðrastóll is the third part of the city. The only people allowed to live in Aeðrastóll are:

the royal family; their court, companions, retinue, and important relatives;

any council/governing members and retinue, if applicable;

scholars in contract to the state or under invitation;

the order of Gatemages;

the order of Heroes, when in operation;

the king and queen’s guard;

high ranking castle staff;

high ranking castle military staff;

diplomats from other countries, when applicable;

the castle’s religious company;

Legendary or Brave Heroes in service of the state;

as a secondary home for heads of important guilds in the city proper;

as a secondary home for the head of the university in the city;

as a secondary home for local higher ups of the few manakete tribes that live in Askr.

The families of most these categories of people are also allowed to live within the grounds if space allows.

The Aeðrastóll population is carefully monitored and approved by the ruler of the country and their closest council members, as those living in Aeðrastóll are those who will practically and purposefully be prioritized if a worst case scenario came up, and Efstrahæð had to retreat to its underground fortresses.

The final part of the city has no specific name, and is merely the bulk of Efstrahæð. Efstrahæð here is quiet, for a city, and prioritizes wide spaces and short homes. As most of Efstrahæð is made of wood, Efstrahæð historically was prone to terrible fires. The current-day wide layout helps moderate this. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, the people in Efstrahæð tend to congregate into even smaller sections of the city. This leads to much duplication of stores and goods. The economy needs be monitored carefully at all times, as Efstrahæð has collapsed many times in the past under the pressure of famine, drought, floods, or even small changes in weather that completely disrupt the very careful balance that Efstrahæð usually finds for itself. Aeðrastóll itself is rarely party to these turbulent times, as Aeðrastóll is designed to be self-sufficient under duress or in worst-case scenarios, though not at all comfortable. As such, Efstrahæð inevitably comes back to life around Aeðrastóll.

Despite the geographic closeness of Efstrahæð to several Emblian borders, its position in the mountains makes it difficult to attack. While it does get attacked due to its political importance, it is rarely the first target. Travel around or through the mountains is simply too much for an army to manage yet. Emblian naval technology will have to develop a great deal before Efstrahæð needs to make changes to its defenses.

[astrologysvt]

Hii! If that's okay I would like to ask: based on astrology which members would prefer a deep connection and long term relationship and which members wouldn't mind more lighthearted hook-ups? Also what placements do we check to know that?😅 Thank you 🥺💌🌻

oooo that’s a fun question. I honestly don’t think any of the members would be down for hook-ups 😂 that ain’t even me trying to be diplomatic, lol if i thought for sure any one of them would be down for hookups i’d be putting them on BLAST. but even hoshi who is ALL gemini who would honestly be the most capable of having a hookup for fun, has his mars opposite pluto giving him a very possessive energy with those things. he wouldn’t be able to STAND seeing that person be with someone else after that. he may try but i think the probability of it turning sour is too high to say he’d ever do it more than once.

i’m putting the rest of my thoughts underneath the tag cuz this was getting looooooooong 😂

lolol this is just going to end up being a more general astrology reading cuz i didn’t realize i had so much to say on this???? but i generally think if you have a strong water influence, especially if it’s pisces and in moon, venus, and mars that you should proceed with caution with hookups. these placements are NOTORIOUS for thinking they can do it because they want their need affection/connection met but they almost always catch feelings. the act in and of itself is very intimate for them, so even if there are no established feelings it’s hard for these placements to fathom it not meaning anything because it intrinsically means something to them. even scorpios may not “catch” feelings, but they are very emotionally invested that there’s a risk of unwarranted jealousy that could make the whole situation messy. I also think libra placements in venus/mars especially are pretty dangerous in terms of hookups. they love love and can lose grip of reality if the interactions are romantic enough. with all of these placements, i think you can tryyyyyy for a hookup if you really waaaaant toooooo, but you really need to understand what ur getting into and that there’s a high probability you’re gonna be at least a little sad afterward. most of the time, if ur a water/libra placement and ur feeling tempted to have a hookup and you’re trying to asses whether or not ur gonna catch feelings — you honestly probably know the answer. listen to your gut. if you need to convince yourself at all that ur capable of not catching feelings, that’s not a good sign. don’t do. i just personally don’t think it’s worth it, as the potential for really low lows in the aftermath is super prominent. so if we’re applying this to svt this would rule out: seungcheol, jeonghan, wonwoo, jihoon, seokmin, mingyu, minghao, vernon. 

so then there is earth, fire, and the rest of air. earth placements i feel are too rational in this regard to think their needs are strong enough to warrant a hookup. with that being said, i think they’re the most capable of agreeing to/understanding what a hookup entails and keeping their feelings detached from the act itself if they decide they wanna. i feel it may be dangerous for virgo placements, tho. they’re very sensitive/particular individuals and letting people into this intimate space can be a hard thing to 1) fathom and 2) let go once that line has been crossed. so then cap and MAYBE taurus emphasis on MAYBE since they’re a sign very very inclined towards loyal/stable relationships. i think a taurus can try once or twice, but the probability of them either getting attached or the inconsistency having a negative affect on them is too strong. again I don’t think a hookup is ideal for any earth sign as they’re more inclined towards long-term, committed relationships. but if they were to try, i think they could go about it cleanly and maturely. fire placements next to air placements are the most likely to be down for a hookup. fire placements for the excitement, passion, and fun involved. air placements because there could be a fascination/interest in the idea of a hookup, and they already have an intellectual approach to intimacy anyway that allows them to go about hookups in ways that aren’t super serious. with that being said, fire signs have a tendency towards possessiveness. air signs are probably most capable. but at this point, i think we’ve ruled out all of the svt members 😂😂😂 

lmfao i was gonna do a mtl with the understanding that most of them wouldn’t want a hookup and it was soonyoung (who may want to but should not), and then everyone else. so that’s my answer i hope that’s not mad anti-climatic lolol. 

if you’re looking at someone’s chart, i def think look at venus and mars to see if they’re in more playful, airy, adaptable signs like sag, gemini, aries, aqua. these placements would not only be capable of having a hookup, but would actually think it’d be a fun experience. i’d also check their moon to make sure it isn’t in a sign that’s overly emotional/attached/possessive like anything water, maybe leo, taurus, libra, etc. etc because that would hinder their ability to have a clean hookup. as i mentioned with soonyoung, he has this mars opposite pluto that makes him pretty possessive. so keep an eye out for any aspect between venus/mars/moon and pluto. i think with all of that being said, we all have different points in our lives that we’re more impulsive than others. you may be okay with a hookup at 21 but not at 29. just a fun thing to think about, tho~

[hallura-goodness]

Second @allurashipweek

Pink & Blue/Colors

“Red is the color of luck,” Hunk explained, helping Allura fasten her Hanfu. They were matching, both red and gold, and Allura’s hair was pinned up with Hunk’s grandmother’s ornaments.

“I just thought that it was a lovely choice,” Allura said, admiring herself in the mirror. “Are all Earth festivals so brightly colored?”

“Depends on the culture,” Hunk said, placing his hands on her hips and smiling at her in the mirror. “My dad’s holidays are all pretty festive, though. New Year’s is his favorite so we all make a big deal out of it.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m happy you could be here for it.”

“I am, too,” Allura said, leaning against him and placing her hand on top of his, their fingers reflexively twining. “I’m looking forward to learning all about your holidays. All of them.”

Hunk smiled, more bashful this time, and kissed her temple. “Yeah,” he said, “and I’m looking forward to sharing.”

—

Allura sneezed, hard, and blew her nose again. Ugh, she hated this.

“Knock knock,” Hunk said in the doorway, his hands too full with a tray to do the knocking.

“Come in,” Allura said around her ridiculously, stupidly stuffed up nose.

“Breakfast in bed for the sick princess,” Hunk announced quietly as he set the tray down over her legs. More juice than she thought could be stored in one fridge was available to her, most of it this opaque, orange kind, and he had orange and red fruits in a bowl next to a small bowl of hot brown cereal.

“Tell me what all this is?” Allura asked, smiling around her bleary eyes.

“Oatmeal, orange juice, apple juice, oranges, and strawberries,” Hunk said, pointing to each one. “Oranges and strawberries boost your immune system and help fend off colds, juice is good because sugar and fluids, and oatmeal is easy on the stomach.” Hunk kissed her sweaty forehead and she swatted him.

“You’ll get sick.”

“I have more cousins than you can keep track of, my immune system is undefeatable,” Hunk countered, kissing the top of her hair.

“You have fruits that are just called their color?” Allura asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah. Only those, though. Just oranges.”

Allura began to peel it with her nails and smiled. “That’s cute. I like that.”

—

“Alteans are a spacefaring race of diplomats and trade facilitators,” Allura said, half idle, watching clouds roll past on a windy afternoon. “I’ve seen many, many planets. And I’ve seen many places blossoming into spring.”

She held the yellow daffodile up with a smile, cradling it like she used to hold the blooms of her own planet. “But each planet, the vernal season is always my favorite. Everything bursting back into life.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hunk agreed, leaning back on his elbows. Daffodils sprung up around him and swayed lightly in the wind. “Fall’s always my favorite. Everything finally cooling off again.”

Allura lifted the bloom and tucked the daffodil in the line of Hunk’s headband. He smiled at her, and looked so irresistibly beautiful in that moment that she simply had to lean in and kiss him.

“I can see how summer heat would bother you,” Allura said softly, hand placed over top of Hunk’s. “Your heart is so warm, your hands, your whole soul.”

Hunk laughed, blushing lightly. “What’s got you in such a mood?”

Allura leaned her head against his broad shoulder. “Just happy, I guess. In Altean color theory, yellow is the color of joy, you know.” She stroked a hand over the small of his back. “And you are my yellow paladin.”

—

“Are we lost?” Allura asked, sounding more amused than alarmed.

“No,” Hunk said immediately, looking between his map and his compass with a bead of sweat down his temple. “I’m just, calculating.”

Allura laughed, high and airy. “I don’t believe you” she said, fingers gently tilting the map down. Her eyes were maybe mischievous, maybe teasing.

Hunk breathed out slow, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, we’re lost.”

Allura kissed his cheek, which made him feel a little less terrible about getting them lost on what should have been an easy hike through a local forest.

“Here, give me the map,” Allura told him gently, slipping the paper from his fingers. She looked pretty with her hair tied up for hiking and stompy forest boots.

“I don’t understand it,” Hunk whined, “I can reconfigure alien technology with a high school—well I mean I guess technically college since the garrison was an advanced track of militant education for the gifted—I can do wild, amazing things with my humble earth education and advanced technology far beyond my scope, I can build a geiger counter out of an antique gameboy and some random wires that were seriously damaged by sand and wind, but the moment I want to take my girlfriend on a hike I get lost.”

“Hunk, it’s alright,” Allura said, placing her hand on his forearm. “There are worse places to get lost. And if I’m reading this right, there should be a lake just ahead.” She took his hand and led him, like she had since the day they met. So confident, so capable, Hunk still felt dumb and twitterpated every time he saw her, like he was 14 all over again.

Sure enough, the lake was right where she expected it to be, and he swore to himself he would always let her keep the map from then on. She delightedly made her way down to the water, which was coated in a thick film of algae.

“Oh, look at this,” Allura said delightedly, sun filtering through the trees and patterning leafy shadows across her skin. “There are so many bugs in here!”

“Oh, that is so cool,” Hunk agreed, getting close to the water’s edge himself. Springy, native grass cropped up around them, and active birdcall sounded just outside where the two of them were. “Man, I haven’t gone bug collecting since I was a kid.”

“We could do it here,” Allura suggested.

“Considering this is a wildlife preserve, I think people would get mad at us.” Hunk brightened suddenly, “Oh, but I can show you the best place for rolly pollies back at my place.”

“Sounds fun!” Allura said, skimming her slender fingers over the surface of the algae. She lifted her eyes, and caught him smiling at her. “What?”

“You’re just really great.”

Allura laughed. “You make me feel wonderful, Hunk. Thanks for bringing me here.” She smiled at the surrounding forest. “It’s been a while since I’ve been surrounded by so much green.”

—

Allura was gorgeous.

That was obvious, all day, every day, every week and month and year.

But it was especially obvious right then, with Allura’s dazzling blue formal dress. They were attending a diplomatic party with the other leaders of the coalition, a fancy kind of event that left Pidge complaining about bowties and uncomfortable shoes and Lance positively preening like a bird in mating season. Allura, while always stunningly, breathtakingly gorgeous, had really outdone herself.

The blue fabric cascaded around her like an elf, like a fey from some ancient story, luring Hunk himself to a death out in space. Blue earrings and a matching necklace draped over her satin-smooth skin, glinting in the soft lights around them. And the most devastating of all, her bright blue eyes, smiling at him.

“Wow.”

Allura smiled, the curve of her lips setting Hunk’s heart aflutter. “You look fairly sharp yourself, yellow paladin of voltron.”

Hunk glanced down at his borrowed Altean attire, soft, thick yellow and bronze cloth that flowed off his shoulders and hips like water. Cottony water.

“Thanks,” he said, eyes going back to her, where they would inevitably stay the whole night, locked on. “But I mean you… wow.”

“Wow?”

“Wow.”

Allura laughed, slipping her arms around Hunk’s, settling in against his side. “You’re a poet,” she teased.

“You’re too breathtaking,” Hunk protested, “Not my fault.”

“Well, I’d like you to find those brilliant words of yours, Hunk. You’re my only diplomatic backup in this band of hooligans.”

“Shiro’s pretty decent,” Hunk countered.

“Shiro’s going to be staring open mouthed and stuttering at Keith all evening. I need you to resist doing the same for me.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah, fair point, fair point,” Hunk agreed. He kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry princess, I’ve got your back.” Hunk stared at her blue, blue eyes a long moment more. “But first, just…. wow.”

—

“Purple is the color most frequently associated with the soul,” Allura explained while Hunk listened raptly. “And, more than that,” she said, light flowing off her fingers.

“Magic,” Hunk finished for her, breath full of awe.

“Magic,” Allura agreed. Brilliant shapes flew off her fingers, an array of light and strange creatures Hunk had only heard of in Coran’s lengthy and complex swears. Whorls and shapes, geometric lines and fading gradients, brilliant figures and strange runes, bright lights and dim glows, all of it swirling and pulsing and in the center of it all, Allura.

Allura. Confident Allura. Competent Allura. Brilliant, headstrong, empathetic, capable Allura, who breathed magic and whose heart beat fire through her veins.

How many times had Hunk fallen in love with her?

Countless. Countless. In every determined glare, in every barked order in high stakes situations, in every cunning move against the Galra, in every riotous speech given to hopeless peoples. In every laugh, in every quiet moment when she let herself rest against his side, in every silly voice or goofy impression, in every game of M&M, in every sparkling croon at something shiny or pretty. In every heartfelt tear she shed for those they couldn’t save, in every moment when her open, bleeding heart proved Voltron’s greatest strength, where their enemies thought they would find weakness, in every sympathetic hand placed on the arm or shoulder of someone whose suffering she shared in, in every embrace she offered to the hurting.

In every moment, Hunk had loved her. Endless, continuous, an infinity of starting agains stacked so close together it formed a perfect line.

So why should it be different, now, with her face cast in the light flowing from her fingers, eyes shining with her own ability and lips shaped around the words she shared with Hunk.

Yes, Hunk thought, he’d fallen in love with her countless times, in moments just like this. And he would fall for her a countless more.

[armor-goblin]

@slightlymaladroit SORRY ABOUT THAT here are your questions for miri/cullen my friend. tmi it-used-to-be-tuesday! 

10. Who drives? Cooks? Does the handiwork? Cleans? Pays the bills? Handles the public?

i suspect cullen drives more but it depends on the au and how many arms mireille has at any given moment -- they probably both take public transportation (and in canon they both have horses, of course, although mireille likes riding less). it’s not that miri can’t drive with one arm, but i think she’s less comfortable doing so. cullen cooks. mireille can technically prepare food but has zero cooking instinct and very little experience, no matter the au -- canonically i think circle mages are intentionally not taught those skills and from a practical standpoint she’s got very little time to learn. she can bake slightly better than she can cook, though, and cullen has taught her to chop vegetables.  both of them are relatively handy and their skills overlap a lot, but mireille tends to take care of furniture building and garden maintenance while cullen takes on leather repair, some of the gardening, and stocking the fireplace or fixing things like the roof. they both can sew, although mireille is better at embroidery. they both clean regularly but are not wildly organized. neither of them is experienced with wealth in canon, not really, so they sort of figure things out ramshackle -- but in modern aus i think they’re both rather independent about their finances and both a little forgetful about bills on occasion (until one of them makes a spreadsheet; this is likely cullen). mireille can be pretty diplomatic after a couple glasses of wine, but neither of them are particularly fond of public events, especially not being in large rooms full of strangers and especially not politicizing or networking. 

20. What does their home look like? Their room?

i think they each want their own distinct spaces, no matter what. in canon this probably means they each need some kind of office (although i think cullen in particular would just. take over an entire porch with a project and spend the time outside, or at the least have a nice big open window, while mireille prefers a high-up indoor workspace) and then the rest of their house is just filled to the brim with books and drying herbs and a few nice tapestries and mireille’s growing collection of tiny bowls. and several dogs. maybe a cat. possibly some friends.  modern-au-wise, i think this translates similarly, and also that neither of them has a distinct sense of style beyond ‘comfortably cluttered’ -- they both like soft things and throw pillows and big couches and aren’t inclined to think too hard about aesthetic beyond gravitating to jewel tones and airy kitchens, although cullen’s inclined to keep all the windows open and mireille’s inclined to having sixteen blankets piled on the bed at all times to offset this. a house they share probably accumulates quite a lot of things that pique their interest -- museum souvenirs and board games and mugs and coffee table books and probably at least one sword -- and several shelves of textbooks. 

30.  Could they manage a long distance relationship?

i think so, yeah. neither of them are people who need to see each other constantly to be happy -- they’re very independent when they’re hard at work -- and they’re also the kind of people who show care by actions, which i think lends itself well to long distance. finding out your significant other restocked your drawer of tea before they left or packed you a new saddle blanket in a familiar orange or put in an order for extra snacks with the kitchen for you, that shows they care -- that’s their brand right there. also, they’re both very wordy people who benefit from being able to think through what they want to say, and i think they write to each other maybe a little better than they talk to each other -- a little more honestly and with a little more tenderness than they might otherwise express. 

35.  Do they bring out the best in each other, or the worst? Do they have a fatal flaw?

ahahaha, they both have like SIX MILLION fatal flaws, this is my favorite question! it’s so long i’m putting it under a cut tho -- 

mireille’s got a terrible combination of the kind of curiosity that killed the cat and the slightly arrogant knowledge that she’s pretty smart, which almost always gets her into trouble -- she’s generally convinced she’s right to do whatever she’s doing because she’s smart enough to do whatever it is responsibly and because she needs to know the answer, which doesn’t mean it’s a good idea and doesn’t mean she’s actually doing it responsibly (as opposed to just taking any risk on herself). she’s nosy, but dislikes being nosed in on herself, which has not convinced her not to be nosy somehow and universally bites her in the ass. she’s slightly less self aware than she thinks she is and not always capable of acknowledging her own biases and the limits of her knowledge outside of certain situations. (is she actually a better doctor than the skyhold surgeon? maybe, but comparing a nonmagical surgeon to a mage doctor isn’t the fairest way to compare -- and the surgeon knows a good bit, but she and mireille don’t get along, so they don’t share that knowledge.) she can be really petty, and a bit childish when she’s peeved or when she’s not in control of a situation, especially when someone wants her to do something she’s disinclined toward. she’s also got an aptitude for violence that is utterly dismaying to her -- mireille’s not a skilled fighter by any means, but she’s got a lot of anatomical knowledge and she’s viciously efficient when pressed hard enough. and she has an instinct toward retributive justice that doesn’t at all sit well with her, especially as the events of DAI push her into a judge-jury-executioner role. 

cullen, meanwhile, has a similar problem with being slightly less self-aware than he thinks he is, and his self-martyring streak is much stronger than mireille’s -- and borders on the melodramatic when viewed from outside, at least to her. he’s got a a perfectionist tendency to overthink and pick at every little thing ten times over, which leaves him with some blind spots, because he’s not picking at the pillars holding up his assumptions nearly as much as he is everything else -- i think he’s made more progress on that than not, but he’s very much still working through those biases in the timeline of their acquaintance. he’s also not great at being patient with himself or others, and tends to fall back on being authoritarian because he wants to be in control of the situation (which doesn’t work on mireille, who tends to be authoritarian right back for similar reasons). he’s still the man with a hammer to whom every problem is a nail -- he’s certainly better than he was, but his basic outlook on the world is still ‘poke it with a sword and tell it to stop doing that,’ because that’s worked pretty much every time in the past. he’s also definitely the type to prioritize the needs of the many over the few -- not wholly unreasonably from the perspective of an army commander, but mireille would consider that a fatal flaw. 

i know i say this every time i talk about them but it’s so much of why i love them -- miri and cullen are really similar people (which is a bit by design, haha) who have very different methods of accomplishing their goals, which are pretty much all about using their knowledge/skill/power to help those who need it. and they’re both very traumatized people, at different stages in their recovery from that trauma (esp in canon, i minimize this in au writing but in canon...boi). their flaws often mirror each other, which helps them each recognize what they are. mireille can call cullen on his self-martyring and blind spots, and cullen can call mireille on her arrogance and denial -- both of them need, and thrive on, being challenged. also they’re both ridiculously competitive and have the same sense of humor, which is 80% dry sarcasm and 20% deadpan puns. they get along remarkably well setting all the trauma aside, and it’s deeply annoying to both of them that they genuinely like each other sometimes. but here they are, liking each other anyway. and admiring each other’s passion and determination and perseverance, and the way they each work toward their goals, and chip at their flaws, and try to move past their traumas and make something better of themselves and the world, in the end. they bring out the best in each other by showing each other another way to do things. by challenging each other, and genuinely helping each other, too. i think right from the start they’re on the same level -- they both want to dig into each other a little bit in retribution for old wounds, and then to pick at the flaws that mirror their own, and then to try to improve themselves, and they end up using each other as a safe place to stand to do that, and pulling each other up into the light. 

this is always gentler in aus, because i think they have a variety of other reasons to be together -- similar sense of humor and priorities, a genuine appreciation for what they both do (especially since i like to put cullen in healthcare a LOT and i think that switch says a lot about his shift in aus), competitive natures, utter nerdiness and intellectual interest in what each other has to say -- but i like them most in canon where everything is hard and they’re still trying to be better people and pick up the pieces of their old way of life, and take a hard look at them when they go to rebuild it. THANKS FOR ASKING ME THIS SORRY IT’S SO LONG <3

[dramaqueeenamby]

Space Between (5)

Ugh. I hate that I didn’t make it for Wednesday, but shit happens. :( It’s almost 3am here, but I wanted to make sure you all had this by the time you get up, and I made sure that it’s nice and long so, brownie points for trying? Yes? No? Okay. 

But, next week, Bun Bun Wednesdays (coined by the awesome @dreamlovealways ) will resume its regular programming. 

I hope this doesn’t appear boring because it’s really telling if you read carefully, analytically, and psychologically. I don’t always like giving explicit answers. I sometimes make you work, put together the pieces, find the indirect causes and such. 

That’s what this is. 

Let’s see who (if anyone) can pick up the biggest takeaway from this chapter.

Whoever gets it right makes an appearance in the next chapter and if it’s more than one of you, that’s okay because the scene in which you appear allows for more than one person. :) 

As always, if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist for THIS story or my permanent one, reply, reblog, or message me stating so. :)

Words: 4202

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @katshrev @elaindeereads @soulmates8 @naturallyqueenie @onyour-right @msincognito67 @janellemonaenae @afraiddreamingandloving @hutchj @90sinspiredgirl  @airis-paris14 @dolphinpink310@purplemuse @purplemuse @amberkay284 @leafdragon117 @meeky-imagines @aieyr @h-challa @quietemptydiariess @katasstrophey @wakanda-inspired @destinio1

Space Between (5)

Y/N released a battle cry as she kicked the last of her opponents in the throat, effectively grounding him.

Indefinitely.

Panting, she wiped the sheen of sweat that had built up on her face with the back of her hand and straightened her posture.

From up above in the viewing area, she waited for the reaction of her superiors, to see if she had pleased them.

For once.

“You have been practicing.”

“Yes, sir.” She kept her chin up and eyes straight on the wall across the room, the staff in her hand secured and ready for another round if needed.

She could literally feel their judgmental eyes burning into her. “Your timing has improved as well.”

“Does that please you?”

“Perfection pleases us.” The woman’s voice cut deep, void of emotion, but she was used to that.

She was used to them.

“Then that it was I will work for. Consistently. You have my word.”

The man chuckled darkly. “Is that so?”

“Perfection will never be an option for you. Your genetic defect impedes it.”

She didn’t even react to the hurtful comment. After all, she’d heard varying versions of them every day for the past 13 years.

“Nevertheless,” he placed a hand up and rubbed his beard. “Let her humor us.” His stoic eyes twinkled with an indecipherable emotion. “Kill him.”

Her mouth faltered as she finally looked up at them. “My lord?”

“Was I unclear?” He quickly turned hostile. “A warrior must never give his or her opponent an opportunity to defeat them.”

Y/N looked down at the boy who was probably her age, maybe even younger, she couldn’t tell, but what she could see was the fear in his eyes. She didn’t know his name. It was forbidden for royalty to mingle with commoners. He was just a kid that she sparred and trained with, but he was still that, a kid.

Someone with his whole life ahead of him. She couldn’t kill him. She couldn’t kill anyone who hadn’t done anything to warrant such a thing.

“I-I-I”

“You can’t.” The woman spoke coldly. “Very well.”

She dropped her head, knowing that she’d shamed them. “I am sorry....for disappointing you.”

“It would not be the first time.” He spoke as the two turned around to leave, and her eyes watered. “But it will be the last time.”

Her head snapped up. “I don’t unde-“

She cried out in pain as someone came from behind and kicked her in her lower back. She wasn’t prepared and fell on top of the male student who quickly pushed her off before running away. It was against the law for commoners to touch royals without permission.

She went to jump up but the person who attacked her stepped on her back to hold her down and grabbed her hair, yanking her head backward as he decked her in the front of her neck.

She started to wheeze and cough, spurring out blood on the mat as her assailant walked around to stand in front of her.

Y/N went to jump up and kick him, but he grabbed her by her neck, lifting her off so that her feet were dangling. Her eyes watered when she saw who it was.

“Jamal.” She managed to force out, her tears blinding her vision as he slammed her into the ground.

Y/N shouted from a mixture of physical and emotional pain. Never would she have imagined that the sixteen-year-old son of a prominent Niganda diplomat, her brother’s best friend, and her future betrothed via an arranged marriage (set in stone years prior) would be responsible for such a vicious assault.

She knew that he trained with Belay, her brother, that he was rumored to be starting to earn his position in the King’s court, but she didn’t know that he’d be willing to go this far.

“Please.” She moaned as he cracked his knuckles and brought his fist down on her stomach. She yelled in pain, clutching and turning on her side from the burning sensation.

“Fight me, princess!” He mocked, squeezing her shoulder. “Only a coward stays down and takes a beating.”

“No.” A newfound voice, a newfound livid voice, introduced itself. “Only a coward attacks someone that he knows is smaller and weaker.”

Y/N mustered enough strength to lift her head and mumble softly. “Brother....”

Jamal started to back away from a bruised and bleeding Y/N. “Come now, Belay. I was only following orders. If she had just-“

He didn’t get a chance to finish because Prince Belay had closed the distance between them, pouncing on the other boy, immediately starting to rain punches onto him.

“You think that you can hurt my sister!” The teenager was furious, each word coinciding with a violent blow to the face, chest, arm. The area of impact didn’t matter, just as long as it made a collision. “I’ll kill you and have your whole family executed for putting your fucking hands on her!”

This time, Jamal was the one spitting out blood as he again tried to explain himself. “Come on, man. Your father-“

“Don’t you ever call him that!” Belay snapped as he dragged his former friend to his feet and kicked him in the back of his knees, decking the boy in his neck. “That man is a monster.” He brought his eyes over to where his sister was struggling to stand up on her own. “And so are you.” He lifted his knee to Jamal’s face, breaking his nose before hitting him again, knocking him unconscious.

Belay stood over him for a second, forcing himself to calm down before he went back over to his little sister.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” She cried and shook her head. “Mother and father-“

“You think that I give a fuck about them?” He interrupted, hoping that his shortness didn’t come off as though it was directed at her. “Look at what they just did to you, Y/N.” He reached out and lightly stroked the top of her head. “And for what? Let me guess....they wanted you to kill someone.” She said nothing, but he didn’t expect her to. He already knew. “Come here.”

She whimpered as he gathered her in his arms, her head automatically resting against his chest. “I’m sorry about-“

“Don’t.” He cut her off. “And I don’t want you crying over him either. Any man that could so easily put his hands on you just to win favor, or for any reason for that matter, is not worth it. You don’t ever give anyone the power to hurt you. You understand me?” She nodded gently as Belay took in her battered face which was becoming more swollen by the minute. “I’m always going to be there for you, Y/N.” A beat. “I promise.”

“Owww!”

Y/N jumped as Bunme moaned from her spot between her legs. She looked down and realized that she’d probably pulled too hard on her hair. “Mommy’s sorry.” She murmured and cleared her throat, wondering where that memory came from.

She’d stop thinking about her brother a long time ago. The past…it was…too painful sometimes…often times….all the time.

She needed a distraction.

“Make sure to use your manners.”

“Yes, mommy.” Bunme bemoaned and turned up her nose as Y/N saturated her hair with curl activator from roots to tip.

The mother grabbed the wire brush to ensure that the product was engrained throughout her daughter's curls before separating it down the middle. “And if there is something that you don’t understand, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I knowwww.” The little princess rolled her eyes while Y/N pulled up one side of her parted hair and started to place it into a high ponytail, doing a two strand twist and wrapping it around into a bun.

She grabbed a different and smaller brush, craning her core around as she lightly wagged it in her daughter’s face. “And you are to stay with Dumi and Ayo at all time!”

“I know, mommy,” Bunme whined as Y/N craned her head back to check the front of her hair to ensure that the first doughnut came out properly.

Y/N switched brushes again as she laid down the kitchen and sides of the other half of her little girl’s hair. “And most importantly, under no circumstances are you to-“

“Have any fun whatsoever-“ Bunme and Y/N looked up to see T’Challa leaning against the door, his arms crossed, that infamous smirk on his face. “Bast forbids, you find any joy in this experience.”

“Kitty!” Bunme shouted, her smile wide, her dimples glaring as Y/N quickly tightened her legs around her daughter to keep her from moving as she tightened the hair tie around the second bun. “I knew it was you!” She giggled and stretched her arms and legs.

His eyes twinkled with curiosity. “You heard me coming?”

“Of course!” She maintained her smiled and grabbed her doll that was between her legs, flying it from side to side with her extended arms.

“She has excellent hearing.” Y/N commented as she worked on her daughter’s baby hair, using the comb to create an ‘S’ pattern, forgoing gel as she preferred to allow her curls to do as they would.

He walked into the room, that same equivocal look in his eyes. “Yes, but the kitty is supposed to be quiet.”

“Not from me,” Bunme yelled as she stood up and slipped a robe off that her mother made her wear when she was getting her hair done. She spun around and ran toward T’Challa who was still deep in thought when the child ran into him.

He decided to humor her and made an “umph” sound as she wrapped her arms around his legs and looked up.

“That didn’t hurt!” She accused with a giggle as he bent down to crouch and extended his arms to hold her hands.

“Well don’t you look absolutely beautiful.” He complimented, bringing one hand to her face as he lightly tapped her cheek.

“Thank you.” She retained that ever infectious smile and moved in between his legs, grabbing onto his chest as she turned around and pointed to Y/N. “What about mommy?”

T’Challa looked up and watched as the eldest princess of Niganda also removed her robe revealing her yellow two-piece that exposed portions of her midsection and arms and accentuated her figure. Only a few pieces of fine jewels adorned her neck and wrists but that did not surprise the king as he always knew the women to be one who never truly cared to exercise her status or wealth.

“Exquisite…” he breathed as Y/N slowly brought herself to smile, glancing down and then up again as she resumed putting away the hair supplies.

Bunme, however, frowned as she looked back and forth between the two, narrowing her eyes slightly at T’Challa. “Is that a good thing? Because my mommy is the prettiest mommy in the whole wide world!”

He chuckled at her defensiveness. “Why yes, of course. Never would I insult your mother, sam isipho.” He too slanted his eyes, but playfully. “Not when she such a fierce protector.” The child fell out in laughter as T’Challa started to tickle her, Bunme relentless in her attempt to separate from the king, but he had her in his iron grasp.

Y/N watched the two interact, a pang of guilt hitting her so strongly that it brought a frown to her face.

Look at how well she’s taken to him….

“I’m always going to be there for you, Y/N.” A beat. “I promise.”

Her heart sank, but she was a professional at poker faces.

“Alright, you two,” she managed to plaster on an artificial smile as T’Challa finally stopped, both he and Y/N surprised when a smiling Bunme put some distance between the two of them, lifted her leg and gave him a light side kick.

When she was done, she landed precisely on both her feet, guard up, in a defensive position, still with that same smile.

“Bunme!” Y/N placed both hands on her hips, her mouth ajar. “You can not-“ She stopped when T’Challa raised his hand and lifted one knee, placing his forearm on it as he looked over at the little girl.

“Who taught you that?”

“Mommy says to always be ready.” She nodded proudly as the king darted his eyes up to look at Y/N.

She rubbed her temples. “For a real attack, Bun Bun. You cannot just go around hitting people. Let alone kings.”

“You did well, Bunme.” T’Challa applauded as Y/N watched him stand up and walk over to her, eying her closely before looking back up at her mother.

“She has exceptional precession for someone so young. How old was she when you first started training her?”

Y/N paused with her answer. The question about Bunme’s hearing. Now this one about her precision. She wasn’t daft. She knew exactly what he was trying to figure out, and she damn sure wasn’t trying to go there with him. Not when their….her daughter was only a few feet away.

Still, she had to say something.

“She’s my shadow. What I do, she does or either wants to do. She’s been watching me train since she was an infant. I suppose that contributed to her advancement for when she actually started.” Her answer was purposely vague. She was well aware of that and, unfortunately, so was he.

He just didn’t say or show it.

“Interesting.” He clasped his hands behind his back and turned around to see that Bunme was clutching her doll with apprehension. “Is something wrong, sam isipho?”

Y/N frowned. That was the second time he’d called her that. She made a mental note to ask him what it meant. That is if her daughter didn’t beat her to it.

She looked up and chewed on her bottom lip so that it was pushed to the right before leaning back and forth on her sandals. “Can I…is it…okay…if I bring my dolly?”

T’Challa opened his mouth but faltered.

Y/N, the ever so ready mother casually moved closer to the man so that she was within earshot and slyly looked down. “She never goes anywhere without it.”

T’Challa did not outwardly respond to the information and instead looked back over to the waiting little girl. “Of course you can.”

She grinned and curtsied, her eyes growing wide. “Wait. What’s mommy gonna do while I’m gone?” She then walked up to T’Challa, craning her neck up to stare at him. “You gotta make sure she’s not all by herself. I don’t want her to get lonely.”

The older woman eyes watered. For over twenty years she’d felt that loneliness, basked in it, prayed for something, someone to deliver her from it. Never could she have imagined what she initially thought to be her worst mistake would end up being her biggest blessing.

She opened her mouth to respond but T’Challa beat her to it, crouching down so that he was eye level with her. “Do not worry, little one. As long as I live, you nor your mother will ever be alone.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

“Are you sure that there is no way for me to contact her?”

“Y/N…”

“Just for a second.”

“She is fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know that she is not fine.”

“So then would it not benefit us both to check and see her whereabouts?”

T’Challa grinned cheekily. “I am not the one who is senselessly worried.”

Y/N stopped walking and grabbed him by his arm, forcing him to look at her. “It is not senseless.” He raised a brow as she dropped her shoulders. “I just….” she released a heavy sigh, her hand reaching out to dust across the bush of rare flowers. “We’ve never been apart from each other. The feeling is…foreign.” She looked over her shoulder. “I like knowing her whereabouts at all times.”

“Knowing that she’s safe.” He translated, hands behind his back.

Y/N laughed softly. “You must think me foolish….to be so frightened of her while she attends school….of all places.”

T’Challa stood behind her, admiring how the rays of the sun reflected off her cocoa complexion, the purity of her enriched melanin.

Her fingers lightly treaded over the petals. “At home, she is unable to attend any of our schools.”

“Because of the high risk that she brings…..” He supplied quietly, already knowing where she was going.

“They’d prefer my parents, but they’d surely settle for her.” She turned around. “And bombs have no names.”

He eyed her, the amount of vulnerability that she was sharing with him surprising, but he was certainly welcoming.

“You once told me that Niganda only provides free schooling for the children of politicians, elite members of societies-“

She nodded. “Basically all of the people who can afford it-“

“And those who can not-“

“Learn what they can to pick up a trade and head into the workforce.” Her bitterness at the educational system was evident in her tone as well as her face before she searched his face. “Why do you ask?”

“Why did you choose to go into education?”

She said nothing for a good minute, maybe two and then started walking with him following close behind. “My brother and I were once very close. He told me everything and vice versa. We both had private tutors as our parents thought that we were too good to go to school with the other children.” She rolled her eyes which then saddened when burdened with the painful memories of a reality check. “I know now that they just did not want us to know the full extent of their wicked ways.”

He frowned. “You are referring to their educational policies?”

She kept her head straight as she subtly nodded. “Sometimes the greatest pain comes not from the secret itself but from the measures taken to keep the secret alive.”

He moved his arm to block her from walking, prompting her to look down as he maneuvered around so that he was standing in front of her.

Y/N’s eyes shut as the back of his left hand slowly trailed down her arm, her heart a fluttering mess as she turned her head and attempted to calm her climaxing nerves.

“What are you doing?” It came out as a whisper, her voice, as she felt his breath against her neck, his hands on her waist.

“What secret are you referring to?” She stilled and not from the shock of his lips lightly grazing the area surrounding her clavicle. “The one from your parents.” She inhaled deeply as he opened his mouth and raked his tongue over her now scorching skin. Damn, she hated how his touch always left her on fire. “Your brother.” She tried her hardest to focus on her family, hoping that it would distract from what he was doing but his hands started to roam her body, pulling her into him, squeezing, lightly massaging. “Or that which exists between us.”

She quietly hissed and reluctantly brought her hands to his upper arms. “There is no us….”

He moved his head so that he could look at her. “So it is us.”

“What do you want from me, T’Challa?” She pressed, dragging her hands down to the core of his attire, lightly grabbing onto the black material as she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“You, Y/N.” He answered, lowering his head so that his forehead was touching hers. “Just….you.” She closed her eyes mostly because she practically knew his answer before he confirmed it. “But that cannot happen until you stop pushing me away.”

Her mouth opened to rebuff his statement, but she faltered. “I d-d-“

“And you cannot blame it on Bunme because you did the exact thing five years ago, so tell me…what is it that holds you back?” She finally opened her eyes up and gazed up at him as he wiped away a tear that she hadn’t even realized was readying to fall. “Or who?”

She suddenly wished she’d rejected his request to join him on a walk in the palace gardens. It seemed as though each day in Wakanda was becoming increasingly emotionally difficult. Questions were being asked that she either didn’t have answers for or didn’t want to answer.

Except for the question at hand….that one truly had her stumped. When she first arrived, she would have said that it was because she hated him, he was an arrogant asshole who she couldn’t be bothered with. But he wasn’t.

He wasn’t even that five years ago. Maybe a little, but not to the extent that she dragged for him.

So why did she have such a hard time opening up to him?

“My king.”

She turned her head as Okoye interrupted their moment, wanting to put as much distance between them, but he kept his hands on her waist.

“General.” He acknowledged.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Y/N face flushed as she could practically hear the smirk in Okoye’s voice. “But Lord M’Baku and Lady Hawla have arrived.”

“Of course,” Y/N wondered why she felt a sudden coldness overcome her as T’Challa finally pulled away. “Please, send them up.”

“Too late for that.” A short woman with flawless mocha skin, stormy eyes, light freckles all over her face, and prominent cheeks chimed as she walked past Okoye. “It is unlike you to forget your obligations, my king. Someone’s age must be catching up with him.”

“I do not think that is it, my love.” A large man dressed in furs whose size and aura just screamed power also appeared behind Okoye, observing Y/N from head to toe with platonic curiosity. “I believe that the king’s attention was directed….elsewhere.”

“Enough.” T’Challa stopped them and placed a hand on the small of Y/N’s back as she wiped at her eyes, directing them as they walked over to the two new people. “M’Baku, Hawla, this is Princess Y/N of Niganda. Y/N this is Lord M’Baku and his wife, Lady Hawla, rulers of J'Abariland.”

“A pleasure.” Y/N gave the Wakandan salute, something her daughter had been hellbent on teaching her a few nights ago even when she was disgustingly tired and just wanted to go to sleep.

“Ah, so this is her.” Hawla aww’d as she observed Y/N who frowned in confusion. “She is far too pretty for you, T’Challa.” Just how many people had T’Challa spoken to about her?

“I second that,” M’Baku spoke up. “Perhaps we can interest you in one of our warriors-“

“M’Baku, shall you and I go discuss the tribal matters as planned?” T’Challa interrupted, a scowl on his face that made both Y/N and Hawla smile.

“Of course.” The monolithic man agreed as T’Challa informed that they would return as soon as they were done, departing, but not before M’Baku gave his wife a list of a few good potential suitors.

“I thank you for…thinking of me, but I am not interested in dating.” Y/N said as soon as the men were gone and she and Hawla were walking the gardens. “And T’Challa and I are just friends.”

“No, princess. T’Challa and I are just friends. Have been. For many years. What I just witnessed between the two of you is beyond the scope of friendship.” M’Baku’s wife lectured as Y’N quieted down.

“I…I have a child.”

“Say no more.” She chuckled. “Let me guess….Ramonda?”

Y/N stopped. “How did you know?”

“One. You’re not Nakia. Two. You’re not Wakandan. Three. You have the audacity to have a child?” She placed her hand over her heart and faked a look of apprehension. “Truly, how do you live with yourself? The shame?”

Y/N giggled softly. “So it is not just me that finds her unbearable?”

“That woman is bastawful.” She rolled her eyes. “But not even she can stop T’Challa when he truly makes up his mind about something. Or someone.”

“You assume that I feel about him the same way that feels about me.” Y/N sighed.

“Do you?” It hadn’t even been ten seconds when Hawla spoke again. “The fact that you could not answer right away should tell you something.” A beat. “Did you know that Wakanda is not one of the countries that your father reached out to for asylum?”

Y/N stopped when she heard that. “What?”

The other woman nodded. “It was our neighboring nation of Narobia who declined the request. It just so happened that there was a summit the day after the request came through and Narobia’s president was discussing the petition. T’Challa overheard, inquired, and as soon as he heard it was you, he reached out to your father…and that was pretty much it.”

Y/N was stunned. T’Challa hadn’t told her, not that she was surprised, but still. Why had he gone so far as to secure her safety? After five years? Truly, what was his endgame? Did he have one?

“I think we both know the answer to that,” Hawla smirked as Y/N recoiled with horror in the realization that she’d be speaking aloud. “The question that remains now is what are you going to do with this information?”

If only Y/N knew.

If only.

[readcommendations]

Hi readers, bookworms, and robots!

This actually happened a few days back, but I’ve been so busy with space things I rudely forgot to update my page. Shame, shame, shame on me!

As you might recall, back in 2017 I was a part of the amazing PEW PEW anthology series. A set of amazing, hilarious space adventures that I couldn’t believe my little stories had the honor of being presented with. Out of the three novellas I submitted, two of them followed the adventures of Miss Planet Earth: awakened thousands of years in the future with her visa long since expired, our poor Katra has to find her way back to a home that no longer exists – with Space Pirates in tow.

When the rights reverted back to me this spring, I secretly started putting together pocket paperbacks of Katra’s adventures. And now, after weeks of waiting for the approval… they’re online! Well, Miss Planet Earth I is in paperback, Miss Planet Earth II (The Amulet of Beb-Sha-Na) is still just an ebook. But in any case, they’re now available for your viewing pleasure!

Miss Planet Earth is avilable here in ebook and pocket paperback, Miss Planet Earth and the Amulet of Beb-Sha-Na is available here in just ebook format (for now!)

Check out the very first chapter to see if it’s your cup of tea!

A pageant queen out of time. A secretive assassin in the wrong body. Space pirates and demented droids. It’s been a long day.

Katra Zorento won the title of Miss Universe only days before first contact was made. Armed with only her charm and her golden bikini, she was sent to compete on the real stage, against the rest of the Milky Way – only to overshoot the arrival by 13,000 years.

Now, with her visa expired and no one on her side, she must make the arduous trip back to the planet that once was Earth… That is, of course, if dashing space pirates don’t get in the way. And to make matters worse, her fiancé’s brain might be trapped inside her head. Katra’s only allies are a mysterious assassin trapped in a 9 year old’s body and a ‘service’ droid with memory issues. But if she survives this, she could win the most valuable crown in the universe…

Chapter 1: In which mistakes were made, and visas revoked

Katra Zorento woke up to find she had overslept the pageant by 13,000 years. Her fingers were still frosty as she sat at the desk, trying to warm them in the soft fabric of her leggings. To her left was the open casket she had been pried from: her cryogenic sleeping pod, packed with her makeup bag, her red ball gown and a bikini. There was also the large golden disk she had brought from Earth, a replica of the one from the Voyager probe, a gift for the Council of Twelve. Every member of which was now dead. The council itself abolished 4,812 years ago, after an incident with a gas cloud which proved once and for all that diplomatic missions and fire breathing dragons do not mix. At least not on a spaceship. All this Katra gleaned from the overstuffed office she found herself in. Posters covered the walls, telling the history of this weird planet through snippets of Public Service Announcements. The Council’s abolition was a stark reminder not to travel through nebulas in the first place. They tried the gas – and ended civilization. Don’t gas and drive. The entire floor space was taken up by her pod, two chairs, and a desk, so Katra had to tuck her legs under her seat since there was no room to put them down. Across from her sat what appeared to be a formless blob of gelatin, which wobbled back and forth on its hovering chair, as if waiting for her to speak. Every once and a while, a paper on its desk would ruffle, though how it was moving Katra had no idea. “You understand your visa has long since expired, yes?” the blob said. The voice was loud, and somehow directly in Katra’s mind, which made her spine tingle. She had never met a telepathic alien before, nor any kind of alien, so the entire experience was a little unnerving, to say the least. “Yes, but, what happened?” she asked, trying to keep her still thawing limbs from trembling. “I was supposed to meet Chancellor Forbin and…” “As I explained earlier,” said the blob’s voice, somehow conveying a sigh through its haughty mightier-than-thou airy voice. “Chancellor Forbin has been dead for over thirteen millennia.” “But the trip was only supposed to take fifty years,” Katra protested, “and where is Marcus?” “Marcus?” “Yes, my bodyguard, Marcus. We were put in cryo-sleep together.” “Ah, the male.” The blob mentally ruffled the pages on the desk. “I thought they explained after they woke you? And your visit to a dislocation officer didn’t make it clear to you?” “I’m not quite sure what a dislocation officer is, exactly.” Katra looked down at her lap and tried to avoid eye contact. Not that there were any eyes to latch onto, but gazing in the blob’s general direction made her mind swim uncomfortably. “You’ve been sent to see a dislocation officer – me – because your traveling companion’s mind was too damaged by the time spent in the cryo-sleep.” “Marcus is dead?” Katra couldn’t help but glare at the blob in complete shock. Marcus. Dead. He was – no, had been – more than just her bodyguard and constant companion. The two of them had been engaged to be married upon their triumphant return to Earth. And now he was dead. And was there even an Earth to return to? She wanted desperately to ask all those questions, and more. But she was face to face with a sentient slice of Jell-O and not quite sure how to proceed. Her heart shook with silent, terrified grief. “His body passed away not long after your departure from the planet formerly known as Earth,” said the blob, “though… how much do you know about dislocation?” “Absolutely nothing.” “Ah.” The blob seemed to hesitate. “Did the officer who put you in the chamber explain the process employed to preserve your body during the cryogenic session?” “Vaguely,” Katra replied. It might have been thousands of years ago in history, but for her it was less than an hour ago that the strange man with gray skin had hastily sputtered some space jargon before sealing her and Marcus into the pods. That in turn was only minutes before she woke up in a strange orange room, surrounded by giant lizard-men trying to spray her down with a hose. “So you know the consciousness is downloaded to a quantum cell, in case the physical mind is damaged in transit.” Katra’s heart leapt. “So Marcus’s mind is still alive?” “Yes, and no,” the blob almost seemed embarrassed at this. It was hard to tell, what with the lack of facial expressions. Or any face to speak of, for that matter. “Due to a malfunction that must have occurred during the incident that destroyed the male’s physical mind, his upload was compiled with yours. So when you awoke…” “Shut. Up!” Katra could almost shout with glee. “He’s alive? In my head?” “Yes,” the cloud said, perplexed, “you do not find this perturbing?” “We were to get married!” she sputtered, “this is even better! Two minds, one body. For as long as we both shall live, in sickness and in health. This is better than marriage!” The blob swiftly tossed a stack of papers into the trash. Katra’s excitement faded. She had probably just lost a massive bargaining chip with her outburst. Marcus? Are you in there? I need you. I’m making a mess. Nothing. “You sure he’s in here?” she asked. The news alone was enough to bring heat back to her chest, drawing out the ice forever. “Safe and sound?” “Yes, the download was definitely complete,” the blob said proudly, “your mate’s consciousness is safely in your head. But he may not present himself at first: he must carve a space in your gray matter. Humans have gray matter, correct?” Katra nodded, though not entirely sure. It was the future, after all; maybe modern humans had done away with the stuff entirely at this point. “Once the consciousness emerges, he may try to take control of his new host body. We apologize for any inconvenience this brings you.” “What is inconvenient is me being here in the first place,” said Katra, her spark finally returning. Maybe it was the news that Marcus was safe and hers alone; maybe it was the heat creeping back into her extremities. Either way, she was majorly pissed. She crossed her arms over her chest and propped her extremely long legs on the blob’s desk. The blob said nothing. Katra wondered how it even saw what she was doing. “How come I wasn’t woken up in time for the pageant?” she spat, “the engineers calculated everything perfectly. A fifty-year trip, not a minute longer. What happened?” “Well, this is closer to ancient history for us, now,” said the blob, “you understand, a year after your departure for Earth, faster than light travel was invented.” “So?” “The council decided they didn’t want to wait another forty-nine years for you to arrive at the pageant when they could have everyone show up the next day. So Earth sent someone else.” “Who?” Katra slammed her hands on the table, making the Jell-O wobble. Which was an odd sight to see. It wobbled to one side and then back, like someone had poked it with a stick. “Don’t tell me it was that bitch, Riley. Miss Australia? She had no place as my runner up.” “Then you’ll be happy to know that Miss Earth – formerly Miss Australia, according to my notes – was eaten and digested by Miss Ma’jarkeen. Which is why the pageant was canceled and hasn’t been held since.” “So our ship got there and you… what? Put us in a warehouse and forgot to revive us for thousands of years?” “I’m sorry, not my department,” said the mound of gelatin, “I’ve already outstepped by pulling up so much information from this case. To make things short: we’re sorry for the inconvenience, and we’re sending you home right away.” “To Earth?” “It used to be called Earth, yes.” “What is it now?” “Super-freaky funland dark-side death-zone powered by MnM.” “You call that my home?” Katra sputtered. She would have stood up, indignant, but there was no space for her to do so in the tiny office. “What the fudge is super-strange dark world death thingy?” “Super-freaky funland dark-side death-zone powered by MnM.” “That can’t be Earth!” “Well, I’m sorry, but things change, child,” said the blob. “Your home planet had to make ends meet somehow. Becoming an escape room theme park was the logical choice.” “An escape room… theme park?” Katra felt as if the ice around her heart had gone right back to being frozen, as cold as the popsicle she had been inside the pod. She wished her eyes could shoot literal daggers across the room, but even if they did, she doubted they would hit the gelatin or harm it in any way. “Yes, and quite a nice one,” said the blob. “I brought my hovel-mates there a few cycles ago. Such fun! Much better now than it ever was before.” The pageant queen was fuming now, but she forced herself through the breathing techniques her coach had instilled in her and stayed focused. There was no point lingering on the fact that her home was gone, or the fact that everyone she ever knew or loved was now dead. Except maybe Marcus, her one love, her rock, who was living quite silently in her head. “I want to go home,” she murmured, under her breath. “Do not worry, we’re sending you back, all expenses paid.” “It’s not my home anymore.” “Well, I’m sorry, but according to your passport, it is.” The cloud made the little green booklet drift up before Katra’s eyes. “And your visa expired quite some time ago. So we have to send you back. You understand, of course.” “Of course,” said Katra, keeping that pageant calmness. “Do I get some kind of compensation, at least?”

    Miss Planet Earth hits Amazon shelves! Hi readers, bookworms, and robots! This actually happened a few days back, but I've been so busy with space things I rudely forgot to update my page.

[86quills]

Pounding Heart

Wham!

“Don’t you dare…” Sakura took a deep breath, heart hammering in her chest as she tried to keep the flood of panic at bay. “Don’t you dare die and leave me with your pervert cousin…” Because if you do, I’m pretty damn sure he’d lose his shit and then your whole fucking clan is going to murder me, revive me and then murder me again…she almost threw up at the thought.

Another powerful, chakra enhanced fist pounded his chest and then another and another.

Itachi gasped, choking on air as his back arched in pain, dark eyes wild and dilated. Cradling his head in her lap, Sakura unconsciously placed a tender kiss on his temple, sagging in relief and drawing his dazed attention. “Please don’t ever fucking do that again, Itachi…” she whispered, pumping her chakra into him to stabilize his vitals.

Shisui dropped down beside them and she had never been more happy to see him.

“He’s alive…” she assured, getting ready to haul him across her shoulders, but Shisui beat her to it.

Her eyes were already assessing the damage he’d taken—bruises and lacerations, a broken rib or two judging by his breathing and low on chakra. About to protest, Sakura bit her tongue when he shook his head and gave her a pained smile. “I’ve got him. I need you free in case there’s another war party on the loose.” In case you need to escape and leave us behind…

She tsked and stepping forward, placed a healing hand to his side to mend his ribs. “Don’t be dramatic.”

He stole a quick kiss much to Sakura’s chagrin. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Save your energy. You’re going to need it for the run back home.”

…

Sakura was exhausted. A stay-in-bed-all-day type of exhausted where the only thing she wanted to do was sleep and flop around, maybe eat if she could manage, but mostly just sleep. But damn, she couldn’t. With a tired groan, she rolled out of bed and dragged herself to the shower.

An hour later, she was walking into the Uchiha compound, mentally preparing herself for what would certainly be a very long day. She briefly wondered how she got sucked into doing this and then remembered that it was all Tsunade’s fault. How convenient of the blonde to offer up her apprentice to oversee the annual Uchiha shinobi physicals. Ugh, who did I piss off in my past life?

Personally, Sakura would’ve just forced everyone to show up at the hospital by threatening each and every one of them with low ranking missions, but ‘in the interest of clan relations’, Tsunade had given them this small inch. Though Sakura knew it was simply to shut the Uchiha elders up. 

“Sakura-senpai!”

She looked up and waved, making a beeline for where the others had set up shop. The medics had commandeered one of the many traditional homes on the Uchiha compound and had partitioned the space into smaller, private rooms for the physicals.

“Catch me up, Moegi,” Sakura said as she accepted the steaming cup of coffee from the young, doe-eyed medic in training.

“Five medics on site, including you. Rooms have all been set up and everything’s good to go, Sakura-senpai.”

“How many Uchiha are we expecting?”

“Forty-seven.”

Moegi helped Sakura into her white chief medic coat as the others walked onto the roka. Sakura could’ve killed Tsunade right then and there when she saw who she was saddled with. All fresh, doe-eyed girls. Fan girls. Masquerading as medics in training. This had to be payback for swiping a few bottles of her best sake. Granted, these physicals would be easy enough for their skill levels, but what the hell! She didn’t need to deal with puddles of goo and lovesick babies today. Suppressing a sigh, Sakura took a deep breath. She’d been doing that a lot lately it seemed.

“I demand complete professionalism today, ladies. Lose that and I’ll have no issue kicking your asses back to the hospital and calling for replacements. Absolutely no fangirling. Are we understood?”

“B-but Sakura-senpai, what if we can’t help it?”

She raised a brow, an almost scary smile curving her lips. “You’re medics. You better be able to help it.”

“It’s not fair. Sakura-senpai has had lots more experience dealing with beautiful men.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at their eager, yet nervous expressions. She certainly did have more experience, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t immune. She was still a hot-blooded female, thank you very much and only twenty five. Though admittedly, it did help to have two of Konoha’s most sought after bachelors as best friends. Their stupidity tended to overshadow their good looks however, and over time Sakura had developed a certain resistance.

“Complete professionalism,” she repeated. “Now get going. I can already feel a few patients approaching.”

“Hai, Sakura-senpai!”

It was easy enough to get through the physicals and much to her surprise, Sakura found she didn’t need to intervene as much as she thought she would. Uchihas certainly weren’t known for their chattiness and they only showed her medics the utmost respect. Polite. Quiet. Assessing. If they were amused by the girls and their admiring stares, they didn’t show it.

“Sakura…”

She looked up from her notes and smiled. “Hey, Itachi. Have a seat.” She pointed to the medical bed in the center of the room. “I’ll be over in a sec.” 

“Shizune-san?”

“Last minute diplomatic trip to Suna,” she explained.

“Aa.”

“Shirt off, please and take a seat.” 

He did as he was asked, as silent as ever. No wasted words. Finishing the last of her notes, she placed the clipboard down and walked over. She didn’t think anyone would argue about Itachi Uchiha’s masculine allure or down-right gorgeousness. He was perhaps the epitome of a Konoha shinobi. Sleek. Powerful. Devastating. So good it was downright scary sometimes. 

“How’re you feeling today?”

“Fine.”

“Fully recovered I hope after last week’s ‘let me be a hero’ episode?” Sakura smiled sweetly. She deliberately invaded his personal space by stepping in between his legs and placing a warm hand on his chest, letting her chakra flow into his body.

His dark eyes flickered, gaze growing more intense. “Fully recovered, Sakura. I assure you.”

“Good.” Sometimes these men needed reminding that despite their genius, they were all still human and needed to take care.

“Now take a deep breath. Release.”

He had a strong heartbeat. Lungs were fine and his injuries sustained during their last ANBU mission were mostly healed. Her hand lingered on his left side, fingers fluttering over the oblong green yellow bruise. Served him right.

“You didn’t heal it.” His voice was deep and even. Silently, she cursed him for sounding good enough to eat. Like dark, velvety chocolate.

“How are your eyes?”

“Fine.”

She raised a pink brow and then drew closer to take a deeper look.

“Sasuke complains sometimes about headaches after prolonged use of his Sharingan. You must experience the same thing, probably worse.” There was a lilting threat somewhere in between her soft spoken words as she rested her fingers on his temples.

“Occasionally,” he murmured. 

“There’s a lot of pressure that can build up when you’re channeling so much chakra into one area of your body. Because of this, your eyes tend to suffer a lot of strain.” Sakura then gently began massaging the areas around his eyes, smiling when he, whether intentional or not, let them drift closed. With every soft caress and stroke, she fed small bursts and sinewy tendrils of her chakra in and around, restoring and relaxing the strong pathways that fueled his bloodline limit.

“Does it hurt?”

Itachi offered a noncommittal grunt which she took as a no. “Shisui says it feels like foreplay. Figures the perv would somehow relate it back to sex,” Sakura divulged with an airy chuckle.

“You’ve done this for him?”

“Mmhmm. He saw me do it a few days ago on Sasuke and Kakashi and said he wanted in.” His silence was telling. “Are you feeling left out?” she teased, pushing back a stray lock of his long black hair.

“Hn.”

Sakura laughed as she finished up. “Don’t be. It’s something new I’m trying out. Consider yourselves my little guinea pigs.” 

Itachi opened his eyes when she stepped away.

“Better?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and suddenly anxious to hear what he thought.

“Aa.”

Sakura smiled, resigning herself to his monosyllabic answers but still feeling playful. “Better than foreplay?” 

“Much better. More like the after effects of an orgasm.” He didn’t miss a beat and she burst into a fit of laughter, shoving his shoulder as her face heated.

“It does not!”

He caught her hand and for a moment, she felt her heart stutter and butterflies rise in her stomach at the rather intimate gesture. Lacing his fingers through hers, he lifted his gaze from their intertwined hands and pulled her even closer.

“I never thanked you for saving my life.”

Sakura forced her brain to function again. “I’m pretty sure I owe you a few more lives, Itachi.”

His eyes darkened as an almost secretive smile quirked his lips, but just as soon as it appeared, it was gone.

“Sakura-hime!” The shoji screen whipped open and Shisui swept in, a black-haired whirlwind so unlike the typical, stoic Uchihas she was used to.

“Hey, Shisui,” she greeted over her shoulder before turning back to Itachi who still held her hand captive. He finally let her go though after a few insistent tugs.

“Your vitals are good, all in tip top shape, to be honest,” Sakura said, jotting down a few final notes on a paper pad she had grabbed from her front coat pocket.

“Did you get to experience Sakura’s magic hands?” Shisui asked curiously, mischief dancing in his eyes. 

“Don’t make it sound dirty!” “It was an innocent question!”

Just then, there was a loud thump from the room next door. Sakura already knew what it was and mentally face-palmed.

“Ah, Sakura-san…”

She smiled apologetically at the handsome Uchiha who appeared in the doorway, looking mildly panicked. “Don’t worry about it, Hiro.” He nodded in relief and quickly went on his way.

Shisui and Itachi both hid a smirk, but Sakura could see it in their eyes. “Pain in the asses…”

“Can’t help that girls fall at our feet. You know, Uchiha genes and all,” Shisui bemoaned, biting back his Cheshire grin.

She rolled her pretty, green eyes and whacked him on the shoulder as she walked by to attend to the puddle of medic-goo next door.

“She’s mine,” Itachi stated after Sakura had left the room, glancing at Shisui.  

He raised a brow in challenge. “Staking claims already, little cousin?”

Itachi narrowed his eyes before they both disappeared. 

Later, Sakura would wonder what the hell had happened when they both showed up on her doorstep, battered and bruised.

…

[deadpostergirl]

Rachel’s exact date of birth is July 22nd, 1994, at 6:22:50 pm, the point at which her sun sign changes from a Cancer to a Leo. This is why she calls herself a cusp, and is correct. Below the cut are the full details of her birth chart.

Rachel’s Sun Signs

Purpose

Sun in Cancer

Strong survival instinct.

Protective of those they care about, and of themselves too.

Often quite reticent about sharing their inner selves to the rest of the world

Often caught up in reminisce.

Reputation for moodiness

Resist change to an extent

Concern themselves about being secure and safe in most everything they do.

Intrigued by objects with history attached to them – antiques, photos, souvenirs, and the like.

Cancer is a very sensitive sign, and they don’t always appreciate it when you are blunt with them. Their reactions to hurt will depend on how thick a shell they have developed. Most Cancers react by withdrawing or retreating. Some have developed an ability to manipulate others to get what they want. They avoid direct confrontations almost as a rule. Cancers are, in fact, quite yielding and soft when you have them in the right mood. They are one of the more hospitable signs of the zodiac. Sure, they can be touchy and indirect, but they are also very dependable, caring souls.

Sun in Leo

Dignified

Wanting to change the world in some way–to make the world a better place.

Generally motivated by affection for people, and often have big dreams and plans to make people happy.

Hard-working.

Attracted to the good things in life.

Can sleep in, laze around, and luxuriate for long periods of time.

Egotistical

Loyal, and sometimes rather traditional, Leos are, after all, a fixed sign. They’ll hold on to situations and people for a very long time before they give up. There is an unmistakable idealism to Leo’s view of the world and the people in it. Often, Leos have a very noble inner code that they answer to. Although on the surface, Leos appear rather confident, they can actually be some of the most humble souls around. They are the first to blame themselves when something goes wrong. Once again, it’s the Leonine self-importance at work, and this characteristic works in unexpected ways. Instead of being the conceited, self-absorbed show-offs of reputation, they are usually very self-aware, self-conscious, and, yes, even humble.

Rachel’s Moon Signs

Emotion

Moon in Gemini

Pleasant

Witty

Charming

Moody with those they trust.

Always interesting people

Often have many interests at once

Curious to a fault

Well-informed.

Nervousness and worry are common traits with this lunar position. An underlying restlessness is common, and many Lunar Geminis need more stimulation than others. They usually read a lot, talk a lot, and think a lot with this airy, mutable position of the Moon.

When problems arise, the first instinct of Moon in Gemini natives is to talk things out. Their tendency to analyze can give them the appearance of emotional detachment. In fact, Lunar Geminis may be especially comfortable talking about their feelings, but feeling their own feelings doesn’t come as easily. Those that don’t take time out to really emote and understand their own needs may end up baffling others. Feeling misunderstood is common for Moon in Gemini natives. The only real solution to the problem is learning to get in touch with their own feelings.

Moon in Aquarius

Extremely observant.

Love to analyze why people do what they do, and human nature.

Detached personality, especially in youth.

Often grow up feeling “different”.

Although rather sociable, they are often loners at heart.

Strong egos, or at least powerful defense mechanisms.

Will do their best to be the most unique and unusual person they can be.

Idealistic and progressive.

In denial of most stronger emotions

Lunar Aquarians can be very willful, especially in childhood. With age, these natives generally learn to handle their strong needs. Their desire for independence is powerful indeed, no matter what their age. With a quiet Sun and/or Ascendant, their desire to “shock” others is not always apparent until a relationship becomes comfortable. They are generally proud of their family members, boasting just how unique they are. When their families are ultra-conservative, the boast will be that they rebelled against all of that!

Although given to temper tantrums and willful behavior in youth, Moon in Aquarius people often grow up feeling that messy emotions are unappealing. They often pride themselves for being cool-headed, detached, and “above” what they consider the baser emotions. In the process, they can end up alienating others&#151;and themselves. Although Lunar Aquarians can be especially adept at understanding others’ behavior and motivations, they can lose touch with their own simply because they have identified too strongly with what they aspire to be (and these aspirations are often super-human).

Mercury in Cancer

Communication

Communicate with feeling, conveying a sensitive, withdrawn, and thoughtful nature to the people they interact with.

Very subjective and personal, or they opt not to talk at all.

Deep thinkers.

Meditative and reflective

Much faster at forming opinions and making decisions than they appear.

Will remember almost anything

Come across as gentle, intuitive, and sentimental.

Can appear quite defensive, as they can take things quite personally.

They make you feel very warm and protected.

Sometimes Cancer communicators can come across as if they are hiding something, which can get them into more trouble than they perhaps deserve.

Mercury in Cancer retains a lot of information, and learns best when they feel emotionally balanced. They prefer to focus their concentration on subjects, and approach problems in a step-by-step manner, “feeling out” an answer. This position gives the gift of rhythm and beat.No matter what their Sun sign (and it can only be Gemini, Cancer, or Leo), Cancer communicators seem to have feelers. They pick up people’s emotions in conversations. They are the best listeners of all the signs. In fact, it is extraordinarily easy for them to get “lost” in the other person’s expression and opinion. For a while, they can almost lose their own opinions and completely step into the other’s shoes.

You can count on Mercury in Cancer to come up with information, culled from their outstanding memory, that others have long forgotten. Cancer communicators’ style is to avoid arguments. But, make no mistake about it, they can provoke arguments easily. They do this in a subtle manner, then get hurt when others argue with them.Mercury in Cancer is generally attracted to poetry, archaic language, expressions of yesteryear, and the like. Because they are so aware of others’ emotions, they can be somewhat diplomatic in their dealings with people.

Venus in Virgo

Love/Affection

Dedicated 

Favor attention to detail over grandiosity

Sensitive

Can be critical

Great listeners

Often need space

Observant

Attracted to loners

Pleasing Venus in Virgo involves showing you appreciate them for all the little things they do — and they do a lot. The problem is, they do these things so quietly that you may not always notice or credit them for all these kind gestures. They do need some space (after all, they’re generally quite busy making everything work), so give it to them. Be genuine, not ostentatious. They are really not difficult to please after you have taken care of these basic needs. Avoid pushing your friends or family on them too fast — remember they are a little shy. They aim to please, and are easily intimidated by your experiences. Let them know how much you value them, and they will reward you with devotion and a charming willingness to talk things out.

Mars in Gemini

Sex Drive/Energy/Passions

Easily bored

Need a fresh change of pace frequently just to keep energy levels up. 

Physical reaction to boredom.

Passion for words

Need to get things off their chests

Talkative

Love to debate

Fidgety

Many Mars in Gemini natives channel their energy through their hands. Gemini, after all, rules the hands; and these people often express energy through musical instruments and the like even video games. Many are attracted to puzzles and games as diversions.

These natives are very adaptable, often thriving on change. They often take up many projects at once, spreading themselves thin at times. Sustained interest is not especially common with this position of Mars. Most will benefit from attempting to focus their energies rather than scattering them. However, their versatility and disdain for routine generally means Mars in Gemini natives are busy people.

Jupiter in Scorpio

Luck

Attract the most good fortune when they put their “all” into a project or undertaking

Draw on their inner strength and courage 

Use their magnetic powers to heal others.

Strong belief in a higher power. 

Most able to attract luck and rich life experiences to you through your intuition, imagination, and compassion. 

Helping those in need boosts your own morale.

Enthusiastic for deeper studies and meanings, all that is taboo or mysterious, psychology. Values decisiveness, intensity, willpower, commitment, and strength. Very strong problem solver who cuts to the chase. Science and research may be prosperous avenues.

Saturn in Pisces

Grounding/Limitations/Boundaries

Serious about things like spirituality, the imagination and living a compassionate life.

Potential for natural authority and leadership

Belief that nobody is beyond hope or help.

Feeling not-of-this-world. 

Self-destructive 

Prone to addiction

Naturally artistic

Will become an advocate for others, having lived as an untouchable yourself. You know what it's like to be the underdog, and bring that to all you do. You're the one that takes responsibility for the dog you see walking along the highway. With Saturn in Pisces, there's a built-in pressure to meet uncertainty with courage and discipline. Your karmic tests show you how to cultivate faith, face your fears of being submerged, and learn how to manage emotional intensity.

They are a dutiful, compassionate friend that goes the extra mile for beings in need (human or animal).  But Saturn shows us how to create healthy boundaries, too. They might have some seriously harsh experiences, that are lessons in discernment about who you invite into your life. You might be taken advantage of a few times, before getting that one down. If your space is violated early on, you can become shut down, and wholly without boundaries.

Uranus in Capricorn

Growth/Experimentation

Ambitious and enterprising. 

Strong sense of responsibility. 

Original business ideas will bring them success.

Erratic or eccentric. 

Strong stubborn streak

Quarrelsome. 

Prone to sudden life changes

Impulsive

Capricorn Uranus can be restless or impulsive. They may act before they think it through. They can be stubborn, eccentric and radical. They are good at balancing ambition, independence and their intellectual abilities. They are not afraid of challenges. They are tolerant of differences in people, and they have no problem treating them all equally. They are even tempered.

Capricorn Uranus is responsible and is capable of handling power with ease. They are good people to hold a job needing the trust of the public. They have the talent to see the coming trends long in advance. They are not afraid to change procedures in order to achieve their goals. They are logical and have a great mind. They may be excellent politicians or business leaders. They will be capable of accomplishing great things for mankind and may make great material progress.

Neptune in Capricorn

Spirituality/Inspiration

Need exactness and precision in their lives

Perceptive, bordering on clairvoyant 

Materialistic

Prone to criminal activities

Obsessive

Not team players

Not naturally inspired or creative

The stubborn nature of Capricorn zodiac sign is reflected through their symbol, the mountain goat. This is where Neptune in Capricorn gets their drive and ambition, which helps them to come up with new ideas. For them, inspiration comes from logic, reason and the practical uses of different theories to better society.  

It’s the absence of noise and chaos that helps them to come up with innovative thoughts and strategies. And anything that has to do with business or success in their career stimulates them into utilizing their imagination.They are often obsessed with status, so Neptune in Capricorn tends to focus on ways to increase their wealth and influence. They like power and are always thinking of new ways to acquire more.

Pluto in Scorpio

Change

Emotional

Intense

Interest in ‘taboo’ subjects

Tend towards darker thoughts while putting up a positive facade

Their emotional courage, deep understanding and the ability to face their own wounds as well as those they have given to others can create a strong person you want on your side. They can be rather manipulative or controlling at times. They tend to question all the rules and may feel oppressed by the status quo. Their passionate natures incline them to experience as much as possible. They also have great willpower. They can focus on gaining wealth and power if so inclined.

[cardassiansstolebutton]

Troublesome Heart

Requested Anonymously

You didn't cry when he died.

You weren't an idiot. You knew that your crush on Weyoun was just that- a crush. A passing infatuation brought on by hormones and the romantic inclinations of youth. Nothing more than that. Not to mention that he was hardly what you would call a nice guy. He was on the opposing side of a rather nasty conflict, after all. And your interactions and been few and rather brief, probably a necessity from his point of view. You were friendly with some important people, including Odo, so Weyoun flattered you. Oh, did he flatter you, so prettily and with sincerity on every syllable of his lying tongue, and when he touched you, it was gentle, not like Dukat's forceful grip trying to rein you to his will. You had blushed and loathed it.

So. You didn't cry when he died.

But if you were a bit less chipper for a few days (or maybe a week) after hearing the news, no one noticed, and if they did, they did not realize the true reason.

You didn't rejoice when you found out he lived.

Apparently, Vorta were clones, copies of copies, each one containing the memories of its previous counterpart, and the Weyoun you met had been the fourth of himself. 

At least, that was the latest tidbit buzzing around the station. Once upon a time, you had heard that Cardassians laid eggs, but that was obviously tark-pucky. But the clone thing sounded about right to you. Very Dominion. Break the toy, replace the toy, no muss, no fuss. No need to train a new assistant, just grow one, pre-programmed and all.

Had you ever really known Weyoun, though? No, of course you hadn't. You had hardly spoken to him and it had all been false pleasantries. But the man named Weyoun whom you had been acquainted with, what of him? Had he really been Weyoun? Was he just alike to his previous clone, and was that clone alike to the one before it? Was he, or they, true to the original? And the original, what had he been like? A sleazy politician, or something completely different? How much of Weyoun's personality was genetic engineering? Was he of the Founders' design, or was he still mostly him?

It didn't matter, you decided. You might never see his new replacement, after all, and that was probably for the best.

He was on the station. The new Weyoun. You watched from a corner, unnoticed, and saw that he looked and acted exactly as he always had. Like he had never died at all. His smile was bitingly pleasant, his bright eyes falsely soft, his posture somehow both arrogant and demure at once. Beautiful, and you knew it, even though he was completely unaware. You hated yourself for being pleased to see him.

When he saw you, he didn't hesitate. He took both your hands in his, just as his previous self had, gentle and soft, and he smiled eagerly, as if he was reuniting with a dear friend instead of a passing acquaintance.

"My dear!" he called you, just as he always had. "My dear, I'm delighted to see you again. I thought I might not, but here you are, and you look well."

Flattery.

"It's nice to see you too, Weyoun," you said, not really lying. "I didn't think I'd see you again either." Then you tilted your head just so, speaking the silent language of opposing diplomats. "You're here to see Kai Winn, aren't you?"

Weyoun's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "... Yes."

You had already known. You had just wanted to see if he would admit it. Not that he had any reason to deny it, as it was no secret (Bajorans tended to be terrible gossips), but he could have lied through his teeth if it so pleased him. It didn't, apparently. Interesting. What that meant, you weren't sure, but you hoped it might mean that he didn't think you were a fool.

"I'm so sorry," you said with mock solemnity. "Have you met her before? She's unbearable. I can't be around her for more than five minutes."

A light and airy laugh, either genetically engineered or dutifully practiced, rang free from Weyoun. He grinned at you as if you had offered him the juiciest gossip or the most marvelous joke. Again, flattery. Trying to make you feel special.

"That bad, hmm?" he said, leaning closer to you. Ah, you knew that trick. Close and friendly proximity meant to instill a sense of intimacy and trust.

You can't play me, Weyoun.

"I've never met a more condescending woman," you confided. "She's a nightmare. I can't imagine having to negotiate with her."

At that moment, you would have made some sort of counter-move. You would have rested your hand on his arm or squeezed his shoulder, something to imitate familiarity as his leaning did, but you suddenly realized that your hands weren't free.

He was still holding them.

You looked down and saw your hands clasped in his, as intimate of a gesture as there ever was. You had noticed him take your hands, of course. He did this to quite a few people, not just yourself. But you hadn't noticed that he had kept his gentle grip.

"My apologies," he said, releasing you. You spotted a light dusting of lavender rise across his face and realized he was blushing. So he hadn't meant to do it after all. How strange. You had thought him too calculated and detached for something like that.

"It's alright," you said, patting his arm. "I don't mind."

And maybe you didn't.

He was gone in almost no time at all. There and back again, you supposed. Such was the life of an interstellar diplomat. You didn't really have time to miss him, but, every once and a while, you would think of those brief encounters and wonder, if he could hold your hands and blush about it, had any of those other moments been real?

No. That wasn't a fair thought. You put it out of mind.

You were left behind.

Well, not really. The Dominion occupation of Deep Space Nine was swift and sudden. Some people got out, some people didn't. You weren't really left behind as much as you were separated from the crowd and caught, sort of like a fish in a net. The other fish hadn't left you. You just happened to be too close to the fishing boat.

Kira was still on the station, but it did no good to go to her. She was in what you liked to think of as her Resistance Mode. She was nothing but biting fire in the face of yet another reign of terror. You didn't want to touch that flame. The burn wasn't meant for you.

Odo was still on the station, but it felt like he was gone. He had fallen so far, and you watched in disgust as the Female Changeling twisted him, pulling him down to her level and tainting him. You could hardly stand to look at him anymore. It wasn't completely his fault, you supposed. Odo was not only an orphan but one imbued with a homing instinct, and his need to find how he fit in the universe was something beyond human comprehension. But it was still on him, that he did this. It was still on him to resist, and he was hardly even trying.

Weyoun was on the station. That didn't make you feel any better.

You saw him from a distance but never approached him. There were always Cardassians and Jem'Hadar or, worst of all, the Female Changeling. Her, you didn't want to go anywhere near. You wouldn't be able to hide your absolute distaste if you did. She was like poison. Avoiding Dukat was just a plus in this situation.

But, one day, Weyoun spotted you, and the joy on his face made your chest hurt.

"My dear!"

Always. Always, my dear. Never your name.

"My dear, I was afraid you had vacated the station!" he exclaimed happily. He made a point of not taking your hands this time, but he was closer than was probably considered a polite distance in respect of personal space. "But you're here! What a pleasant surprise."

"Yes," you agreed, at a loss for words. You know he would play at being pleased to see you, but he seemed absolutely ecstatic. There must be something he wants from me now.

"No, really, I'm delighted to see you," he told you, sincerity dripping off his lying tongue. "I was hoping I would. I'm so glad you're here, you know. It will make staying on the station so much more pleasurable."

He purred the last word like a dirty secret, but it hit you like a final blow.

"I'm glad to see you too, Weyoun," you said, and he beamed at you.

Oh, that smile.

He leaned in as if to share a secret, and then whispered, "Do you mind doing me a favor? Nothing strenuous, I promise. Just something to help me avoid Dukat's incessant yammering."

You couldn't help but laugh. "He does like the sound of his own voice, doesn't he?"

"Yes. How he managed to father such pleasant offspring as Ziyal, I don't know," Weyoun lamented. "But that's the thing- he's given me a painting of hers and I just don't know what to make of it."

Ah, yes. Vorta lacked any sense of aesthetics. How horrid that must have been.

"And Dukat will probably want a whole report singing Ziyal's praises, right?" you asked, because you knew that Dukat would take nothing less.

"Exactly," said Weyoun. "So you'll help?"

"I'll do what I can."

"Marvelous!" And then he actually tapped your nose playfully.

Who are you and what have you done with Weyoun?

The wardroom was dimly lit. This, you imagined, was probably because the Cardassians that came in and out at almost all hours would probably have complained if the room was kept in lighter conditions. Also, as you had discovered before, Vorta had extremely poor eyesight and relied heavily on their sense of hearing for just about everything. For Weyoun to keep his own space well-lit would be like a blind man keeping all the lights on when he lived alone.

That said, you had to strain your eyes somewhat to see Ziyal's painting.

Tora Ziyal's work was a tad too minimalistic for your tastes. It wasn't bad, no, not at all. It was very good. You could see the skill that went into it, the precision with which each stroke of paint was made, and it was beautiful. It just wasn't something you would hang on your own wall. The sparseness of it didn't seem Cardassian or Bajoran despite both styles being present. You wondered what that had come from. Maybe, you thought, it was something to do with the fact that Ziyal had lived the majority of her life without decoration. That had to have an influence on someone, especially in the developmental years.

“It’s very good,” you finally said when you felt Weyoun lurking at your shoulder. “Excellent combination of traditional Cardassian and Bajoran styles. Funny, you wouldn’t usually see this sort of technique used outside of Bajoran icon paintings, but it looks good used this way. The minimalism is a unique touch.”

Weyoun sighed in relief and you felt the gusty breath fan over the back of your neck. “Oh, thank the Founders. I asked Major Kira, but she was no help. Now I can face Dukat tomorrow without getting my own ears handed to me.”

You stifled a laugh at that. “Yes, well, Dukat can be… difficult. I’m sorry about Kira. She’s just… not good at socializing. You’re either very close with her or you’re not even on her radar, and it can seem like she doesn’t like you.”

“But…” You felt Weyoun’s warm breath ghost across your neck again. Why was he so close? Was it so those weak eyes of his could see? “She doesn’t like me.”

Your lips pursed into a flat line. “No, she doesn’t. But I wouldn’t take that personally. She doesn’t like most people, whether they deserve it or not.”

There was a brief silence, and then, “You’re very kind.”

You flinched from the unexpected words. “Not really.”

“No, you have been,” Weyoun insisted. “You’ve never been anything but kind to me.”

Flattery, flattery, flattery, you reminded yourself. Nothing but flattery, pretty words to make you lose your guard. He’s a lying snake.

“I know you don’t want me here either,” Weyoun continued. You could feel the heat of him there, at your back. Almost touching, but not quite. All you would have to do was lean back, just the slightest bit… but, of course, you didn’t. “But you have been courteous to me. I asked you a favor and you granted it without complaint, and when you came to me, you truly helped.”

“I don’t have a reason to be unkind,” you argued, and Weyoun made an odd, inhuman sound that was almost like a hiss.

“You have plenty of reasons,” he said waspishly. “More, perhaps, than even Major Kira, but you have always been kind and you have not wavered in that kindness despite your distaste for a situation that is ultimately my fault.”

“Maybe I hate Dukat more than you.”

A hand at your elbow, applying just enough pressure for you to know he was holding you. “Don’t lie to me.”

“That was hardly a lie. Dukat’s scum, if you haven’t noticed.” Then you took a deep breath, calming yourself. It didn't really help, but it made you feel like you could speak without wavering. "Do I need a reason?"

"I'd feel better if you had one," Weyoun admitted. His grip on your elbow eased slightly, but he still held his hand there, on the soft skin of your arm. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No." It was the truth.

"You want something from me, then?"

"Not a thing," you answered, because there was nothing he could give you that you wanted. It would be wonderful if he could end the occupation, but that wasn't within his power, so you wouldn't snark at him about it.

Finally, you turned to him, hesitantly making eye contact. He still hadn't let go of your arm, though, bringing you close. His bright violet eyes bore into yours like neon, closer than you had ever seen them, and you could feel his breath on your face. There was starlight from the porthole shimmering on his milky skin.

This was wrong.

"I'm not like you," you said, suddenly too honest. "I don't need a reason to be kind. I don't give only because I plan to take."

"Everybody wants something," he growled, low and dangerous. You didn't flinch.

"And the Founders want everything," you snapped back. "They're a monster with a bottomless pit for a belly. The Dominion will eat the whole galaxy if they get the chance, Weyoun. They'll never be satisfied. And what use will you be when they've finished?"

Weyoun recoiled from you like you had burnt him. "That's not true! The Founders bring order and peace everywhere they go!"

"Is that what they did to your people?" you demanded. "Tell me, Weyoun, what use will you be? What will they do with a tool that's outlasted its usefulness? Do your gods have sentiment?"

Weyoun snarled and your eyes burned with the hurt of it all. You had always felt like Weyoun was the villain, but that wasn't really it, was it? He was a kicked dog crawling back to its master time and time again. He was still wrong, of course, and he still did terrible things, but you wouldn't be able to look at him like it was his fault ever again.

You reached out and pressed your palm against his white cheek. Weyoun stiffened at the unexpected touch, probably having expected a slap and certainly not a gentle caress. His mouth parted in surprise. Tentatively, he leaned into the touch.

"Do the Founders do this for you, Weyoun?" you asked, as gently as you could even though your throat had gone hoarse.

"I obey the Founders in all things," he said, high and quiet like a child.

You came even closer and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. He gasped softly, like you had wounded him, and you felt him press his cheek more firmly into the cradle of palm.

"Do they do that?" you asked, brushing your free hand over his silky hair.

"I obey the Founders in all things!" he repeated, even more desperately this time even as he fluttered into your touch like a moth to flame. "I obey..."

There wouldn't be anything else out of him tonight.

"I'm so sorry," you said, pulling away from him.

As if you had been his only support, he sank to the floor. He looked shocked, like he had seen death, his mouth curled downwards and his eyes wide and glossy. He shook, and you wanted to hold him, but you knew he needed to feel this. He curled into himself, as if to shield the hurt, still looking up at you like you had snatched the world out from under his feet. And maybe you had.

"I obey the Founders in all things," you heard him repeat as you left him there. "I obey the Founders in all things, I obey the Founders in all things..."

You saw him again but only from a distance, and then one day, he was gone. He had left to be on Cardassia Prime, or so was the gossip. You wondered if you would ever see him again.

The occupation of Deep Space Nine ended abruptly. The Dominion flooded out and Deep Space Nine's loyal occupants flooded in, taking back their homes with immovable pride. For you, nothing much changed, except that you still couldn't look at Odo without feeling ashamed of him. And, although you said nothing, it seemed like he knew. He wouldn't look you in the eye.

You cried when he died. This time.

The news came and went like the flitting of birds in Spring. A freak transporter accident, they said, but it hadn't been an accident. Of course it hadn't been. Good riddance, they said, but all you could think of was that man, pale and trembling on the floor of the wardroom like a lost child. And, with more regret than you had ever felt over anything, you wished that you had gone back and held him instead of leaving him there to tremble alone.

Odo had been gone for a short while when he returned and immediately called for you. The truth was, you had gotten so used to him avoiding you that he hadn't realized he was gone.

You stood in his office, and there was no judgment in your gaze. You were tired of being angry with him. You missed him. He looked up at you like he expected a tongue-lashing to rival one of Major Kira's bursts of temper, but you only waited for him to speak.

"Another Weyoun has been activated," he finally said, his gravelly voice sounding as hesitant as his eyes looked.

You felt a jolt of panic in your gut. Why was Odo telling you this? No one knew about your... odd relationship with Weyoun. Relationship wasn't even the right word. More like a series of very strange encounters. But, still, no one knew... Except for the new Weyoun. Was that where Odo had gone? To meet the new one? Had Weyoun said something? No, why would he? Especially after the last time you spoke. No Vorta would admit to something like that, and certainly not Weyoun, and never to Odo!

"And?" you prompted. "What's it matter? He's not here."

Odo sighed heavily, but it lacked the infused sarcasm of long-suffering that his sighs usually did.

"We barely made it back," Odo said, and your heart jolted, "but he is here. He's defected."

"Defected?" The word stuck to your throat and came out like a croak.

Odo nodded. "He... asked for you. Specifically." He looked pained to make the admission. "One of his conditions for providing the Federation with information is that he be placed under your care." At this, Odo's eyes sharpened into his detective's gaze.  "Do you care to explain why?"

"I'm not sure," you said, because you really weren't. After last time, why would he want anything to do with you? "I was nice to him, but I wasn't that nice, and the last time we talked mostly involved me chewing out his gods. No offence."

"None taken," Odo grunted. "The question is, do you agree to this?"

It took you a moment to remember what Odo meant. "You mean, having him placed under my care?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't think the Federation's going to let me say no, if that's the only way Weyoun's willing to talk to them."

Snorting, Odo gave you that proud, sharp look that he always used to do when you figured something out on one of his cases. You had missed that look.

"You're right," he said. "So, you agree?"

"Yes." You paused, and he waited. "Odo... I really missed you."

And Odo smiled at you for the first time in a long time.

Weyoun looked a bit worse for wear, but when he saw you, he smiled, but it was a soft and shy thing, something you didn't know Weyoun was capable of. It broke something inside you to see that smile.

"My dear," he said, quiet and soft, not with the lyrical cadence he usually used. Used to usually use. You saw his fingers twitch to grab your hands and wondered how habits like that could be passed from one clone to another. "It's... good to see you."

You smiled, deja vu cluttering the moment oddly. "It's good to see you too, Weyoun."

"I had hoped..." He winced slightly, in the way meant to hold back a grimace. "I would have told them what they wanted anyway, you know, but I thought that if I asked, you might... at least be willing to see me again."

"I'm here, aren't I?" you said. "And I'm attached to your asylum contract. We'll be seeing a lot of each other."

At this, that soft smile returned, a little less nervous than before.

"I'm glad you agreed to this," he said. "I... defecting was... I had you in mind."

You raised an eyebrow. "You didn't betray the Founders for me."

"No," he admitted, "but I let Damar kill me knowing that I would come back to you."

The admission rocked you harshly. You tried not to let it show, but there was suddenly concern in Weyoun's expression. Real, genuine concern. It made you shudder with the knowledge of possibilities.

He raised on hand and cupped your cheek, just as you had once done to his previous self in a dark wardroom.

"You were right," he said, his thumb brushing close to the curve of your mouth. "The Founders don't do this." He kissed your forehead. "And they don't do that."

You sighed softly. "And what else?"

Weyoun lowered his head and pressed his lips against yours.

[chpkns]

BEST ALBUMS 2018

Ok here we go again for 2018, shall we?

Hon. Mentions: Negro Swan - Blood Orange; Singularity - Jon Hopkins; Elsewhere - Ryan Hemsworth; Scorpion - Drake; Diplomatic Ties - The Diplomats; Some Rap Songs - Earl Sweatshirt; FM! - Vince Staples; Rally Cry - Arkells; I’m All Ears - Let’s Eat Grandma; Be The Cowboy - Mitski; Kamikaze - Eminem; Ye - Kanye West; KIDS SEE GHOSTS - Kanye West and Kid Cudi; Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino - Arctic Monkeys; Black Panther: The Album - Kendrick Lamar, et al; KOD - J. Cole; Culture II - Migos; Hive Mind - The Internet; God’s Favorite Customer - Father John Misty; Blood - Rhye; Both Ways - Donovan Woods; Songs of the Plains - Colter Wall

10) Swimming - Mac Miller

This one was tough. Malcolm James McCormick’s fifth studio album was barely out three months before he left us. It’s hard to evaluate Swimming in isolation of Miller’s untimely death at age 26. Especially since, in my mind, the album represents something of a turning point for the former frat rapper. Recorded in the wake of Miller’s high profile breakup with Ariana Grande and in the midst of public struggles with addiction, Swimming is full of heartache and soul bearing self-reflection. Sonically, Mac’s airy raps and crooning vocals float over jazzy beats and orchestral accompaniments, with help from Thundercat and Dev Hynes. There’s room for fun as well amid the melancholy - the more upbeat Ladders and What’s the Use? are sure enough to keep a dance floor moving. The worst thing about Swimming is really how good it is, and how it felt like Mac Miller was on the cusp on something great we’ll now never see. 

Highlights: Self Care, What’s The Use?, 2009, Ladders

9) QUARTERTHING - Joey Purp

Chance the Rapper’s Savemoney compatriot Joey Purp is like a breath of fresh air. QUARTERTHING’s 14 tracks, most clocking in at under 3 minutes, come fast and furious like Purp’s (mostly) un-autotuned flow. Joey’s full throated, almost Meek-Mill-esque, delivery gives the album a mixtape-like authenticity - notwithstanding the varied and expert production from the likes of RZA, Knox Fortune and frequent Chance collaborator Nate Fox. The opening 24k Gold/Sanctified, and Hallelujah just two tracks later, feel downright celebratory pairing Purp’s flow behind a blaring big band sound. Others, like Look At My Wrist and Paint Thinner, are Chicago Drill and house inspired, feeling like they’d be right at home in a sweaty club basement. Lyrically, Purp is a classic hip-hop storyteller and street documentarian, drawing from experiences in a former life selling drugs and the violence of his home city. This impressive studio album debut is more than enough to solidify Joey Purp’s place among an exciting new generation of Chicago rappers.

Highlights: 24k Gold/Sanctified (ft. Ravyn Lenae & Jack Red), Godbody (ft. RZA) [Pt. 2], Hallelujah, Look At My Wrist (ft. Cdot Honcho), Karl Malone

8) Golden Hour - Kacey Musgraves

Kacey Musgraves is clearly in the pantheon of artists that can’t release an album without it making this list (I rated Pageant Material #8 in 2015 and Same Trailer, Different Park #9 in 2013... both criminally underrated in retrospect). Musgraves continued to be a revelation with her third album. There was a great Ezra Koenig quote last year, where he talked about seeing Musgraves’ concert and being inspired by the clarity of her music: “from the first verse, you knew who was singing, who they were singing to, what kind of situation they were in”. On Golden Hour, she maintains that clarity, stretching a little more outside the traditional country sound into pop and disco-inspired melodies. I do miss the dry humour and rebellious spirit of the previous two Musgraves outings, I’ll admit. You won’t find any overt weed references here, but Kacey finds plenty of ways to remind us how few fucks she gives about the Nashville country establishment. Golden Hour also shows off some of Musgraves’ strongest songwriting to date - the sprawling Space Cowboy stands out as one of the best singles of the year in any genre. I’m probably in the minority in thinking Golden Hour is not my favourite Kacey Musgraves album, but it’s still one of my favourite albums of 2018.

Highlights: Slow Burn, Space Cowboy, High Horse, Love is a Wild Thing

7) Lush - Snail Mail

It’s about to become clear that there is a “women in indie rock” movement happening on this year’s list. The debut album from 18 year old singer-songwriter Lindsey Jordan is one of the most aptly titled records of 2018. Lush’s indie rock soundscapes are just that. Loud, full and richly textured. Jordan’s crystal clear vocals soar and float above her ringing guitar chords and riffs. The songwriting is perhaps what you’d expect from an 18 year old, full of heartbreak, confusion and teen angst. She does it well though. As the first chorus builds on Heat Wave, Jordan’s voice builds: “And I hope whoever it is Holds their breath around you, 'Cause I know I did”. The album’s standout track for me is Full Control which crescendos to a refrain of: “I'm in full control, I'm not lost, Even when it's love, Even when it's not.” At the same time, Lush exudes a maturity and a nostalgia that hearkens back to Snail Mail’s spiritual predecessors like Cat Power or Fiona Apple. Snail Mail was one of many reasons that 2018 gave me hope that there’s a future for indie rock and “guitar music” generally. I’m very much looking forward to seeing what’s next.

Highlights: Pristine, Full Control, Deep Sea, Heat Wave

6) boygenius EP - boygenius

The only thing that ever held me back from including boygenius on this list was my long held view that “an EP is not an album”. Well, since Kanye decided that 7 songs can be an “album” why not 6? Any album that has 6 songs as good as the 6 on boygenius EP would make this list! boygenius is the indie “supergroup” made up of Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus and the holder of last year’s #3 album on this list, Julien Baker - all accomplished solo acts in their own right. Predictably, the whole is something greater than the sum of its parts. boygenius EP’s six songs are a tour de force amalgam of indie, country and folk (owing to the band’s cross-genre Nashville and Viriginia roots) full of raw emotion and grit. Dacus, Bridgers and Baker seem made to perform, and sing, together. The harmonies on this record make boygenius sound like an indie rock iteration of Destiny’s Child or an edgier, less twangy version of the Dixie Chicks. The songs do not hold back, with high highs and low lows. On Me & My Dog, the soaring chorus evokes an escapist dream: “I wish I was on a spaceship, Just me and my dog and an impossible view”. The emotional highpoint of the record might be Baker and Bridgers’ chorus on Salt in the Wound apexing with: “I’m gnashing my teeth, Like a child of Cain, If this is a prison I’m willing to buy my own chain”. I can’t stop watching live videos of these three - they seem so at home onstage together. As excited as I’d be to see boygenius become more than a side project, I’m equally excited to see what’s next for Bridgers, Dacus and Baker on their own.

Highlights: Me & My Dog, Stay Down, Salt In the Wound, Ketchum ID

5) DAYTONA - Pusha T

YUGH! Amid Kanye’s unhinged tweets, messy, disorganized projects, and Oval Office visits, DAYTONA, the 7 track album he entirely produced for G.O.O.D. Music veteran Pusha T, was one thing that gave us hope that Kanye hadn’t completely lost his touch (or his mind) in 2018. DAYTONA showcases both producer Kanye and King Push at the absolute peak of their talents. It’s amazing, in this era of Xanax-fuelled mumblerap, to think how long we’ve been listening to Kanye and Push do their thing. Lord Willin’ introduced the world to Pusha T in 2002 (alongside his brother Malice, as he then was, as the iconic rap duo Clipse). The College Dropout came out two years later. I still remember buying the CDs and wearing out my discman with both of them. It’s easy to forget that Kanye and Terrence “King Push” Thornton are both 41 years old! There’s something refreshing about two guys in their forties still being able to make a banging rap record about selling drugs and buying expensive shit. Push said DAYTONA was made “for my family...high taste level, luxury, drug raps fans.”  Those fans are well served by DAYTONA. After the beat comes in on album opener If You Know You Know, Push sounds like he’s speaking directly to his day one fans, raising a styrofoam cup to: “This thing of ours, oh, this thing of ours”. The album exudes the bravado of an MC on top of his game confident in the knowledge that he’s spitting bars on a classic. And we can’t forget the incendiary Infrared, the song that touched off a vicious beef between Pusha T and rap’s biggest star, Drake, ending after Push revealed in a diss track that Drake was hiding his son from the world. Almost 20 years on, Pusha T is still ready to go war, still “clickin’ like Golden State” and still wearing the crown as King Push. Long may he reign.

Highlights: If You Know You Know, The Games We Play, Hard Piano (ft. Rick Ross), Infrared

4) Honey - Robyn

I found myself slightly disappointed in Honey at first, largely because my expectations for Robyn’s first album in eight years were based on the high energy electro-pop brilliance of 2010′s Body Talk. What I should have realized is that, if Robyn were going to make another Body Talk, she wouldn’t have kept us waiting this long. Honey is not Body Talk - you won’t find another Call Your Girlfriend or Dancing on My Own among its nine silky smooth tracks. But it is no less brilliant. If I can forget that Beach2k20 exists for a second, it feels pretty darn close to a perfect album. Honey betrays a lighter touch for Robyn, perhaps more in tune with the sound of the moment. A little more euro house and disco tinged, Honey furthers the Swedish songstress’s long evolution away from the pop idol of her late 90′s past. Honey still embodies Robyn’s signature juxtaposition of electronic dance rhythms alongside themes of sadness, loneliness and heartbreak. And songs like Honey and Missing U can still light up any dancefloor. The highlight for me is the slow-building Send to Robin Immediately, which just swells over its Lil Louis sample as Robyn urges the listener into action: “If you got something to say, say it right away. If you got something to do, do what's right for you. If you got somebody to love, give that love today. Know you got nothing to lose, there's no time to waste”. In between albums, and while writing Honey, Robyn lived through the death of a longtime collaborator and a breakup and reunion with a romantic partner. The emotional toll of these experiences seem to shine through. Robyn told the BBC’s Annie Mac earlier this year: “When I wrote this album I think I was quite tired of myself writing sad love songs, but I did anyway and looking back on that now, I think it's OK for things to be sad. Combining it with something that's bright and strong and powerful is a way of finding your way out of the sadness.” 

Highlights: Missing U, Human Being (ft. Zhala), Send to Robin Immediately, Honey

3) Clean - Soccer Mommy

Clean, the impressive debut album from 20 year old Nashville singer-songwriter Sophie Allison, was the first album I heard this year that I 100% knew would be on this list. By the time Your Dog hits at the third track, I was completely enthralled. That song is so goddamn rock and roll with Allison sparing no mercy for the subject shitty boyfriend of the opening verse: “I don't wanna be your fucking dog, That you drag around, A collar on my neck tied to a pole, Leave me in the freezing cold”. Elsewhere, on Still Clean, Allison plays with gruesome animalistic imagery singing of an ex-lover picking her “out your bloody teeth”. There is a warmer side to Clean as well. Scorpio Rising, with it’s “bubbly and sweet like Coca-Cola” softness and lyrics about meeting up after dark and missed calls from your mother definitely remind you that Allison is a self-professed devotee of Taylor Swift’s early work (which should give you another idea of why I love this album). Speaking of T-Swift, the rollicking Last Girl almost mirrors You Belong With Me in describing the crushing insecurity of comparing oneself to a new partner’s ex, somehow pulling off lyrics like “I want to be like your last girl, She's the sun in your cold world and, I am just a dying flower, I don't hold the summer in my eyes” as if that were a totally normal thing to say. Beneath the upbeat riff of Cool, where Allison idolizes the cool girl “with a heart of coal, She’ll break you down and eat you whole” is the understanding that being that person won’t bring her the happiness she seeks. Acceptance of one’s emotions and insecurities is the core theme of Clean - that “You gon’ be like that” (as Allison put it to the Fader) and you’ll be happier once you accept you for you. In many ways, Clean evokes a similar vibe to the Snail Mail and boygenius entries further up this year’s list, as a scrappy “girl with a guitar” indie record and a tongue-in-cheek stage name. That sense of charming honesty is what, I think, makes Clean stand above the other entries on this list.

Highlights: Cool, Your Dog, Last Girl, Scorpio Rising

2) Lamp Lit Prose - Dirty Projectors

The first of our top two is another repeat offender on this list (a previous incarnation of the Projectors’ Swing Lo Magellan had #7 back in 2012 and last year’s eponymous Dirty Projectors was my 2017 #8). I loved every minute of Lamp Lit Prose - it’s almost a 1B for me on this list and was pencilled in at 1 for a time in the drafting process. This album has everything that was good about last year’s DPs record but is, ultimately, tighter, more fun, less weird and less sad. Dave Longstreth appears to have moved on (at least musically) from the emotions he was working through on Dirty Projectors, which was essentially an extended meditation on the breakup of his relationship with Amber Coffman and the band’s upheaval. With Lamp Lit Prose, his “new look” Dirty Projectors (with help from friends like Syd, Rostam and HAIM) have put together something a little more traditional (by Dirty Projectors standards) and a lot more listenable. Longstreth told Exclaim that this album, compared its morose predecessor, “is really about feeling hope again, finding the things that give us hope, that make us feel optimistic and joyful.” Lamp Lit Prose falls somewhere between the twangly, jam band atmosphere of the Projector’s Swing Lo Magellan and Bitte Orca heyday and the more experimental, electronic-infused vibe of the Dirty Projectors released 18 months prior. Longstreth’s guitar riffs are again front and centre, but the voice modulation and distorted electronic sounds are still there, albeit in a more subtle way. Four part harmonies bounce over the jazzy melodies and hopeful lyrics. Where he was mourning a lost love on the last record, here we see Longstreth “in love for the first time ever” on I Found It In U (a salvaged beat from his work on Solange’s last album). On Break Thru, the un-named romantic subject is held up as “an epiphany” with comparisons in quick succession to Archimedes, Fellini and Julian Casablancas. The horn-backed chorus on What Is The Time is the high point of the record for me - the kind of song that makes you want to raise your voice and join in on the hook. All in all, it’s just great to hear this band making fun music again. Lamp Lit Prose is upbeat, creative and simply a joy to listen to. I absolutely loved this album... but just not quite enough to edge out our number 1.

Highlights: Break-Thru, That’s a Lifestyle, I Found It In U, What Is The Time

1) ASTROWORLD - Travis Scott

IT’S LIT!!! I would have never predicted that a Travis Scott album would land here at number 1, but here we are. And I feel good about it. ASTROWORLD dominated my listening from its mid-summer release onward and, with each spin, I became increasingly convinced of its greatness. Travis is an artist that I’ve long found perplexing. Insanely popular among his legions of young fans, he embodies so much of the “new rap” ethos, the first genre of music where I’ve started to feel like I might be ‘too old’ to enjoy it. It was clear on his prior outings, Rodeo and Birds in the Trap Sing McKnight, that the talent and creativity was there, but the overall product always seemed messy, disorganized, unpolished. With ASTROWORLD, Scott finally has made his Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. The album is named for a former Six Flags theme park in Scott’s hometown of Houston that was torn down a decade ago and still sits vacant. Previewing the title of the album, Scott told GQ last year: "They tore down AstroWorld to build more apartment space. That's what it's going to sound like, like taking an amusement park away from kids. We want it back. We want the building back. That's why I'm doing it. It took the fun out of the city." True to his word, the album’s 17 tracks are tied together by an overarching creepy, grimy sound. Listening to ASTROWORLD feels like walking through an abandoned theme park. Even more impressive is how Travis, as curator of the album’s varied guest list, bends the star studded guest appearances to his will, fitting them in perfectly to his dank sonic menagerie. The likes of Frank Ocean, the Weeknd, Swae Lee, Tame Impala and James Blake don’t overpower Scott’s vision but blend into the scenery, their talents employed perfectly by Travis in the role of ringmaster. Newcomers get some shine too, like Scott’s Cactus Jack labelmate Sheck Wes who gets a guest verse on NO BYSTANDERS and a shoutout to his ubiquitous single from Travis on 5% TINT: “We did some things out on the ways that we can't speak, All I know it was "Mo Bamba" on repeat”. And then, there’s SICKO MODE. Why is it that the best Drake song each year invariably comes from someone else’s album, even in a year where Drizzy himself releases a double album? The ASTROWORLD track list, at least initially, left out the featured artists, so hearing Drake’s voice over the opening notes of the album’s third track was the first time most listeners had any indication that the 6ixgod himself would be making an appearance. What a wonderful surprise it turns out to be. SICKO MODE, the album’s best track, feels like three or four different songs as the beat changes form and Travis and Drake pass the mic back and forth. The song’s Tay Keith produced final act (the “out like a light” part) is for my money the best two minutes of hip hop music made in 2018. ASTROWORLD succeeds on its grandeur, vision and consistency. Travis Scott set out to build something big and from the moment the bass kicks in on STARGAZING through to the mellow, string backed denouement of COFFEE BEAN, he succeeds at every turn. ASTROWORLD was 2018′s biggest, most creative, most sonically consistent and most fun album in hip-hop. In my estimation, it’s the best album of the year.

Highlights: STARGAZING, CAROUSEL (ft. Frank Ocean), SICKO MODE (ft. Drake, Swae Lee and Big Hawk), WAKE UP (ft. The Weeknd), CAN’T SAY (ft. Don Toliver)

That’s all folks. Thanks for reading and see ya in 2019.