#and then put them through the turmoil of Learning To Believe In That Security!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

*rubs gremlin hands furiously*

There's one I really reccomend if you enjoy hurt/comfort, it's called Of Warm Sunshine, Picnics and Imprisonment!

And if you like ButterflyStamp the same author wrote a fic called Rain Rain Please Come Here to Stay!!

ill pull those up and check em out asap, ty for the rec(s)!!!

[mysoullanguage]

Hello there!

Is there any positive effect of moon conjunct ascendant (1H) ?

Or we all are just emotions that go up and down🙂

Thankuuu!

1h moons are very versatile because they are in a house that demands them to be expressive, honest, open, despite being a very private body. it’s a watery body that’s put in a fiery placement but it can be equally positive as it can be negative.

there are many positive aspects to this placement, such as the sensitivity you possess, compassion, and blind trust in life and others. you tend to be quite optimistic in life and tend to trust others quite easily. you wear your heart on your sleeve and it can be a very attractive trait, especially for someone who seeks this quality.

this placement is generally very vain and your emotions and security are heavily tied to your body/appearance/identity. for this reason, you may be obsessed with how you look. you may work to build a home (a moon trait) within you that reflects your likes, style, and personality (a 1h trait.) thereby if you are comfortable with who you are you tend to become very emotionally lighthearted and expressive, although you being comfortable in your personal identity tends to be shortlived.

indeed, this placement is definitely explosive and has periods of highs and lows. on the one hand, you express yourself honestly and rarely sugarcoat how you feel or what you're thinking. on the other hand, this can be a placement that takes everything personally and is overly sensitive, to the point of emotional irrationality and constant overthinking projected from deep insecurity and fear. this is a private body exerted in a house that is loud and puts your emotions at the forefront. this will inevitably cause much struggle within you and inner turmoil that demands you acknowledge your feelings now and always. no matter what you do, your emotions will always have a play in it.

being passive-aggressive is a key observation in this placement as 1h demands you to live and breathe your emotions confidently and expressively. however, the moon fears confrontation, and it breeds a habit of being passive-aggressive or just very scared of standing up and defending itself. this is a very common trait in almost all 1h moons. people may feel as though they must walk on eggshells around you in fear of how you may react because your anger can be projected into tantrums, outbursts, and breakdowns.

regardless of these negative traits, you still possess the power of being aware of your feelings, and living through your feelings can be a good thing as you are always aware of what makes you comfortable and not. believe it or not, more people actually admire sensitivity, empathy, and emotional cognizance than people who want to take advantage of it. in relationships, especially, this is incredibly advantageous, as you tend to pick up on emotions rather easily; you tend to pick up on energy shifts around you, and you can generally tell when someone is being dishonest. for you, being happy in your identity makes you happier than in anything else, if you are happy with your identity, you typically have an easier time expressing your other traits.

depending on the degree it can build a person into an emotionally wise and emotionally accountable person. this placement experiences much turmoil within themselves and if a balance is achieved, the turmoil, anger, and intensity can, in retrospect, be a good thing, and highly rewarding. you can offer consolation and advice to others based on your experience as someone who has been forced to live through their emotions night and day. knowing the anxiety, turbulence, and energy and emotional burden you had to carry for others can actually provide you with immense experience and emotional intelligence.

I believe a lesson with this placement is to learn emotional resilience and to control your anger healthily. you possess a great deal of emotions but they are easily stirred by irrationality, impulse, fire, and uncertainty. as with any placement, it's equally positive as it is negative, but more could be said with your degree in the question, along with any surrounding planets.

[inactivebcthiswebsitesucks]

Her Royal Highness Princess Marjorie Iona Stuart of Scotland

In the eye of a hurricane When I got one foot in the grave I'll dig my boots into the dirt And face the rolling thunder

I'm five generations of blazing a trail Through barbed wire valleys and overgrown dells I'm barefoot and bareback and born tough as nails Whoa, whoa, whoa

I'm four-fifths of reckless and one-fifth of jack I push like a daisy through old sidewalk cracks Yeah, my kinda crazy's still running its courses with Wildflowers and wild horses

It's in the water in my veins That bread of heaven falls like rain So I'm taken care of either way Make something out of how I'm made Until I hitch a ride on glory's train

I'm barefoot and bareback and born tough as nails - Early Life

To put it simply Marjorie was never born to be a lady. She loved the skirts and pretty dresses that adorned her but her love for the effeminate stopped there. From the moment she could notice the young princess resented the difference with which she and her brothers were treated. Marjorie wanted to learn the dance of swords and how to show a bow. To get muddied exploring the crags and moors. Instead she was held inside. Lessons on needlepoint and how to act like a proper lady. At aged eight she had enough and began sneaking out to the training yards in the dead of night. Wiggling from the warmth of her featherbed she trudged stolen garments in hand to have a go at the training dummies. Her first attempts were hilariously disastrous. It was only after her brother Caelen followed her one night that she began to improve. With his tutelage she began to become adept at both sword and bow. She took hits from him that would leave bruises and welts. When asked about the injuries she would simply claim she fell. Her governess was even fired under suspect of abuse. Once good enough, she would often swap places with her brother William. Disguised as him underneath training armor she would get lessons from the masters at arms themselves. It invigorated and enthralled her. On a good day she earned her little brother praise on his improvements. On a bad her father would be called down to give them both a lashing.

When her eighteenth name day came, she was offered a horse of her choosing as was custom. Rather than choose the dainty Arabian, a true lady's horse, that was presented to her, Marjorie picked out Fargus. A draughty war horse colt. He had been reserved to be a well-respected guard's personal mount, but the princesses insistent meant that Fargus became hers.

When I got one foot in the grave - The Plague Years

Marjorie like many others suffered during the height of the plague. Storms and rains flooded half of the country while the other seemed to war within themselves. Many resented the royal family's privelege and believed that their inner turmoil was to blame for the severe losses suffered by the less fortunate. The princess for her part did what she could. Days would be spent atop Fargus, out hunting for game that might feed the common folk nearest the castle. She could not help the entirety of the country but she was determined to help those within her reach. Often times her return with game was the difference between hunger and starvation. It was during this time that the King met his mistress. Marjorie was fond of her from the moment they met. The mistress was everything that the queen could never hope to be. And when the announcement came of an heir, she celebrated with the kingdom.

Until I hitch a ride on glory's train - Present Day

Marjorie strives to become in a position of power. She wants to be queen. But not just any queen; the queen of most importance. Someone the other queen's will look upon with forced respect

Per what is expected Marjorie has hidden the longsword typically trapped to her hip after the family arrived at the summit. At twenty-eight she was practically an old-maid and in order to secure a betrothal she needed to look the proper lady. Unfortunately her betrothal was decided without her input. It is one she currently resents as she looks to position herself with a better match.

The princess still trains, though now that she is of age and able to command those below her, she has her own personal master at arms. They are her guard and her teacher for though adept at both sword and bow, Marjorie knows that to slip in skill is to die.

She spends her days exploring the land atop Fargus, stopping to engage with the locals and those she deems fit. Spending so much time so far from home has grown weary and she wishes to explore.

Misc. Facts

Many of her dresses are designed with metal work around torso and breasts, protection from a blade

Like many men, Marjorie has frequent affairs. While she doesn't share them with the other kingdoms her family is well aware of her trysts.

She seeks to have a hand in the current politics and uses conversations and the like to better her position and is slowly trying to build up the amount of those loyal to her.

Marjorie carries a dagger strapped to her thigh and is having another made that will fit her hip, the blade made to hide within the folds of her gowns and the hilt designed to appear as jewelry.

Frequently wanders off to wherever she pleases. Wears a bow across her back and long-sword at her hip when outside of the summit. Often goes looking for bandits or trouble to keep herself entertained.

[jon-purizhansky]

US Employers Can Help Refugees from Venezuela Crisis

Since the beginning of 2015, upwards of 7 million Venezuelans have fled the country due to socio-political unrest and political turmoil. In the end of 2022, The International Monetary Fund reported that 95% of Venezuelans were living below the poverty line.

Combining bad conditions, increases in crimes, and less work available after the COVID-19 Pandemic, Venezuelan refugees fled to several South American and North American countries.

Seventeen countries are now host to refugees from the large refugee migration to date, totaling more refugees than the Syrian refugee crisis of 2012. With this influx of refugees, countries are failing to provide necessities for the travelers. Many refugees struggle to find enough food to support their families, let alone find shelter or gainful employment.

“We believe in boosting our economy and our workforce with migrant and immigrant workers. We connect them with vetted employers and help employers find motivated employees ready to work and retain their position,” says Jon Purizhansky, CEO of Joblio.  

With over half a million refugees in the United States and more planning to emigrate to join their families, many Venezuelan refugees are still having difficulty making ends meet. With programs created by the Biden administration to allow for work visas and acceptance into the country, more refugees fled the difficulties they faced in South American countries and headed to the US. Unfortunately, even with higher degrees and better work experience, they are still encountering difficulties finding work and sponsorship.

While Venezuelan refugees are often more educated than refugees from other migrant countries, they can still not find gainful employment. US employers can help Venezuelan refugees in the following ways:

Provide gainful employment – by bypassing migrant xenophobia, many Venezuelans would be hired. They typically have solid educational backgrounds and often have managerial experience. Many of the refugees have mechanical and technical experience in demand in the current US job market as well.

Offer Ongoing Training – US companies can provide on-the-job training to help maintain migrant workers in their job force. Many are eager for work and willing to put in the time to learn more and move up their workforce’s ladder if the employer will offer such opportunities.

Credentialing – US companies can help Venezuelan refugees to gain credentials or re-credential them if they were previously credentialed in their industry. This will help the migrant workers to hone their skills and harness their expertise, thereby remaining committed to a US employer.

Hiring Venezuelan Migrant Workers is An Opportunity for US Employers

Since the beginning of this year, Joblio’s native Venezuelan ambassadors in New York have launched an outreach initiative to the communities in need. Ambassadors work with refugees in tent cities created by NGOs and the government, educating Venezuelans on the work opportunities in their new host country.

Joblio’s platform offers a simple user-friendly registration process that allows potential employees with different levels of English knowledge to get registered and create employee profiles in a matter of minutes.

It takes the guesswork and fear out of finding a migrant worker position and eliminates refugees from having to look for day laborer jobs that can be low-paying and dangerous at times.

Joblio helps migrant workers in the following ways:

Employees can communicate easily with their employers through Joblio

Employees can trust the employers they’re getting matched with since Joblio vettes them

Resettlement and housing assistance through ACE: our Applicant Concierge Experience program, which helps with resettlement, cultural and language integration

Free virtual English language classes

If a US employer chooses to work with Joblio to source migrant workers, they can benefit from our secure platform to find employees.

We help reduce churn, eliminate fraud, and expedite the recruitment process.

Working with Joblio gives the following benefits to US employers:

Time savings in finding migrant workers

Cost savings in sourcing migrant workers

Minimized employee churn

Increased productivity since employees are properly matched with employers based on their skills

Paperwork assistance

Recruitment assistance and expedition

Access to more-motivated employees

Help For the Origination Country as Well

Joblio also helps the origination country by eliminating middlemen and corrupt job placement services that may prey upon incoming refugees and migrant workers. This helps international workers trust their contracted employers and ensure transparency. Joblio’s secure job placements also help to facilitate stable foreign remittances.

Contact Joblio Today

For US-based companies interested in hiring willing migrant workers Joblio may be the perfect solution. We will take the reigns of finding and vetting employees and ensuring their backgrounds, education, and health are suitable for your business. We’ll match you with the ideal candidates and offer support to create longevity in your working relationship. To reach out to Joblio today and discover the ways we can help you plus how your business can help with the Venezuelan refugee crisis, contact Mark Reimann, Country Manager USA mreimann@joblio.co.

Originally Posted: https://joblio.co/en/blog/us-employers-can-help-refugees-from-venezuela-crisis/

[muneersecstasy]

There's a constant battle going inside my head.

There's a constant battle going inside my head. My conscience(Zameer) conflicting with my Nafs. I keep hearing some voices from time to time coming from inside of me, in my mind. I don't understand where do they come from or it is Shaytan who's whispering them in my ears. Stopping me from approaching opportunities. Ceasing my capacity of rational thinking. Making me self-judgmental. Compelling me to start doubting my ownself, my own capabilities. Making me saying things to myself like you're worthless, you’re lazy, you’re stupid, you’re unlovable, etc. Which is eventually making me hate myself. However, forgetting how could you hate yourself? Despite, When Allahﷻ loves you the most. Heﷻ loves you more than seventy mothers. When our prophet Muhammad ﷺ loves you the most. How?

Maybe the reason behind procrastinating over everything is also these voices. Making me lazier day by day. And when I procrastinate, I judge myself pretty harshly, telling myself I’m not a good person, I'm just like a sack of potatoes. Moreover, what concerns me is that everyone is productive and are achieving their goals, except me. Asking myself why I'm not good enough?Somedays, these voices inside of me don't even let me sleep. Spending nights overthinking. Yet, i forget that we're human beings. Our lord created us as humans. And every human has different capabilities and potentialities on the basis of which, we work accordingly. We make mistakes, making us aware of what needs to be changed in order to improve. Besides, every human has their vices too. With whom a person constantly battles or either befriend them, that means to become slave of 'em. These vices or lusts are also aroused by our nafs. When Shaytan and nafs team up against us. They trick us in different different ways with gimmicks and deceptions, to make us go astray. But we should stay steadfast on our deen, and ask Allahﷻ for help and protection from evil. However, we make mistakes, we learn and we overcome. Nevertheless, we do keep repeating some of our mistakes untill we learn from them. Though, people don't see our struggles and just kept throwing their words as knives. They don't think that their mouths could work like a bows and words like arrows. And could criticality damage one's feelings. Even if they kill someone, someday. But who cares. And it is also their words behind the growth of these voices. It isn't easy to win over these voices. It is our conscience which help us to keep fighting the inner battle, against the things that we don't speak out. These troubles we've got may arises through the traumatic events we experience or have experienced. It just end up making a chaos inside your head. It feels like a graveyard, occasionally we end up burying something inside of us. In the end, what we came to realise is that these voices are nothing but created by our own Nafs, when befriended by Shaytan. ["Auzubillahi-Minashaitan-Nirajeem": I seek refuge in Allah from the outcast Shaitan.] And, as for the thoughts, it can be seen as an example of a pathway where different passersby passes and it's upto you to whom do you have to pay attention to. If you gave your attention to the wrong one, it will eventually harm you. And for the right one, it will be beneficial for you. ["In-Sha-Allah": if Allah wills.] And to make a difference between the right and wrong, our conscience works. And ask Allah (سُبْحَانَهُ وَتَعَالَى): "Ya Rabb, grant me the strength to change the things i can, the courage to accept the things i can't, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Somethings are better to be left unsaid. “Whether you conceal what is in your hearts or reveal it, Allah will know it.” He knows what is in the heavens and what is in the earth. Allah is powerful over everything.[ Aal-Imran | 3:29] Indeed. He's all knowing: Rab-ul-alameen. Our pain is as temporary as this world. Every disease has it's cure. Verily, it is our lord who shall heal the chest of his believers. Whosoever believe in his guidance and mercy, his heart will be cured. "...And (He) shall heal the breast of the believers." [At-Tawba | 9:14] Surely, heﷻ test us by putting us in trials. And verily, with hardship comes ease. How can we forget that this worldly life is only temporary enjoyment, and indeed, the hereafter is the home of permanent settlement? We all are here today and gone tomorrow. And all these worldly possessions will end up being worthless. And only our good deeds will remain with us on the day of judgement. May Allah ﷻ forgive us all for our sins. May Allah ﷻ grant us relief from all that suffocates us and constricts us. May heﷻ grant us peace amongst the turmoils and tribulations. May Allah ﷻ grant us protection against laziness, cowardice, miserliness and the punishment of the grave. May Allahﷻ grant our souls dutifulness and purify them from arrogance, envy, egoism, selfishness, greed, lust, intolerance, anger, lying, cheating, gossiping, and slandering. May Allahﷻ guard us all. As he's the bestower of faith and Security: "Al-Mu’min". And the Guardian: "Al-Muhaymin". May Allah ﷻ take our lives when he's most pleased with us and help us all to get over these mental traumas.

Ameen ya rabbul alameen!🌼🍃

Fi-Aman-illah!🥀

════ ❁✿❁ ════

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter nineteen - “tomorrow”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.8k

synopsis: reader is faced with a very distressing ultimatum and has to deal with the consequences.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

authors note: omg pls listen to “water under the bridge” by adele after reading this it’s fits so well

Muted. She felt muted - but not necessarily in a bad way. Everything in her was dialed down and dulled. Over the last couple days, Y/N had toned down her emotions, feeling less. Call it a coping skill. Call it a stress response. Whatever. It wasn't like she was sad about it. In a way, in was comforting - not having some overwhelming internal angst.

It had been a week since that fight she and Bucky got into. The mature part of her was telling her to find him and talk it out like the adults they were. But here's the thing. Over time, before they even had the fight, the number of therapy sessions they were having was less frequent as his treatment was improving. The sessions were more intermittent now, and there wasn't one scheduled for a while. Until then, she felt no desire to talk to him.

Was she mad? Sad? She wasn't sure. She just avoided thinking of things that caused her a considerable amount of distress. At this particular moment in time, Bucky was one of those things. Ergo, she made a constant effort to ignore all thoughts of him.

Though, she somehow couldn't entirely ignore the ever present lack of... Bucky. She had gotten so used to having him close by, used to having someone to talk to, laugh with. His proximity had become a constant. A comfort. She refused to admit to herself that silence didn't feel like silence anymore; it just felt like the absence of his voice.

She found she needed to keep herself busy.

Bucky handled it a bit differently. He had lots of intense emotions but he didn't mute them, per say. He didn't ignore them. He felt them, he definitely felt them. He just kept them bottled up inside and talked about it to no one. It was a very strange change of routine. Whenever he had some sort of emotional turmoil, he would always go to her - therapy session or not - to vent, rant, ask for advice, or just talk through a stream of consciousness. Now he just had to sit with it.

He spent most of his time alone. He missed her.

-

"Hey Shuri," Y/N greeted as she entered the princess' lab.

"Hello," Shuri smiled. "Come sit."

This wasn't a routine visit. Shuri mentioned wanting to talk about something else this time. Something important. She was reminded of this when she walked in to find two Doras sitting with Shuri at a lab table.

"So," Shuri started, "The trigger word experiment. We're here to discuss safety and security."

Shit. That awful thing. It had slipped her mind these past couple days.

"Alright. What are we thinkin'?"

"Well, the Doras don't think it would be necessary to have two of them there with you, but if you would feel safer with two, then that's fine as well."

"I think one is fine. I trust your judgment," Y/N nodded to the Doras.

And I'm not afraid of Bucky, she thought but didn't say.

"We also have a special location to run the experiment," one of the Doras, Ayo, added. "Away from people and secluded in the case of an emergency."

"Okay. That sounds good."

"We understand Barnes is now equipped with the vibranium arm, yes?" Shuri asked.

"Yes, he is."

"Then you need to know something for the experiment."

Y/N's brows furrowed, confused. Was she missing something?

"There's sort of a fail safe built into the arm," Shuri began.

Fail safe?

"There are a series of pressure points when, if hit correctly, will disengage the arm. It will just drop to the ground. So if anything were to happen-"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The expression on Shuri's face changed immediately when she heard her partner's tone. Y/N looked bewildered and almost in disbelief.

"It's there as a precaution in case Barnes needs to be put in check."

Suddenly, every emotion she had been "muting" rushed back into her head. Every feeling for Bucky returned, as well as her compulsion to protect him.

"Building that into the arm shows a complete lack of trust."

"You know what HYDRA did. It's unpredictable, and I'm sorry but we just can't be sure."

"We need to be careful with this so it doesn't blow up in our faces," Ayo said.

"I understand having that precaution for this test, I do. But it isn't just this test. Given it was successful and everything worked out, he was supposed to keep the arm. Right?"

"Right."

"So we fix the HYDRA programming and he's free, but leave the 'fail safe' in so after all of this, he still has someone in control of him."

"The arm is a gift," Ayo stated. "He should be happy he has it at all."

"I understand that, and believe me, he is so grateful. But a gift is for someone else to keep and use as their own. How are we supposed to help him and work with him for months, building trust and aiding him in healing to just tarnish all of that with deception?"

"It's what's best for the protection of all."

"Even after the experiment if it's successful?" Y/N cried in disbelief. "I should say when it's successful. Shuri, I've been seeing his progress for months and working with you on his neurobiology data. Can't you tell how much skill has been put into this? It's us. It's going to work."

"Even still."

"I can't stand for that. I would understand if it was just for this test, but after? We haven't come this far just to not trust our own work and Bucky's deprogramming. He deserves to have someone on his side."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but it's already been done. The arm is already built and being used."

"This is the plan," Ayo declared. "Either you are on board, or you are free to leave Wakanda. We can fly you out as soon as tomorrow morning."

"I can't knowingly be a part of this. It's wrong."

"As I said. Free to leave."

She refused to be a willing participant in perpetuating the loss of Bucky's autonomy. He's been through enough, had enough taken from him. She would not play a single role in taking more away.

"I guess I have to go then," she said, standing from her chair.

She couldn't believe the words coming from her own mouth.

Shuri sighed. "That's very unfortunate, my partner. I'm sorry we couldn't agree on this."

"I am, too. But please. Please consider what this will do to him. It's like saying 'even though we've all been working with you, we don't actually believe that you're not still a weapon.' What is he supposed to think of that?"

"Barnes isn't going to have to think anything about it..."

"...because he isn't going to know," Ayo finished the thought.

"No..."

"It's the way it has to be."

"No it's not."

"Y/N..."

She took a couple steps back, preparing to leave the room. "No, I'm sorry. I can't. He needs to know. I'm going to have to tell him."

"I'd advise against it if you care about your job," called an unfamiliar voice.

Y/N turned to the other Dora, whom she didn't know.

"What?"

"What would your employers think if they knew their doctor had certain... inappropriate relations with a patient? And a very infamous one at that."

She froze, face burning. Her stomach dropped and her breathing stopped dead.

Did they-? Who else-? How did they-? What did they-?

She couldn't form a single coherent thought.

"You are more than free to leave quietly, without any worries" said the Dora, "but if Barnes knows about this, you can be sure that the rest of the world will know about you and your... relations."

It was then when she could feel almost every piece of her world come crashing down. She could feel every test she took, every research project she was a part of, every hour she spent studying for the career that took years to build. The thing she was most proud in this world, the part of herself she most loved. She felt the job she loved and all the things she had learned and accomplished begin to crumble around her.

This career... it was her life. It was her passion. It was all she had. Now she was in immediate danger of losing it. All she could process was fear; she shut down.

Finally, she managed words.

"Okay," she conceded, her defeated voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go... quietly. I'm sorry."

With that, she turned around and took the remaining steps out of the now silent room.

- - -

When she was in the hallway, she felt like she was dying. The guilt was overwhelming. How could she betray him like this? She tried to fight for Bucky to get the truth and now she has to hide it from him and leave him. She has to lie to him.

Y/N was still in shock, completely immersed in her own fear. It felt as if she wasn't in her body. She knew she was moving - walking down the hallway. But her body was just on autopilot; she was gone.

She couldn't tell if she was crying but she could feel a twinging in her eyes and a burning in her nose. She was also hardly breathing so if she was crying, it was nearly silent.

In a faraway echo, she thought she heard her own footsteps. She wasn't sure where they were taking her, but she wasn't sure if she cared.

-

She walked, and she kept on walking for a long time. She could feel the ache in her feet once she sat down in front of the water. She hadn't planned to go to the waterfall - that waterfall... their waterfall. It just sort of happened. Perhaps it was a long enough distance away to feel safe.

She finally let herself think for a moment.

What the fuck had just happened? Her exact fears had come to be. Somehow, someone saw or figured out her and Bucky. It felt worse than she thought it would. Exposed. Embarrassed. Guilty. Humiliated. Distressed.

It was numbing. So numbing that she stared at the little pool and let the white noise of the waterfall clog her ears until she was able to lose track of time.

She had no idea how long it had been when he approached her.

"Y/N!" Bucky's voice called as he jogged over after catching sight of her. "I've been looking for you! Can we please talk?"

His voice snapped her out of it, but her gaze remained fixed on the water in front of her. She wasn't sure what to do, how to engage with him; she froze.

When she didn't even turn her head, Bucky guessed she was still upset with him. He didn't want to be a bother, but he needed to talk to her. He sat down right next to her.

"Okay..." he started, carefully. "I know things aren't great between us right now, but-"

She turned her head to him and the words died in his throat when he saw her face: bloodshot, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. He forgot whatever he was going to say, cupping both sides of her face.

"Oh my god, what happened!? A-Are you alright?"

The cool metal of his hand on her cheek made her want to scream, reminding her of what she could not tell him. Reminding her of the searing guilt. Trembling hands reached up to touch his arms. And then he saw the quiver in her lip.

"Oh, honey," he cooed, worried. "Hey... Hey, talk to me. Talk to me, what's wrong?"

He was so concerned and so sweet even after they had a huge blowout. If possible, it made her feel even worse. She didn't deserve his kindness anymore. She just stared into him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen.

Bucky had never seen her like this and he was scared. Was it because of him and their fight? He supposed so. What else could it have been?

"I'm so sorry, please don't cry," he caressed the back of her head with one hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of what I said, I was just mad. You were right. I feel awful, I had no idea it upset you this much."

Their fight was the very last thing on her mind. Looking back on it, it seemed like such a trivial thing compared to now. But he thought this was his fault. She wanted to break into a million tiny pieces and let the wind blow her away.

She shook her head. "Bucky, no. It's not that. It's not you."

He looked so confused. She felt so bad.

"Then what... what's wrong?"

"I'm leaving."

Bucky leaned back, perplexed, and his hands slid down to rest on her forearms. "Leaving? You're leaving Wakanda?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, hey- You don't have to leave. We can figure something out. We were too risky, you were right. I understand that now. We don't have to do that anymore. We can make sure that we're always completely in private from here on out."

She shook her head, staring down at the grass below her. "I'm sorry, I can't... I can't do that. I have to leave."

She could barely look him in the face.

"You don't, it's okay," he implored. "I know it worried you, but it really only was Steve. And I know, I know it could have been anyone and I get that. I thought about it, and I get it. We don't ever have to... sleep together... again. We won't be distracted, and-and we'll be careful."

She clenched her eyes shut, trying not to let her burning eyes release more tears. It didn't work.

"Bucky..."

"Baby doll please," his voice cracked while he tipped her chin up to meet her eyes again. "We can just-... we can just go back to the way it was before. In the very beginning. We can- we'll only see each other in sessions, we don't-... No more lake trips or all-nighters or anything just-"

He sharply inhaled, beginning to ramble as his breath became unsteady.

His voice shook just slightly. "You can barely even talk to me if you don't want to- just please don't go..."

She thought a part of her cracked and died at that moment. She sprung forward and held him as tight as she could. Instinctively one of Bucky's arms was around her back and the other cradled the back of her head.

She thought maybe if she held tight enough, she could keep them together and she wouldn't have to leave him there alone. Of course he would be fine, but he would spend the rest of his time feeling like it was his fault that she had gone.

She couldn't let him think this was his fault.

"Buck, I don't wanna leave you. But I have to do what's best for the both of us. You'll be just fine without me. I promise."

He didn't think so.

"I'm putting your treatment and my career in jeopardy if I stay," she continued. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to either of us. I'm sorry if you hate this and I'm sorry if you hate me for doing it."

He mumbled something in the crook of her neck, but she couldn't hear it. She pulled back from the embrace.

"What?"

"I could never hate you."

Despite the fact that she was so internally distraught, despite what happened with Shuri and the Doras, with having to tell Bucky she was going to leave him, with having to watch him beg her to stay, despite the extreme dread and guilt within her, she still looked at him and felt so much love.

She was doing the very thing he feared and all he could do was care for her.

"God, I'm gonna miss you," she breathed before grasping his jaw, and pulling his head to hers.

Bucky tasted salt and he couldn't tell if it was his or her tears mixing into their lips.

As much as he wanted her to stay, he could sense how serious she was about this. He wouldn't be able to convince her to stay even if he tried. And he already did.

He could only soak up as much of her as he could before she left, and be with her until she had to go. He had no idea how much time he had. Wait-

"When are you leaving?" he broke the kiss as soon as the thought arose.

She was silent for a moment when another tear dripped down her face. "Tomorrow."

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf @cc13723things @small-death-and-codeine @avengersgirllorianna @cataves @thatbitchsposts @talktomeaboutthestars @surrealpsycho @headheartbellarke @bubbly-moonwarrior @bluemoon-icecream @buckeyecreates @augustbucky @itsthemaree @undiadeestos

[concerningwolves]

When Dealing With Wolves \ Project Info

What if Little Red Riding-Hood's mother had reached out to the wolves in the woods? What hidden truths would she have found out there in those cool, green depths, where the earth itself sings and the trees know your name?

WDWW is my debut novel, coming in late 2021. It's a very loose retelling of Little Red Riding-Hood in a high fantasy world and features an autistic lead character, polyamorous families, a magic system inspired by yarn & fibre crafts, and strong fairytale/mythological vibes. Oh, and talking wolves. If you're curious, the first two chapters are available to read free [here].

OVERVIEW

GENRE: Epic/High fantasy

SUBGENRES: Mythopoeia; thriller

TARGET AUDIENCE: Adult

STATUS: Final revisions; self-publication prep

SERIES?: Yes – Book one. [Book two is The Kindness of Ravens; info on that WIP is here]

KEY THEMES & TROPES: Redemption & personal growth \ trauma & recovery \ magic & witchcraft \ found family \ the importance of compassion and empathy \ emotion-based magic \ fairytales \ mythological worldbuilding \ mystery & intrigue \ character-driven plot

SYNOPSIS

Ys is a wild and restless place, ruled by the ancient magics that lurk there. At its southernmost tip is the town of Erdansten, surrounded by fear and crumbling walls; to the north is Deothwicc, the forest of the Wolvenkind, dark and ancient. Between them lies a land marked by the ghosts of a history nobody can remember, rich with secrets that could tear apart everything the Kinds think they know.

[full synopsis, character overview and other info below the cut]

Rostfar is supposed to protect the people of Erdansten from the wolves and magic, a duty she takes seriously – despite being the very thing that her people fear. For years she has kept a tenuous balance between her duty and her own magic, clinging on to her secret with everything she has. She knows that the line she walks is a perilous one, but she can’t escape this lie she has built now. Not if doing so would tear apart her world and put her family in danger.

When her lover’s estranged brother arrives in Erdansten, however, the delicate balance she has maintained all her life is thrown into turmoil. Things from beyond the walls start to close in, attacking her people, and increasingly it seems that her only hope lies far to the north. In Deothwicc. But Rostfar’s absence from Erdansten sends the careful structure of power crumbling down, and those she has left behind must fight to maintain order as the worlds of wolves and humans collide.

CHARACTERS

► MAIN CHARACTERS

Rostfar → human || 36 || Arketh's mother, lover to Isha and Mati || autistic with a special interest in folklore, mythology and history || white; red hair, freckles, blue eyes; short and stocky build; small scar on her upper lip || As the Dannaskeld of Erdansten, it is Rostfar's job to oversee the security and defence of the town. It is difficult to protect people from magic, however, when you are the very thing they fear.

Arketh → Human || 4 || darker, copper-toned skin, auburn hair, brown eyes; small for her age; likes colourful clothes || autistic || daughter of Mati, Isha and Rostfar || Bright, curious, optimistic and wise beyond her four years, Arketh is well-loved in Erdansten. While her mother fears the magic that hounds them both, Arketh loves it – even as night-terrors and sleepwalking episodes threaten to expose her to the world.

Grae → wolf || grey-brown coat and brown eyes || has PTSD and depression || yearling || One of the youngest of the Deothwicc pack, Grae has grown up under the shadow of his litter-brother's death. While all the wolves around him seem content to live and move on, he has struggled in silence with an anger that now threatens to consume both himself and everyone he loves.

Aethren → human(?) || 18 || nonbinary || trainee hunter under Rostfar || white; black hair, grey eyes; gangly build || For all their skill at hunting and tracking, Aethren has never felt good enough. Never felt right. They're always too prickly, too surly, too quick to take offence. Nothing makes sense right now, but they're certain this new power uncoiling in the back of their head is only going to make matters much, much worse

Yrsa → wolf || reddish coat, amber-brown eyes; small and slight compared to most of her kind || Although Yrsa agrees that wolvenkind must stick close together to survive, she cannot help but feel curious about the odd, two-legged beings beyond the marshes and mountains. Her packmates call her naive, but Yrsa is sure there is something they could learn from the humans – and she is only too eager to prove her theories right.

► SECONDARY CHARACTERS

WDWW has a large supporting cast, but some of the foremost secondary characters are —

Isha → human || 33 || One of Arketh's fathers, in a triad with Rostfar and Mati || Copper-brown skin, darker than Arketh's, and close-shorn hair, brown eyes; very short and lean; calloused hands || blacksmith || trying to grow beyond the ghosts of his past

Mati → human || 37 || Arketh's other father, in a triad with Rostfar and Isha || Long brown hair and beard, green eyes; extremely tall and bulky build || always slightly scared of his own strength, so he never does anything fast || solid as rock with a warm, compassionate heart

Marken → human || 40 || Rostfar's best friend, Aethren's father || foremost healer in the Isles of Ys; nobody is quite sure where he learned such revolutionary medicine || grave and closed-off, he is often accused of aloofness, although anyone treated by him can see the deep compassion behind his eyes.

Natta → human || 36 || Rostfar's twin sister and Dannhren (head of the council) of Erdansten || cool-headed, driven and ambitious, with a bad habit of forgetting to share her emotions with the people she cares about

Kristan → human || 15 || Natta's son || Apprentice healer || Born with one arm || Both gullible and headstrong, Kristan's fear of the dark and the mysteries beyond the walls of Erdansten may prove to be his undoing. And the undoing of the town.

Myr → wolf || father of the Deothwicc pack || world-weary but determined to find a better future for his pack

Estene → wolf || mother of the Deothwicc pack || scarred deeply by the deaths of her last litter, Estene now believes that the only hope for her pack is to trust a human. Unfortunately, she is yet to meet a human who could be worthy of such trust.

Thrigg → no longer human || 200-ish? (She can't remember) || Thrigg longs to rejoin the world outside of the magic-bound city of Hrafnholm, but her longing is kept in check by her fear of what she will find.

► ANTAGONISTS

Faela → human || 42 || Isha's estranged half-brother || arrives in Erdansten in the dead of night, with old wounds on his body and deeper wounds in his psyche. Guilt surrounds him like a shroud.

Ethy → human || mid-late 60s || retired hunter who now tends to the half-tame ravens in Erdansten. She wields her love for the town like a weapon.

Unwolf and Other → no longer wolves || ?? || strangers from another land, wreathed always in a malicious, living fog that covers their tracks.

OTHER INFORMATION

► MISC. INFO

As of writing this post (17.03.2021), I have one (1) chapter of copy-edits left to revise.

I hope to have a solid release date for the novel by the end of April.

It will be self-published, with both ebook and print versions available.

► TAG LISTS & TRACKING

Taglist members will be tagged in important milestones/updates, and in longer excerpts from the book. If you'd like to be added, please reply to this post or tell me that you'd like to be added on the reblog (or send an ask if the askbox is open). You can ask me to take you off at any time :)

To keep track of the project progress or learn more about it, check out the #When Dealing With Wolves tag

► SUPPORT ME

I have a Patreon for my writing, with £1 and £5 tiers. You can also support me on Ko-Fi, where I cross-post monthly Patreon stuff, either through one-off tips or monthly support.

[mymostimaginaryfriend]

between a heart & a hard place

♛ 5x05: Teresa and James plan the heist (1.9k words; rating T; tags: missing scene, weaponized jazz music, angsty dancing)

➢ read on ao3 or below the cut:

The Van Gogh was beautiful. It was a shame they’d have to cut it from the frame, yet Teresa knew better than most that no beauty survived long in this world without collecting a few scars. So while it was a shame, it wasn't enough to stop her. Indeed, it’d be one of the only decisions she’d been forced to make lately that she wouldn’t lose any sleep over tonight.

Losing Kostya wasn’t an option. The pain of lost beauty was nothing compared to the pain of lost power.

They gathered in the hotel lobby, using the private concert by a semi-famous jazz pianist as cover for some recon. Kelly Anne gamely chatted up the hotel owner while Pote stifled a yawn and nursed his beer. James leaned casually against the bar, seemingly entranced by the music. It was only because she knew him so well that she could see the relaxed demeanor hid a man at work, busy formulating a plan. He hadn’t said much about his time away, but it was hard to believe any of it had involved art heists.

She felt a frisson of worry about putting him in unfamiliar, possibly dangerous territory but she knew better than to underestimate him. It was a lesson she’d learned the first day they’d met.

She followed his gaze to the piano, wondering what he was studying there. Teresa had never thought herself a jazz fan before moving to New Orleans, but it had become the soundtrack of her triumphs and heartaches over the past year. She found herself drawn to the melancholy of it, the soaring heights of a trombone, the plaintive pleas of a piano. Rising, falling, rising again. Even now, each soulful note plucked at her heartstrings with the simple strike of a key.

The song was beautiful, perhaps James was merely getting lost for a moment in the music. He’d said she’d changed and she had, but she wasn’t the only one. When he’d left, there’d been sharp edges, edges that should have been honed to lethal blades by his work with Devon and yet the James who had returned had a softness she was unprepared for. A sort of fragile vulnerability that made her want to shelter it from the wind like a flickering candle flame, to nurture and feed it until it was strong enough to warm her too. Her throat ached at the knowledge of how easily it could be snuffed out.

She’d almost done it herself this past week. It’d hurt to see the light in his eyes dim when he looked at her but that had been what she wanted, hadn't it? This distance between them. If it wasn’t easy, it was necessary. She’d rather let the sun set between them than watch the light in his eyes permanently go out because of her.

Emotional attachments equaled vulnerability. Romantic attachments could get you killed. She had needed someone once and his loss had nearly destroyed her. She felt in her bones she wouldn't be able to survive losing James. If she let him into her heart, his death would take that vital organ with him. For as much as she thought about the future these days, there was a part of her relentlessly certain in the knowledge that they’d never get there. Not in one piece.

That didn’t stop her from wanting to reach out to him though—for comfort, maybe, or reassurance.  Perhaps it was the thought he no longer understood her that hurt the most, that made her want to seek communion with him skin to skin if not soul to soul. But that wouldn’t be fair to him, to push him away then pull him close just because she desperately needed someone—him—to tell her it’d be okay. That it was all worth it. She suspected his silence these last few days was answer enough.

It was for the best. The higher the climb, the longer the fall. She couldn’t afford weakness and neither could he. If he was no longer able to be as ruthless, then she would have to be ruthless enough for the both of them.

The song ended and she turned back to James to find that he wasn’t studying the room anymore. He was studying her, his expression inscrutable.

His gaze, like the silence between them, was heavy with unsaid words, words that might never be spoken at all but most certainly not here in public. Best to get back to business.

“You have a plan?” she asked, grateful that her voice remained steady.

He nodded.

“Walk me through it,” she murmured, eyes drawn back to the painting in question.

“Dance with me.”

Her attention snapped back to his face at his surprise counter offer. She’d expected a cool recitation of information—sight lines, security cameras, escape routes—not a softly uttered invitation to be close to him, to touch him for the first time since that night in New York.

“James,” she began, not sure if she meant it as the prelude to a warning or an apology.

A flash of emotion was quickly smoothed away by his normal mask of professionalism. “Relax,” he said, pushing off the bar. “I just need a reason to be in the northwest quadrant of the room.”

She shot him a questioning look and the corner of his mouth ticked up in muted amusement. “The dance floor,” he clarified, holding out a hand.

Right. Of course. The plan. Just business, just how she wanted it. She ignored Kelly Anne’s double take and took James’ hand, letting him lead her to the far side of the small dance floor.

Once it would have been a simple thing to step into his arms, but as the first few notes of the next song began, she hesitated. He might not recognize the tune, but after being a bar owner in New Orleans for over a year, she sure did.

They’re writing songs of love, but not for me. A lucky star’s above, but not for me.

If he noticed any significance, he hid it well, guiding one of her hands to his shoulder and holding the other against his chest. His other hand found her waist and turned her smoothly in the direction he needed to surveil.

She didn’t speak, letting him work in silence. She tried to concentrate on the people around them, the sound of the piano, the lights of the city beyond the windows, anything but the warmth of his body, not under the usual leather jacket, but the expensive fabric of his suit, his scent of new cologne and old cigarettes as foreign as it was familiar.

After a moment, he pulled her closer, leaning down to murmur near her ear. “We’ll do a smoke bomb, smash and grab. Extract the painting, ditch the van. Travel by motorcycle to the drop-off.”

“We?” Teresa asked, a little breathless. Some not small part of her wished she could watch him in action, especially in the kind of situation when no one was shooting back at them.

“Me,” James corrected. “You’ll be at the rendezvous point with Pote. I’ll use a two-man team—”

“One of the men?” Teresa asked. She trusted the crew that had accompanied her to Berlin to handle security but wasn’t sure who she’d recommend for a job that required the finesse of art theft.

“I know a guy nearby,” James told her and she let out a breath of laughter. Of course he did.

“You know everyone.” She turned to smile up at him but was taken aback by the seriousness of his expression.

“Not everyone.”

His words, or maybe the weight behind them, had her wondering if he was thinking of her.

She had done her best to hide her inner turmoil over the events of the last week. Suppressing her guilt and remorse over turning in Marcel. Hiding any misgivings she had about ordering the hit on the crooked cop with defensiveness or dismissal. She was la Jefa, it would do no good for anyone to see her doubts. So she'd put on strong front but hadn’t realized until now how much she’d depended on James seeing through it.  He always had before.

“You think we made a mistake,” she ventured, allowing space for his answer to clarify what was specifically bothering him the most. Perhaps it was vindictive of her to use “we” but distance or not they were still in this together.

James looked away. “It’s over now.”

“That’s not an answer,” she pressed.

He frowned, hesitating. “I did. I don’t know. You were right, the feds were ready to raid us. Bringing in Gamble would have been their next step.”

It was almost shameful, the intensity of the relief that washed over her at his words. But by James' grim expression, it seemed he grew even more troubled by the admission. 

“But?”

He glanced at her, eyes bleak. “His wife was home. She found him while I was still there.”

Teresa’s heart dropped in her chest. She knew from the news reports that there’d only been one victim that night but looking into James’ eyes she saw that it haunted him. The future that might have been. He’d have killed the wife too if she’d caught him. He’d have killed her for them.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, letting her hand find the tender skin of his neck and the staccato rhythm of his heart beat. “I’m sorry. But…”

His eyes briefly fluttered shut. “I know.”

If she couldn’t help herself from holding onto him a little tighter, it seemed he welcomed her momentary lapse. His hand sliding to the small of her back to draw her nearer until they were touching the entire lengths of their bodies, their only attempt at dancing a slight swaying from side to side.

“I just want to keep you safe,” he said, resting his cheek against her temple. She felt the old familiar panic at the implied even from yourself, but this wasn’t like Phoenix. He wasn’t trying to make decisions for her.  

Couldn’t he see that she wished the same safety for him? That everything she did was in pursuit of this shared goal?

“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” he continued, slowing their sway until he was just holding her. “And now...hope is a dangerous thing. It draws your attention to the horizon instead of keeping it on the danger right in front of you.”

She wondered if he was feeling it too: the walls closing in from every angle, the same echoing dread that haunted her midnight hours.  The ever narrowing window of daylight to that future someday.

But as the final notes of the song were played, even as the distance between them didn’t seem as vast anymore, even if for a moment she entertained the idea of not letting go, of leading him back up to the suite to finish repairing with their bodies what she’d bruised with her words, she knew that if they had any hope at all of that other life, they had work to do now.

James, as always, understood that better than anyone. He released her and smiled, eyes once again lit from within.

Many, many hours later while she waited in a safe location as he once again risked life and limb and freedom at her request, Teresa tried not to give too much credence to the sickening feeling in her stomach that the danger he’d mentioned earlier, the danger right in front of him that threatened their much dreamed about future…

....might end up being her.

(ao3)

[megaeratheefury]

hello omg that r/crown prompt was so soft and well-written i just... if it's not too much trouble, would you consider writing one for x/crown but with the prompt, "you can call me whenever you want... even if you don't have a reason to." 👀

thank you for such an inspiring prompt, anon! i literally created my X romancing crown just so i could read the route and fill this prompt. 🥰

i hope y’all enjoy crown navid, who is my love letter to @ataleofcrowns’ X 🥺💌

ps. i have an atoc sideblog now! askbox is open for r/crown and x/crown prompts over at @sorcererrezan 💛

—

Navid finds out about Xelef’s return to the city via a messenger from the Crescent Blades. Apparently the Pale Sword himself saw it fit to give advance notice, though whether it is because he is the Crown or because he is Navid is still elusively up for interpretation.

Typical Xelef. 

Navid conceals having to swallow the piece of his heart that jumped up his throat at Xelef’s impending return. He doesn’t reveal any additional curiosities about how far away the Blades are or how long they plan on staying to the mercenary, maintaining instead a welcoming though busy countenance. Internally he runs over his schedule over the next few weeks to calculate his free time while he calls for a servant to show the messenger to one of the rooms in the guest quarters. 

The more rational and less giddy part of him tries to temper his eagerness—where he and Xelef stand with each other is as opaque as it is exciting. ‘You are both but distractions,’ it reminds. Not for their duties necessarily, but for their idiosyncratic inner turmoil. There’s something about Xelef—whether its his acute sensitivity, his devil may care attitude, or his unflagging self-assuredness—that makes it easier for him to escape the gaping maw of trauma he’s left unprocessed and memories his mind has already saw fit to protect him from.

Navid has never faced a distraction quite like Xelef, after all. 

And perhaps, he considers when the sellsword greets him with an unabashed grin and an embrace that lingers a few days later, Xelef has never faced a distraction quite like him either.

—

“So General Delal has finally scrubbed off the decade old rust on the Imperial Army, has she?” Xelef’s words are as light as the breeze that dances around them. They’re in a sitting area nestled in the corner of an upper floor with high ceilings, enclosed by open windows more than walls. It’s the Crown’s favorite with its bright light and how it only takes one step into his imagination to feel like he’s sitting in the sky. 

Navid drinks from his cup of tea—perfectly brewed and sweetened, he’d have to compliment Siham on his attention to detail later—before responding. Xelef always speaks with hidden context. Navid reasons that it could be because the man himself processes so much information outside of just what’s spoken whenever he interacts with others. The practice of figuring out what Xelef really means in any situation is a more efficient lesson in navigating politics than a week of interacting with the nobles. He guesses that in this situation it is equally likely that Xelef is inquiring about the strength of his security as he is looking for something with which to needle the general.

He has to remind himself not to project motives or objectives onto Xelef just because of his own expectations and hopes. But it’s hard not to, when for all intents and purposes, Xelef seems to have returned to see him. He offered up the veil of having business in the city and giving the Blades a break, but Navid has gotten even better at reading people since they last saw each other. 

You have to pay attention to what Xelef does, he’s learning. And take what he says with a grain of salt. As it stands, the sellsword has managed to squeeze himself into every bit of free time that Navid has had luxury for since his arrival earlier this week: be it testing his combat training, joining him for a meal, or inviting him to the Red Lantern and then personally escorting him back to his quarters. For safety, they both reason, considering how the last time went. But there’s an almost palpable tension that only grows whenever they’re alone together, and Navid somehow intuitively knows that they’re approaching the edge of something they may not be able to dismiss after the fact.

He’s never backed down from an adventure though.

Navid settles his cup in its saucer before replying, a touch of genuine pride coating his words, “Yes, she’s seen to it personally.”

He meets Xelef’s eyes, can feel a smirk dancing on his lips as he continues, “Why? Planning on invading me soon?”

Xelef’s gaze heats up in the face of the suggestion Navid doesn’t bother to conceal, lingering on the expanse of his chest and arms that the diagonal drape of his tunic leaves exposed. 

“I could try,” Xelef leans closer, drawing Navid into his orbit until he can almost feel the air behind his words. This tucked away into the palace, behind an army and the full strength of the guards, Xelef’s attention isn’t split by trying to foresee an attack. The full weight of his focus builds up a thrill that pounds through Navid’s entire being. He can feel his pulse in his palms just as clearly as he can see the green of Xelef’s eyes shift from lighter to darker.

“How successful do you think I’d be? In your infallible opinion as the Crown.” 

“As it stands?” Navid pretends to weigh the question, using the pause as an excuse to let his own eyes do some appreciating. He doesn’t flatter himself by believing that Xelef dressed just for him today, but the way the fabric parts across his broad chest when he props an elbow on the table is too effective to not be intentional.

Spirits but does he look irresistible. And he knows it, too. Navid can’t hide the sentiment from him—not that he wants to, anyway. Xelef tries his damnedest to rile him up every time they see each other and Navid would be doing them both a disservice if he didn’t make Xelef face the consequences of his own boldness.

“Near impossible,” Navid answers like fate herself gave him the authority. “But maybe if you had an agent on the inside…”

“And do I? Have an agent on the inside?”

Navid hums to consider. “You could.”

His inherent evasiveness prevents him from leaving the cover of their loaded metaphor. There is a line that he has learned not to cross when dancing around with Xelef. He refuses to be the sentimental fool that blindly steps too close.

—That’s what Navid tells himself at least, when Xelef is not within two breaths of him and watching him intently, like he’s pulling him apart and putting the pieces back together in his head. It’s much harder to resist testing him when he’s right there. 

But to his delight, Xelef huffs out a satisfied chuckle before breaking into a wide smile.

“Sounds like I have my way in then.”

Navid grants him an indulgent look. “Let’s see what you do with it, chief.” 

This time he lets out a full-fledged laugh and Navid joins him in it, reveling in how fun it is to be around Xelef. This is how he’d like for them to remember each other when they’re apart.

Xelef regards him for a beat when their amusement tapers off, likely having sensed the emotions that thought inspired as it passed through him. Navid quietly holds his breath. It’s not exactly comfortable, how easily Xelef can pierce through his walls, but if it’s out there then he’s not going to hide from it. 

“You know,” Xelef begins, looking away for a second before locking gazes again and resting a calloused palm on the back of his hand. “You can call me whenever you want. Even if you don’t have reason to.”

That… isn’t what Navid expected. There’s an almost tentative seriousness to the mercenary’s words and demeanor. The warmth that he’s learning to associate with Xelef radiates from their hands, powering the quickening beat of his heart.

Navid swallows, though he doesn’t look away. Xelef’s skin shines from his stare. “Even if I’m just thinking of you?”

“I don’t think there are enough birds for that in the whole Empire, my dark-haired beauty.”

And just like that, Xelef settles back into his easy demeanor, self-satisfied grin and all. But now Navid knows better, can discern the seed of… something behind the mysteries of Xelef’s eyes. Something that could be more than just a distraction.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 7: Under His Protection

x

Work Summary: Jamie Fraser is hiking near some strange stones when he comes across an unconscious lass. Determined to help her, Jamie’s life is turned completely upside down as he takes her in. The only issue... she’s not human.

Chapter 7 Summary: Claire confronts various emotions; tensions rise.

Read on AO3

Read chp 7 below the cut

Previous , Next

A/n: Hold onto your hats, we’re taking a dive into Claire’s POV!

Chapter 7: Under His Protection 

***

Claire woke slowly, her brain struggling against the mire of unconsciousness, swimming lazily to the surface. As she cracked her eyes open and took in the darkness, confusion and anxiety gripped her like vines coiling around her ankles. 

Where was she? 

The material under her cheek was strange, and she certainly wasn’t on the ground with the familiar feeling of brush and grass against her cheek. Whatever she was lying on was soft and had a lot of give. 

She nearly started to panic, but then she became aware of the feeling of arms wrapped around her and her body securely anchored to that of the warm one behind her. 

While her brain, still clouded with sleep, struggled to identify who the arms belonged to, it was her heart that fondly sighed, “Jamie.” 

And then she felt it. 

Safety— warring against the uncertainty. 

Awareness came back to her with that, and she remembered all the events of the previous few days. Here she was, in this strange human’s house, in his arms even, forever cut off from her home. 

The grief washed over her anew. Her whole world had been tilted upside down in mere minutes, the repercussions of touching the stones still revealing themselves. But she could feel in her bones that she was lost, never to return. 

The thought terrified her. 

Tears pricked at her eyes and her heart leapt suddenly to her throat. She tried to swallow the lump, to force it back down, but she felt the pressure inside her building— fit to burst into another meltdown over all she’d lost. 

So she turned to the one thing she could— both figuratively and literally. 

She rolled over so she was facing Jamie. In sleep, his arms instinctively shifted with her so he was still holding on to her, clutching her body to himself. As he settled back in, his breathing a reassuring rhythm, he pulled her even closer with a soft hum.  

He looked so peaceful that she hesitated to wake him. But tears were dripping from her eyes now, and she felt so alone that she wanted him— awake with all his gentleness and quick reassurances— desperately. In a tremulous, barely there voice, she whispered, “Jamie?” 

It took only a second for his eyes to open and fix on her. They were beautiful eyes, she thought— blue like the sky on a sunny day. Those eyes held such kindness, such soft compassion. They had been one of the first things that made Claire know he was a good man. 

As soon as Jamie saw her face, which must have been wet with tears by now, he let out a pained sound. His big hands let go of her and untwined from her body so that he could lift them to cup her cheeks, the thumbs swiping at the falling tears. 

“What’s wrong, mo nighean donn?” he asked, his face soft with concern. 

The tenderness there made Claire’s breath hitch and the silent tears fall even faster. 

“I— I’m sorry—” she suddenly felt very foolish to have woken him, without even a good reason, “I just… woke up scared. And then I remembered...” 

There was a mere second for her to berate herself over her behavior before understanding crossed Jamie’s face and assuaged Claire’s embarrassment. Jamie had an amazing knack for making her feel that he understood and hurt with her without making her feel pitied. This kind of empathy was something Claire had never really experienced before she met him. 

It was with that empathy that he met the tide of her grief.

“Come here,” he said softly. 

He pulled her closer and his hand settled on the back of her head to press her face into the crook of his neck. She went willingly. The skin of his neck felt warm and silky under her teary eyes, and she let more drops fall onto the offered canvas of his body. She wasn’t actively crying like she had the previous day when the realization hit her, just quietly addressing her loss, releasing pent up tears that seemed to have been inside her all night. The nighttime was when fears always preyed, darkness and loneliness reminding one of their greatest insecurities, but she was lucky not to be alone. 

Both of his arms encircled her, but one of his hands was free enough to rub comforting circles into her back. His hands were so big, she marveled at the feeling and strength of them— so reassuring. Grounding her. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Her lips barely brushed the skin of his collarbone as she spoke. 

“Dinna be sorry,” his deep voice was a vibration in his chest that she could feel from how she laid on him, pressed so tightly against his body, “I’m here.” 

That made her feel a thousand times better. As much turmoil as she’d been through in the past couple of days, he was her light— her anchor. She somehow trusted him with everything inside her. 

She’d known him to be trustworthy from the first time she touched him. Before that, when he’d knelt a short ways away from her on the moor, she’d noticed the kindness in his eyes, the truth in his words, and the deference in his posture that indicated he meant her no harm. That all made her less wary. But the first time she’d truly known was when she’d touched his face and felt that warm rush of security and gentleness, more powerful than she’d ever felt before. There was a connection between them that was completely novel to Claire but nonetheless reassuring. From that second on, Jamie had been hers, and she his. 

As she wept against him now, she couldn’t help but believe his earnest words. Everything would be okay. As long as he was there to hold her, to protect her, she could survive. 

Comfort. 

He continued to embrace her long after her tears had dried. With infinite patience, he simply offered his body to her, wrapping himself around her as if he could block out her pain. She was loathe to move away from him and the safety he provided, but the sun was up— light was filtering through the window indicating late morning— and she needed to face the day. 

She lifted her face from his shoulder and locked eyes with him. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. She hoped he knew all the unspoken things those words held— thank you for saving me, for caring for me, for holding together my broken pieces, for letting me drop into your life like this and never complaining once…

He must have known, because he gave her a smile that made her knees feel like jelly and said simply but with a weight of regard, “ye’re welcome.” 

They got up slowly. Claire parted from Jamie reluctantly, but sat up nonetheless, allowing him to stretch and then set off. Watching him, all the high emotions from the night before seemed to dissipate, and she was left feeling more like herself again. Jamie seemed to have a routine that he followed every morning, and Claire followed him, interested to watch what exactly he was doing. 

First, he padded sleepily to the little place with the “shower”, scratching the back of his head where some of his beautiful red curls were sticking up adorably. He’d left the “door” open, but Claire wasn’t entirely sure he knew she was there as he made the water appear (she still had no idea how it did that!) and put a small stick thing under it. Then, he raised the stick and started to rub it inside his mouth. She recoiled a little in disgust, wondering if this was something like “eating”, but upon closer inspection, it seemed to be something different entirely. It lasted only another few seconds before he leaned down and washed his face under the little waterfall. When he straightened up again, his eyes met hers in the strange reflective surface, and he turned suddenly toward her. 

“Claire!” he exclaimed, “I didna realize ye were there. Ehm… I hafta take a shower. Would you mind givin’ me a bit of time?” His eyebrows were raised apologetically as he thrust a thumb in the direction of the “shower.” 

With a nod and a smile she hoped looked reassuring, she said, “Of course!” 

She didn’t want to impose on him, and he’d been spending nearly every second with her. He was obviously reluctant to leave her on her own, but she wanted him to know that she’d be fine. 

He gave her a nod, still looking a bit guilty, and then shut the bathroom door, separating them. A second later, she heard the sound of rain and figured he was beginning the shower. 

Left to her own devices, she headed down. She was still a little hesitant about descending the odd hill that led down to the other level— the blocky shapes on it seemed easy to slip on— but she held tightly to the little trees that lined either side. 

When she’d finally made it down, the grey “cheetie” Adso was sitting in the middle of the place Jamie called “the living room” and looking up at her with big green eyes. 

“Hello my friend!” she exclaimed happily as she sat down to run her fingers through his soft fur. He rumbled beneath her hands, making her giggle a little, and she spent a few moments completely absorbed with Jamie’s companion. He must have been loyal to Jamie— she thought— to choose to spend all his time inside with him instead of out on the moors. 

As she stroked his soft fur, thoughts of her future crept into her mind, unbidden. Thinking more than a few days ahead was complete madness, so she limited herself to worrying about this day and its troubles. Jamie would honor his promise and take care of her, but if she was going to be here for any amount of time, she needed to really start learning about this world. She didn’t particularly care for the feeling of helplessness that was her ever-present companion; she wanted to become competent and hopefully one day reciprocate Jamie’s care. With a hardening resolve, she decided that today she would be brave. She would learn everything Jamie would teach her and take as many steps as she could toward her new life. 

It wasn’t long before Adso grew bored of her. Just as she had made up her mind, he abruptly hopped to his feet and pranced off, tail flicking in goodbye. 

Claire wasn’t sure what to do next. She would have liked to go back and feel the warm wind (what was it Jamie had called it— “space heater”?), but she wasn’t sure how much heat it could possibly have trapped inside of it and thought probably best to save it. Glancing around the room in search of inspiration, her gaze fell on the window. 

It was a beautiful day— the sun illuminating the terrain with its bright colors, not even a hint of the usual Scottish greys of clouds and drizzle. It was the perfect opportunity to tend to Jamie’s plants (which were sorely in need of a good touch). And if doing something she was good at helped her to feel more competent and useful in this world, all the better for it. 

She headed outside right away. Kneeling down in the dirt, the slight tension inside her eased. She was in her element. Her hands instinctively reached for the plants, classifying to herself, cataloguing their needs in her brain, and simply touching in order to better sense them. 

It wasn’t long before she grew lost in her endeavors. There were some invasive plants— dreadful, malicious things that didn’t even belong in Scotland, she knew— that she began to pull up and toss aside. Their roots were strong, but she could feel them choking the life from the others and pulled hard. Her hands grew dirty in her efforts but she didn’t mind; it was only evidence of her making a difference. The sun rose even higher in the sky as she worked, but she was paying no attention to anything around her. She finally felt a sense of value again as she freed the plants from the choking hold of the invaders.

Her tranquility was suddenly shattered when a loud bang came from the direction of the house. Claire jolted upright, dropping her weeds, and her head whipped toward it. 

Jamie stood just outside, his fiery hair aglow in the sun but beautiful blue eyes blown wide in panic and fixed on her. Seeing his tension, she thought for an instant that something was terribly wrong. Was something after him? Come to harm them? She had no idea the dangers of the human world. 

But then he was suddenly racing toward her, eyes never leaving her the whole time. He fell on his knees beside her and scooped her into an embrace. Bewildered, she didn’t resist as he clutched her to his chest, hugging so tightly it was nearly hard to breathe. 

“Christ, lass!” he burst out, “I looked everywhere for ye and couldna find ye. I thought maybe ye’d run off or somethin’d happened and—” He was breathless as he spoke, and Claire could feel his chest heaving against her as he tried to calm himself down. 

“I was only out here,” was all she could think to say. 

Jamie pulled back a little so he could look down at her, but made no move to let her go. She didn’t particularly mind— she liked being in his arms and wished he’d hold her all the time, but she was disturbed by how upset he seemed. He studied her for a long moment, eyes sweeping over her as if ensuring she was alright. 

“Ifrinn,” he muttered suddenly, face softening from an expression of frantic worry into a more gentle concern, “ye’re shakin’ like a leaf. How long have ye been out here, a nighean? And wi’ out a coat? Ye’re cold as ice.” 

Claire wasn’t sure what a “coat” was, but at his words, she realized that she was freezing. He was right— her whole body trembled in that odd way it had ever since she’d touched the stones. She furrowed her brow in discomfort. The cold was the worst. 

Jamie was muttering something under his breath and rubbing his hands up and down her arms. On one pass, they traveled further down and caught her hands in his, heedless of the dirt caked on them. He squeezed, and Claire was taken aback at just how warm they were. 

“Come now. Inside,” he told her, his tone indicating there was no room for argument. 

He all but hauled her up and tugged her toward the house. Her hand was clasped in his, so the tension that lingered in his body was apparent to her. 

The moment they were inside, Jamie whirled to face her. He snagged the soft fabric (what was it called again— blankit?) from the couch and, facing her all the while, raised his arms over her head to wrap it around her shoulders. The forceful movement of him swaddling her brought her closer to him, and he pulled the edges tight together so she was wrapped completely. Her trembling hadn’t eased in the slightest, if anything it was getting worse now that she was back in the warmth of the house, so she was grateful for the comfort. 

But that sense of gratitude didn’t stay long. 

“Christ, lass,” Jamie was saying, voice giving way to frustration, “ye canna go wanderin’ like that.” 

His hands waved wildly in a grand gesture of “wandering”, as if she had walked all the way back to her forest instead of just out back. 

“I was only just outside,” Claire protested. 

She took a step backward so Jamie wasn’t so close to her. She didn’t like the emotions radiating from him. He seemed red to her, like the heat of the sun— energy roaring within. 

“Aye, but ye didna say a word about it tae me first. Anythin’ could have happened to ye,” Jamie shot back. 

Claire felt her nerves fraying at the tone of his voice. 

“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” she spat, bristling. 

“Are ye, then?” His tone teetering just into the realm of mocking, “Because—”

That put her over the edge. She dropped the blanket from her shoulders and stalked back toward him, fire in her belly. 

“You treat me like I’m just some foolish child! Like I’m this fragile thing about to break if I’m alone for one moment. I may not know everything about your world, but I’ve taken care of myself my whole life. I don’t need you!” The last words burst from her mouth in her fury, lashing out with a shot aimed right at his heart. 

But the moment she said them, she wished she could grab them out of the air and shove them back in. Jamie seemed to instantly crumple. It was as if she’d struck him with her fists rather than her words, the “I don’t need you” a killing blow. He deflated, all the tight muscles in his shoulders uncoiling as he slumped back against the couch heavily and slid a little further down to sit on it. His big blue eyes looked up at her with the most heartbroken expression she’d seem in her life. And it tore her to pieces. 

Even worse… to know it was her that had caused him such anguish. 

“I ken ye can take care of yerself…” he said, very softly, all the fight completely gone out of him, “I’m sorry that I made ye feel like I didna think that. It’s jes’ that I was sae worrit when I couldna find ye, I thought I’d maybe lost ye forever and… I overreacted.”

Nearly the exact same way Jamie had gone limp after her words tore through him, his soft confession knocked all the air from her lungs. Any remaining fight in her was gone, leaving only the hollow feeling of regret. 

She hesitantly knelt down in front of him. After his declaration, he’d braced his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. As she settled herself between his legs, she gently took both of his wrists and forced him to raise his head to look at her. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, that being the most important thing that she was dying to ensure he knew, “I overreacted too. The truth is... it scares me how much I do need you—” 

His beautiful eyes peered searchingly into hers, as if desperate for a confirmation on her face that she was telling him the truth. She couldn’t help but reach a hand up and lightly cup his cheek, caressing his face softly. Her touch was fueled by a yearning to feel close to him again as much as to comfort him. 

From the second she’d met him, she’d felt a connection to him down to her very soul. They were bonded, the two of them. And now she’d found herself falling for him. And in the face of that— and the desperate need for him that scared her to her core— she’d lashed out. 

“I dinna ken why…” Jamie started, very slowly, “but ever since I found ye on that hill, I’ve felt this… compulsion… to keep ye safe. To care for ye and protect ye from anythin’ that might steal that bonny smile from yer face. I’m sorry that I went too far. I wish I could jes’ tuck ye into my coat like a wee cheetie and carry ye with me against my chest, but I ken that’s no’ what ye need. I’ve been selfish, Sassenach. If I coddled ye, it was only because I needed it, not you. But I wasna lookin’ to see how it hurt you. Ye’re incredibly brave, mo nighean donn, and strong. Dinna ever believe otherwise, or think that I believe otherwise…” 

Tears shimmered in his eyes, and she felt a matching sheen in her own. The pressure was building inside her, a lump in her throat matching the coil in her belly. 

It surprised her when the next words came tumbling out of her mouth, a hasty confession she hadn’t meant to see the light of day—

“I don’t feel very brave.” 

It was the truth, of course. She’d been a mess this whole time. Unable to bear the weight of separation from her people, clinging to Jamie as her lifeline. Without him, she would have surely shattered…

She was interrupted from these thoughts by Jamie sliding down onto the floor in front of her so they knelt face-to-face. His big hands came up to cradle her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. Then, he began to speak, somehow achieving the perfect balance of firm conviction and gentleness. 

“But ye are, a nighean. Ye are here, and ye’re still goin’. That’s brave.” 

His words hung in the air— short, simple, but as poignant as a stone throw. 

She nodded, too choked up to give any further reply. 

It was then that he hugged her. Smashed her to his chest, his arms wrapping around her middle, solid as trees, and holding her to him as if he was scared she would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Her own arms had been trapped between them during his sudden movement, but she managed to wriggle them free to bring them around his shoulders and embrace him in return. 

She felt anchored suddenly— as if she’d been floating in the sky, subject to the fancies of the wind, before this strange man had suddenly reached up and pulled her back down to solid ground. 

All thoughts of the home that had been lost suddenly disappeared from her mind as Jamie held her. Because it was thoughts of her new home— her home with him— and the hope that accompanied them that filled her mind instead. 

“You know… I think I’d actually quite like to be a cheetie wrapped in your coat,” she tremulously joked, her voice muffled from how her mouth was pressed into the fabric at his shoulder. 

Jamie let out a laugh that vibrated through him and into her— a clear, unrestrained sound like the way the loch ripples when a stone plunks into it. She wished to herself that she could hear it forever— to spare him from any pain like the kind she’d just inflicted upon him. 

In that moment, she knew she loved him. 

***

Next

[disruptivebychoice]

BRAVE

I used to think I was strong

And I was,

But I didn’t realize the strength

Of what it meant to be brave

  Being brave meant being fearless

It meant that I could stand on my own

A new meaning to reckless

The courage to stand alone

  It meant not being afraid

Of what the world might say

Nor concerned if friends left

Believing in the sounds of crazy

Rather than the truth of my story

  Bravery meant looking back at the past

Facing the demon head on

Even with flashbacks brought

That came with anxiety to last

  Bravery found me as I begun

To share the story, I had outrun

The one I’d been neglecting

The scary, the haunting

The one that kept me alone

With thoughts I couldn’t condone

Where wipes of tears

Found me

Before others could see

So, they wouldn’t ask why

And I wouldn’t have to lie

  For so long I allowed it to demoralize

Consume with patterns to resume

But then I realized

I could stand up to these nights

The one causing the terror of frights

By looking to God for comfort

Not as a last resort

But my only

With words of his name

And prayers to sustain

I realized faith conquers fear

And through him,

The found the hatred clear

  Insecurity used to riddle my conscious

Stumbling over words that had been said

Pondering them while lying in bed

I used to be up late at nights,

With arguments in my head

That broke out in fights

Forgetting I still had rights

  That’s the problem with trauma

PTSD doesn’t go away over night

No matter how hard

I had tried to resist

I learned to become a fighter

Putting up my two fists

  Security came knowing I was safe

In the arms of myself

Regardless of the harm

That was caused by anyone else

  Being brave meant forgiving

Not holding onto and resenting

It meant realizing that

He had his own demons

That despite his actions

I could control my reactions

By blessing him with love

To restore him from his darkness

Relieving him of his sickness

  Misfortune still finds me at times

But with breathing

I found release from sighs

The calming of the storm

That lingered over

With memories of suffer

  Bravery taught me

That manipulation could no longer

Convince me I was wrong

That words I could say

Would always be enough

Because my voice aloud

Was riveting and strong

  I think what happened

Can be taken as symbolic

That when we choose to feed

The wolf made of greed

A heart that starts kind

Creates a turmoil in the mind

The feeding becomes an urge over time

Starting from what was just a seed

Growing into destruction as a need

  That when faced against those

Whose decisions conquer from what they chose

That we can still choose to be kind

And with God can overcome the blind

  I pray that he may find love in his heart

A softening of what it is

That ultimately tore him apart

That he may realize

This can be made right

But even if he doesn’t

It won’t change the fact

That I forgive him.

  As I sit here today

The thing I believe

That will be questioned most

Is why do I forgive

How could I truly forgive someone?

That destroyed my mind

Invading me against my privacy

Abuse as ways of silencing

Taking away my freedom

As a ruler over the kingdom

The one of my heart, my mind

The sacred body of mine

But what I’ll always know

Is that he never had the power

To reign and control

Taking me away from my soul

  The answer to forgiveness is simple

My answer is simple

I don’t have room to physically hate

Or wish bad upon another

Because I’m not cruel

I had been there before, Satan’s fool

For such time

 But this is my story

This is what I know to be true

I found my way to brave

No longer feared into obey

No longer frightened

No longer afraid

No longer vengeful

  Today I am hopeful

Today I am my own love

Today I choose to be kind

Today I am brave

[anon-e-miss]

Broken Vows 6

It was difficult to remain angry with Jazz. His kindness, his generosity in so many ways made up for his failings. Prowl would speak to him regarding what he had told Smokescreen, but not in anger. Jazz was open about his emotions, honest in a way Prowl did not know how to be. Generally this was a more positive trait that Prowl’s own stoicism, but Smokescreen was so young, and so overburden for one his age. He needed to be better protected from the turmoil of those grown mechanisms around him. Prowl would ask that Jazz be more careful, and Prowl would be more careful too. Let Smokescreen just be a mechling again. Let him be mischievious. Let him be wild. Let him be free.

Prowl leaned into Jazz’s servo. One lapse was not enough to push him away. It was not so much a sin as to deserve to be barred from Smokescreen’s presence. They had clicked, progenitor and creation, instantly. There was a bond already forming that was deep and true. This was everything Prowl had ever wished for Smokescreen. He could not help but fear the suffering that would come if Jazz suffered the same fragmentation as he had before. Not only his, but Smokescreen’s. But also Jazz’s. There was no question that Jazz had suffered. Prowl loathed nothing more than to be measured by nothing but his glitch, and he would not measure Jazz simply by his illness. Instead, he willed himself to measure Jazz by his strength in overcoming that fragmentation. It could not have been a small feat of mental and emotional strength.

“There’s somethin’ else... a few somethings...” Jazz murmured. They both glanced to Smokescreen who   at curled up at Prowl’s side, that plushie in his arms as he immersed himself in his story.

“You have given us enough,” Prowl replied. He did not want Jazz bankrupting himself out of guilt. That was the very last think he would want. “You have given him a piece of his life back.”

“I ran into the owner o’ Just a Jillion Things. The designation’s accurate, they got a lot o’ everythin’. There’s more... Anyway, he gave me a deal... and he gave you this.”

Jazz placed a dataslug in Prowl’s good servo.

“When y’re settin’ up yer habsuite, he wants ya to come ‘n pick what ya need.”

“Do I want to know how much is on this?” Prowl felt his voice crack. Smokescreen glanced up at him, and Prowl brushed his servo over his creation’s helm.

“My guess? No limit. He was real insistent that ya deserved it. We haggled for three breams before I could convince him to let me pay for anythin’.”

“How could he know anything about me?”

“Yer story went viral. A medtech sold out to the tabloids. Y’re identities are safe but a Miracle from Primus is all over the data-net.”

“Oh,” Prowl cringed as he sucked in a harsh intake. “I suppose it was not realistic to hope we could just integrate into Iacon.”

“Why are you scared, Origin?” Smokescreen asked.

“I want you and Bluestreak to have normal lives. I do not want Xeon to have any claim to you from the grave.”

“Well, he called you Pantera, and he called Blue Silverstreak. Everyone’s called you Prowl here already, and Blue Bluestreak.”

“Clever, Smokey. He’s right Prowl. No reason anyone’s gotta know ya ain’t just normal Praxians. Xeon ain’t around to claim ya.”

“He is not... Some must know.”

“Those in the know here are already in a world o’ trouble. Y’re on record as Autobot Prowl, ‘n Smokey as yer dependent. I can edit the record, put Blue in. No one’s gotta know the difference.”

“How do I explain Bluestreak’s parentage? I do not want to hide that Smokescreen is yours.”

“We just put me down as the progenitor. Simple.”

“Simple,” Prowl echoed.

“You’re gonna adopt Blue?” Smokescreen asked. He sounded so jubilant at the prospect that Prowl was taken aback.

“More or less. If y’re origin’s cool wit the plan.”

“No one would believe it.” Prowl’s argument was laced with regret.

“‘M Spec Ops, Prowl. Hidin’ a lover’s the exact sort o’ thing one o’ me ‘n mine would do.”

“Have any of your subordinate’s done such a thing” Prowl asked.

“If they have, they haven’t told me. Which is exactly what I’d hope. Secrets are worth more than shanix, ‘n they go much farther if ya don’t go spreadin’ them around.”

Why was he hesitating? Prowl could not imagine wanting anything more, but still he shied. Why was Smokescreen thrilled at the prospect? Could that question have been what was holding Prowl back? It had never been a secret that Smokescreen had detested Xeon at first sight. When Prowl had asked what had inspired such an ardent hate, Smokescreen had only replied that Xeon felt slimy. When asked to clarify if Xeon had ever laid a digit on him Smokescreen had said no. Xeon felt slimy, the sense of he mech, not his touch, or even his glyphs. The mech had kept his glyph to Prowl, he had provided the tutors Prowl had wanted for Smokescreen and he had never said a cruel glyph to Prowl’s beloved creation. He might have become a surrogate progenitor, if only for PR’s sake, but Smokescreen had made it his mission to avoid the Conjunx Endura of his originator whenever possible. Prowl had learned he servants’ passages well, but Smokescreen had known every nook, and every possible escape and he had made good use of this knowledge. Even when Prowl had commanded his presence, Smokescreen had simply been unwilling to suffer Xeon’s presence.

Prowl had wondered if Smokescreen simply did not want to share him with anyone, but he had embraced Bluestreak without hesitation and he seemed to embrace Jazz’s presence without any of his traditional wariness. He had spent the entirety of Smokescreen’s carrying mourning Jazz and he had spent the entirety of Bluestreak’s carrying wishing he was Jazz’s. Letting Jazz claim Bluestreak would not change his newling parentage. Xeon would haunt Prowl forever through him, but Prowl did not need to let it cripple him. Jazz wanted to claim him. If Prowl refused, he believed that Jazz would still dote on him as much as Prowl allowed, ensuring the mechling had no reason to be jealous of his brother. But he would hear Smokescreen call Jazz genitor. And he would ask about his own. Prowl did not want Bluestreak to ever know Xeon’s designation.

“If you want to be his progenitor, Jazz,” Prowl said. “I would welcome the claim.”

“Thank ya,” Jazz said. “I’ll take care o’ it.”

“Are we going to go home with you?” Smokescreen asked. Prowl took another sharp intake.

“My place ain’t big ‘nough,” Jazz replied. Smokescreen dropped his helm against Prowl’s side and his originator knew without looking that he was pouting. Jazz smiled at him. He looked so adoring and Prowl’s spark quivered. Prowl had known, had been certain, that Jazz would adore Smokescreen but seeing Jazz look at their creation with so much love brought tears to Prowl’s optics. It was what he had wished for most for so long. “But I won’t be far. I’ll see ya as often as ya want.”

“Every mega-cycle?” Smokescreen asked.

“If that’s what ya want,” Jazz promised.

It was what Prowl wanted. He wanted it from Smokescreen and he wanted it for himself. Prowl loved and that love terrified him. Would he be strong enough to endure if Jazz suffered another case of fragmentation? No, Prowl had learned he was not especially strong, but at if it occurred again, Prowl would at least know what was happening. There was a better chance he could actually see that Jazz was helped. Of course, Jazz had friends now who were better situated to see Jazz through out. Smokescreen nuzzled his helm against Prowl’s side and Jazz watched him, searched his face, always too perceptive.

“Perhaps we might be able to find a habsuite in the same block as Jazz,” Prowl suggested. Jazz smiled at him, the warmth of it soothed Prowl a little.

“I don’t live on base,” Jazz said. “But if ya’d prefer it, I mean... I could move. I could work it out.”

“You never liked living under prying optics,” Prowl remembered.

“Neither did ya,” Jazz replied.

“I am accustom to it at this point,” Prowl replied.

Living as Consort, Prowl had become used to his every movement being noted. This was why he had memorized the schedule of the palace’s servants as well the layout of the servants’ passages as well so that he could go about his clandestine activities unseen. Regardless where Prowl lived now, he would be watched and his movements would be restricted. Base housing would be the logical choice, it would the most security, in theory, but only in theory. The Autobots were not to blame for his choices, Prowl could blame no one but himself for his decision to bond to Xeon. Still, the only bright point of his service in Iacon had been Jazz. Their fellow Autobots had been everything but his friends or allies.

“I wonder if there is something I could rent near Mirror’s,” Prowl wondered out loud. “I liked that district.”

“I’ll look for ya,” Jazz said.

“How far is it from your habsuite?” Prowl asked. “It would make more sense if we focused the search in your district.”

“It’s close enough,” Jazz replied. “Anyways, I liked that district too. They still have that pretty park we used to walk in.”

“I missed that park,” Prowl whispered. The manicured paths of the Helix Garden and the Royal Estate had been poor substitutes.

“I’ll take ya, soon as Ratchet says yer fit,” Jazz promised. “Then we can walk down to Mirror’s ‘n introduce the mechlings to her.”

“I would like that.”

These had been his favourite kind of dates. Prowl did not enjoy pageantry. Quiet walks and cozy evenings in, those where his favourite dates. There was a quick rap on the door and Prowl stiffened. He understood they were safe, especially with Jazz so close. Though he was sore and tired, Prowl did not want Ratchet to send Jazz away. His processor was no where close to settled. Without being drugged to oblivion, Prowl would not be able to recharge and Smokescreen was nowhere close to needing a nap. If he argued that, perhaps the medic would leave them be. Maybe, he could convince him to let Jazz stay. Jazz turned away, towards the door, paused and waited.

“It’s Prime,” Jazz explained. “He’d like to speak wit ya if yer up to it.”

“Is he so much different from Sentinel or Zeta?” Prowl asked.

“As different as dark-cycle from light,” Jazz replied.

The way Jazz looked at him, Prowl guessed he had questions. Prowl had called himself a member of the intellectual class and that was the truth. His adoptive procreators, the procreators of his originator, had been minor members. They had refused to be tied to Zeta and his primacy. It was one of the few of their lessons Prowl was happy to adhere to. Seeing Prowl’s glitch as evidence of the weakness of Zeta’s character, they had been strict, loveless guardians. It had not even occurred to Prowl to tell Jazz of their deaths when they had died during his tenure in Iacon. He had not mourned them. Had they been alive when Prowl had returned to Praxus, they would have told him he was reaping what he had sowed by laying with a casteless thug. Despite the fact that they had not lived long enough to fill his audios with their vitriol, Prowl still heard it, in his helm and in his spark and he loathed himself for it. Jazz was not a thug.

“I’ll send ‘m off,” Jazz said. Prowl shook his helm.

“No, I am fine,” he said. “I will see him. You will stay?”

“As long as ya want me, Prowler,” Jazz promised.

[ressyfaerie]

I always had Yuriy/Takao as a small (but mighty) ship. I also have a guilty pleasure of Kai being jealous of said ship. Unable express his own feelings and say what he wants to say. Only for Yuriy, who he always surpassed in terms of skill, be able to do all those things and more. All I ask is some sugar on the lips, and some salt in a wound.

I LOVE THIS, because, I’ve actually done this AU before (Takao being intimate with yuriy (And also Alt. AU where he is intimate with all the majestics(yes, the whole team, fight me))) and Kai becomes suuuuper jealous. I’m a bit confused if “Only for Yuriy, who he always surpassed in terms of skill, be able to do all those things and more” means he is jealous for yuriy, or if he is jealous of yuriy for being able to do these things with Takao- it sounds more to me to be the latter (Kai is jealous of yuriy for being able to do these things with takao even though he’s always surpassed him in terms of skill), which would make this tyka, and I am a BIG fan. If you were off anon, I’d be able to message you about it to clarify, but I’m going to go ahead and proceed with a tyka version, I hope that is alright! :D I’m going to have fuuuun with this. (Some NSFW content, but it’s not too bad)

His red hair was still wet, most likely from a shower recently.

“Why are you here?” Yuriy demanded. 

The four-time world champion fidgeted, a lack of confidence didn’t look good on him, “sorry for coming so late…” 

“Yes, but why are you *here*?” 

“You have this hotel room alone right? Your teammates aren’t staying with you?” Takao shuffled his feet. 

“Yes, I’m alone, why do you care?” 

“I don’t-” 

“Takao, are you going to tell me why you are here, or not?” Tala glared at him, it was a bit scary. 

Takao sensed his anger, he turned around, “forget it- I’ll talk to someone else.” He grabbed the doorknob and tried to open it.

Yuriy had leaped off from where he was sitting on the bed and shoved the door closed strongly with the side of his body, blocking it, so Takao had no way out. 

“What’s your issue world champion? Are you here to steal information about my team? What are you getting at-” 

Takao raised his voice, “No! It’s nothing like that!” 

“So, spit it out.” 

Takao could feel heat waves roll off his skin. 

“I won’t let you leave without telling me,” Yuriy locked the door, still maintaining his position. 

Takao’s lip curled, in a low voice, he asked, “You like boys right?” 

“Excuse me?” Yuriy was taken back, did he hear the rumours? 

Takao yelled this time, not realizing how loud he was, “You like boys right!?” 

“Geez, keep it down would you?” 

Tala’s expression challenged him, but Takao knew he was too far ahead to go back now. 

“So, do you?” He asked, this time calmly. 

Yuriy sighed, “it depends who’s asking.” 

“Me.” 

Yuriy tilted his head side to side in deep thought before answering, “I’ve been with men before. I’m twenty after all, I’ve had experiences.”

Takao nodded, happy with the answer. 

“Why do you care?” Yuriy made sure to come off threatening, he couldn’t have him telling everyone. 

Takao sat on the edge of the bed, “how did you know? Like- When did you learn?” 

Yuriy pushed himself away from the door, sitting in a chair across from him, “that’s a tough question… I guess years ago, why?” 

Takao had his hands folded, he had his thumbs in a battle of thumb war, “Can I tell you something?” 

“Spit it out, blue-haired freak.” 

“Ha!” Tyson laughed, then turned serious again. 

“I’ve never really felt anything serious for girls- I mean I’ve tried… I don’t know, no one has- really… Stuck out to me?” Takao’s persona changed, “I’m almost nineteen and I’ve never had a girlfriend because I’ve never wanted to.” 

Yuriy was surprised, by his tone it sounded like he had been holding this in for a long time. “Have you told anyone else?” 

“No one.” Takao admitted glumly. 

“Why me? Why not the Euro team, or anyone else?” 

“I’m not sure- I guess because if you told anyone, no one would believe you.” 

Yuriy had to admit, it was a smart play. His history would make it so no fan would believe him, and any competitor would seriously doubt him, but he knew Takao trusted him, but he understood the security to have a failsafe in place. 

“The most important question to ask yourself… You say you don’t like girls because you’ve had no feelings for them, what about boys?” 

He saw Tyson’s face go beet red right away. 

“So, that’s a yes then?” Yuriy grinned, it was actually entertaining to tease the bluenette that was usually so put together. 

“Maybe- for a few people. Maybe not- I don’t know.” Takao shook his head, “what’s wrong with me Yuriy?” 

Takao started to get upset, Yuriy scanned the room not knowing what to do with this. 

Yuriy decided to get off the chair and head towards the bed, sitting beside Takao. Takao was leaning on his knees with his head in his hands. Yuriy placed his hand on his shoulder. 

“There is nothing wrong with you.” 

Takao broke out of his trance and brought his head back up, looking right into Yuriy’s eyes.

“Thanks…” He stared into his blue eyes, it was dead quiet in the room, “hey, Yuriy can I try something?” 

 Yuriy knew what he was asking, it was a bit much, but he could do it. Plus, he was loving his look tonight. He wondered if he got dressed up just to come to his shitty hotel room. 

“Sure, but it doesn’t leave this room-” 

Takao immediately pushed himself forward, pressing his lips against his. Yuriy felt a tear roll down his cheek, wetting their lips slightly. It was Takao that initiated everything, even if Yuriy wanted to, he wouldn’t have got the chance. 

Yuriy unconsciously reached for the back of his neck to go further, he pulled away, noticing it was too much. 

“Hah…” Takao let his hot breath roll over Yuriy’s mouth as he pulled away. 

Yuriy didn’t expect his breath to smell like strawberries. 

Takao pulled himself closer to him, their thighs against each other. 

“What do you think?” Takao whispered, “am I?”

Yuriy spoke the truth, “probably, it sure seems like it. We can’t really know for sure- but you sure were eager.” 

“Sleep with me.” 

“Excuse me?” Yuriy was in shock, this little gayby was almost too confident. 

“You don’t have to. I thought you liked it…” Takao smiled, he used his hand to touch Yuriy’s chest through his shirt, “I want to go further, I want to know.” 

Yuriy blinked in astonishment, Takao ran his hand through his soft red hair. 

“We’d have to keep it a secret…” Yuriy closed his eyes as the hand in his hair threw him into a trance. “Mmmm… No one can know-” 

Takao grasped his shirt and reached behind his neck pulling him towards himself, he was leaning on the bed with Yuriy over top of him. 

“Is this your first time? You’re so confident.” 

“It is, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Takao admitted his deepest darkest secret, “I’ll need your help to guide me.” 

“I think I can do that…” 

Kai was worried. Takao was so distant lately. He had the option to join the Demolition boys again or join the Bladebreakers, he chose the Bladebreakers since his friendship with Takao was growing stronger, but now he was disappointed. Takao never seemed to be ‘all there’. Even when he was practicing, he was simply going through the motions, but his mind was somewhere else. 

Kai, being the good team captain and maternal figure of the group, decided following him would be the best way to figure out what was wrong with him. 

 He could have just tried asking him, like a regular person, but he had the feeling whatever was going on with Takao, he wouldn’t share with him. He wasn’t confiding in his team, or family, Kai worried it was serious, and he was determined to help his friend, because- in Kai’s mind, this could break his winning streak. 

He lost him last night after he left the dojo. He stayed out all night. He came back early in the morning so the rest of the team didn’t know he even left. Kai cursed himself for losing track of him, but he definitely wouldn’t today. 

The next championships were too close for Kai’s comfort. If Takao didn’t get his shit together soon, they could easily lose the championships. 

Today, everyone trained in the BBA building with some other teams, getting reacquainted and registering for the tournament. 

He cautiously followed Takao around, on the surface he looked normal. He greeted all his old friends, shook hands, hugged, all regular Takao stuff. Kai shuddered, knowing under that cheeky smile was an inner turmoil he couldn’t decipher. 

Takao continued talking, Kai was tired. All this socializing was too much for him, he went to the locker rooms to grab his stuff, Takao wasn’t leaving anytime soon, and the place seemed to be clearing out. He wouldn't leave him long, he would be right back. 

The locker room had aisles of lockers, he had stuck his bag in a corner compartment. He opened a locker and sighed, closing it gently. He rested his forehead against the cold metal. He stayed there for a few moments. 

He heard the door fly open. 

“Takao?” A voice echoed through the empty room. 

He recognized the voice as Yuriys, he didn’t walk out of the aisle to greet him, he stayed for a moment in silence. Kai wondered why he was looking for Takao, of all people. 

He heard Yuriy’s heavy footsteps in the locker room, looking around before the door opened again. 

“Yuriy? I heard you were looking for me?” 

Unmistakably Takao’s voice. 

Yuriy’s voice grew in anger, “did you tell!?” 

“No? Of course not? Why would I do that-” 

“I heard someone talking-” 

Kai couldn’t make out the rest of what Yuriy was saying, but he was clearly upset. He heard Takao’s soothing voice reassuring him, and he slowly began to calm down. 

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.” 

“It’s okay Yuriy, we are just both on edge, as long as neither of us mentions anything, no one will know.” 

Kai could hear the smile in Tyson’s voice. He sounded so genuine, it was the old Takao he knew so well, he wanted him to use that voice with himself again. 

“I want to talk to you about last night.” Takao started a different subject naturally. 

Kai focused on their conversation. 

“We can’t talk about-” 

“There’s no one in here right?” Takao spoke with his honeyed words again. 

“No-” 

“Was it okay?” Takao’s voice turned worried. 

Kai felt a tingle on his skin, he felt overprotective, what was going on between them? 

“You were amazing actually- I wasn’t expecting you to be that good. You did well.” 

Kai begged mentally, ‘please be talking about a bey-battle…’

Then, Takao giggled, a giggle Kai had never heard before, it was foreign, cute, it felt like he was… Teasing. 

Kai heard a thud against a locker, he heard sounds he had only heard in movies. He was positive they were kissing. 

He didn’t know what to do, stay? Go? They couldn’t find out he was here the whole time- There was another exit behind him, he could leave without them noticing. 

Kai slowly slid his feet on the ground, leaving without a sound, letting the door close silently behind him. 

He started walking down the hall, picking up speed, until he was running at full pace, out of the building and into the street. 

He stopped in an area he didn’t recognize and propped himself against a wall in an abandoned alleyway. 

“What the fuck-” He hid his eyes from the world with his forearm, “why Yuriy? Why him? It’s not fair- I’m far superior to that guy- I’m stronger, I’m more intelligent, I’m even more attractive- Why Yuriy?” 

His eyes widened when his brain finally formed the thought he had been struggling with for years: 

“Why not me?” 

[concrete-weed]

It’s hard to be a god (Malcolm Reed x reader)

summary: Reader pretends to be a goddess. Malcolm needs a hug.  trektober day 7- interspecies relationship                                                                    words:  1,877

read on AO3 here

-

When you first heard of the new "humans" your ship encountered, you mostly thought were quite brash, going into space with a barely finished ship and all, but during the weeks you lived among them, your opinion changed for the better. Humans are very different from your own species. Much louder for sure, but you eventually grew to like them.

The human ship was wrecked, their puppy dog approach to first contact wasn’t working so well. Starfleet had allowed four aliens to serve on Enterprise until the end of her mission, helping both diplomacy and the state of the human ship. Working on Enterprise has been a treat. You have been a doctor for three years. Working with doctor Phlox has offered many learning opportunities, so your career wasn’t suffering. Your social life, on the other hand, certainly was. You talked to the people you knew from your ship, but for the most part, they were in engineering while you were slaving away in med bay.

You had a friend in a few people, Hoshi, for example. You spent many lunch breaks helping her understand your language, not an easy task by any measure, and learning a human language called English. Through her, you have met most of the bridge crew. It was peculiar to watch them all interact.

One human, in particular, caught your eye, Malcolm Reed. He was a bit quiet for a human, which fascinated you. His dark hair and light eyes seemed majestic to you.  You knew that staring was considered rude by human standards, but the first time you met him it took Hoshi nudging you in the ribs to get you to tear your eyes off the mysterious human.

During your second month aboard Enterprise, captain Archer got a call from Admiral Forrest, saying that a planet 5 lightyears away is requesting immediate help with a medical crisis. All medical personnel were working day and night to find a cure, you being no exemption. For a week you were absolutely exhausted, so when captain Archer went down to your quarters to tell you were going to are on the away mission, you didn’t even register it until the debriefing.

“Okay, so this is a bit bizarre, ” God you were all so tired,” but the government insists that the locals will only accept our help if doctor L/N pretends to be their goddess of health.”

What?

“Half of the population already believes this is a gift from the gods anyway. I doubt you would need to make any change to your behavior.” Archer continued monotonously. With a civilization as evolved as theirs, he expected no interference from religion, no such luck.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said uneasily, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

“As much as I think that this is a ridiculous request to make of you doctor, I hope you will at least consider putting on this act. Malcolm and his men will be there if anything goes”.

Now you were here, standing in a long drapey light green dress. All of the away team was dressed in traditional clothing, leaving them a bit uncomfortable. The only people left in a Starfleet uniform were two security officers with phasers by their sides. Captain Archer insisted that the lieutenant needed to wear the strange clothes and respect the culture as the highest-ranking officer there. Malcolm’s clothes were similar to yours, the same shade of mint, the same writing along the edges of the garment. You unfortunately didn’t have time to think about what that meant. While doctor Phlox was teaching local doctors how to treat the deadly disease you were paraded around all the temples that were built in ‘your’ honor.

In them you saw many paintings that depicted the goddess and were eerily similar to you, almost all of them depicting the sick crying out to their goddess, hoping to be cured. The goddess was a little bit taller than you, her eyes a little more penetrating, even through the pictures, but essentially you were lead through the main room in that temple, looking at heart-wrenching scenes of yourself, saving the damned.  In some, the goddess was surrounded by other deities, her most common companion a shorter man, usually carrying a small child.

Finally, you got a break. Apparently, as the tour exclaimed, divine being needed to be given food before sunset, or the mortals around them would be punished. It seemed terrible to live like this, afraid of godly wrath every second of life but since you could do nothing you just went along with her.  She insisted that you should take your meals separately from your security detail, as the rest of the away party were all male. Malcolm pulled you aside from the woman.

“Are you sure this is safe? You will be alone in the dining hall.” Said Malcolm, pragmatic as always.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. If anything is suspicious, I’ll just com you okay?” You answered hoping your voice sounded optimistic. You touched Malcolm’s upper arm in an attempt to comfort him. your gaze met his. You saw love in his brilliant blue-grey eyes. Or did you? Damn your wishful thinking. You quickly turned, walking back to the tour guide, you face a mask of calm, hiding your emotional turmoil.

The meal prepared for you was delicious but you couldn’t focus much on the conversation. Thankfully, your tour guide talked enough for the both of you.

“It is so wonderful you decided to come down to us! We have been awaiting your help for months.” you swore her nasal voice was going to drive you crazy, “My Lady, are you feeling okay?” you started stuttering out your answer but the guide cut you off. “Oh, you don’t have to explain yourself. We all have marital problems!” she added playfully. Marital problems?  

“Excuse me?” You hoped that your confusion won’t ruin the mission.

“My Lady, Archana? Oh, what does he go by now? Maco? Malcolm? Are you not married yet in this reincarnation?”

You remembered that during the tour the guide has mentioned that reincarnation was a major part of their mythology, still, the fact that she thought that you and Malcolm were married made your cheeks heat up. If you remembered correctly, the male deity, in this case, the god of protection, gave his life to protect his loved ones. The god will reappear in the next year, and the cycle will begin again.

“No. I’m afraid not,” you answered, trying not to choke on your drink.

“Well, I hope you find each other soon” she continued eating with a smile on her face.                                                                          

The meal continued in comfortable silence, your mind racing. Marrying Malcolm sounded like a dream, even if marriage was slightly different on your planet. Hoshi encouraged you to speak to Malcolm about your feelings, but the prospect of rejection terrified you. You preferred to live in this pathetic yearning state, maybe it was time to stop dreaming and take action.

-

Being back on the ship felt amazing but you were certainly nervous. For some reason ever since you got back Malcolm hasn’t even looked at you. His avoidance was becoming unbearable, the very second you entered a room he all but ran out. Your emotional side screamed each time but you wished to respect his wishes so you did nothing. Over time you felt worse and worse. You started working longer and longer shifts. Hoshi and Travis were starting to be worried. Dealing with heartache is unpleasant in the best conditions but dealing with it and being homesick, stuck on board an alien ship must be a thousand times worse.

Hoshi has convinced you to come to movie night. Before you could actually enjoy whatever old human movie, Trip put on you had to figure out what you had done to Malcolm and how you can reverse it. You cherished the unclear relationship that had been built between you and if you can’t be with Malcolm, at least you can be his friend. You may suffer but you would do anything to bring Malcolm happiness. Malcolm seemed sad to you. His smile not reaching his eyes, his body a little too tense.

You just got off your shift. You felt horrible, but if you stop now you will turn back to your quarters and never confront Malcolm. The dull grey walls seemed like they were closing in on you. You heard your heart beating. Malcolm was hard enough to get to know.  Letting him go is even harder.

The time you waited for his door to open felt like hours. Malcolm opened the door, hair messy from sleep. He seemed to awaken in seconds when he saw you, his eyes wide open.

“Listen, Malcolm,” your voice growing increasingly desperate, “I don’t know what I have done to offend you, humans are so confusing, but if you- “

His sarcastic chuckle caught you off guard. “You haven’t done anything. Please come in. We need to talk.”

Taking a deep breath, you walked in.

His room seemed vacant, almost militaristic. Everything was in its place. His clothes were perfectly folded and put away. What little pictures he had hanging completely straight. The room was almost shining, with no speck of dust visible. The only chair in the room was near Malcolm’s desk. You assumed he didn’t have much company over.

You stood awkwardly near the door, having no idea what you should do. You felt like an intruder in his space, your body taking up too much space. Malcolm seemed at ease. He sat down on his bed and gestured for you to sit down in the chair. He looked down, silent, thinking about his next move. God, it was a mistake to come here.

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” he stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Remember when we went down to that planet? The one we helped with the plague?” you nodded slowly, “while you had to pretend to be the goddess of health, I had to be your,” he hesitated, “partner. The reincarnation of some god of protection, I believe. When we got separated some guards joined us. They didn’t think I was worthy of you, I’m afraid.” Malcolm’s voice quivered, seemingly trying to hold back the emotion currently showing. “To be honest, I agree with them.”

A tense silence fell over the room.  The engine’s hum being the only noise in the room. You moved to the bed and sat at Malcolm’s side, your shoulders touching. Malcolm looked at you, at little taken aback at your sudden move.

“I thought you were angry at me. I can’t convey how relieved I am Mal.” You said, not carrying if the happiness in your voice sounded strange, “I hope you know how amazing you are. That you’re valued and loved by your friends. I can’t convince you of that right now, I know, but I also hope that you will let me stick around and prove it.” You closed the distance between your lips, your heart beating against your chest. He kissed back softly, a bit awkwardly at first. You broke away, needing to take in air. Malcolm spoke:

“Have dinner with me?”

“of course.”

[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 4

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

Adrien stood in front of the Gabriel building with a cup of coffee and a bag of freshly-baked goods in his hands at five in the morning, ready to deal with whatever the company’s directors entrusted him with before he was due at his teaching job. This was a terrible idea from the start but, as experience had already shown him, it was a much better choice to tackle the unknown and confusing tasks early in the day, rather than after handling a few classes filled with teenagers. So, filled with determination, Adrien opened the front door and stepped inside. The faster he got to his office, the sooner he’d be free to torture his students with a test on the dynamics of spinning tops before mercifully shifting the lesson into quantum physics territory.

Adrien greeted the security guards and swiftly ran up the stairs to the designers’ floor. Having almost reached his office at the end of the hallway, he paused, noticing a light coming from under one of the doors. Someone must have forgotten to turn it off before leaving the office yesterday. People here did tend to overwork. That someone was probably too tired to remember flicking the switch off and would most likely be scolded for that by their manager in a few hours. Without a second thought, Adrien headed for the door. He was already here; he could make someone’s day better by fixing their mistake before it was noticed. He didn’t expect to see anyone in the room, let alone a half-asleep Marinette who looked like she had just survived an apocalypse. Her name involuntarily escaped his lips. The look she gave him was unsettling.

“It’s five a.m.” Adrien braved. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Working. Can’t you tell?” Marinette answered, returning her attention to the garment in front of her.

He brushed away the thought of intervening and sending Marinette home to rest as soon as it sprung into his mind. If their previous encounters had taught him anything, it was that Marinette didn’t want his help. And frankly, no matter his intentions to help her, Adrien wasn’t and didn’t plan on becoming Marinette’s babysitter any time soon. He did secretly plan to find her a new job, but that would be it. She was a grown woman. Surely, she would go home when she’d had enough.

Still, looking at her, something tightened in his chest. Adrien glanced at the food in his hands and carefully walked into the room, placing his untouched cup of coffee along with his box of pastries in front of the exhausted woman. Marinette looked at him silently, nothing but malice lurking in her eyes; eyes that were once so kind to him.

“I think you need these more than I do,” he mumbled, half-expecting to hear ‘I don’t need anything from you’ in return. Strangely enough, Marinette said nothing. Not wanting to take his chances, Adrien silently walked out and closed the door behind him.

The following week, Adrien spotted Marinette a few times in the company’s hallways and by the looks of it, she felt none better, if not worse. Just yesterday, for example, he saw her leaning on the vending machine looking rather faint as she waited for a granola bar to fall out. All his attempts to start a conversation to get to the bottom of her exhaustion or to suggest she get some rest were either ignored or aggressively but politely shut down.

However, even more than Marinette’s less than stellar condition, it was a text message Adrien received that day that genuinely shocked him. He almost choked on air and dropped his cell phone when a name he’d never expected to see again popped up on his screen.

Nino: Adrien, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, and I wouldn't blame you if you delete this and never reply, but I think an apology is long overdue. For whatever it's worth, Alya and I regret and apologize for not believing you all those years back. We've learned the hard way that you were right about what working for your father would do to Marinette, so we thought you at least deserve an apology, however late it is. I do realize there's no way to fix anything now, but I hope this would make it at least a little better.

Adrien would have been lying if he said he didn't want to delete the text immediately and forget it ever existed, but the events of the last week kept his cellphone screen lit, his thumb hovering over the virtual keyboard for quite some time yet never making contact. Soon, Adrien closed the app and pushed his cell phone to the side, only to pick it up five minutes later and reread the message. He shoved his phone into his bag. Five minutes later, Adrien was reading the cursed text again. An hour after that, he still couldn't let it go, neither reply nor ignore.

Damn it.

First of all, how did Nino get his new number? Second, why would he text him all of a sudden? There had to be a reason, one serious enough to force Nino to contact Adrien after years of silence. His former best friend didn't so much as send him condolences when his father passed away. Not that it mattered much because Adrien was neither on speaking terms with his father nor was he even able to attend the funeral himself. Instead, he had been stuck at the emergency room with an especially nasty case of food poisoning, wishing he’d stuck with his usual takeout instead of thinking he could cook for himself. Still, what prompted Nino to reach out now? What did he want? What happened and what did Adrien have to do with it?

The young man groaned, dropping his head on a table. He needed to focus on his work instead of trying to pinpoint the underlying reason of why exactly his former best friend suddenly felt the need to message him an apology. Because one thing was clear—this wasn’t just a random call of conscience, and as far he could surmise, it had everything to do with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“Hey, kid.”

Too engrossed in his mental turmoil, Adrien didn’t even look at his little companion flying close. “What?”

“Want a snack?” Plagg plopped in front of him on the table. “Food makes everything better, and you look a bit too sour for my liking.”

Adrien didn't answer, watching the soft glow of the screen. Despite his better judgement, he was concerned about Marinette. That much he couldn't deny because the present state of that woman was neither normal nor healthy by any stretch of the imagination. They might not be friends anymore, but as a fellow human being, Adrien couldn’t help but be concerned. As the CEO of Gabriel, he couldn’t afford to have one of his employees kick the bucket due to overworking.

“I guess a snack it is, then,” sounded nearby, but Adrien was too distracted to pay attention. What if Marinette was in some kind of trouble dangerous enough for Nino to step over his pride and contact him? What was going on, and why the hell did he still care for what was happening to her? Why did he want to reply to that message? Why were memories of the four of them hanging out together back in the day flashing through his mind all of a sudden? Why hadn’t Adrien deleted the message yet? The message from a former best friend who had betrayed him when he needed him the most?

“Open wide,” Plagg shouted in his ear.

Adrien jerked up. “Pla—”

Something soft and smelly was unceremoniously shoved into his mouth.

“There.” Plagg rubbed his paws together. “You’ll feel better in no time, kid.”

Tears pooled in his eyes as the unmistakable taste and smell of Camembert attacked his every sense. Finding the nearest trash bin, Adrien spat the grossness out and glared at his kwami. “What’s wrong with you?! You know I hate your cheese.”

“What’s the matter?” Plagg grinned. “You look more alive already. Told ya you’d feel better!”

Adrien growled and flipped his phone screen down, dropping his head on the table and covering it with his hands.

A weak knock on the door a moment later forced him to sit back up.

“Come in,” Adrien called and stood up to greet the visitor.

A petite girl stepped into the room. She looked familiar, though he wasn’t sure how he knew her.

“M Agreste?” she asked shyly, walking to his table with a sheet of paper in her hands. “I am really sorry to bother you so late, but I wanted to give you this today.”

She put the paper on the table, and Adrien immediately knew what it was.

“You’re quitting?”

“I really am sorry, M Agreste,” the girl mumbled. “But I received a proposition from a different company, and given the circumstances, I’m inclined to accept it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Adrien smiled at her. “A new job is nothing to apologize for, especially with how things are currently going here. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, M Agreste.”

“Where were you working?” Adrien asked, curious as to where he remembered her from.

“I was Mlle Dupain-Cheng’s assistant,” the girl replied.

“Oh,” slipped from his lips as Adrien remembered. He had seen her trailing behind Marinette a few times, but always too focused on the physical ruin of the first, he barely noticed the other.

“Does she know you’re leaving?” he asked absentmindedly.

“No.”

Adrien frowned. “You didn’t inform your direct supervisor you were quitting?”

“Please, don't judge me,” the girl replied quietly, shying away with every word. “Not to be ungrateful or mean to Mlle Dupain-Cheng, but I was afraid to tell her. She isn't herself these days. She's more stressed and exhausted than ever, and me quitting would be a cherry on the top of her already huge pile. But, please, M Agerste, try to understand… I can't continue like this. It was either quitting or going insane alongside Mlle Dupain-Cheng.”

Adrien froze. ‘Going insane’ was a strong choice of words, but unsurprisingly, he couldn’t find it within himself to disagree or object to that statement. Marinette did look the part these days… maybe not ‘going insane’ mentally, but ‘going insane’ with exhaustion and overworking, for sure. Was Marinette even sleeping? She definitely ate. He saw her grabbing that granola bar a day prior, so she must be eating at least something—

“I’ll go now,” the girl said, intruding in his thought process.

“Wait—” Adrien reached out, but stopped halfway. He promptly pulled his hand back and rubbed the back of his neck. Quickly glancing at the paper, he asked, “Mlle Ardoin, right? Do you know what happened? I mean, what pushed Mlle Dupain-Cheng to such extremes?”

The girl shook her head. Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment or two before she visibly gathered some courage and looked straight at him. “Can I tell you something in confidence?”

Adrien nodded.

“I suspect…” Mlle Ardoin paused, breathed in and then continued. “I know it sounds crazy, but I suspect that Mlle Dupain-Cheng doesn’t leave work at all.”

Adrien couldn’t help but frown in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“She’s always here,” the girl replied, clenching her hands together as she looked to the side. “I usually arrive before anyone else does, but Mlle Dupain-Cheng is already working. When we leave, she’s always staying behind to finish something. Last week she wore the same outfit for three days in a row, and then another one for the rest of the week. She’s never done that before. Her hair isn't styled as usual either; she just ties it in a sloppy ponytail which, again, she’s never done before. Mlle Dupain-Cheng used to always look impeccable. Now, she’s a mess. Last Thursday, I noticed a small bag with personal hygiene essentials, makeup, and some clothes. There’s also a small suitcase standing in the corner, behind one of the shelves. And judging by the sheer amount of work she manages to do when she stays behind, I can assume she stays up at least half the night, which leaves little time to go home, sleep, and come back before everyone else does.”

Adrien’s frown deepened with every word as he processed the information. It wasn’t hard enough evidence, but still suspicious. “I’ll look into it, Mlle Ardoin. Thank you for informing me.”

“Please, don’t tell her I said anything, M Agreste,” the girl pleaded. “I only told you because Mlle Dupain-Cheng was such an amazing person when we first started working together, always a hard worker and more talented than any of us. That’s why your father noticed her and let her develop her own line. But what’s going on with her now isn't normal. It hurts me to see her like this. Please, M Agreste, if you can help her, do so. She deserves it.”

It took him a few moments to respond, his mind gripped by worry. “Thank you again for letting me know, Mlle Ardoin. I’ll see if there is anything I can do.”

Before leaving, the girl said a few more things Adrien didn’t pay much attention to as his thoughts raced back to Marinette. From everything he had witnessed in this last week, one thing was clear—Marinette had become like his father. That cold, dismissive, and hostile way she was treating him… Adrien shivered. Did he really want to get involved with that kind of destructive attitude again? When he was a child, he didn’t have a choice but to tolerate his father’s treatment. Now, Adrien had options. He could ignore this annoying feeling that told him to help Marinette and let her be if that was the way she wanted to exist.

So, why? Why did he still want to help her? She'd thrown him away without so much as a chance to explain. He shouldn't care. Why did he?

Adrien swore under his breath and sat down. Thoughts ran wildly inside his mind as he debated what he could lose this time if he did decide to get involved despite everything.

Friends? He had no one close to him right now. A couple of acquaintances, but no real friends. Burned once, Adrien had never fully opened his heart for anyone else. Work? He almost laughed. There was no way he’d lose his teaching career because of Marinette. She had nothing to do with it. He doubted she even knew he was a teacher, much less which high school he worked at. His ‘leading the fashion empire’ gig? He wouldn’t mind losing that at all. It was a test run, anyway. Family? He had none. Money? He had more than enough. Love? He trusted Ladybug. He trusted that she knew him better than to question his intentions and character should anything go awry.

“More snacks?” Plagg’s voice dripped with mockery and arrogance.

With a groan, Adrien closed his eyes and dropped his head on his desk for the umpteenth time. He should probably stop doing that or he risked getting a bruise on his forehead. Adrien grumbled incoherently, his sight landing on an untouched pile of papers. He should do some work and forget for a few moments about former friends in need who wanted neither his help nor him anywhere close to them.

“So, your Princess is even more troublesome than you thought?” Plagg snarled nearby.

“She’s not my Princess.” Adrien snapped.

“She used to be.” Plagg shrugged.

Adrien closed his eyes. That old nickname he had for Marinette held so many memories within it—memories of good times when they didn't have to think about important stuff and could just have fun. He missed those times so much. Beneath all his resentment, Adrien had to admit that he did miss his friends, and only now was he starting to realize just how much. Why did everything have to change? Why did they have to change? Why did he have to mess up so badly? Even being Chat Noir was more fun back then. Adrien’s lips split in a bittersweet smile as he remembered how after patrols Chat Noir would sometimes sneak onto Marinette’s balcony for a croissant or two. They used to be friends—

Adrien jolted up. Wait a minute!

“Uh-uh!” Plagg whistled.

Adrien stared blankly in front of himself. Chat Noir and Marinette used to be friends, but she didn't know his civilian identity. Chat Noir had stopped going over to Marinette's after Adrien's fiasco, but he'd never explained the reason to her. For all she knew, he could've moved away or gotten too busy for visits.

A mischievous grin sneaked onto Adrien’s lips—something that hadn't happened in a long while. He had a plan.

Plagg narrowed his eyes at his wielder. “You look like you’re about to do something really stupid, kid.”

“You might be right, for once,” Adrien replied with renewed fire in his voice because he might have just found a way to help Marinette without her knowing anything about his involvement. At first, Adrien had thought he could find her another job and be done with it, but if anything, the last week had shown him how impossible that was without Marinette on board. Talking to her about it was out of the question, seeing as she had dismissed him every time he had as little as simply approached her. He had to come up with an alternative, and this might just be it.

This time, however, Adrien wouldn’t repeat his past mistakes. He wouldn’t rush into anything without gathering all the information on Marinette and her current situation first and then thinking everything through. Hesitantly, Adrien glanced at his cell phone. What would be the best way to start on this if not by talking to one of Marinette’s closest friends?  

“Kid, are you sure?” Plagg landed on his cell phone before Adrien could grab it. “Do you really want to poke that wasp nest again?”

“I can’t just sit back and watch her kill herself.” Adrien pulled his cell phone out from under his kwami. “Not when I can do something about it.”

“Even after everything she put you through?”

“I’m not exactly all that innocent myself.”

Plagg silently watched Adrien for a few moments before scoffing. “Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t come crying to me when she wrecks you again.”

“Don’t worry. That won’t happen. I’m not planning on getting anywhere near that close.”

“Yeah, like you can help yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Kid, you always give anything you do your whole self, and this won’t be an exception. You will end up with a broken heart again. Mark my words.”

Adrien sighed. “Thank you for caring, Plagg, but I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll remain as impartial as possible. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll buy a bucket of ice cream and deal with any broken hearts myself. If they even happen, which I highly doubt.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Plagg grumbled and flew away.

Adrien started typing.

Adrien: Even if it’s awfully late, an apology is always appreciated.

Adrien: I do wonder, though, what brought this on all of a sudden?

Nino’s reply was almost immediate.

Nino: I can explain everything in an essay under one thousand words over the text, or I could tell you everything face to face over lunch. Would it be too much too soon?

Yes, it would be, but if Nino wanted to meet after years of hostility, it might be more serious than Adrien thought.

Adrien: I've lived through worse. I can handle lunch.

A few minutes later, a lunch date with a former friend was secured. Adrien glanced at his watch. His eyes widened. Eleven in the evening? How didn’t he notice the time? Then… It might just be the perfect time for what he wanted to do. Abruptly, Adrien stood, the smirk never leaving his face.

“Kid? What’s—”

“Plagg, claws out!”

He leapt out the window and looked around. Sure enough, apart from his, there was only one other window lit, and he suspected he knew exactly who was in that room. Quietly, Chat Noir got closer and peeked in. Marinette was standing with her back to the window, working on a dress hanging on a mannequin. Little by little Chat climbed in as quietly as he could, and when his feet were safely grounded on the window sill, he produced the most seductive smile he could muster in this situation—he needed her to like him, or it was all for nothing—and purred.

“Long time no see, Princess.”

With a gasp, Marinette almost jumped in place; the scissors in her hands hit the floor with a crash as she jolted around, a look of fear and dismay on her face. His heart clenched. Dark circles under her eyes, a messy hairdo and a look of extreme fatigue on her face, Marinette looked like she was at the end of her physical limit. She even needed a moment to recognize him. When she did, her eyes widened, a smile brightening her face. She reached forward, parting her lips to say something, but before she could, her eyes fluttered closed and her body went limp, collapsing into the quick-reacting arms of Chat Noir.

Next >

[sithsecrets]

A Matter of Expediency - Part IX

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

---

Part 9

4.7k words

Mentions: swearing

---

The next several weeks of your life are a virtual continuum of meetings and planning sessions. You work both with the Board of Charitable Affairs and alone, studying poverty statistics, learning about various cultures, and deciding which locations and issues take precedence over other points of interest. It’s a lot of hard work, but you find satisfaction in your duties nonetheless. Every positive report and letter of gratitude that falls into your hands staves off feelings of burnout and discouragement, and after a month and a half, you feel like you’ve made a real difference in the lives of some of your underprivileged subjects. Even so, there’s still so much to be done, but you’re more than ready to rise to the occasion.

Other members of the Board are wowed by your dedication, and even some the Chairwoman’s cronies admit that your proposals have merit. Evan herself is still a thorn in your side, but mostly harmless. Her jabs are sly, and you know that she gossips about you behind your back. She’s furious that you’re doing so well, and it shows in every malicious remark. The Chairwoman could do nothing to spoil the work you love so much, and in any case, the friendships you’ve forged with your peers are fine buffers for her nastiness.

Overall, you feel more comfortable on the ship now. You know your way around for the most part, the strangers are less strange… The Supremacy feels like home, almost. You still miss sunshine and breathing real air, but you’re acclimating to this environment, to this life. People regard you with respect, and you think that most of them even like you— what more could you want?

Even your relationship with your husband has become a bit… smoother. The two of you have fallen into a routine together, and though you sometimes wish you saw Kylo more during the day, you’re still content to spend your evenings with him, to share his bed. He remains pleased with your charitable work, and you even caught him singing your praises to a group of officers once. Every compliment from Kylo, be it about your work, your appearance, or something else, never fails to make your pulse quicken, and you try to show him just as much kindness. Kylo isn’t free with his physical affection outside of the bedroom, but he does hold you each night as the two of you fall asleep, regardless of if you’ve had sex first or not. Though you yearn for a bit more affection in your marriage, this gesture does give you a bit of hope. You know that you’ve come to care deeply for Kylo, and you think (hope, pray) that he cares for you as well.

You find yourself mulling over the nature of you and your husband’s relationship frequently, plagued with worries about your connection. Truthfully, you wish you could see into the future so you could confirm for yourself whether or not you and Kylo will ever fall in love, but you have no such abilities. So, you’re left to wonder in silence, alone with your thoughts. You ponder the notion of simply being friends with the man you’re married to, of being cordial with the father of your children. The idea leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you finally gather up the courage to voice your concerns to someone you think may be able to understand.

“Miriam,” you say one evening, eyes your attendant in the mirror as she brushes your hair. She is focused on her work, never looking up at you even as she speaks.

“Yes, Empress?”

“Have you ever worked for someone like me before?” you ask, immediately realizing how the question could be cause for confusion. “I mean, have you ever worked for someone who’s marriage was arranged?”

“Oh yes,” Miriam says at once, adjusting her stance as she works out a knot. “Many of the women I’ve served had their marriages arranged. Some of them never even laid eyes on their husbands before their wedding day.”

The mere notion of such circumstances makes you feel marginally luck, seeing that you got to meet Kylo more than once after your engagement. Not knowing what your husband looked like before you married him? Stars above…

You sit up a bit on your stool, hands fidgeting. “Did… Did it usually turn out okay?”

“Define ‘okay’,” Miriam says slowly, throwing you a curious look in the mirror now.

“Well… Did the couples usually end up caring for one another? As lovers do, I mean, and not just as partners or… or teammates.”

Miriam sets your brush down on the vanity in front of you, running her fingers through your hair absently as she decides what to do with it. “I’ve only seen one such marriage play out terribly, and I think it had more to do with their age difference and the husband’s proclivities than anything else. In every other case, at least in my experience, the couples ended up caring deeply for one another.” Miriam expression shifts to one of concern, and she sets her hands on your shoulders rather gently. “Why do you ask, my lady?”

You could dismiss Miriam, you know. You could tell her that you’re done talking, you could shut her down completely and demand that she dress you without saying anything more. But Miriam doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, and your heart is too raw for cruelty at the moment.

Miriam must take your hesitation to speak as an indicator of trouble, because she narrows her brow and asks, “Has everything been alright with the Supreme Leader, Empress?”

It’s a bold question, almost too bold, but you’re happy to know that Miriam feels safe enough with you to speak in such a fashion.

“No, no,” you say quickly, rushing to assure your attendant that you’re okay. Because you are, in the grand scheme of things— you’ve just been locked inside your head too much lately. “Kylo’s been wonderful. I just— I just hope that I have his heart, or that I’ll come to have it, eventually.”

You hate yourself for crying, swiping away the tear that rolls down your cheek as if it’s burning your skin. Miriam watches you do this, concern and sympathy written plainly on her face. She finally takes her hands off your shoulders, threading her fingers through your hair now. An outsider would think that she was simply sectioning off your hair for styling, but her touch is far too gentle against your scalp to be anything less than comforting.

“Does the Supreme Leader have your heart, Empress?” Miriam asks quietly.

You force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat, biting back more tears. As a result, your voice is nothing more than a strained whisper. “I think so.” Miriam’s eyes soften considerably, and she quits fussing with your hair. You bark out a laugh, though it’s a humorless one. “Isn’t that pathetic? “I’m in emotional turmoil because I have a crush on my husband.”

Your attendant replies, failing to acknowledge your self-deprecating remark. “Though I don’t profess to know his feelings, I do believe that the Supreme Leader cares for you,” Miriam states, making an actual effort to style your hair now. “He doesn’t parade you around like a trophy or a decoration, but he does like having you by his side when the two of you make appearances. And you’ve told me yourself that he’s proud of the work you’ve done for all of the Order’s charitable causes. Men who don’t care for their wives definitely don’t care about what their wives do, no matter how great their achievements.”

Miriam pauses to meet your eyes in the mirror, smiling warmly. You return to the gesture, already feeling a bit silly about your little crisis. Everything that Miriam’s said isn’t news to you— perhaps you just needed to hear it from someone who’s not involved the way you are.

“And,” your attendant adds, “if I may be so bold… his affection for you is written plainly on your skin.”

Your entire body floods with heat at this, and your face turns so red so fast that it’s almost unnatural. You know good and well what Miriam’s referring to, the love bites on your shoulder, the bitemark on your chest. Kylo called them “reminders” the first time he ever put such a thing on your body— they’re supposed to help you remember how beautiful he thinks you are. And though you like to think that the sentiment is something special, you downplay it now in front of Miriam now.

“He could do that to anyone,” you say, flustered. Miriam raises her eyebrows a little, casual.

“He could,” she concedes, “but he doesn’t. He marks you where only the two of you can see. It’s not a possessive action, not meant for the benefit of others.”

You quite like the sound of that, but your embarrassment prevents you from saying so. Miriam tucks one last pin into your hair, and then her hands are gripping your shoulders again.

“The Supreme Leader thinks much of you,” she declares, “both as a diplomat and as his wife.”

You nod at this, encouraged by the serious look in your attendant’s eyes. Miriam gives you the smallest of shakes, a gesture meant to punctuate her conviction. “Love will come,” she assures you, “I promise.”

Part of you wants to argue, wants to say “what if,” but you push every doubting remark back down your throat. Miriam is no great oracle, she can’t possibly know how everything’s going to play out, but you trust her immensely. She’s lived far more life than you have, and if she says that something’s going to happen, then it likely will. And in any case, Kylo is sweet to you, he does hold you and kiss you and call you his when the door is closed and the lights are low. So for now, you choose to be content with what you have.

“Love will come.”

---

The rest of your day is rife with meetings and political engagements, more so than usual. You receive countless ambassadors and visiting parties in the throne room, talking with each and every single person at length about their concerns and worries. Winter is fast approaching on some of the Order’s most underprivileged possessions, and many leaders from those planets and territories fear for their poor and sick. You sympathize with them immensely, but still, it’s been daunting to take each proposal and plan in turn. But thankfully that’s all done for now; the throne room sits empty, the corridor outside of it vacant and quiet.

The ship’s evening cycle is upon you, and you’re more than ready to retire to your chambers. A hot meal and a warm bath would do you good, you think, along with a change of clothes. Your shoes have been pinching your feet for hours, and you’re just sick of being covered in beading and embroidery and delicate little things that you have to treat gently. Draping yourself in beautiful clothes is always such fun, but all the fussiness of it does get old after a while.

Before you can make it back to your sanctuary, however, two stormtroopers come out of nowhere and inform you that your husband wants to speak with you at once. With a raging headache and aching feet, you want nothing more than to send the both of them away, to send Kylo a com letting him know that he can come to your quarters if he wishes to tell you something, but you do none of this. If Kylo’s asking for you directly, it must be urgent, so you let the two troopers lead you through the ship, praying all the while that nothing too awful has happened.

It’s cold in the hanger bay when you and the stormtroopers arrive, icy air biting at your skin through the fabric of your sleeves and bodice. Kylo awaits you near a small craft, flanked by the other Knights of Ren. Though they bow deeply and regard you with the proper respect you deserve, you can’t tell what any of them think of you, these strange, powerful men and women who serve Kylo so loyally. Honestly, they unsettle you quite a bit, all of them faceless and expressionless behind masks and helmets, constantly armed and armor-clad. You suppose other people are afraid of Kylo for the same reasons when they first meet him, but you’re of the opinion that the other Knights are just simply less approachable, less human than he is. Perhaps if you could just see their faces…

Turning away from the stares of the Knights, you give your husband a tired smile. “What’s the matter?” you ask, bracing yourself against the chill of the hanger as goosebumps pop up all along your arms.

“I just wanted to inform you that the Knights and I will be leaving for a few days,” Kylo declares, voice robotic through the vocoder in his helmet.

A wave of sadness washes over you, heavy and completely unexpected. You try to cover it quickly though, keenly aware of your audience.

“Now?” you ask, voice rather small.

Kylo nods curtly. “Yes.”

Suddenly, you hate his mask, you hate the fact that your husband’s face is covered. You wish you could see his expression, the look in his eyes, anything that would let you know what Kylo’s thinking.

“How long will you be gone?” you ask, shivering now. It really is cold in this damn hangar, and you aren’t draped in a cloak like everybody else.

“Two to four days,” Kylo answers. The stab in your chest is inexplicable, but it pains you nonetheless.

“I see,” you say, just because you feel like you ought to speak. You cast a look towards the Knights, eyeing their weapons and protective garments, and it suddenly dawns on you that they may be armed for battle. “Where exactly are you all going?”

Kylo is in no mood to be specific, it seems, simply telling that they’ll be doing some scouting in the Minor Possessions. This feels like a lie, but you don’t call him out, unwilling to accept the fact that Kylo could be injured or killed in the very near future. You wish desperately that the two of you were alone, that you could maybe have a moment with him before he leaves. He’ll never let you show him affection, not out in the open like this in front of subordinates, so you just nod, trying to paint on a smile to the best of your ability.

“Well, I hope you all return safely.” You take a small step forward, addressing your husband directly now. “Please be safe.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything for a moment, and though you still can’t see his face, you do think his voice is a bit gentler as he goes to speak. “We’ll be back very soon,” he assures you, and your heart jumps when he reaches out to stroke your arm for the briefest moment.

You smile one more time, watching sadly as your Kylo and his Knights file onto their vessel. They blast off into space without another word, leaving you to watch as their ship becomes but a speck on the inky expanse of stars before you.

It’s an upsetting turn of events, Kylo leaving, and you feel almost childish for not wanting him to go. If he and the Knights decided to leave so promptly, whatever they’re off to do must be important. And who are you to hinder your husband’s work? He never begs you to take a day off from your obligations, nor do you think he would stop you from doing whatever you felt was necessary. But… It’s just that you’ve had a long, grueling day, and you were so looking forward to crawling into Kylo arms at the end of the night.

Thankfully, Miriam’s already waiting for you when you arrive back to your rooms. You drag your feet all the way into the ‘fresher, scrubbing at your eyes with makeup remover as your attendant works to undress you and let down your hair. After you’re changed into more comfortable clothes, you dismiss Miriam for the evening, unable and unwilling to make small talk any longer.

Eating alone is just as depressing as you thought it would be, though getting into bed is even worse. You turn in early, of course, completely drained from all you’ve done today, but you find the bed far too big and far too cold without Kylo beside you.

Tossing and turning, you lie awake until the wee hours of the morning, finally passing out after it seems your body cannot stand to be awake any longer.

---

Kylo’s absence and your foul night’s sleep does nothing for your mood the next day, and you spend much of the morning agitated and snappy. It feels as though your meeting with the Board will never end, and what’s worse, the Chairwoman seems to be in a particularly bright, almost mischievous mood today. You’re sure her cheerful demeanor stems from something that happened this morning, likely an incident that involved her spatting on a custodian or kicking a small child as she walked by. In any case, her shrill laugh and wolfish grin only serve to sour your mood, and as the meeting wears on and on, you grow more and more inclined to have Evan’s tongue cut out on site. However, she’s left you alone for the most part, so you feel as though the action would be unwarranted.

Not ten seconds after this thought crosses your mind do you find yourself reconsidering your self-restraint.

“Oh, my lady!” the Chairwoman exclaims, turning her sharp little eyes your way. Malicious intent curls out of her mouth like smoke as she speaks, you can practically feel the jab coming. “I meant to ask you— where has the Supreme Leader run off to?”

Holding back the urge sigh deeply, you regard the Chairwoman evenly, saying, “A planet in the Minor Possessions.”

You’re being very fair, you think, indulging Evan with the truth even though your husband’s location is none of her business. But she’s seemingly unsatisfied with this, and there’s a glint in her eyes that you don’t like.

“Well, you certainly are a good wife, letting him jet out like that on a whim,” Evan sighs. You’re keenly aware that all eyes are on yourself and the Chairwoman, everyone no doubt waiting to see how this volley between the two of you will play out. “I know I’d be much less inclined to let my man go if I knew that he was going to be out unattended with whores about.”

Evan’s smile is so bright, and you know it must be painful for her to set her face in such a fashion. Her comment is obviously meant to bait you, and you hate that you have to bite the hook— what she’s said is too scandalous to be ignored, and you risk letting her win if you don’t cast your own line.

“The Knights are not whores, Evan, at least to my knowledge,” you say, deadpan, though you do let a sort of wry smile play on your lips as you regard the rest of the table. “Though I don’t profess to know what they do in their free time, nor do I care.”

The quip gets most of everyone chuckling along with you, and Evan’s feathers are ruffled. She sharpens her verbal sword, trying in earnest to draw blood with her words now. “Yes, that may be true, but there are rumors that say that more than one of the Supreme Leader’s Knights of a Ren is a bit… more than just a knight in his eyes.”

If you didn’t know her, this remark might upset you, might make you worried that someone else is sharing Kylo’s bed while he’s away from you. But this is the Chairwoman, and she is nothing but a vile, spiteful woman who wants to make you squirm simply because she enjoys making people upset. She’s so threatened by you, this cruel, bejeweled woman. It’s pathetic.

You lean on the smooth black table before you, chin cradled in one hand. “Chairwoman, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, my lady,” Evan replies readily. Oh, and she thinks she’s winning, you can tell by the glint in her eyes.

“Do you ever get tired of coming up with the drivel that constantly spews out of your mouth?”

Your foe looks as if she’s been slapped, that stupid grin finally melting off of her face. She’s overstepped herself and she knows it.

“I— I was simply making conversation, Empress,” Evan says quickly, letting out a light, nervous laugh.

“No you weren’t,” you scoff, shooting daggers right into the Chairwoman’s gray eyes as you cut her down to size. “You were trying to insinuate that my husband’s abandoned me here so he can fuck someone else in peace.”

The Chairwoman flushes, sitting up straight as a pin as she goes to dispute this. ��I—”

“Oh, will you shut up?” you spit, cutting her off. “All you do is fucking talk and talk and talk! Sometimes I think I should just do everyone a favor and cut your tongue out myself.”

Right about now, Evan, her little lapdogs, and even the other members of the Board all look like they’re about to soil themselves. The only person who remains cool, calm, and collected is Hux, glaring at the Chairwoman from your side as you finish your little tirade.

“But I’m not going to do that because I’m a nice person.” You break into a sarcastic, mean grin as you say this, turning Evan’s favorite expression right back on her now. “I am, however, ending this fucking meeting. My head is pounding, and I’m sick of listening to you hold court at my expense. Get your work done somewhere else and be ready to impress me tomorrow.”

Nobody moves, not even when you say that the meeting’s over. They’ve never seen you like this, threatening and aggressive. Really, you don’t take any pleasure in acting this way, but enough is fucking enough.

“Go!” you snap. “All of you!”

Everyone is up like a shot now, including the Chairwoman, fleeing from the room as if it were on fire. You remain seated, watching on with disinterest and contempt, sparing a glare to anyone who isn’t moving fast enough for your liking. Within seconds, you and the Chancellor are the only ones left in the room.

“You can tell me if that was too harsh,” you say to Hux after a moment, feeling a bit sheepish about your outburst now that it’s over with. The Chairwoman absolutely got what she deserved, but you probably shouldn’t have dismissed the Board the way you did.

Hux shakes his head. “They’re you’re subordinates,” he tells you. “You can talk to them however you like. Personally, I think it was time someone reminded them who they’re dealing with.”

That makes you feel a bit better about the whole thing, but you shoot Hux a look, teasing. “You’re my subordinate, you know.”

Your friend rolls his eyes, rising from his chair as he drawls, “Have me drawn and quartered for my insolence, if you must.”

But then the Chancellor gives you one of his reserved little grins, offering you his arm, and you can’t help but smile back.

The both of you decide that it would be nice to dine privately, so you arrange to have your lunch brought to you and Kylo’s quarters. Hux jokes that the Chairwoman will be accusing you of adultery next time she wants to toy with you, and the two of you have a good laugh about that one. Anyone who could actually believe that you and Hux are having an affair is an absolute moron.

You give Hux a little tour of your quarters while the two of you wait for your meal to arrive, letting him duck into your closet and ‘fresher to kill time. It comes as a bit of surprise to you that the Chancellor’s never visited these rooms before you and Kylo married, but you suppose he had no reason to. And in any case, you’re sure that Kylo’s always been a private person— he’s not partial to intimacy in general, and that goes double when it comes to conducting official business.

Hux is in the mood to chat, it would seem, tittering on about this and that as the two of you dig into your plates. You tell him about your abysmal night’s sleep, even going so far as to disclose that Kylo’s sudden departure upset you more than you’d like to admit. What with Hux’s usual no-nonsense demeanor, you’d been half expecting him to laugh at you for that; instead, he’s surprisingly sympathetic.

“It’s difficult to sleep without your lover,” your friend states, pushing some of his food around idly. “Some beds are just too big for one person.”

It’s only then that you notice how exhausted he looks, pale with dark circles stamped under his eyes. The vulnerability in Hux’s gaze is unmistakable when he sneaks a glance up at you, behaving as if he’s just told you something private, as if he’s made a confession. You assume that this is his very stiff, emotionally guarded version of opening up to you, and you feel rather touched that your friend has come to trust you in this way. Your first inclination is to press for details, to make Hux elaborate on what he’s just implied, but you know that he’d just clam up and refuse to speak about the matter ever again. So, you simply say that he’s right, eyeing your friend carefully as he nods and goes back to eating.

---

To say that you’re relieved as you crawl into bed that night would be an understatement. It’s been such a long day, and you want nothing more than to drift off to sleep and forget about everything for a little while. But like the Chacellor said earlier, your bed is too large and too cold without Kylo beside you, and you can’t make your thoughts stop racing. Your head is filled to the brim, images of the Chairwoman and Hux and your husband swirling together into a storm that chases sleep right out of the harbor of your mind. It’s infuriating, lying wide awake as your body screams for rest.

You find yourself tossing and turning, flinging yourself across the bed in every way possible in a vain attempt to make yourself comfortable. Still, nothing works, and after twenty minutes you’re about ready to burst into tears. The mere notion of getting another awful night’s sleep has you ready to throw a fit, and now more than ever do you wish that your husband was home holding you in his arms.

Kylo checked in with you earlier on the com, though your correspondence was quick. He told you that he and the Knights were doing fine and that the mission was going well, though he was vague on the details. You’d been reluctant to get off the line, happy to hear your husband’s voice, but then Kylo said it was time to make camp and that he had to go. Really, you would feel best if he were here with you, but hoping that he’s warm and safe will have to do for the night. Everyone is always telling you how tough Kylo is, but wish he didn’t have to be. It pains you to imagine him shivering, to think of him anticipating an attack even as he tries to rest…

Yes, you’d much rather have your husband next to you now.

Finally, after what feels like hours, your eyes grow heavy. Burrowing down under the comforter, you turn to face the pane of transperisteel on the far wall, drifting off with the stars glittering before you.