#just trying to express that through excessive exclamation points

[annabellelux]

i notice you always comment/respond to artwork and fics you see, and always reply. does that ever get annoying or tiring, and does it stress you out at times? sorry if it sounds weird im just curious and blunt

Hi! Thanks for the question; it’s not weird at all! 

I do purposefully go out of my way to comment on other people’s fanwork and to reply to comments on mine. I know some people don’t think this way (which is totally valid) but for me, it feels like the least I can do. For commenting on other people’s stuff: I realize how much hard work goes into creating fan art and fanfic and fandom stuff, and I want to show that I appreciate that hard work and enjoyed it. For always replying to people: that’s a mix of always wanting to talk to fandom people and wanting to show I really appreciate people reaching out to me. 

I wouldn’t say it ever gets annoying, but it can get tiring sometimes. That’s mainly because I have a lot of anxiety and I worry a lot about whether my tone/ words are coming out right. (Am I being properly appreciative? Do they understand when I’m just teasing?) That’s less about replying/ commenting and more about my own insecurities. I have to push through that in real life, and I push through it online too. I also sometimes get stressed when I forget to/ don’t have time to comment, but I try to at least like/ leave kudos to show I cared about the work. (And that’s just me being too hard on myself.) 

Bottom line though: I genuinely enjoy reaching out to people to spread some love and kindness and appreciation. Ever since I started sharing my stuff online, I realized how much comments can help someone whose feeling insecure or brighten someone’s day.  Sometimes I wonder if I’m being annoying or a fangirl or something like that, but, again, pushing through my dumb insecurities and existing the way I want to anyways. 

TLDR; I comment on a lot of Carry On fandom stuff because it’s how I show I love it. 

ASK ME ANYTHING; I’M BORED AND MY INBOX IS OPEN 

[cjsinkythoughts]

In Need of a Breath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4007

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo, Feelings, Another PTSD Flashback

A/N: So…Part 4 is going to have a couple parts to it. Maybe even three. I didn’t even make it half way through the episode on this one, mainly because I really wanted to fit in the Reader’s backstory and I wanted her and Sam to have a heart-to-heart again. I’m suuuuper tired, so I probably won’t be posting the next part for another few hours (it’s 5 am right now and I haven’t slept), BUT it’s my day off work and I won’t be doing anything I planned because my grandmother had a stroke a couple days ago so plans have changed and I’m staying in to help her, meaning I’ll mostly be writing all day. 

This Part is kind of a mix between off-screen and shot-by-shots, but it’s mostly off screen/what’s going on inside Reader’s head.

I’m really excited about future parts and the characters that are being introduced! I will say that after these parts, I will be doing one shots of previous MCU movies with the Reader, due to the information that is being given about the Reader now. You kind of see more of how she was affected/how she affected the previous MCU movies and what she was doing during that time.

Like always, this hasn’t been beta’d, again it’s SUPER early in the morning, and I’m really tired, so please excuse any mistakes! I hope you guys enjoy this part! Stay tuned for more to come later today!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

“You know…I’m really starting to regret saying yes to this.” You huffed out, craning your neck and squinting your eyes against the sun as you stare at the facility in front of you, hating the skin-crawling feeling of being back.

“Would you relax? Whenever you’re nervous, I get nervous, and I don’t wanna be nervous about this.” Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do either of you have a better plan?” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms.

Gnawing on your lips, you finally take the lead and breathe out, “alright. Let’s go then.” You could feel the hesitance from your - what were they? Partners? Coworkers? Teammates? - the fellas before they started after you.

There was a sick twist in your gut as you entered the building, going through the lobby and security.

You had been there.

You had been there when Zemo impersonated Bucky. You had been there when Zemo unleashed the Winter Soldier at the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre Building in Berlin. You had been there during the battle at the airport. You had been there when Zemo turned Tony and Steve against each other in Siberia. You had been there when Zemo tore the Avengers from the inside out. Your family. The only family you’d ever known.

But you’d always been good about pushing your personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. It’s what you’d been born to do. All you ever knew.

“Hey. Doll. You hear me?”

“Hmm. What?” You looked up from the ground to look into those enchanting blue oceans Bucky had for eyes, staring worriedly down at you, eyebrows pinched and forehead creased.

“I’m going in alone.” You frowned, opening your mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Sam already agreed-”

“I didn’t necessarily agree-”

“You’re an Avenger, sweetheart.” Bucky tilted his head, speaking softly, those eyes of his worried. Worried for you. It made your stomach flip. “And you were there in Siberia, and that almost makes it worse. Especially considering you went after him. Just…just let me do this, okay?”

You cracked your knuckles nervously as you thought. It was a terrible idea. But it was an idea. And it was all they had. “Okay.” You finally relented, shrugging as your hands hit your thighs and slid up to your hips. “But don’t do anything stupid.”

“Steve took all that with him.”

Knowing about their little inside joke, you scoffed. “Sure he did. Go before I change my mind.”

You watched him walk down the hallway, hands fidgeting with excess nerves. “I think you’re the only one he actually seeks approval from.”

“Good thing I’m so lenient then, huh?” You joked, turning to Sam with a strained smile. Your smile slipped at the curious expression on Sam’s face, his eyes darting to each of your features. “What?”

“Are you doing okay?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. You thought you got out of talking about your feelings back in Baltimore. “Oh my God, Sam-”

“I’m serious. You…you just don’t seem like yourself.”

You shook your head, looking down the hall to where Bucky disappeared before turning back to him. It was weird to have a self that people recognized. Your whole life you’d been searching for it and when you finally found it…everything went to shit. “Honestly, Sammy, the only time I’ve ever felt like myself was with the team. Zemo took that away from me and now we’re here, practically begging him for help.”

Sam hummed, leaning against the wall. “Have you thought of taking a break?”

“What?”

“A break.” At your bewildered look, he rolled his eyes. “Cher, this time last year most of us were dead. This time a few months ago you found out about Wanda. This time last week you were out looking for her. Maybe you should just stop and take a breather.”

Shoving your hands in your pocket and looking at the floor, you couldn’t help but snort at his advice. “I haven’t taken a breather since I was eighteen.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s my point. FBI academy as soon as you graduated. SHIELD recruit by 21, undercover operations leader by 24? Slow down. You’re in your thirties. Next thing you know, you’re gonna be ninety something, lying on your deathbed, wishing you had stopped to smell the roses.”

“If I live to be ninety, shoot me.” He chuckled in amusement. “I’m so fucking serious, Sam. I will not be put in an old folks home to play Bingo and be pushed around in a wheelchair. It ain’t happening.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” There was that infectious smile, which you unconsciously grinned back at. “Y/N…I’m serious. You’ve been in and out of missions since you were a teenager. What’s the shortest undercover operation you’ve done?”

“I dunno.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah you do.”

Licking your lips, you turned away and shrugged. “A couple months. Seven weeks and three days, to be precise. September to October in 2012.”

“And the longest?”

“August 2007 to May 2009. Twenty one months.” 

Letting out a puff of air through his nose, Sam pushed himself off the wall and caught your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “That’s nearly two years under cover. And I’m sure you went right back under after-”

“I was sitting at a desk for four months doing paperwork on it.” You defended yourself.

He shook his head, brows knitting together, lips drawn down. “You say that as if four months is enough time.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Sammy. I’m out. I’ve been out since Ultron and Sokovia. I haven’t been under in almost a decade-”

“A decade half the world was dead for half of-”

“I wasn’t!”

“I never said you were.” Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. You were always amazed at his ability to keep his emotions in check. To stay cool under pressure. Sometimes you forgot how experienced he was with dealing with other people’s trauma. It was no wonder why Steve thought he’d be good for Bucky. “Listen. All I’m saying is once this is done…don’t go diving back into searching for Wanda. Don’t go running to the kid every time he calls - and I know you’ve been doing that-”

“It’s just been homework and stuff-”

“Y/N.” You stopped, biting your lip at the stern look he gave you. “Go home. Order take out. Binge watch TV. Go for a jog through the park. Actually meet your neighbors. Go grocery shopping. Just…live. If only for a couple weeks. Don’t worry about anyone else. Don’t pick up the phone, don’t drop everything because someone needs you. You need you.”

“I-I…” You shook your head, looking at him, sincerely apologetic. “I can’t. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’ve never had one normal day in my life. I’ve never had someone to care for, never had someone to care for me. I can’t let people I’ve come to…I can’t let them think I don’t care. I don’t even know where I’d go.”

“Whaddya mean?”

You winced, not thrilled for his reaction to your next statement. “I, uh, I sold my apartment in D.C.”

He gaped at you in complete disbelief. “You got it in December!”

“I know, I know. I liked it. I really did, but…I dunno. Nomadic life has always suited me better. It’s what I grew up with.”

He took a breath, making you cringe again. You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately gotten on his nerves like this before. “Have you ever thought that, instead of going with the flow and jumping place to place, putting down roots might actually help?” He cut you off before you could say anything, holding up a finger to stop you from talking. “I can’t imagine going from foster home to foster home like you did. I can’t imagine not having a home for as long as you can remember. Louisiana’s my home. Always has, always will be. But I understand your life has been anything but stable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you need some stability.”

You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. “The Avengers were my stability. Steve was my stability.”

“Because you loved him.”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” You turned to walk down to the lobby to wait for Bucky there, but Sam caught your arm.

“You were in love with him! It’s okay! You two were super close! No one would blame you! Why won’t you just admit it? I’m trying to understand! Why won’t you-”

You tugged your arm away, finally snapping at him. “Because he could never be mine, Wilson! Is that what you wanna hear?!” Sam took a step back at your exclamation. You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat and pushing down the tears. “He could preach all he wanted about moving forwards, Sammy, but we all knew he was stuck in the past. He visited the museum every Thursday because her interview showed in his exhibit on Thursdays. He carried around that broken compass because her picture was in it.” You looked back up at him sadly, shrugging. “And I get it; it’s hard to move past your first love. I get it because…that’s what he was to me.”

There was a silence that blanketed the hallway, before he spoke up hesitantly. “What about Bucky?”

“I thought - I thought I was projecting my feelings for Steve onto him because I knew Steve couldn’t ever…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You thought? What do you think now?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m still figuring that one out.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.”

You chuckled, nodding slightly towards him. “Back atcha. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not being yourself lately, either.”

“It’s…a tough topic.”

You nodded in understanding. “Just know that I’ll support every decision you make as long as you think it’s the right one. Because I trust you. Steve trusted you. It’s all we can do to try to do what’s right. That’s what makes you a good man, Sammy. He gave you that shield for a reason, and if you think what you did was right…I’ll stand by it.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, calming down in each other’s presences and taking comfort knowing you’d be there for each other through thick and thin. “Thank you, cher.”

“Of course, Sammy. Now let’s go see what’s taking the old grump so long.”

He laughed at that, nodding in agreement, taking your offered hand and squeezing it as you made your way down the hall.

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

“What?”

Bucky eyed you as you spluttered, coughing on the water you were drinking. “Please don’t choke, doll.”

“Break him out of jail?!” You repeated his words and blinked at him, absolutely baffled by his plan. “Oh my God.” You groaned as Bucky and Sam started arguing, moving your flashlight around the room. “Where the hell are we?” There was no response as they kept going back and forth.

“Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds! Especially yours! No offense.”

“Heelllloooo!” You tried again. “Where the hell are we?!”

Bucky turned on the lights, giving Sam a look. “Offense.” Glancing at you he quirked an eyebrow. “Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head, sweetheart. You trust me, dontcha?” Your breath hitched at his words. You quickly recovered, huffing and pouting - although you’d deny ever pouting - and crossing your arms. You stood between the guys like that, eyes darting to whoever was speaking, waiting for them to stop so you could actually think.

“Look. Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

You and Sam exchanged glances. “What did you do?”

“I…didn’t do…anything.” Bucky shrugged.

“How is it that you, one of the most deadliest assassins basically ever, are one of the worst liars I know.” You tilted your head at him, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion.

“Shush it you. Just, okay. The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element.”

The more you listened to Bucky’s “hypothetical”, the stronger the gut feeling telling you this was a terrible terrible idea got. You brought your hands up to your head, eyes wide as he spoke.

“I don’t like how casual you’re bein’ about this. This is unnatural.”

You couldn’t help but agree with Sam’s words, your head falling back and your eyes closing. “Sweet Jesus. Listen, God, I know we don’t talk much these days, but please, please don’t let this not be a hypothetical. I’m fucking begging you.”

A noise to your right made your head snap over. “Oh hell to the fucking no!” You shook your head as Zemo himself walked in, wearing a prison guards uniform. “Uh-uh! No way! Bucky, this was not part of the plan!”

“What did you do?!”

“We need him!”

“You’re going back to prison.”

“If I may-”

All three of you faced him, simultaneously shouting, “no!”

You held your face in your hands as your head dropped, shaking back and forth, your eyes squeezing shut, tuning them out for just a minute to think. Bucky had a point. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, and the Avengers were technically disbanded, which was Zemo’s whole objective in the first place, but…God. You were good at compartmentalizing, but not that much. You were willing to put your feelings aside for the mission so Bucky could talk to him. Not for you to work with him. But he had connections, you knew he did, and he had information…

“Doll?” You looked up, Bucky anxiously licking his lips as he met your gaze. “I need you to say something.”

You looked to Sam, who shrugged, gesturing to Zemo. “What do you think?”

What did you think? What did you think?! You thought that it was the worst idea in the history of ideas and you should turn back and find another way! But…you knew this was the fastest, probably most reliable way to get information that you needed.

Dammit, since when were you the deciding factor?

You sucked in a breath, looking over Sam’s shoulder at Zemo, who lifted his hand in greeting. You raised your eyes to the ceiling, pointing your finger accusingly. “This is why we stopped talking.” Gaze dropping to the still waiting fellas, you gnawed on your lip, before hissing out, “ffffine…” Running a hand through your hair, you threw your hands up as you shrugged. “Fine. Okay. Fine.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, taking charge again.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Except, that was a lie. You could. You’d seen weirder. You’d experienced the impossible. Lived through the unbelievable. This…this was completely imaginable.

Which is why, with a lot of hesitation and very little confidence in this plan, you followed Zemo through the auto shop you were in until you reached a large room with a ton of different old cars.

Bucky’s hand found yours as Zemo explained what the plan was, rather vaguely, in your opinion, but at least he was explaining. Point for him. Not that it would make up for the level of distrust you held for him, but it was something.

You looked up at him, giving him a puzzling frown. He usually only grabbed your hand in front of other people when he was feeling anxious. Which, yeah, he had a right to be anxious right now, but it wasn’t the right kind. The type of anxiety caused by large crowds and loud noises, ones that startled him and threw him into a defensive mode.

But the look on his face made you squeeze his hand in reassurance. He was pouting, staring at you although he did something wrong - a puppy that tore up a pillow - and all you wanted to do was give him a hug.

“You’re mad at me.” He mumbled as the four of you headed out with Zemo in the lead.

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are. 

“Bucky, I’m not mad.”

“Listen, if I had a better idea I wouldn’t-”

You brought your linked hands up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his gloved knuckles. “I’m not mad.” You repeated more firmly. “It’s just…a lot for me, right now.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, Buck, I-I just…” You thought about your and Sam’s earlier conversation and suddenly understood what he meant. “I need to breathe for a second.”

His features twisted into ones of uncertainty, eyes squinting as you stepped outside. “Do you…do you wanna leave?”

You shook your head, tugging his arm to stop him and grabbing the sunglasses on his collar, slipping them over his eyes. “No. I just need some time to think. Hopefully the plane ride to wherever the hell we’re going will give me that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, James. I’m sure.”

He lowered the glasses on his nose to scan you over the frames, before nodding and sliding them back up. “Okay. You ready for this, then?”

“No.” You breathed, turning back to where Zemo and Sam were still walking. “Let’s do this.”

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

Climbing onto the private jet, you raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged, giving you a bemused expression. A Baron…huh…who knew? You feel like you should’ve, yet there you were.

You sat besides Bucky, across from Zemo, crossing your legs and leaning back while staring at him through narrowed eyes.

His butler seemed nice, which made you even more suspicious. You obviously didn’t know as much about Zemo as you wanted to. It was a habit you picked up after years of undercover work; once the mission was complete, that was that. There was no looking back on it. No sitting on it. It was over and you moved onto the next one. It was a bad habit in cases like this.

The moment you spotted the notebook over Zemo’s book you knew something was going to happen, yet you still flinched when Bucky lunged at him, grabbing his throat. You leaned back in your seat again, steadying your now racing heartbeat. You decided you were too tense, trying to relax your muscles as Bucky sat back down in his seat.

“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book.” Sam seemed so proud of himself that something he recommended was written in Steve’s little book and it made you smile.

You remembered that; Steve and you were supposed to meet up for coffee after his run, but Fury called him in so you rescheduled it for when he got back. He asked you about Marvin Gaye. For your opinion. You told him to check it out and make his own.

You remembered asking him about that little notebook of his, and he just shrugged you off telling you about his list. He would read items off to you, but he never let you read the book yourself. You never found out why, and you supposed you never would now. The thought made an ache behind your ribs that you’d come to familiarize yourself with appear.

You smiled a little more as Zemo and Sam told Bucky how awesome Marvin Gaye was. “C’mon, baby. Back me up.”

Chuckling, you looked at Bucky. “They’re not wrong. But,” you quickly added before Bucky could whine at you, facing Sam again. “Neither is Buck. I mean, c’mon. You can’t find music like the 40’s anymore. Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Fred Astaire. Ol’ Blue Eyes himself.”

“Thank you.” Bucky grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. But, I mean, c’mon! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.”

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.”

Your face fell as Zemo started talking about Steve and icons and Red Skull, your mind once again slipping away from reality.

~

“Kids love you.” You giggled as you finally made it out of his exhibit. You’d wanted to show it to him since he moved to D.C., and you’d finally got an opportunity after coming back from being undercover for ten weeks. “You’re their hero, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

You nudged him, scoffing at his answer. “You’re too humble. You’re a national icon, you know.”

Steve shrugged, looking around the museum at the planes surrounding them. “I never wanted to be.”

“Why not? Everyone loves you.”

“I’m sure not everyone loves me.” He rolled his eyes. “And…I just wanted to help. To fight. Protect my country and the people I cared about. I-I didn’t ask for…all that.” He waved behind his shoulder where his exhibit was getting smaller with each step they took away. “People were dying. Bullies were winning.”

You shook your head, spinning and walking backwards besides him to face him. “Sure, but you did that. And you became someone people could look up to in the process.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before asking, “why do you do what you do?”

“...because I’m good at it?”

“Honey.” He gave you a look. “Answer the question.”

You hummed in thought. “Because I couldn’t stand by, knowing there would be orphaned kids if I didn’t help any way I could.”

“Alright. Why do you do it in the dark?”

“Whaddya mean?”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you come out and take credit for all the lives you’ve saved?”

“Because that’s not why I do it. I don’t want that attention. I just want to know I’ve helped people. I’ve kept them safe.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I just wanted to beat the bully. I never wanted to be a dancing monkey, too.” You looked at him in a new light then, understanding where he was coming from. “Watch out, honey!” He grabbed you and pulled you aside before you could crash into a wall, arms wrapped firmly around your waist. He gave you that charming smile of his. “Wouldn’t want you hurting that pretty lil’ head of yours, now would we?”

~

“Y/N!”

You snapped back into the conversation, moving your eyes from the window to Bucky, who tilted his head, eyebrows pinched and eyes narrowed. “Sorry. So, Madripoor. That’s a fun place.”

You ignored the side eyed glances Bucky and Sam exchanged, Sam turning to you curiously. “You’ve been?”

“Once. Back in 2010 for a few months”

Zemo raised his eyebrows. “You’re lucky to have gotten out.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Lucky, maybe. Skills were a part of it, too, though.”

“Good.” Zemo nodded. “Because we’re going undercover…and if we blow it. We’re dead.”

You breathed out, shaking your memory away and getting your head back into the game. Because like the man you were severely wary of in front of you said, if you blew this, you were dead. And, sure, you didn’t want to live until ninety, but you weren’t even half way there yet. So dammit if you were going to die soon.

“Hey.” You looked over at Bucky’s murmur, his head tilting as he grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Are you okay? You know you’re going to have to be-”

“I know.” He nodded. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “I’ll be fine. Just…tell me right now if you need to step out for this one.”

You gave him a smile that you knew he didn’t buy, just by the slight narrowing of his eye, his lips pressing together. “No. No, I’m good for this. If you think I’m gonna let you two idiots go into Madripoor with him - alone - oil that cyborg brain of yours, because there’s no way.”

He squeezed your hand, eyes still filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“If there’s even a slight possibility that I can protect you, then yeah. I’m sure, Buckaroo.”

[breakyeol]

cherry chapstick

drabble

┗ pairing: chanyeol x reader

warnings: none, just hopelessly in love yeolie and cherry flavored kisses

a/n; yeolie has the cutest lips :((

Your eyes narrow, lips pressing together tightly. You were focused, very focused. Too focused. On what exactly-- Chanyeol was determined to find out. 

“Okay out with it!” Chanyeol’s voice snapped you out of your trance, “You’ve been giving me weird looks since earlier. What is it? Is there something on my face? Is there food in my teeth?”

You shook your head, raising a finger and pointing at his mouth. “Your lips.”

His eyes widened, cheeks tinting a faint shade of pink. “M—… my lips?” He cleared his throat loudly as his voice cracked embarrassingly. You have a short nod of confirmation, brows furrowing as you honed in on them again.

An onslaught of questions raced through his mind. Why had you been looking at his lips? Did you, perhaps, like them? Did you… want to kiss him?

He felt himself flush further at the thought. His suddenly clammy hands curled into fists, his teeth biting into the inside of his cheek as his body temperature rose.

Was this your way of… confessing to him?

Oh god. Was he ready for that? Ha, who was he kidding— of course he was ready for that, he’d only been head over heels for you since freshman year. This might be the moment he’s been waiting for, the moment he’s been longing for, the moment he—

“They’re dry.”

You hear that? Yeah, that’s the sound of all Chanyeol’s hopes and dreams being flushed down the giant toilet that was his life.

Dry. His lips were dry. He couldn’t believe it. You’d been staring at him because he had dry lips. At the abrupt realization, one of his hands instinctively flew to cover his mouth as his face tinted an embarrassed shade of red. How humiliating.

“It’s… it’s because I bite them too much,” he offered pathetically, voice borderline whimpering as he lowered his head, silently cursing himself out for having thought it could’ve been something more. Of course it wasn’t. He was just an oversized idiot in love with someone who didn’t think of him as anything more than a friend. Ouch.

Obviously to his inner turmoil, a light smile touched your features. “I’ve got some chapstick if you want to use that?” You were already digging through your bag before you’d even finished the question, pulling out a small, pink, plastic tube with a triumphant ‘aha!’. Turning to him with a bright grin, you patted the cushion directly beside you, “come here!”

He blinked, a mixture of confusion and intrigue blanketing his features, but he didn’t question it, scooting over so that he was sitting directly in front of you. You popped the lid off, before suddenly leaning forward. His brows raised, and he desperately fought off the overwhelming urge to look at your lips.

“W–What are you doing?” He stuttered out clumsily.

You scoffed.

He could only yelp in surprise as you grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him forward. He barely managed to catch himself before he collapsed on top of you, hands steadying his weight on the cushion on either side of your legs.

The rather compromising position did little to alleviate the searing blush decorating the entirety of his face.

But you only smiled in satisfaction, taking him off guard as you pressed the chapstick to his lower lip, attentively running it over the pillowy flesh, mimicking the motion with his slightly thinner upper one.

Chanyeol didn’t realize that he was holding his breath until his lungs were crying out for oxygen. Even then, he could only manage a meager inhale through his nose. You were so close. He didn’t think he’d ever been so close to you before. He was so close, he could probably count your eyelashes if he wanted. He could see everything, every detail, every perfect flaw, things he’d never noticed before, things that he couldn’t help but to fall in love with.

He felt you take his chin gently between your thumb and index finger. “Open.” He easily complied, now soft pink lips parting obediently to allow you to reach the inner part of his lips. “Good boy.” It was a playful praise, teasing almost.

But that didn’t stop his head from going dizzy for a moment.

He came to at the sensation of your thumb tenderly swiping some excess off the corner of his mouth, an adorable look of accomplishment brightening up your features. “Perfect!” You emphasized your exclamation by closing whatever space remained between the two of you and sweetly pecking his lips.

It had happened so quickly that he barely even processed that it had happened at all. He could have easily imagined it, the fluttering of your pretty eyes, the caress of your soft lips over his, the astounding acceleration of his racing heart. But it had happened. He knew… because he could see the faint glisten of the cherry chapstick on your lower lip.

He blinked once. Twice. Three times.

There was a shy smile curling onto your face now, your eyes flickering noncommittally away from his hawking face. You wondered briefly if that had been too forward.

Chanyeol fought the urge to pinch himself.

“D… did you just kiss me?” His voice was just the right amount of breathless to be heard without having to strain. Your head drooped, attention focusing in on the tube of chapstick as you fiddled with it nervously.

“You didn’t like it...” it was more of a statement than a question, sadness lingering in your tone. Chanyeol’s head swung back and forth in slow swoops.

“I—” he cut himself off by leaning forward, warm hand cradling your jaw and pulling you towards him until your lips connected. You squeaked in surprise, eyes going wide before you completely melted into him, hands finding purchase on the back of his neck as your lips pressure purposefully against his.

This kiss was warm and gentle, but hinges with desperation. Chanyeol wanted terribly to try and express his years of longing and silent loving in this kiss, but how could he? How could he possibly make you understand? How could he possibly make you feel what he had so long felt in his heart?

But perhaps… you already did.

His chest became warm and fuzzy at the thought, and, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop the way his lips turned upwards, a smile breaking through. You drew away from him, forehead pressed against his, noses brushing, lips drawn into a grin.

“I guess you did,” you murmured, chuckling lightly. He tipped his chin forwards, peppering your lips with playful kisses, drawing out giggles from your throat.

“I did,” his voice was nothing short of blissful, gaze filling your chest with warmth and your stomach with butterflies, “I really did.”

[useless-lesbian-writer]

Shock was not a strong enough word to describe the farmer's expression when Haley asked to spend a day at the farm. According to her, she wanted to know more about her girlfriend's lifestyle and nothing better than accompanying her on a work day. Farmer thought of thousands of disastrous situations that could happen on that visit, say that the brilliant idea of Haley climbing on a cow and falling magnificently was still fresh in her memory. She would deny it, that was the plan, but it didn't help when her girlfriend grabbed her arm and looked at her like a puppy.

What had taken them that moment. Haley running after a chicken that had found one of her bracelets very interesting. So interesting that he decided to stay for himself. The farmer could be considered the worst girlfriend in the world, but she had just started laughing at the situation, while the blonde ran with the chicken.

“FARMER!”

And with a furious cry, the farmer held her laughter as best she could, she bent down and grabbed the chicken as if it were the easiest thing in the world - which was for her. Haley was panting before giving the chicken a deadly look, which farmer finds particularly cute.

“I said not to wear bracelets or other accessories when dealing with animals.” Instead of returning the bracelet, she kept it in one of the pockets of her denim overalls - her floral dress would be beautiful on a picnic with Penny and the kids, but for a hen house, it will be the target of the chickens' beak. To prove her speech, Farmer pointed to a small tear in the hem of the dress. It was not very long, it was above the knees, but it was a great jumping exercise for the chicken that did that.

Haley snorted.

“Is that your way of saying that I shouldn't be here?”

"That's my way of saying that I want you here so much," Haley blushed, "that I'm teaching you the way it should be."

Haley wondered how a girl wearing denim overalls and a simple shirt underneath looked so whole when compared to her. Her dress had straw in every corner, her feet were dirty thanks to the open sandal she wore and her hair was in tatters. She had prepared herself as if it were her first meeting with the farmer, but she didn't expect the charm to last after meeting the chickens - and there were still cows and goats to check. The curiosity to know more about life on the farm was a surprise even for herself, but she wanted to know more about the reasons that led her girlfriend to leave everything in the city and come to this world.

Haley knew she was screwed when she saw her girlfriend talking to the thief like she was a child and found it terribly adorable. That girl was an idiot and, as cliché as it was, she was her idiot.

After collecting the eggs, they went to the cows that were surprisingly more peaceful than the chickens. The farmer explained that she took everyone's milk, only that the cows’ milk was sold and the goats’ milk was transformed into cheese. She didn't let Haley milk a cow, but she did demonstrate how it was done. During the milking of the last cow, she heard the click of a camera and when she looked up, she saw Haley smiling as she photographed her.

“I'm sure I'm not the best model at the moment.” Farmer smiled shyly.

“You’re joking?” The blonde bent down to kiss the top of the girlfriend's head “You are adorable ... A little dirty, but cute when dealing with your animals.”

“Right, right.” She got up from the stool she used to milk the cows “For the girl who told me that I would even be cute if it weren't for my clothes and that she said ‘eww, no' when I invited her to dance, you’re very gallant today.”

‘Awwwn, did I hurt you back then?’ Despite the mocking tone, she smiled kindly.

“Hurt? I thought: ‘now I’ll get that sick girl’. A few sunflowers later and I already brought you to the farm.” The winning smile of the farmer was irritating.

The farmer went to the barn to store the bucket she used to milk and Haley took the opportunity to take another picture of her, this time from the back. It was admirable how that skinny girl from the city, adapted so well to her new life. Now she was much stronger physically, but she still exuded femininity - even in the rags she wore. She might admit it out loud, to make the other girl bewildered, that she had already had a dream or another with that woman pressing her against a bed. They were libidinous dreams that always made her work with her hands when she woke up.

The blonde's dirty thoughts were interrupted by the first drop of rain, and then another and another came, until it became a thick and cold rain. She ran into the barn, bumping into the farmer who was just leaving. The animals soon ran for cover and the farmer closed the biggest door, locked everyone inside.

“I thought I saw yesterday that the forecast for today was a sunny day.” Haley said, while trying to dodge a goat that tried to smell her.

“I saw it, too.” The farmer peeked out the window and sighed “But it's just thickening. We better run home, before it gets worse.”

“In this rain?”

“It's the rain or Carmen!” The farmer smiled mischievously.

“Carmen?”

“Yes!” Farmer held out her hand “Carmen!”

And the goat who tried to smell Haley, immediately answered the call, going to the farmer's hand to receive affection on her thick fur. Haley couldn't help looking at that scene with a mixture of strangeness and amusement, before giving her verdict.

“Home!”

The race was short, but Haley's open sandal only made it difficult for her and although the farmer left her boot on the door before entering, the blonde's feet were as sticky as her sandals and the door mat ended up covered in mud.

“And that's why farmers wear boots!” The farmer blinked and Haley rolled her eyes “Here!”

Farmer handed her an old towel to remove the excess mud from her legs, leaving only the dry soil. Haley could not curse that day anymore, all her production had gone down the drain and what would not make it the worst day of her life, was the fact that the farmer continued to smile when looking at her. It was not a mocking smile, much less a pity, it was affectionate as if no matter how ruined the blonde was, she would continue to like what she saw. And that calmed Haley, making her smile back.

The rain was only increasing outside and when the first thunder was heard, they knew there was no chance of Haley leaving. The farmer set aside a change of clothes for hwe girlfriend and let her shower first while she prepared dinner. She had started work on the farm, only in the afternoon because of her girlfriend's unusual company and intended to accompany her home in the early evening. Thanks to the rain, they would have to sleep together, which did not cause any discomfort or embarrassment to her, but she had noticed that Haley looked a little disconcerted.

Haley refused to wear one of the farmer's sweatshirts, claiming she didn't like the thick fabric - which left the other girl completely confused by the excuse. Then, as a solution to that, the farmer offered one of her old button-down shirts. That white shirt, specifically, was the one she wore bagged, so it was a little bigger than her usual shirts and as Haley was a little shorter, the shirt got a little too wide on her. On the underwear, she had extra panties in the bag. Which, again, left the farmer completely confused, but did not question the argument that "incidents can happen on the street, especially with women".

When Haley got out of the bath, the farmer had doubts whether her face was flushed from the hot water or the look she was receiving. If it were for the second, the farmer didn't seem to care much and kept looking – devouring her with her eyes - and only stopped when, accidentally, her hand hit the hot frying pan. The embarrassment became when Haley started laughing at the scene. The pout she made was flashy enough for the blonde to approach, gently hold her burnt hand and place a chaste kiss on top of the burn, before placing another on the farmer's lips.

The farmer took a quick shower before sitting down at the table. Dinner was silent, with a few exchanged looks and Haley's compliments on the food.

“You cook better than my sister!”

The unexpected exclamation elicited a light laugh from the farmer. She wasn't going to brag about Emily just because she thought she was a good friend. Haley insisted on washing the dishes at the end of dinner, which was not denied by the farmer, she was very tired. Sometimes, Haley would look over her shoulder and watch the waiting girlfriend watching the weather through the window. Her dark, still damp hair fell long over her back and she wondered what it would be like to grab it while they ...

“Haley!” The farmer called, now facing her “The tap is on.”

All the blonde wanted at that moment was a place to bury her head, but she just smiled and turned off the tap. With the last job of the day over, they could sleep. Even if it wasn't what they both wanted ...

When they lay down on the bed, Farmer tried to keep some distance from her girlfriend, fearing that she would be uncomfortable with the approach. Lying on their backs, they stared at the ceiling without really sleeping.

“Some problem?” Haley asked after a few minutes, noting the considerable distance between them.

“No. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable.” Farmer turned her face, already noticing the blonde staring at her “You seemed embarrassed before.”

Haley blushed, but smiled, turning completely to the other. She grabbed the larger woman's arm and pulled her closer, but without letting go of her arm afterwards. The farmer tried not to focus on the breasts stuck to her arm, she didn't want to feel like a virgin teenager who felt breasts for the first time, but it was too late and the humiliation became worse when she noticed that she was starting to get wet just by the sensation.

Haley smiled victoriously as she noticed the farmer's rigidity. She had enough partners to know what that meant. She slid one hand under the thick sweatshirt - which she had nothing against, just thought she wouldn't look so attractive under those rags. The button-down shirt was a lot sexier, right?

“Can I have at least a good night kiss?” The tone almost innocent, did not hide her true intentions.

The farmer, as best she can, turned to face Haley who kissed her. It was a slow kiss, as if the blonde expected some bigger reaction, which didn't come. The bigger one felt the hand that was under her belly, being pulled and going towards the back of her neck, where Haley dug her fingers between her hair and pressed her mouth harder. The farmer subtly opened her lips, as if searching for some air, but the movement did not escape the blonde who pushed her tongue between them. Her girlfriend reacted immediately, grabbing her waist and sliding her tongue under hers. They were both on the same page, though there was still something holding the bigger one, something that she didn’t expect Haley to hold one of her hands and guide her to one of her breasts, under her shirt.

“You had more attitude when you kissed me for the first time.” Haley's mocking comment was like the spark that was missing for the flame inside the farmer to light.

The blonde's moan was tricky, when the bigger one squeezed - not so - gently her breast and pressed her nipple between the index and the thumb. Haley felt the warmth of her hand slip away when the farmer went to open the buttons on her shirt one by one. She bit her lip in anticipation, maybe she had imagined it so many times that she couldn't help feeling anxious. Everything at that moment was becoming intoxicating, the sound of rain on the wood, the weight of the biggest under her body when she finished opening her shirt and straddled her hip, the smell of wet earth, her lips on her neck while her fingers played with her breasts, the creaking of the bed with each movement, the echo of her moans through the room and the sensation of fingers taking off her panties. She was hoping the dog wouldn't be at the foot of the bed and, if he was, he should have left with all the noise.

The farmer bit the little girl's neck, then slid her tongue under the mark. It was as if she marked her and then returned it, and it seemed to please her companion, who did not seem shy about her moans. Her mouth went down to her right breast, which was being mistreated by her hand and was rewarded with some chaste kisses and hickeys.

Haley grunted when she felt the biggest move away, she already missed the other's body heat. The farmer helped her remove her shirt and took off her own sweatshirt, revealing the most beautiful breasts that the blonde had ever seen and her abdomen defined by the hours of manual labor. Before she could get any closer to that deity, Farmer got off the bed and knelt, pulling Haley by the legs until she was with her legs out of bed and with the biggest girl between them. If all of Haley's moans had been scandalous, what she did when her girlfriend slid her tongue across her pussy, sure enough, scared the house dog out into the rain outside. The farmer showed that she was not good only with manual labor. Her tongue slid between her large lips to her clitoris, where she circled and applied pressure, feeling Haley's hands grab her by the hair and push her head further against her. Her hands were firm on the girl's thighs and she tried to keep them away, as in reflex of pleasure, Haley tried to close them. Haley felt the sting in her lower abdomen and knew she was close to orgasm.

The farmer continued to masturbate her with her tongue, then she noticed Haley's moans becoming more acute and her back arching. Haley came in her mouth and she licked everything like the juice of one of her fruits. Except that infinitely tastier, not even a star fruit tasted so incomparable.

The blonde was still panting when she had her body adjusted to the bed again. Her girlfriend slid her head up onto the pillow and kissed her gently. However, she still could take one more and it was her turn to feel the breast of the larger one that moaned in response and slid one hand to fuck her again. Haley put her arms around the farmer and pulled her against her, digging her nails into her shoulders when she felt two fingers slide inward. The movements were fast and strong, which caused the blonde to moan against the older woman's ear and drag her nails down her back. At some point, the farmer was sure to feel a ferocious taste in her mouth, which only gave her a buff to invest harder against Haley, who also hugged her with her legs, grabbing her completely. This orgasm came faster than the first and Haley's fingers were already under the farmer's buttocks, which had a completely scratched back.

Haley felt the emptiness when the fingers were taken out of her and relaxed on the bed, still with the weight of the larger body on top of her.

“Tomorrow I won't be able to take a pat on the back as a greeting.” Farmer joked, after throwing herself into the empty space of the bed.

“Tomorrow I won't even be able to walk.” Haley went further in the joke, which left the farmer with her mouth open “And who knew that the girl without any sense of fashion and who lives among animals, would know how to fuck so well.”

“What does one thing have to do with the other?”

“Anything. Now ...” she turned her back to the farmer “You can hug me. I really need to sleep.”

And the other day, no matter how much effort Haley put in hiding the marks on her neck, they were still noticeable. Emily was shocked when she saw her sister at home, but nothing could stop Haley's smile. And the farmer would be mocked to death by Abigail, Sam and Shane, who tried to greet her and had their attempts thwarted by her avoidance. Emily's innocent comment about her sister's arrival, together with a Friday at the Saloon, made the farmer want to jump into the river.

[feistypaants-archived]

Between The Pipes [Chapter 28]

Rating: M Words: 2028 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: hmmmmmm.....

thanks 2 @ahtohallan-calling and @awesomemaple for the sven and anna dancing to lizzo inspo lmao the true mvps.

Enjoy!

Kristoff almost fell over when Anna sprung herself forward to land on his back with her arms around his neck. It was mostly the surprise of it, but he managed to right them both before she even noticed his stumble. “Hi,” he laughed, shifting his bag of gear to his other shoulder as she slid down the expanse of his back. “You’re chipper this morning.”

“Well,” she grinned, sliding her hand into his and lacing their fingers together. “It’s a beautiful day!”

It was most decidedly not a beautiful day. It was cold and gloomy and snowing. And not even a pretty snow… just wet and harsh. But if Anna felt that way, then sure, he could roll with it. “That so?”

She had started swinging their hands together as they walked, her thumb tracing circles over his. “Mhmm,” was all she hummed, nodding slowly. 

It had been two weeks since the gala and she had spent almost every night at his house. It had been weird to fall asleep without her last night, but she had insisted on staying with her sister at her hotel. Apparently they needed some bonding time, and who was he to deny her that? But still, he already felt tension draining from his shoulders as she squeezed his hand and bumped his hip with her own while they walked and she talked about the bright side of the bad weather.

“I missed you,” he mumbled beneath her rambling, blushing bright when she stopped mid sentence to look up at him. 

A small hop-skip-jump brought her lips up to his cheek, and then she was smiling even brighter. “I missed you, too.” 

Kristoff coughed slightly, just to clear his throat, before shaking his head and trying to accept the small moment of vulnerability. “So, um…” He shrugged and kept his gaze forward. “Did you have fun with your sister?” He relaxed just slightly when she pressed her arm against his.

“Oh, yes.” She paused for a moment as she looked around. “I guess Elsa and Honey have been…” Anna practically giggled behind her hand. “You know.” A snort laugh and red tinged cheeks made him smile. “Talking.”

He could laugh at this shy, bashful Anna, so different from one he knew. Maybe it was because she was talking about her sister, but shit, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was how she talked about him, too. “Oh? Talking? Or… not talking.”

Anna whacked at his chest and laughed again, wrapping her hands around his bicep this time. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

A relaxed silence fell between them again as they continued down the corridor. Kristoff had spent the whole night thinking, and talking to Sven, and talking to his mother, and… He had decided that he wanted to do something special for Anna. He wanted to take her somewhere fancy, wine and dine her, and, fuck, as cheesy as it was, wanted to officially ask her out.

They sat in limbo right now, unsure of where to proceed. Their feelings were on the table, but, at least for Kristoff, things still felt uncertain. Did she want him to fully figure himself out before they moved forward? Or was she willing to work with him? It was a lot to ask of someone, but she was the most patient and kind person he had ever met. 

If anyone would be able to help him, it was her.

Coach Mattias’ door slammed open as they stepped into the locker room. It startled Anna, who clenched his arm a little tighter as their eyes both snapped to the entrance. Warren emerged first, obviously irritated, followed by Mattias and…

“Papa!” Anna exclaimed, clearly taken aback. “I didn’t think you were coming to the skate…”

His face was stern as he turned his attention to the two of them. Kristoff could swear there was something venomous in his eyes. “I wasn’t. But I was called for a meeting.”

Kristoff was going to let go of her, but he felt just a slight squeezing of her fingers. “Oh?”

“We’ll talk later.”

And then he left the locker room, leaving a dozen or so stressed out players in his wake. 

“Dude, what was that?” Kristoff’s eyes moved quickly to Warren and Anisimov, hunkered into a corner as Warren’s glare lingered just slightly too long on Anna. 

He met Kristoff’s gaze, clenched his jaw, and snapped his head back around to face his teammate. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

This didn’t seem good.

—

Family skate had never been Kristoff’s favorite event. Sometimes he was able to fly his family out around Christmas and keep them in town long enough, but with his sister having a new baby and his dad needing to get someone trained to run the shop, they weren’t able to join him this year. But it was okay, because this year he had Anna, and she more than made up for all the years he just stuck awkwardly with Sven, Jelissa, and their siblings. 

She clearly had snuck in more practice since their initial learn-to-skate session, and was easily gliding over the ice - nothing fancy, but clearly comfortable on skates. Every once in a while a good song would come on, and she would speed up to catch Sven and Jelissa as they danced and sang and all-around made fools of themselves.

He fucking loved it.

One song in particular had Sven crouched and shaking his ass back and forth as Anna smacked at it, the lyrics rapping something about fit fat asses and needing tempo and so many other words he couldn’t understand. Kristoff would have been jealous if it were anyone else, but there was absolutely zero reason for it with the two of them. He even found himself skating closer as Anna sang something about boyfriends watching and made little finger hooks to urge him over.

He would never be able to express how open and free he felt when she was by his side.

“Okay, I’m tired,” she laughed, leaning on Kristoff’s shoulder. “Water break.”

Kristoff gestured for her to lead the way, but shivered slightly when her hands slid over his hips as she came to a stop behind him, one arm lifting to flick at the bobble on top of his toque. “Take me where I need to be!” she hollered, wrapping her arms around his waist.  

So, as was his nature when it came to Anna, he did the exact opposite.

Bending at the knees, and hearing her quick realization of what was happening, Kristoff took off, almost full sprint, with Anna laughing wildly behind him. “Stop stop stop!” But her laughter was louder than the protests, so he kept going, zig zagging out of other skaters while she yelled apologies behind them. 

“Kristoff!!”

He grabbed her hands with his own, holding on tight to her, as he whipped around a corner.

“Too fast for you?” 

“Not even close!” 

Finally, when he had worn himself out, too, Kristoff came to a gradual stop right at the door, offering Anna a hand to help her step off the ice. She was still laughing, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and cupping her jaw in his palms. One more sighing laugh came from her throat as she looked up at him with a crooked smile.

She was so fucking beautiful.

He kissed her, deep and slow, earning a round of wolf-whistling from the adults in the rink. He didn’t even care, because her hands were gripping his and her chest was arching into his and god damn it, did he need something fancy to tell her what he wanted? “Anna…” His breath was heavy as he pulled away, swallowing around the new lump in his throat. “Anna, I…”

Her eyes were full of wonder as she kept her gaze locked onto his, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“I… I really --”

“Anna.”

Her fathers’ stern voice cut through their thoughts and she jumped away as quickly as she could, turning to face the owner with her hands clasped together behind her back.

Of course.

“Hi, papa.” She waved her fingers at Kristoff from behind her back, urging him to head back out onto the ice. “What’s up?” 

Kristoff felt her fathers’ eyes locked onto him as he took a few glides backwards, giving them the privacy he thought she might be asking for. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he felt unsettled as he tried his best to turn his attention back to his friends instead of on Anna, following the owner back into Mattias’ office.

—

Almost an hour passed before Anna reemerged. 

Mr. Arne had come out after just twenty minutes, bid his farewells, and told them to give his daughter some privacy before heading out of the arena. Kristoff had pulled out his phone and texted her, not wanting to barge in on something she didn’t want him to bear witness to. 

Is everything okay baby?

yeah! yep!! i’ll be out soon!! Sorry!!

Are you sure? I can come back if you want.

no!!! it’s fine! just doing some quick paperwork!!

He wasn’t sure he believed her, and the excess of exclamation points certainly didn’t help, but she wasn’t pleading for him to come and comfort her and he had to trust that she would ask if she had wanted him to. But when she came back out to the ice, he noticed her red nose and puffy cheeks, and immediately skated over to her. “Anna…?” 

A smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes?”

He scanned over her face, noting the softly twitching corner of her mouth and flaring of her nostrils that he could guess signified she wanted him to drop it. So… he held out his hand to her and waggled his fingers in her direction. “Wanna keep skating?” The relief he saw drop in her shoulders made him tense in her place as she nodded and stepped back onto the ice. 

It all felt different then. She kept a firm grip on his fingers as they moved slowly around the rink, no more enthusiasm in her small strides, and definitely no more dancing.

He had to try again. “Baby…” his voice was low, just above a whisper, as he pressed a kiss against her hairline.

“I’m fine. Please.” She kept her gaze firmly forward, until they reached the end of their second lap. She tugged on his arm just slightly, tilting her body towards the exit. “I think…” she started, biting her bottom lip. “I think that I really want to get a burger.”

Kristoff almost laughed. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s go. We can talk. Let me just grab my --”

But then she was red faced and she was hollering at Sven and Jelissa, waving them over and inviting them along. 

Anna didn’t want to be alone with him right now. 

Normally it wouldn’t bother him, but when it felt like she was going to some great length to avoid telling him what was bothering her, he could feel irritation prickling at his spine. Kristoff sighed and trailed behind the others as they made their way back to the locker room to grab their things. 

Soon after, they were all climbing into Sven’s Escalade, making their way to his favorite burger joint. He said it was a hole in the wall and you had to know someone to know about it. Kristoff couldn’t help but tease him, saying knowing him clearly hadn’t done them any favors.

Anna’s hollow laugh felt like a knife in his stomach.

He knew she’d tell him when she was ready, but there was a burning in the back of his throat that begged him to pester her until she caved, until she laid it all out on the table. But that was his father. That was something he would do. That wasn’t Kristoff. He wasn’t going to do that.

Instead, he reached over, clasped her hand in his, and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

At least this time her smile was a little more genuine.

[chaoswrites]

if you couldn’t tell by my most recent posts, the easiest way to determine if i’m just upset or actually really really sad for some reason is by the way i talk (aka type):

the loss of caps; if i stop expressing through capital letters, i’m probably actually sad

no random gibberish; i use keyboard smashes to help pick up the mood but if i’m not there myself, i will refrain from using it

no excessive use of punctuation; i’ll still use question marks and (sometimes) exclamation points but not nearly as much as when i’m upbeat

no spam of emojis; while i don’t always use emojis, i tend to use them a lot bc they are fun to me and help to further convey my message

change in word choice; usually i choose to use words that express or invoke emotions and use intense wording to get points across, which will not be found if i’m down. you will likely see more bland and boring wording like i used in this whole useless post

i am very sorry that you read through whatever this is. pls refrain from thinking you need to do anything if you happen to see these signs on my blog. you have no obligation to waste your time by trying to help me in anyway. again, i’m sorry. have a good day :)

[thespacenico]

·:*:·ﾟ★ winner takes all ★ﾟ·:*:·

- 2k word oneshot - romellura - getting together - commission for @/lunarriee on twitter!

The entire school is buzzing with excitement when Allura arrives the morning of the big game. 

Okay, so it’s not that big. Sure, they’re playing against their rivals, Galra High, but technically speaking it’s just like any other district game. Except for the fact that both teams have the same record with ten wins and one loss, and whoever secures victory tonight gets to go to the playoffs and try for the championship next month.

So yeah, no big deal. Only it is a big deal, and Allura’s got a lot riding on this—not only the potential championship, but also some things… unrelated to said potential championship.

Lance is already waiting at her locker as Allura makes her way down the hall, bouncing up and down on his heels with a grin, both hands tugging at the straps of his backpack. “Hey!” he greets her once she’s close enough, his smile widening mischievously. “Big day, huh?” 

Allura pointedly avoids his gaze as she twists the knob and opens her locker to exchange a few books, but she can’t quite hide the heat rising to her cheeks. “I suppose you could say that.”

“How do you feel?” 

“I feel fine.” 

“Are you nervous?”

Allura shoots a half-hearted glare in Lance’s direction. “Do you have to be quite so obvious about it?” 

Lance snorts and he shrugs, clearly amused. “What? Double meaning, ‘Lura. Anyone else would think we’re talking about the game.” 

“So, let’s keep it that way,” Allura whispers harshly, shoving another book into the depths of her locker. 

“C’mon, you can’t blame me for wondering. I just wanna make sure you haven’t chickened out, that’s all.” 

“I haven’t,” Allura says firmly, at the same time she pulls the last book she needs out of her locker, and a small pink slip of paper that had been on top of it falls to the floor between them.

They stare at it. Allura recognizes the lopsided heart drawn with a sparkly silver pen at the top right corner, right next to a doodle of a volleyball and a smiley face. Lance must recognize it too, because he looks up with yet another smile that’s much too smug for Allura’s liking and hums. “Looks like you’ve got fan mail.”

“Shut up,” Allura mutters, bending down to pick it up and leaning away when Lance tries to get a better peek. She holds her breath as she carefully unfolds the paper, eyes quickly scanning the writing scribbled across the page in a neat cursive.

Hi Allura!! Just wanted to say good luck in the big game today!!! You’re going to do great!!! I’ll be right there in the front row tonight cheering you on!!!!!! I believe in you!!! You got this!!!! Spike it in their faces!!!!! >:) I’ll see you in class!!!!!!!!

— R

“Wooow,” Lance whistles, effectively snapping Allura back to the present and subsequently allowing her to realize how miserably she has failed to hold back a goofy smile, hopelessly endeared by the excessive use of exclamation points. “You’ve got it bad.” 

“Would you stop it,” Allura huffs, and Lance bursts into laughter as she shoves at his shoulder, at which point Allura can’t help but keep on smiling. “Let’s go, we’re going to be late for class.” 

They part ways halfway down the hall like they usually do, Lance disappearing into his classroom with a teasing smile and a wave that Allura obligingly returns before continuing on her way. She regrets not checking her reflection in the mirror hanging in her locker now—she doesn’t do much with her hair on game days when she knows she’ll be putting it into a bun later, but she hopes it looks presentable at least. It’s a bit ridiculous, but her heart rate picks up as she nears her own classroom, excitement and anticipation stirring in her stomach and making her palms sweat. 

God, Lance is right. She has it so bad. 

Someone’s calling her name the moment she enters the room, and Allura is utterly helpless to the smile that crosses her face at the sight of Romelle, eyes bright as she waves excitedly and gestures for Allura to come sit by her, as if she ever sits anywhere else. Her hair is pulled back into two braids today, complete with a pink ribbon tied around the end of each. It’s as endearing as her love of exclamation points, as endearing as everything else about Romelle that Allura takes note of every single day. 

Which is why she’s made up her mind to ask her out after the game, if and only if they win. 

And she really, really, really wants to win.

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

It’s close—but they win.

Allura serves the ball into the deep left corner to score the point they need to pull ahead by two and win the third match. The crowded gymnasium erupts with cheering, and even as the rest of the team surrounds Allura and squishes together with shouts and whoops of celebration, the only person she can seem to see is Romelle, standing on the front row and yelling and jumping and smiling, just like she said she would be. 

She can’t stop smiling all the way back to the locker room.

Usually the team goes out to celebrate together after a big win like this, but since this means they’ll be going to the championship, they’re back to practice first thing in the morning. Their coach congratulates them, updates them on their new practice schedule, and sends them on their way. 

Allura snatches her things and practically trips out the door in her haste to leave the locker room, only to find that Romelle is already waiting for her in the hallway outside. Well, more like Romelle finds her, because the only reason Allura doesn’t fall face first to the floor is because of Romelle’s hands grabbing her shoulders and keeping her upright. 

“Sorry,” Allura blurts, although the rest of her apology dies on her tongue the moment she looks up to see Romelle grinning down at her, eyes bright and sparkling.

“You did amazing!” Romelle cheers, jumping up and down a few times in excitement before throwing her arms around Allura’s shoulders. Allura can only be thankful that her back is to the locker room, so the rest of her teammates coming out can’t see just how much her cheeks have darkened. “That was the best game ever, you actually spiked that girl in the face!”

That pulls a shaky laugh out of Allura, and subsequently gives her the confidence she needs to mimic Romelle and wrap her arms around her, leaning into the embrace more than she should probably let herself. She did, in fact, spike someone on the other team in the face for a point. The girl was fine, no broken nose or anything, but she does feel rather badly about it. “Uh, yes. I didn’t quite mean to, but since I did, we can just say I did it for you.” 

Romelle pulls back but doesn’t let go, hands remaining on Allura’s shoulders and Allura’s just above Romelle’s waist. “So? Are you going out to celebrate with the team?” 

“Oh. Um…” Allura glances over her shoulder as her last few teammates trickle out of the locker room, chatting excitedly to one another about the game as they walk down the hallway. “No, we have practice in the morning. Never too early to start preparing for the championship.” 

Romelle almost looks disappointed for her, a slight pout to her lips as her shoulders slump. “Aw, that’s too bad. Wins like this always deserve a special something of some sort.” 

Allura bites her lip, heart rate picking up as the voices of her teammates fade and disappear altogether. It’s just the two of them now, alone in a relatively secluded hallway after a big game, and Romelle is talking about special celebrations. Now is her opening, she just has to take it. 

She swallows, averting her gaze and nudging at the gym bag slung over her shoulder with her knee, suddenly hyper aware of their proximity. “Actually, um… Romelle, I was sort of hoping—er, I thought maybe, we could go somewhere.” 

Romelle’s eyes light up. “Oh! I think Lance and Keith are still here, do you want to go with them, too? I can go get them—” 

“No, I—” Allura struggles not to stumble over her words, clearing her throat and shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Romelle’s confused gaze. “I mean, usually I would, but I was thinking. That this time, it could just be you. And… and me.” 

She can envision the gears turning in Romelle’s head during the silence that follows, and even then she still can’t make herself look up. It’s sort of mortifying how quickly her heart is beating, both horrified and excited at the prospect of what exactly this would mean depending on how Romelle reacts. There’s not exactly any coming back from this. 

“Oh,” is what Romelle eventually answers. She says it softly, more softly than Allura has ever heard her say anything, with an air of realization. There’s another short moment of quiet, and then: “You mean like… a date?”

Allura finally manages to tear her gaze away from the floor, and her heart skips a beat at the expression on Romelle’s face. Because if she didn’t know any better, she’d say Romelle almost looks… hopeful? She swallows again. “I would like it to be,” she admits quietly. “If—if that’s okay with you.” 

Romelle stares at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as if she can’t quite believe what’s happening, and Allura isn’t sure exactly how to interpret that. All she can do is stand there and wait, and think about how Romelle’s hands are still on her shoulders and if she hasn’t moved away then that must be a good sign, but then again she’s never been shy about physical contact and being close to people has never bothered her, in fact she forgets about personal space sometimes, but that’s just a Romelle thing and everyone knows that about her and loves it about her and—

Allura’s ridiculous spiraling inner monologue is interrupted by Romelle’s mouth on hers, and after that her brain pretty much stops working completely. Her eyes fall shut on instinct, arms tightening around Romelle’s waist now that the space has been closed between them, and before she knows it she’s kissing back. Romelle’s fingers are slipping through the hair at the nape of her neck, and her nose brushes Allura’s cheek and Allura literally can’t comprehend that this is happening right now. 

They break apart too soon, but it may be for the best, because Allura’s heart is beating so fast now she’s pretty sure she’s at risk of passing out. Her eyes flutter open as she catches her breath, but it only catches in her throat when she sees just how brightly Romelle is smiling at her, dimples and all, hands moving to cradle Allura’s cheeks. They simply stare at each other for a few moments, and then Allura clears her throat again. 

“So… that’s a yes?”

Romelle’s smile grows and she giggles, and before Allura can even recover, Romelle is taking her hand and tugging her down the hallway, bouncing up and down with each step and giggling some more the whole way. 

“I know the perfect place, this diner has all-you-can-eat pancakes and they’re the best pancakes in town, plus they have raspberry syrup! And you can get hot chocolate and if you ask for extra whipped cream they put a mountain of it on top and by the time you get to the actual hot chocolate it’s not hot anymore so it’s more like chocolate milk, but it’s so good, you have to try it…”  

She rambles on and on and on about the aforementioned diner all the way down the hallway, all the way into the parking lot, and all the way to Allura’s car, and Allura smiles the whole way.

If she didn’t feel like a winner before, she certainly does now. 

[gemssum]

oh, to be alone with you

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Isabelle Flores / Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x OC / Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Reader

Rating: General Audiences — Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort

Isabelle and Dimitri finally have a calm moment alone within the chaos of the war.

Note: Though this is set up as a Canon x OC fic, there are no physical descriptions, so this could also pass as a Canon x Reader fic. Feel free to use a Chrome/Firefox extension like InteractiveFics to change “Isabelle” and the she/her pronouns to those of your choosing.

ao3 link

Isabelle hummed quietly as she rifled through her collection of tinctures, trying to find the exact ones she needed. Almost two weeks ago, Dimitri had been injured in a skirmish against Imperial troops. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but still required cautious care and numerous stitches. Today, Dimitri asked her to remove them—though really any of the healers at the monastery could complete the task just as well.

Isabelle, of course, accepted. She enjoyed the calm routine that medical work brought and, in this case, the quiet intimacy it offered with Dimitri.

The importance of their war duties meant that they could hardly have a spare moment for themselves, let alone each other. The war had spread them both thin, the ever-present strategy meetings and wounded soldiers in need of care caused them to seek one another out in the small pockets of time they could manage. For the past moon they had just enough time for short conversations during mealtimes and fleeting kisses in empty monastery corridors. It was tiring, and they were both thankful for this moment of reprieve.

While she continued her search, Dimitri was patiently waiting on the edge of Isabelle’s bed, taking in the scenery of her small room. He had visited her quarters a handful of times prior to this, but none of the encounters had ever lasted for very long. As a result, he still wasn’t used to how much of her was present in the small space.

Dimitri’s eye wandered to the various herbs growing on the windowsill and drying on the walls, their presence making a pleasant floral scent flow throughout the room. The fragrance always stuck to Isabelle’s clothing and never failed to calm Dimitri whenever he came across it.

Slightly smiling to himself at the thought, his attention shifted to the plethora of medical and magical equipment she kept. Her mildly disorganized shelves were full of various potions and balms meant to cure almost any ailment imaginable. The sheer number of them was almost puzzling.

Does she really have the time to use all of them?

“Ah! Found it,” Isabelle’s soft exclamation broke Dimitri out of his roaming thoughts. His gaze followed her as she made her way over to him, arms full of supplies.

She set her collection on the nightstand and moved to stand between Dimitri’s legs, “Alright, let's take these off.”

Her hands reached for his shoulders and made quick work of removing Dimitri’s large cloak, letting it fall in a pool behind him. He followed her lead, his fingers working to undo the clasps attached to his gauntlets.

Despite his attempts to conceal the movement, his hands were slightly shaky as he attempted to loosen the buckles. He wasn’t yet accustomed to having someone so close and regarding him so gently, least of all Isabelle. Even after the time they’d shared since confessing, he was still a mess when it came to her.

He figured he always would be.

The pair continued to move in tandem to finish removing Dimitri’s armor. The small clinks of metal-on-metal as each piece hit the floor were the only sounds that filled the otherwise quiet room.

When the final piece of armor was shed, Isabelle broke the silence between them with slight hesitation in her voice, “Now... your sweater.” Before Dimitri could respond, she quickly busied herself with organizing and sanitizing her tools, trying to give him a semblance of privacy.

Isabelle’s suddenly apprehensive state was nonexistent in her usual procedures. Her method of care had always been straightforward, and she had seen far worse on other soldiers than a simple bare, unbloodied torso.

Excessive modesty was not a problem when it came to her medical work. However, this was completely new territory for the pair. She’d hardly seen Dimitri out of his armor, let alone without portions of clothing.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t his state of undress that her mind was preoccupied with.

Really, Isabelle was worried about the vulnerable position Dimitri placed himself in when he asked her to remove his stitches. Past encounters meant she was already privy to his hesitation in revealing his scars to her. She clearly recalled the time she’d offered to examine his eye a few moons prior. He hastily declined—something that seemed out of place at the time.

Eventually Dimitri confessed his, admittedly unfounded, fear of her being judgemental of the copious battle scars he possessed—the permanent reminders of his darkened past.

Despite Isabelle’s own collection of scars and most sincere reassurances, he had yet to reveal them to her. Until today.

In a different time, the situation would simply be a mildly embarrassing encounter, quickly brushed off after a few awkward moments and shy glances. Though of course, their shared experiences over the past six years had tarnished that lighthearted possibility.

As Isabelle busied herself with cleaning a small pair of surgical scissors, Dimitri timidly removed the thick black sweater he wore under his armor. He shivered as his skin was revealed to the cold air of the room, almost tempted to pull his cloak around himself while Isabelle worked. However, she pulled over her wooden desk chair and placed herself in front of him before he could decide.

Though they were directly facing one another, neither person dared to glance at their partner—unspoken words tense in the air between them.

After what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few seconds, Isabelle was the first to look up. Her eyes finally took in the myriad number of scars littering Dimitri’s upper body.

Some were more substantial than others, with the largest one being a jagged white streak across the left side of his ribs. Others, like the few crossing the backs of his hands, were extremely small, almost to the point of invisibility.

Dimitri sat still, expression neutral under Isabelle’s scrutinizing gaze. She gently grasped his scarred hand in her own, causing him to lock eyes with her.

Slowly reaching up with her free hand, she lightly held his cheek, her thumb running just under the cloth of his eyepatch. Dimitri relaxed into her touch as his visible eye closed. He let out a small, contented sigh as she continued to caress his cheek.

She almost didn’t ask, but a short wave of boldness prompted her to murmur, “You don’t have to show me, but can I see this too?”

A beat passed, and Dimitri removed his hand from hers. Isabelle’s skin prickled and she retracted her hand, fearing she’d overstepped.

Her panic immediately dissipated at the sight of Dimitri reaching up to untie the small piece of fabric. He slowly pulled the black patch away, finally revealing to her the damage beneath it.

The scar was an uneven red, running diagonally from just under Dimitri’s brow bone to below the outer corner of his eye. The eye itself was still intact, the only visible damage a hint of cloudiness across his iris.

Isabelle inched closer, hand still raised, almost as if asking permission. He reassured her, “It’s alright if you wish to touch it. It’s no longer painful.”

Again, she rested her hand against his cheek. His eyes slowly closed, letting her have an unobstructed view.

Using her thumb, she lightly grazed his eyelid. The scar was rough, and looked much larger now that she could see it in its entirety.

“How did you get this?” she probed, wary of breaking the moment between them. Dimitri sighed, his voice wavering, “It happened shortly after my escape from imprisonment. A small group of Imperial soldiers overtook me, and one of their lances caught my eye before I was able to dodge it.”

Isabelle moved to grasp both of his hands in her own, trying her best to soothe him. This was the most he’d ever discussed his past injuries with her, and while she wanted to hear more, his feelings were her current priority.

“Thank you,” she said warmly, lacing their fingers together.

Dimitri’s eyes opened in mild confusion, “You’re... thanking me?”

Isabelle smiled, “I am. I remember how uneasy you were before. So, thank you for trusting me.”

“I’ll always trust you,” He confessed, expression softening.

Her smile widened and she leaned forward, kissing Dimitri just under his right eye, “I’ll always trust you too.”

She hoped her action reflected what she couldn’t find the words to say. I love you. Even through the moments you regret.

“Now, are you ready for me to work on this?” she asked, referring to the bandage still covering his shoulder. Dimitri’s expression widened in mild surprise, taken out of the moment, “Ah, right,” he chuckled at his reaction, “Yes. I am.” Her hands untangled from his, and she slowly began removing the tape holding his bandage in place.

Isabelle worked calmly, the mood between her and Dimitri immediately soothed from their earlier apprehension. She fell easily into the well-practiced routine of sterilizing her hands and the wound, then smoothly cutting the small pieces of thread holding it together.

Using her tweezers, she slowly began to pull each thin stitch from Dimitri’s skin. His face pulled into a slight grimace at the foreign feeling.

“Sorry,” Isabelle murmured.

“It’s alright. It’s just… strange.”

“Do you think you’d ever want to learn how to do something like this?” she asked, trying to distract him. Dimitri chuckled, eyes still focused on Isabelle’s steady hands. “While I’ve gotten a bit better, I still do not think I’m suited for such delicate work,” he paused, “and besides... I like this.”

Under different circumstances his comment would seem strange, but she understood his underlying meaning: “I like seeing the focused look in your eye, the methodical movement of your hands,” and most importantly, “I like that I’ve changed.”

At the start of the war, when he was plagued by survivor’s guilt more than ever, Dimitri would continuously refuse treatment for even the most dire of battle wounds. He would neglect his health until he was on the brink of collapse, forced to begrudgingly seek healing. Over time he became more comfortable with asking for help, something she was definitely thankful for.

Isabelle smiled as she pulled out the final stitches, “I like this too.”

She continued to work in silence, gently cleaning the now unsutured wound with a small cloth. Dimitri intently watched her deft fingers as they placed small adhesive strips to ensure the gash’s closure.

“You’ll need to be careful during training for a little while longer. I still don’t want you to risk it reopening,” she reminded him as she placed a fresh bandage.

“I’ll do my best,” he teased, accustomed to her excessive worry for him.  

She gave him an amused look of mock disapproval and handed him a set of bandages, “And change your dressings at least once a day. Come to me or one of the other healers if it reopens or begins to look infected.”

She stood, ready to put away her supplies, but a pair of arms stopped her. Dimitri’s grasp was lightly wrapped around her waist, loose enough to allow her to pull away if she wished. His face was hidden against her abdomen.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into her dress.

She softened, her surprise quickly dissipated. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she hugged him more fully, kissing the crown of his head.

“I‘ve missed you too. But I’m here now, Dimitri.”

Dimitri tightened his hold, her earlier gesture making him bashful. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you tonight?” he asked. ”I wish to stay with you a little while longer.”

Isabelle reached down, gently turning his head to face her. She gazed softly down at him, amusement in her voice, “Is that even a question?”

He averted his eyes, “Well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous and—“ She cut him off, “Of course you can stay. You always have a place here, you know”

He sighed, content, and rested his cheek against her again, “Thank you.”

It was then that Dimitri shivered, still affected by the chill of the room. Slightly releasing her hold, Isabelle reached for Dimitri’s cape and draped it over his bare shoulders, “Here.”

Without missing a beat, he reached to wrap her in the cloak as well, cocooning them together in its warmth. The pair remained in their close embrace, each of them soothed by the others proximity.

“As much as I want to stay like this, I still need to clean up,” Isabelle said, voice muffled by Dimitri’s hair. Dimitri nestled further into her collarbone, reluctant to let her go.

After a moment he finally pulled away, letting Isabelle move to gather her supplies.

While she organized her impromptu workspace, Dimitri began removing the armor covering his lower body. They moved quickly, both of them impatient to be back in the other’s space.

Dimitri completed his task first, and had just enough time to wrap himself back in his cloak before Isabelle followed suit.

Finally finished, she made her way from her crowded shelves back to Dimitri’s waiting form. He started uncrossing his arms, ready to be back in their previous embrace.

Instead of meeting his invitation, she paused at the head of the bed frame and unlaced her boots. Dimitri gave her a mildly puzzled look as he watched her move past him and crawl onto the small bed.

Laying down behind him, she held out her arms, “I know it’s not time for bed yet, but will you still rest with me for a bit?”

He immediately turned to meet her waiting grasp and parroted her earlier words, “Is that even a question?”

“Very funny,” she happily retorted, pulling him in.

Dimitri laid his cape across them as a makeshift blanket, the fur-lined collar lightly tickling their skin.

They quickly found each other, their limbs tangling together as a side effect of the limited bed space and their mutual want to be as close as possible.

“I know I said this before but, I’ve missed you, Belle. I’ve missed being with you. Uninterrupted, I mean.”

Isabelle pushed an untamed strand of hair from his face. “You know I feel the same, of course. At least...” she paused, choosing her words carefully. “When this is over we’ll have time.”

Neither of them wanted to think of the real implications of ending the war, or if they would even be successful in doing so. For that moment they ignored thoughts of opposing forces and the sorely needed reconstruction awaiting them after victory.

They simply thought of having more moments like this.

“I want that. More than you know.”

Isabelle grinned and lightly pressed her lips against his, “I think I have an idea.”

The pair settled against their pillows, noses almost touching and eyes becoming lidded. Before they were completely pulled down by drowsiness, Dimitri broke the silence between them.

“And about my scars...”

Isabelle’s surprised gaze immediately met Dimitri’s calm one. She wasn’t expecting him to return to that subject so quickly.

“Not all of them are shameful,” he continued. Isabelle watched his face with rapt attention, waiting to hear more.

Dimitri smiled wistfully, “There’s one on my back that I received during the tragedy.” He skimmed his hand along her spine, grounding himself. “Even though that was one of the most awful times of my life, one good thing came from it.”

Isabelle reached up and ran her fingers through the hair at Dimitri’s nape, attempting to soothe him. He relaxed under her touch.

“That scar is the reminder of when I saved one of my dearest friends. It causes me to believe that maybe there’s a reason I’m here, whatever that reason may be.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Isabelle said softly, sincerely.

Dimitri inched forward, gently kissing her, “After everything...I’m glad I’m here too.”

It means I get more time with you.

[spamzineglasgow]

(REVIEW) Miscellaneous by Julia Rose Lewis

In this review, Maria Sledmere visits the verdant isle of Julia Rose Lewis’ pamphlet Miscellaneous (Sampson Low, 2019), and engages chaotically with its shape-shifting poetics of ecstasy, digression and slippery things.

> Miscellaneous: of various kinds; elements of different kinds. A little green book full of miscellany. The work of Julia Rose Lewis has been dealing in miscellany (let me say it as much I can, it’s a lovely word) for a while now. Lewis’ collection Phenomenology of the Feral (Knives Forks and Spoons Press 2017) was a veritable assemblage of household objects, clothing items, all things edible (from oranges to gummy bears), tools, chemicals and other substances. Words had a Steinian tendency to slip, where a ‘pear’ becomes ‘peer’ and sugar becomes sand. The whole book teems with a delicious excess of things and their zoomed-in, jostling, merging and almost psychedelic relation (I mean just consider the multicoloured octopus-bunny hybrids on the cover). Her recent pamphlet, Miscellaneous (2019), a slender offering from chapbook series Sampson Low, edited by fellow dealer in poetic animalia, SJ Fowler, continues this playful approach to disordering objects, experience and relation.

> Explicitly ‘inspired’ by Green Eggs and Ham, a classic children’s book by Dr. Seuss, Miscellaneous works with its foodstuffs in a fractal and kind of ecstatic way. Ecstasy meaning rapture or transport; Miscellaneous as a little island of strong emotion. I want to say island, but I could just as easily say green tomato. It’s difficult to resist the seduction of island metaphors during quarantine, and besides, Lewis herself spent time as a child in Nantucket Island. According to the publisher, Miscellaneous ‘asks if it is possible to have a mutually healthy relationship between a human and an island’. In an interview from 2016 with Katy Lewis Hood, Lewis says, ‘I use writing about the place I’m longing for as an antidote; I see islands as stories and stories as islands’. Staying with that chiasmus, might we see Miscellaneous itself as a kind of place? The scales upended sufficient to slip into our pocket, a zoomy island remainder? A dinky little 12-page island you could circle on foot and do it again and again — for this is a book that loves repetition, a veritable jaunt on the anaphora express, a 5-7 syllabic ride on the waves. But it’s difficult to know what constitutes the very land you walk or ride on:

A mane! A terrain! A mane is a terrain through and through and should you be guarding the herd inside the river valley? You hold this territory? Not harnessed! Not in a horse-less carriage!

Lewis plays deliciously with the fact of metaphor as a transport, a vehicle, while thrashing around in the joy of assonance and sound as forces of meaning and meaning’s disruption. What’s more, the repeated invocation of the ‘you’ means I’m forever hailed back to the scene; I can’t leave the island utterly behind, can’t glide drone-like over its landscapes. Besides, maybe it’s more like an archipelago? Terrain is a region of land, a system of rocks or geological formations, a standing-ground or position. Lewis teases us with the ever resolving, dissolving, negating terrains of lyric. Those exclamation marks are surely provocations to the reader, as much as the swept up proclamation of revelling in words themselves (thinking of the upward-looking heart emoji, reacting to a message). Her ‘I’ (perhaps riffing off the O’Haran tradition of I do this I do that poems, via Colin Herd’s I like this I like that variation) is quite demanding, precise, has an eye for arrangement (‘The musk ox is not in the / ocean’), identification, variation, placement (‘They disappear’). As with the effect of haiku (a kind of ‘cut’ of images), she challenges ‘nature’/object relations by similarity and contrast:

I would not like that morose woman faraway, that maiden hair tree. I am that old ginkgo tree.

What is the connection between the morose woman and the maiden hair? Does the fact of the speaker being the ‘old ginkgo’ explain her conditional dislike of the woman? And is the maiden hair tree the same as the woman? With its short, invitational lyrics, Miscellaneous gives you time to wander around the ideas of things, ideas in things. Maybe it’s telling the story of an island which is really a metaphor for Earth: its ‘holding pattern[s]’, its ‘there or anywhere’, its snowy territories, its ‘dry grasses / and mosses’ (v. Eliotic, ‘The Dry Salvages’ of Four Quartets?), its ‘skyhook’, its ‘living fossil leaf’ with ‘many millions of years’ inside it. Crudely speaking, ecopoetry often tries so hard to seem either objective (ecomimesis) or explicitly subjective (Romantic); the speaker of these poems insists on a kind of declarative, shape-shifting reality, whose run-on code requires the user command of something more than human. ‘You hold all the weeks / would you tote the boulders here?’ The labour of bringing the world to life in poetry is more than just reading; you have to really consider toting the boulders of words around. There’s a weird hospitality to this, a gesture of extending the voice: ‘So I / say try the bloom of mold!’. Maybe as a reader I’d speak better the world with the mold in my throat. It’s these kinds of special conditions Miscellaneous gets at so well. What the chapbook gives is a portable miscellany, a set of questions, a dicey and moreish feast of seeing the world anew — at all scales and dwellings, from a ‘ptarmigan nest’ to the air itself. Better eat up.

> Lewis’ smart and choppy lines remind me of the best chefs at the restaurant where I used to work, who would dice veg or make meat cuts with a certain deftness, all the while engaging in dishevelled conversation. I would ask, from which precise bay are the oysters sourced, and the chef would lecture me on the valiance of a 2Pac album. We would swerve from one topic to another by the time of the bell: language defined by the beat and demand of cooking. It was good to feel enslaved to the temporality of the microwave, the rising of bread, the petulant delay on the part of a chicken. And you might say, O maria what does this have to do with Julia Rose Lewis’ new book? And I would say, well, it’s all about iteration, digression, perversion of recipe. The poetic line as the flick of sweaty chef hair, the child’s demanding inquisition, the special way of dodging the question. But don’t let me fill you up with nonsense.

> There’s this weird piece in The Guardian that totally disses Dr. Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham, which I’ll admit I haven’t read this side of puberty. The author, Emma Brockes, is pretty damning: ‘two-thirds of the words feel like filler’, ‘the rhyme scheme [...] is like something a kid would throw at a homework assignment so he could finish and run out to play’, ‘[Seuss’] books are creepy, empty, over-long, cheap, twee writing posing as whimsy’. Maybe I don’t have a striped ankle to stand on here, but I can’t help but think Brocke is missing a point somewhere. What’s wrong with poetry that wants to fly through itself quickly, all the better for the writer to go out and play? I’m thinking of something Jack Spicer writes in one of his letters to Lorca, describing how there are times in a poet’s life where ‘the objects change’ when ‘someone intrudes into the poet’s life’ so a certain balance is lost. ‘The seagulls, the greenness of the ocean, the fish—they become things to be traded for a smile or the sound of conversation—counters rather than objects’. You sort of get the feeling Brocke got tired of this (too many counters, too much supposed impeachable brilliance) and upended the board, sending everything scattering to miscellany. Maybe that was the appropriate reaction. I’d like my poetry to have that effect sometimes. And then I’d quite like to run out and play, or fall in love (if we were not in lockdown), or otherwise just write you a blowsy prosy letter.

> There’s this idea of Green Eggs and Ham as a childhood exercise in epistemological questioning. Asking you to think about how experience establishes beliefs about the world. Miscellaneous quite obviously trades in the empirical possibilities of knowing, experimenting in what happens when certain patterns or conditions are put into play (it’s worth noting that Julia Rose Lewis is also a scientist by training). I think of a child stuffing sand in its mouth, learning about size, scale, texture, taste. A child that learns a tomato is good when ripe and sweet. I also think of judging when I might cross the road, or a chemist inching just a *wee* bit more of X in the formula (is that how it works? is it like choosing to add another comma to a poem - what exactly is the risk of explosion?). Every day of our lives we are hedging, testing. ‘If you will then I will try / rain on rain on rain’; how I learn from you, a fashionable imitation in the wearable weather/whether. Things pile up, acquire elemental charge; the poems are teasingly object-oriented; the ‘I’ is an iterative effect of desires, repulsions and relations. Substances effect themselves into life and I think of Francis Ponge and the orange. Expression is something to be ‘endured’. How does an object hold itself in a poem, without being overly squeezed into miscellany, matter? Lewis uses the singsong effects of poetry (repetition, rhyme), to play with causality and intention. In the final poem, for example, is the ‘gold’ ‘old’ and what temporality is ‘golden’; is it the ‘spring /green’ or the speaker who is ‘cold’?

> Miscellaneous in general describes a kind of extra or supplementary category, that which escapes the normative set. Perhaps there is then a case for this being a kind of queer object-oriented poetics. Things are slippery and hungry and irresistibly insistent. They become the book itself, the little object in your hand, tomato green as ‘the spring / green tomatoes in sea salt’, sprinkled with salty little words. This is a case for frivolity and filler and whimsy in poetry, for appetite and affect, salty wit, the necessity of dancing around sentiment, excess, sweetness and swerve. ‘I will eat the spring / fruit upside down’; the fruit of the book you peel again.

Miscellaneous is out now and available from Sampson Low.

~

Text and image: Maria Sledmere

Published: 12/6/20

[littlespacecadets]

Hi hi! So lately when I regress I get over excited about everything which would be fine except that it gets on my fiancées nerves and she doesn’t know I’m a little cuz I’m too terrified to tell her and lose her >..

Greetings and salutations, Mickey! Congratulations on your engagement! I gotta say, it’ll be easier and more beneficial in the long run if you tell your fiancee about your regression. This post explains how to explain to another person that you’re an age regressor, and may help if you do decide to tell her. If you don’t, that’s your decision to make, just make sure that you’re happy :)

Now, to the topic at hand, I can definitely understand getting over excited about things (as you may have noticed by my excessive use of exclamation points in all of my posts, lol). I reel myself in a bit in two ways:

The first way is if I’m getting overexcited while talking: what I do is try to keep my voice from getting too loud and/or squeaky. The only way to do it is by just by keeping in mind how you’re talking. It can be hard at times, but I’m not too sure how else to do it.

The second way is if I don’t really need to be talking: what I do is instead of gushing about how excited I am, I express myself in other ways. This can involve quickly bouncing on my feet from the excitement, drawing/writing/crafting something related about what I’m excited about, or researching whatever I’m excited about. Basically it’s just channeling your excitement through other outlets.

I feel like you may benefit by half-regressing, which is when you don’t go into little space entirely. If you click that link, I detail various ways in which you can half regress, which may be able to help you!

I hope I was able to help! Good luck!

[ndrv3haven]

This is my submission dedicated to @kibasniper for @danganevents valentines fic exchange. Sorry I was a little late, some things came up. It’s my first time writing for this pairing, and I hope you like it!

It was a relatively decent day for Kaede Akamatsu. At school, they had to pair up for a project and she got a good partner for once… or so she thought.

Tenko Chabashira was walking besides her, complaining about their male classmates’ behavior. She often had the tendency to look down on men and be highly critical of every little thing they did… Then again, she also had this ‘little’ infatuation for girls, specifically Himiko which scared Kaede a bit; but when she found herself side by side with her she noticed that Tenko was a much more pleasant company than she would have expected. They made small chat about all sorts of things, the blonde being especially careful to not mention the opposite gender.

It proved to be fairly easy, since the discussion was mainly about Neo-Aikido and how people tend to often misunderstand its importance. Soon enough, the conversation shifted onto her achievements and love for the arts, Kaede listening low key amazed; firstly, because of the awards in question and how unbelievable they were compared to her own, and secondly because how immersed she seemed to be. It was as if everything else ceased to exist, and that fact reminded her once again how unusual her classmates could sometimes be.

“Kaede, what do you think? Would you be able to train with me someday?” She didn’t know how their talk got to that point since she wasn’t fully paying attention, but the question slightly baffled her.

“Um… Of course! Though I’m not familiar at all with Aikido, so I’m not that good…”

“Woaah!! You actually said yes?! I mean, I really didn’t expect you to! Every time I would ask Himiko she’d always say it’d be too tiring for her…” There she goes again with Himiko. She was all over her every single moment of the day, and Kaede was questioning why that wasn’t the case at the moment.

“Speaking of Himiko, why didn’t you pair up with her for the project?”

“…She didn’t want to.”

“Oh…” the silence that followed was more saddening than awkward, since Tenko slumped in her posture and looked like a dejected little puppy. Not that she could be blamed for that, as her crush didn’t hesitate to reject her, it seemed.

“But that doesn’t matter!! I mean, you just told me you’d be willing to train! So that makes me really happy, you didn’t ask anything bad!!!” her sudden reaction and exclamation points startled Kaede a bit, but managed to shrug it off by offering her a slightly nervous smile. Out of nowhere, she got an idea that might help break the ice for the project.

“Say, wouldn’t it be a good idea to hang out somewhere before we start? I have a place in mind-“

“OOOOH!! We could have a picnic! My house is close by, I happen to have sandwiches and everything we need prepared!!” …She wasn’t going to ask further. But it would be fairly easy to guess why she’d keep a huge amount of food available with Himiko around.

As Tenko said, walking to her home didn’t take too long; not only that, but she also eagerly invited Kaede inside. It was common courtesy, yet she still felt a little out of place since her and Tenko hadn’t really spoken that much. The interior was decorated normally, a thing one wouldn’t quite expect from the Ultimate Aikido Master. Of course, there were some martial arts motifs lying around.

With a quick ‘I’ll be right back’ the slightly shorter girl disappeared into the kitchen, swiftly returning with two decently sized lunch boxes. When meeting Kaede’s gaze, she offered her a wide smile, excitement visible in her eyes. “But there’s no picnic without a picnic mat!” Apparently she had one… lying right on the couch??

“T-Tenko… Did you actually prepare everything knowing you’ll get paired up with someone and… ask them to have a picnic?”

“O-o-o-of course not!!!! This just happened to be random, see?? I didn’t even know what kind of sandwiches you like, so I totally wasn’t prepared for this!!” at this point, her face was clearly redder than usual and nervous droplets of sweat dripped from her chin which surprised the blonde a bit since it was such an unusual sight. But then, it finally clicked.

“…You got this ready for Himiko, didn’t you?”

“W-what, no!!! I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to, but no!!” her lightning fast response gave Kaede all she needed to know.

“Look… It’s okay. Even if Himiko didn’t want to hang out with you, which I’m not really sure why,” oh, she definitely knew why “you don’t have to pretend you’re happier than you actually are. It’s alright to be sad from time to time.”

“B-but… but…” Slouching in her posture, she let out a sigh and avoided the other’s eyes. “I just don’t understand… What did I do wrong…? Himiko and Angie always hang out, and… they leave me out all the time!! But maybe… maybe I really am annoying Himiko, there’s no way she can be possibly wrong!!”

“No, that’s not true! I’m sure she needs a little more time to get used to you, but you really aren’t annoying. It’s actually the opposite, since you’re so energetic you tend to rub off on others, and that’s a good thing!”

“But I must surely be bothering you right now! Instead of having a picnic, I’m just wasting your time with my excessive whining…”

“I don’t know how exactly I can convince you otherwise, but… wait, I have an idea. Since we have all weekend to finish our projects, why don’t we go hang out with Himiko and Angie? We could even have a picnic together, since you’ve prepared quite a bit of food and it’d be a shame if we wasted it. What do you say?” Kaede eagerly waited for a response, while Tenko didn’t hesitate to show her reluctance. After an incredibly short amount of time, she gave in, letting her elation take over.

“YES!! And it won’t be only me and Himiko, so that way… but are you sure you want to? I don’t want to involve you in my problems because you felt that you had no choice…”

“Look, this is my choice. I may not have spoken too much with either of them, but that’s why we could try hanging out! It doesn’t hurt to get to know each other better, and this is also a good opportunity for Himiko to warm up to you!” she tried to convey her excitement into speech, yet there were some things better left to Tenko and her seemingly limitless energy. “…of course, I do like picnics too, so…” mumbling, she smiled bashfully.

Letting her emotions out, she gleefully grabbed Kaede’s hands and thanked her, while also reminding her of how she’ll make sure the picnic would be enjoyable for all. A quick call was all it needed to convince Angie, who took it upon herself to carry Himiko along. It would be no easy task, but something assured Kaede they'd show up; she couldn't quite tell what that something was, though.

Trying to lower Tenko's eagerness to sprint out the door turned out to be a difficult challenge. Soon enough, she calmed down and walked besides Kaede as calm as she could... which was definitely not that.

Soon enough, they made it to the park where Angie, Himiko and Atua apparently, waited for them. Laying the mat and readying the sandwiches faster than one would say "nyeh", Tenko just couldn't contain herself. Kaede mostly just sat and watched, steering the conversation from men whenever she could. The food was amazing, even Atua praised them from wherever he was, according to Angie. Himiko grinned slightly while slowly munching on hers, and that meant the world to Tenko.

A few minutes of small chat turned into hours, and meaningless words took the form of secrets and confessions. The evening's rays of sun highlighted the small group of girls, giving the shortest one a headache. The rest answered to her complaints and parted, hurrying to their respective homes as it had gotten quite late. The gentle smiling Kaede and the overexcited Tenko once again found themselves walking besides each other. This time though, there were things that needed to be said.

"Kaede, thank you so much!! I really wouldn't have gone through with this idea alone, how can I possibly repay you?!"

"Geez, Tenko... You're talking as if I did something actually meaningful; instead I just hung out with my friends, no big deal."

"Aaahhh, you're too kind! I certainly don't deserve someone as good or pretty as you..."

"P-pretty?? I wouldn't really say that... "

"It's true!! And spending this day with you... has made me realize something." It was hard to believe Tenko actually used a serious tone, and by the looks of it she even attempted to look Kaede in the eyes, but immediately failed and avoided her gaze, wearing a thoughtful expression.

"I've realized there are people other than Himiko... and that, maybe, I didn't like her as much as I thought... What I mean is... Waaaah, I can't say it!" her face was tomato colored, and her nervousness made itself visible with her seemingly quivering lower lip.

"It's okay. I'm sure you'll be able to say it someday. You're strong, and I believe in you!" it was more than obvious what she was meaning to confess, yet Kaede was thankful she couldn't do it. She was not quite sure of her feelings for Tenko, and she didn't know how her vague answer would affect the other. Fortunately, Tenko reacted well to her encouragement and nodded; her motivated self back once again.

Of course, maybe with a little more time, she'd consider other options as well.

[chaoticneutralwriter]

12; Similarity

In which perhaps you’re not as different as you thought

idol!Jimin x staff!reader (lowkey fan)

genre: fluff, comedy, awkwardness, slow-burn (if you haven’t picked up on that yet)

word count: 2.2k

A/N: You’ve heard of Serendipity and Singularity, now get ready for....Similarity (I’llstoplol)

A follow up to Trapped.

“I can’t believe we actually managed to organize this mess….” You murmur out in disbelief, sitting against the wall and staring at the much neater pile of boxes, clearly separated into piles to be recycled or stored. You feel your gaze go a little vacant, the physical and mental effort finally catching up to you and taking its toll. It has taken you and Jimin approximately three hours to get it all done; four if you count the first hour of being locked in the closet just banging the door and calling for help. It wasn’t until you had rung your hand to the point of cramping that you realized you could totally distract yourself by continuing the job at hand. But now that that’s all said and done….

 “Yeah, we got something done at least right?” Jimin says good-naturedly, grinning as he looked around the room with a sense of pride. He turns to you when you didn’t respond, his grin slipping a little as he catches sight of your troubled expression, eyes locked onto your phone screen which read the time: 10:30PM. Damn it was late.

 Jimin saunters over to where you’re seated, sliding down with ample space between the two of you as he pulls out his own phone as well.

 “I’ll try calling Yoongi-hyung or Namjoon-hyung, they’ll most likely still be in their studios at this time.” He says softly, his tone underlying with reassurance. You smile a little at that because God knows your own co-worker friends aren’t. But as Jimin puts down his phone in a sign that his call has gone unanswered once again, you can’t help the sigh that escapes you. You see him shoot a message in their group chat, fingers flying and the smile creeps larger on your face as you see the excessive exclamation marks he tags on. When he’s finished, his gaze is on you, immediately making you look elsewhere.

 “They must be pretty busy with something if they’re not answering my calls or text….” Jimin mumbles and you can hear the pout in his voice. You let out a absent-minded hum, teeth beginning to chew on your bottom lips. 

 “I just don’t want to be locked in here the entire night.” You say, eyes trained on the door as if through sheer willpower you can get it to open.

 “Do you hate being locked in with me that much, noona?” Jimin jokes. You tear your gaze from burning a hole into the door to the male sitting beside you to see him pouting, full bottom lip jutting out and eyes narrow into a half-hearted glare. Your own mouth gapes open in offence; retort ready at the tip of your tongue but it comes out in a flustered stutter.

 “N-No! I’m just saying you know? Like, it would suck to be stuck in here in general.” Your face is getting hot and Jimin notices as well because he loses his pout and half glare in favour of letting out a giggle.

 “I’m just kidding noona. You just seem a little,” He hesitates; smile faltering in his uncertainty before he finishes, voice a little small. “Tense.” His eyes avert from your own to his lap, fingers starting to fiddle with his phone and for a moment, he reminds you of a very shy sixteen year old trying to talk to his crush. It’s endearing, you think yet marvel at the same time how he can go from one extreme to the other in what seems like a snap of the finger. You continue watching him, noting the way he chews on his bottom lip, lost deep in thought. Whatever they are, you see that they were eating away at him internally because gradually, his brows pinch together in a show of worry and frustration. It makes your own thoughts bubble with concern. Finally, it seems with a mind made up, Jimin’s dark brown eyes whip up to meet yours. 

 “Noona,” He calls, bringing you out of your reverie as he brings his eyes back to you. Jimin’s eyes were wide and had taken on a very puppy-like quality to the point you can’t help but snap to attention, wondering what it is that he’s about to say with that kind of look and after pondering for some time.

 “Y-Yes?”

 “I—Uh,“ He pauses, blinking a few times and unconsciously reaching up a hand to rub his neck. “What happened earlier — I, um, It wasn’t — I mean, I didn’t mean to…do that.” His hands shift to running through his hair, combing the locks rather roughly before they fall back into place as his eyes struggle to remain on you. Jimin’s face is pinched into a troubled look again, his annoyance seemingly towards himself. It almost makes you crack a smile but you hold back, opting to patiently wait until he’s gathered himself again. “What I mean is that I’m really sorry noona. I must’ve made you really uncomfortable and I didn't know what I was thinking — more like I wasn’t thinking but….” His voice gets smaller as he trails off and the pinkness in his cheeks grow until his eyes dart away to fixate on his lap again. “I’m sorry.” 

 “….Oh.” So that’s what it was. You nod your head slowly, processing the information before the tiniest of smiles creeps its way onto your lip, finding yourself mirroring Jimin’s nervous habits as you flounder to form a response. “I-It’s okay. You just…. surprised me.” Like, a lot. “I’m…not really used to that sort of…thing.” Least of all, from someone like Jimin. You add with a nervous chuckle. Jimin’s cheeks go impossibly red before he ducks his head down, ruffling his hair with his hands and groaning.

 “Ah! So embarrassing!” He whines to himself, the mortification practically radiating off of him. 

 You bite your lip to contain yourself from laughing. Though it had put you in quite the nervous spot at the time, you’re not one to hold any ill feelings towards Jimin. By the way he’s acting now, it further adds to the image of the shy sixteen year old talking to his crush you had earlier. Your heart flutters at the thought, absolutely cooing at the idea but your logical mind is going haywire; Jimin, nervous, because of you? Inconcievab — !!

 “I understand if you ignore me from now on.” Jimin’s voice, though slightly muffled from (still) hanging his head in shame, cuts through to you instantaneously, a wheezing cough escaping you as if the remark had physically done harm. Your eyes zero in on his sulking form, a flurry of emotions passing through you and mixing together into a ball of confusion, incredulousness, shock, and —

 “Hh-W-What?” You choke out rather ungracefully. The force of it was enough to draw Jimin’s attention, eyes finally glancing your way tentatively with concern. Even as you’re choking pathetically on air, you have half the mind to be amazed and touched that in spite of his embarrassment, he still has the thoughts to worry over your well-being. You fan yourself; inhaling deeply in attempts to calm your fit until eventually, they die off. You clear your throat a bit for good measures, your cheeks are burning from the ordeal and your vision a little watery but you make an effort to hold Jimin’s attention this time.

 “I…I won’t do that Jimin-ah.” You say quietly. “I mean, it surprised me but…. I’m not gonna like, hold it against you or something…”

 You see Jimin lick his lip before he’s puffing his cheeks a bit, nose scrunching as he grimaces. “…But it was still pretty dumb of me to have done that though…” 

 You open your mouth to reprimand but then find yourself closing it because…. Okay, it wasn’t dumb but you won’t disagree that he probably shouldn’t have tried to give you a heart attack but—!

 “Maybe, warn me next time?” You offer with a sheepish smile.

 There’s a moment of silence between you and quite suddenly you find yourself in leagues with your shy, awkward teenager imagery you had for Jimin. You’re both blinking at each other, thumbs twiddling and not knowing what to do (the bonus here was you still have that dumb, lopsided grin on your face; you swear you probably look like the shrug emoji right now). The epiphany of it all however, starts to sink in and the beginnings of a giggle bubbles in you because what a pair you two must make right now. You swear if Yoongi were here, he would have a field day of teasing.

 Jimin must’ve caught your quivering lips desperately holding back the sound because slowly but surely, his own plump ones are pulling back into a grin, teeth on full display. He breaks first, the first high notes of a giggle filtering through before his shoulders start to shake a little more. The show of mirth prompts you to release your own giggles finally and before you know it, you’re both full on laughing (probably at how ridiculous the whole situation is).

 Your laughter begins to subside; dwindling to a light chuckle with a grin still wide. You take the time admire Jimin, the way his eyes squint shut, head thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing and mouth agape as he tries to reel himself back in. It’s absolutely adorable, the sight makes your heart warm and as Jimin calms down, the feeling seems to only grow. He’s glowing so beautifully, even in the unflattering, harsh fluorescent lighting. He’s still smiling in a way where his cheeks appear fuller, eyes sparkling and just adding to his boyish charms. God, you swear you can feel the heart eyes now. 

 “You’re really kind, noona. You shouldn’t forgive me so easily….” He says, a shyness taking over and your heart swells again.

 “Honestly, I don’t think you can ever upset me…” You find yourself blurting and embarrassingly enough, it takes you a good second to realize that you actually said those words, out loud instead of just, you know thinking it —!!!  Of course, it was a second too late because the words register with Jimin, his carefree expression morphs into one of astonishment. His eyes slightly widen as you feel yours doing the same and if it was anyone but you at this moment, you would find how comically you both turn red at the same time (like was that even possible??). Regardless, you feel the heat and in such ferocity that you swore you look like a human tomato. 

 You turn away in a pathetic attempt to hide your face, praying desperately now for the earth to just swallow you whole or the shelf to come crashing down with boxes to give you temporary amnesia so you can forget that you actually did that!! 

 As if the Gods had taken pity on you, a noise erupts throughout the room and before you know it, the door clicks open and a dark head cladded in an equally dark hoodie pokes in.

 “Jimin, Y/N? You still in here?”

 You don’t need to look to know from the gravelly voice that it was Yoongi — true to Jimin’s words of him likely being one of his two hyungs hanging around this late. You shoot up so fast from your spot that you give yourself blood rush but you didn’t care, you’re finally free to lock yourself in your room and never see daylight again because how do you even recover from what you just said??!

 “Y-You sure took your time hyung!” You hear Jimin whine from behind you as already you’re shuffling your way out. 

 “Sorry, was on a roll with something and didn’t see your messages….or your 45 missed calls.” The rapper apologizes, waving his hand but clearly not too apologetic about it. You shoot him a petty glare anyways but he retaliates with a smirk of his own. 

 “Your face is really red, you okay Y/N?” Yoongi had the nerve to ask and you just know from the tone of his voice, he’s not that concerned with it.

 “I-I’m fine! I gotta go! Bye guys! Goodnight!” You yell as you speed walk away, head ducked low to hopefully avoid all signs of life. You’re so ready to literally sonic run the hell out of the office right now to yell into some void (probably your pillow). 

 In your haste, you don’t see the sniggering Yoongi is trying to hold back; for how red your face was or for the dopey smile Jimin has on as he watches you scurry off into the night.

 -

  Bonus

 “You look like an idiot.”

 “How can anyone be that cute? Hyung, what do I do?”

 Jimin ignores the comment, not even looking at Yoongi as he says this, eyes glazed over with such a fond look that even the older male can’t get mad at. Still, it doesn’t stop his face from screwing up in a mixture of incredulity, disbelief and slight disgust (in a good, older brother watching his younger brother become an even bigger sap in love kind of way).

 Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so bad for locking you guys in the closet.

 (More like he regrets letting you out now because God, watching all this makes his soul cringe....If this doesn’t make him favourite hyung of the year then he’s going on strike).

[seriouslyhooked]

No Other Plans (A CS Birthday AU)

A/N: Modern AU where it’s Emma’s birthday and she never celebrates it with anyone. She’s been slowly falling for this new neighbor of hers, Killian, for a while now. Emma’s crafted a plan to ask him out after months of pushing him away, but because it’s me writing a fluffy fic, Killian already has his own plan in motion. The two come together in a sweet, lovely one shot and there is no angst anywhere ever at all, the end. Also on FF here and AO3 here.

Whatever special love the rest of the world had for birthdays, Emma Swan could never seem to understand.

Maybe it would make sense to her if she’d grown up in a loving home with the parties and the presents and the celebration, but there was none of that in her world. Her birthday was just like any other day, with no fuss and no grandeur and that was the way she preferred it. Even when she’d left the foster system, an adult in her own right now in charge of her own decisions and destiny, Emma still downplayed the day. What was the point of making a big deal? It wasn’t like she had a ton of friends to party with, and she definitely didn’t think that wishing on a candle would get her anything of value in life. It all just felt kind of pointless and arbitrary. Why should this one day of all days matter?

The truth was it shouldn’t, at least not in Emma’s eyes, but this year she was making an exception, because this year, for the first time in her life, she had a real regret that she was living with. As cheesy as it sounded, she actually had a birthday wish, a wrong to make right and a hope in her heart where hope had so long been absent.

It all started a few months ago when her closest neighbors unexpectedly moved out and a new tenant moved in. Emma hadn’t thought anything of it. This apartment complex had enough turn around to make it inconsequential. New people came and went all the time; that was the way things went in the city. But then she’d actually met the man who would be living across the hall and everything changed.

“You must be Swan,” this handsome foreigner had said as he dropped one of the boxes he was moving in and came to extend a hand in greeting. Clearly he had missed the memo on city dwellers in America – the occasional smile or hello in the elevator was just about as chummy as people got here. Still Emma found herself accepting the handshake all the same. “Well at least you are ‘Swan’ if the mail boxes are to be trusted.”

“They are,” Emma replied hesitantly, her thoughts distracted by the way his being so close made her feel. It was pleasant when typically she went out of her way to avoid people. “And I am. But it’s Emma actually. Emma Swan.”

In the moment she couldn’t understand why she was telling him so much. Emma never opened up to strangers. Heck this guy could be certifiably nuts. Lord knew she saw enough in her line of work to know there were some real sickos out of there. But strange as it was, her gut couldn’t seem to muster anything like repulsion at this new person in her life. Instead she felt comfortable, even safe, and that thought scared her half to death.

“Emma,” he’d said as his hand held hers just a little too long, leaving a warmth and tingling all in once in her palm and through her fingers. The way he said her name was delicate but also gruff. It had just a hint of gravel melted in with that sexy accent and it shocked the hell out of Emma, so much so that she barely caught his introduction: “Killian Jones, at your service.”

“You always talk like that? Like a pirate or something?” she’d asked, completely embarrassed when it slipped out but hiding it as best she could as Killian laughed.

“Aye, love. It’s one of my many quirks. Beware my tendency for swashbuckling and excessive exclamations like ‘argh’ and ‘ahoy there.’

Emma found herself laughing at his joke, which totally took her by surprise. But surprising didn’t cut it when it came to Killian Jones. He was… indescribable. There was just something about him that drew Emma in, that made her want to linger out there in the hallway when he greeted her, or made her debate if a little more neighborly visiting wouldn’t be a good thing. She could cook him something, right? Like a casserole or whatever the hell people brought neighbors in the movies. Well obviously she’d have to learn how to cook first but…

These were the kinds of thoughts Emma had been having for months as she slowly but surely caved to an infatuation with the handsome Brit. She would not call her feelings for Killian a crush – she would certainly not call it love – but she had to admit that there was something about him, something in those piercing blue eyes and that charismatic smile; something about the way he always held the door, not just for her but for everyone; something about the charm he had that was almost roguish even though he was always a gentleman. He was a flirt, but never crossed a line, he would tease her, but he never insulted her at all. Instead he boosted her up, whether he meant to or not, always leaving her with something – some small compliment or professed bit of faith that made her feel better and made her want more.

Killian had even been bold enough to make it clear that he wanted more too, asking Emma a number of times if she had plans during a weekend or a slower night of the week. She always said the same thing – “Sorry, I can’t” – any time he asked, but she also knew he would ask again even when he turned her down. No matter what he always asked again, and he managed to do so without ever pressuring her or making her feel like her boundaries were tested or infringed on. Emma could tell that he was patiently waiting for her to be ready, but she was starting to worry that that patience had run out, because for the past week she’d barely seen him, and when she had he hadn’t mentioned anything about hanging out at all.

“It’s my own fault,” she muttered aloud to herself as she nervously paced around her apartment. “I should have just said yes. I should have just gone on the date with the guy I like instead of turning him down over and over again. Now I’m that girl who makes a move on her birthday of all days. God this is so dumb.”

Emma was spared from further self-censure by the ding of her over timer, a sound she’d rarely ever heard since moving in. She went to open it up and found the vanilla cupcakes she’d put in there. They actually looked kind of okay and as she pulled them out she read all directions very carefully. She made sure they were totally cool and then she did her best (which was admittedly not very well) to try and frost them. The frosting she was using was blue, a blue not unlike the darker specs in Killian’s eyes, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of that or about Killian’s love of the sea when she chose it at the store. She knew all these little things about him, and unbeknownst to her at the time she’d been saving them up and keeping them all close because they actually mattered to her.

Finally Emma looked at the scene before her, finding two of the twelve cupcakes she’d made that looked slightly more passable than the others. She placed them on a clean white plate, added a couple of white sprinkles, and then she took a steadying breath and readied herself for this moment. Right now she was going to make a move – she was going to see if Killian was interested in spending the evening with her, and hopefully if the promise of her company wasn’t enough, then the cupcakes would bribe him into letting her back in. Truth be told she missed him, even though it had only been a few days, and accepting that was a big step for her, one that told her she should take the chance and see what happened.  

Emma headed out her front door, moving down the hallway the short distance to Killian’s place. Once there, she only hesitated for a moment, trying to steady her resolve. She was a big girl, a strong woman, surely she was brave enough to put herself out there. But just before she could raise her hand to knock, the door swung open, and there was Killian, looking as gorgeous as ever and totally taking her breath away.

“Emma,” he said, taking in the sight of her with an obvious tone of shock. “What are you – I mean I was going to – uh…”

Emma watched the expressions of his face. He started at thrilled to see her, something that made her heart flutter with excitement in her chest, and then he moved into surprise as he saw her cupcakes. Emma realized she was staring at him, and then it was her turn to notice that he was holding something too, a small light green cake with candles and everything not so unlike her cupcakes.

“Is that for me?” Emma asked, smiling as she saw him turn a bit red at the question.

“Aye, Swan. I know you don’t typically celebrate your birthday – you’ve told me as much before – but I hated to think it would go by and we wouldn’t commemorate it somehow. You deserve all recognition, love. Your too remarkable to go without.”

Emma was touched at how sweet his words were, and she ducked her head back down to look at the cake and to hide the mistiness that was coming to her eyes. This was honestly more than she’d hoped for. Killian hadn’t forgotten her at all. He wasn’t taking a step back from his admittedly closed off and guarded neighbor. He still cared – she hadn’t waited too long!

“I thought I’d make an exception this year,” Emma clarified, looking back up at him and finding so much hope and curiosity in his cerulean gaze. His hope emboldened her own as she said more. “But I realized the only person who I’d want to spend the day with was you. I mean if you’re not busy that is.”

“I’m not,” Killian rushed to say and Emma smiled at how he seemed to get flustered all over again before trying to regain his cool. “Trust me, I’ve no other plans, Swan. Certainly not when I could be spending time with you.”

“Good,” Emma said softly, stepping into his apartment and putting her cupcakes on the kitchen table. Killian chuckled at the sight of them, commenting on how they’d had the same idea. He said something about great minds thinking alike, but Emma wasn’t really listening. Instead she was thinking about how she’d already come this far and how she should just do it – she should just put it all out there so he’d know how she felt.

So when the cakes were safely on the counter, Emma made her move, cutting into Killian’s compliment of her frosting job and pulling him in by the leather jacket he was wearing, the one that she’d always wanted to grab onto. There was only an instant before she pressed that first kiss to his lips, a single moment before the world exploded into all the possibility that Killian had presented from their very first meeting, but in that second Emma watched as Killian understood her intentions, and she saw in his eyes an undeniable point of proof that she wasn’t in this alone. Then the kiss took that proof so much further, illustrating that not only did they understand each other, but that the chemistry between them burned so much brighter than she’d ever imagined possible.

All those nights that Emma lay awake wondering ‘what if’ had done nothing to prepare her for reality. She’d imagined what it would be like to be wrapped in Killian’s arms, but it didn’t hold a candle to the real deal. Here she was warm and safe, protected and cherished all at once. She might have started the kiss but he controlled it, showing this dominance and a need that woke her up inside and made that already present craving flare to something even more. She was desperate for this, desperate for him, but all they could have right now was a taste. There were still things to say, still steps to take, but this kiss would forever represent the start of something Emma now truly knew she wanted. She’d have this memory emblazoned in her mind forever, and she couldn’t help the smile that played at her lips as they broke apart. She felt like a kid at Christmas – or at least a normal kid at Christmas. It was foreign to her, but oh so delightful all the same.

“I didn’t want you to wonder about where I stood in this,” Emma said, her voice sounding breathy but strong as her words sounded out between them. Killian, meanwhile, ran his hand against her cheek, the feel of it a perfect mix of rough and tender and Emma had to fight to get the rest of her thoughts out and to not get distracted “I want you, Killian, and I’m tired of trying to deny that. I just thought you should know.”

“Thank Christ for that,” he muttered before kissing her again, but before they could get too carried away he pulled back making his own confession. “You know you really had me going there, love. I’d wait forever for this, but damn am I glad the wait is over. It is over, right?”

Emma laughed at his sudden bit of panic and nodded. “Yeah it’s over. We’re doing this. Well, we’re trying at least.”

“Oh we’re doing this,” Killian affirmed as he took both of her hands in his. “Because no matter what may come, Emma, my feelings will not change. This is it for me. You’re it for me. I knew it from that first day.”

“I think I did too,” Emma confessed happily, looking from Killian back around his apartment and feeling so satisfied as his arms came around her once more. Her eyes landed back on the cake, and so did his, prompting his question.

“So… any thoughts on what you’ll wish for?”

“Not a clue,” Emma replied before looking back up at him. “I already got what I wanted. I don’t think I need a wish.”

“Everyone needs a wish, Swan,” Killian said, deftly finding a lighter and illuminating the candles as he still held her close, tucking her back to his front and letting her face the treats they’d both worked so hard to create as the candles glowed and waited for her. “I think you can rise to the challenge.”

Emma thought on it for a moment, loving that even with all this newness there was still that easy, playful banter between them. So much was changing, but the most important things would stay the same. She trusted Killian, she wanted Killian, and now they could be together because they were willing to make the choice. It was an easy choice to make too, once she’d let go of the fear and listened to her heart, just like it was easy to find another wish if she let it come from the same happy, hopeful place. Just before she blew out the candles Emma smiled at the realization that this was her first birthday wish in all the years she could remember. She only hoped as she got all the candles in one try that all those years of waiting would mean better luck in getting her heart’s true desire.

And sure enough that wish did come true, though it took a little time to come together. Because Emma’s wish was to make this work with Killian; to take the risk, to fall in love, and to find her happiness once and for all. She wasn’t looking for a fairy tale per se, but something honest and real and wonderful, and lucky for her, and for Killian too, they found exactly that.

Post-Note: So it’s my birthday today, and as such it felt right to treat myself to a little bit of writing. I carved out some non-existent time and wrote this little drabble because I needed some CS fluff today. Hopefully you guys will enjoy, and if you’re wondering about the title, it’s actually inspired by the song ‘No Other Plans’ by Jillian Edwards. I’m not including this chapter in my mixtape collection since there’s a lot of variance from the original lyrics, but figured I’d plug it here if anyone wants to listen. Anyway thank you all so much for reading and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day!

[thezodiaczone]

March Forecast for Taurus

Lights, camera, action! March begins with a full moon in Virgo and your dramatic fifth house. In like a lion, indeed! This showstopper kicks off an action-packed month. There’s a rare PAIR of full moons (on March 1 and 31). Just like in January, they fall on the first and last days of the month, bookending March with exclamation points. And two planets—Mercury and Jupiter—will turn retrograde. It’s a time to reflect, integrate and process while also making the major moves prompted by the full moons.

If you’ve been reeling from the eclipses on January 31 and February 15, March could help you start to make sense of it all. This year has sent most of us off to the races. There haven’t been a lot of quiet moments to work through all the energy that’s gotten stirred up. You KNOW it’s time for a change…but what, how, when and where?

For you, Taurus, talking it through with your tribe could be the perfect prescription. The Sun is in Pisces and your eleventh house of groups, networking and technology until March 20. Whether you’re hopping into a lively Facebook group chat, trying out a new social scene or discussing every topic under the sun over tapas, Pisces season is prime time for connecting with kindred spirits and exploring new perspectives. Get out of your head and into the world. Your exploratory dialogues might even lead to a new collaboration, especially around the March 17 Pisces new moon.

Another reason to widen your viewfinder? Intensifier Mars is in Sagittarius and your laser-focused eighth house until March 17. While this is a fruitful time to research and do work that requires heavy concentration, you could also come down with a case of Taurus tunnel vision. Watch a tendency to obsess, as well as a green-eyed streak that could spark jealousy or the temptation to compare yourself to others in your field. Healthy competition is one thing—and you should always surround yourself with people who inspire you to go higher. But rivalries will eat away at your soul and take your eye off what YOU need to be doing.

How can you balance this hyper-focused Mars energy against the contrast of the Sun in your social eleventh house? Well, you could workshop some of those grand ideas with a trusted circle. A mastermind or coaching group could be the perfect place to get insightful feedback. A relationship or joint financial venture could heat up to sizzling with red-hot Mars in this merger-minded zone. In fact, you could meet your next great love or business partner through mutual friends or at an event. The soul connection could be off the hook, so RSVP “yes” instead of hiding in your cocoon.

With your intuition dialed up to such a high frequency, you’ll be able to read people like a large-print book. Be careful about playing guru (even if you’re qualified for the role), or you could end up zapping hours on needy friends and energy vampires. Strong boundaries are a must now.

A key relationship might benefit from a big step back starting March 8, when expansive Jupiter turns retrograde in Scorpio and your seventh house of partnerships. Jupiter will reverse through this interpersonal zone until July 10, giving you a chance to reflect on your closest ties. Which ones are worth nurturing, and which are in disrepair? Be discerning about where you put your energy.

Jupiter first entered Scorpio on October 10, 2017, and it will be here until November 8, 2018, a once-every-12-years transit that brings massive growth to your closest bonds. Since the fall, a relationship may have developed at warp speed. Maybe you parted ways with a longtime love or collaborator. Or you recognized a need to hit “refresh” and get out of a rut by switching up your roles, traveling or doing personal-growth work. Jupiter’s slowdown gives you a chance to rebalance and gain perspective.

Since retrogrades can bring back the past, an ex could resurface—and under Jupiter’s truth-telling beams, there could be serious #realtalk in order. An old issue you were sure was resolved could come up for reconsideration. Philosophical Jupiter could also find you wondering: Is honesty always the best policy with people? And what does that even mean? Transparency and authenticity are vital, but not everyone can handle the tell-all candor. Nor do they need to know EVERY secret, doubt or desire that runs through your head, Bull.

Hash that out with a confidante or a trained professional instead of treating your business partner or S.O. like a pop-up confession booth. Maybe it’s NOT them but something in yourself that needs to evolve. Use this cycle to investigate, rather than rushing to act. That could mean pulling the brakes on a fast-moving relationship or putting negotiations on ice.

You’ll have even more reason to rest starting March 20, when the Sun slips into Aries for a month and activates your restful twelfth house of healing and closure. Duck below the radar and do some internal reflecting. Slow down, catch up on sleep and don’t force anything. On April 19, el Sol will head into Taurus and reset your solar calendar for the year. You’ll have birthday parties to plan and energy to jump-start new initiatives. For now, tie up loose ends and finish what you’ve already begun.

Besides, communication planet Mercury will be retrograde from March 22 to April 15, which can muck up travel, technology and interpersonal affairs. Mercury will backtrack through Aries and your foggy twelfth house, which will make it hard to advocate for yourself or express your thoughts clearly. This transit has “mental vacation” written all over it. You won’t be coming up with any clever #micdrops now, so best not to try. Deactivate or log off of social media for a spell and use this period for soul-searching, creative exploration and healing work.

The one day to come out of your cave and tackle a major undertaking—whether that’s decluttering your house, starting a workout program or cleaning up your diet—is March 31. The month’s second full moon (or “blue moon”) falls in Libra and your sixth house of health, organization and efficiency. The celestial spotlight is on your wellbeing and bringing balance back into your universe. Evaluate which systems and habits are serving you and where you can trim the excess. You could hire a savvy service provider and bid adieu to any slackers on Team Taurus.

Love & Romance

Even as you’re saying sayonara to dead weight at work, you’re ready to roll out the welcome mat when it comes to your love life! The month gets off to a rollicking start for single and attached Bulls, thanks to the year’s only full moon in Virgo and your fifth house of passion, romance and creativity. If you’re single or in a “too new to call it” relationship, the chemistry could ignite like a Roman candle. Stay connected to your heart because you might have some big decisions to make in the coming weeks.

That same day, the “benefic” planets, romantic Venus and expansive Jupiter, form a golden trine, showering your love life with feel-good juju. Venus in Pisces is warming up your friendship and technology house until March 6, and Jupiter is parked in your partnership realm. Under this “all’s fair in love” mashup, friends can become lovers, or you might strike LTR gold online. Couples could be ready to go all in or take a next step, like starting or expanding a family, since the fifth house also rules fertility. (Not the goal? Be vigilant in the protection department if that applies to you!)

These two simultaneous celestial events could have the opposite effect, of stripping the shiny veneer off someone who doesn’t have keeper potential. If this isn’t “the one,” what at first felt like major sizzle could just as quickly fizzle. Grieve if you must, but focus on the silver lining: You won’t waste any more time on a dead-end connection.

With passionate Mars in fiery Sagittarius and your erotic eighth house until March 17, you might be tempted to cozy up with any warm (and appealing) body. “Going the distance” may be less important than the short-term rewards. All fine and good, but stay aware that the intense sexual chemistry could stir up equally potent emotions, including old issues of trust and jealousy. As you bare your bodies, it’s hard not to expose at least a bit of your soul. And if that’s even remotely dishonored or leaves you feeling too vulnerable, it could unleash some raw and hard-to-contain anger. Have a contingency plan in place for dealing with that—perhaps a therapist or energy healer who can help you use this to reach a breakthrough.

A big day for that comes on March 11, when Mars forms a catalyzing trine to disruptor Uranus in your twelfth house of closure and healing. You could decide to dive all the way in with someone—or call the whole thing off. A word of caution: Before you rush down to City Hall or call the divorce attorney, remind yourself that these two impulsive planets can spur you to act irrationally. There may be a mother lode of buried emotions that needs to be processed before you act on them.

With love planet Venus in Aries and your introspective twelfth house from March 6 to 31, it’s a perfect time to let off the gas, even taking a break if you need. The good news? On March 31, Venus will enter Taurus for a few weeks, bringing back your sexy swagger and confidence!

Key Dates

March 13: Venus-Saturn Square Sober Saturn can’t help but deliver a reality check, and when the ringed taskmaster collides with the love planet, this eye-opening realization will probably affect some aspect of your love life. Where are you invested more in fantasy than what’s actually happening? Be proactive, and catch yourself daydream-believing before you get hurt.

Money & Career

Don your lab coat and investigator’s chapeau! Intensifier Mars is in Sagittarius and your eighth house of joint ventures, research and long-term finances until March 17. Whether you’re researching cryptocurrency, evaluating an investment or joining forces with a strategic partner, you’re ready to take a deep dive into all the minutiae. With activator Mars in this collaborative zone, you might pool money, talents or time for mutual gain. How can you create a win-win where everyone prospers?

A large expense or money stress could brew with Mars here, but necessity is the matriarch of invention. Use it to catalyze your own efforts—think of it as a fire burning under you, not a crushing weight. This is also a great time to consolidate and pay off debt more aggressively or to take the shears to your credit cards.

With Mars in this impassioned zone, watch for a competitive streak that could eat you up inside. Yes, it’s important to look at what others in your field are doing, but within reason. Remember that nobody can do YOU better than you. Perfect your own magic formula instead of trying to borrow someone else’s recipe for success.

An unlikely breakthrough moment could arrive on March 11, when Mars unites in a fortuitous trine with innovative Uranus in your twelfth house of creativity and the subconscious. The trick: You’ll have to step out of your analytical left brain to manifest this miracle. Creative work, meditation, even a vivid dream could be rich with messages. Pay attention to signs and serendipities today. But don’t just sit there—act on them! Sometimes you have to do things that scare you, and with both planets in motivating fire signs, this is no time for navel-gazing!

Your dreams get a boost from March 17 to May 16, when Mars sails through Capricorn and your ninth house of entrepreneurship, growth and learning. This is prime time to launch a big venture or to sign up for a workshop to enhance your skills. And hey, how about getting some help around here? The March 31 full moon in Libra illuminates your sixth house of employees and systems. Consider creating new systems for Team Toro or implementing software that brings more efficiency to your workflow and abundance to your bottom line!

Key Dates

March 11: Mercury-Saturn Square People can be (extra) stubborn and passive-aggressive, so you might need to put up firmer boundaries around how much you share. Make sure someone is 100 percent trustworthy before giving them all the details. You may need to dish out some tough love with a colleague who’s got one too many excuses. Spell out expectations clearly—and make sure you’re not being sloppy with your work.

Love Days: 1, 6 Money Days: 23, 13 Luck Days: 20, 11 Off Days: 19, 31, 9

[riddleblack246]

For @thebisonwitheadphones for the @stnetwork Gift Exchange

Holiday celebrations were rarely carried out aboard the Enterprise. It wasn’t that the Crew or even Star Fleet had anything against celebrations (and even if they did, Lord knew the Enterprise’s captain would go above and beyond his “call of duty” to find a loophole in such a stance); it was more so that with so many species and people of different views on board, it would be impossible to celebrate all of them at a scale of inclusion and it would be rude to narrow the list down to a few select holidays. On top of that, seasons were difficult to navigate in space and even then, what was winter on Earth did not necessarily apply to the Vulcan first officer or the Andorian yeoman or any of the other members of the crew. Thus, the Enterprise inhabitants simply murmured greetings that applied to their respective holidays throughout the years.

However, by his second “holiday” on the Enterprise, Jim was having none of that, at least for himself. He wasn’t so concerned with the idea of Hanukkah specifically; it had been a long time since he’d been home to celebrate. However, he still deeply missed the warm closeness associated with the holiday season, the time to be spent with those one loved and cherished. He knew very easily who he would celebrate with; he just needed to think of how to connect them.

Spock and Leonard were as different as anybody could come, to the point that people actually thought they were joking when it was revealed that they, along with Jim, had entered a relationship together. Spock preferred privacy, minimalism, complexity, while Leonard wanted to be around others, enjoyed the intimacy of disorder, and loved the idea of simple living. Such preferences shaped their views and did lead to some differences from time to time (both on and off the bridge). Because of this, Jim was strapped to think of what he could do to bring the three together in what he felt was an appropriately seasonal way, regardless of the severe lack of any season to be found in deep space.

An idea soon found its way into his mind. As he was asked to look over the supplies shipment request, something caught his eyes on the checklist for ‘food stuffs’ for the replicators. After quickly making a minor adjustment, he passed the P.A.D.D. back to the yeoman with a grin, proud of his plan. All there was left to do was wait.

“Spock, Bones, could you come with me please?”

Said men glanced at one another as Jim spoke, silently questioning his serious tone. The trio had just been relieved of Alpha shift and were preparing with change positions, so why was Jim appearing so... somber? They both nodded and followed him into the turbo lift, gripping the railing as the device dropped rapidly.

“Something the matter, Jim?” Bones inquired, looking over the younger man with mild concern. Jim didn’t bother to respond, causing the mood within the lift to grow heavy. They were quick at Jim’s heels as they followed him down the hall towards the man’s quarters, hesitant to pass through the open door once Jim stepped inside.

He slowly turned to face his partners, expression confused. “What’s got you two so nervous?” He asked, a smile starting to spread across his features. Spock’s brow furrowed while Bones rolled his eyes, both entering after him.

“You were acting rather morose, Jim,” Spock said, his hands moving from behind his back as the door slid shut behind them, “It led us to assume you were unhappy with us for a reason we weren’t aware of.”

“You’ve got a messed up sense of humor kid.” Bones huffed, moving to sit down on the nearby sofa, only for Jim to tut and grab his arm to stop him.

“Not yet,” Jim insisted, grabbing Spock’s arm as well and guiding him over to the smaller replicator he had in the pseudo-kitchen unit he had in his quarters, “I have something special for us.”

“Kinky.” Bones joked dryly, unable to help the light chuckle that escaped him when Jim nudged his arm. He and Spock watched as Jim rapidly punched in some letters and numbers, opening the door to the replicator when the familiar chime sounded.

“Whoa. How’d you get these on the ship?” Bones asked, watching as Jim pulled three mugs of warm cocoa from the device, each mug drowning in whipped cream and marshmallows, and set them on the adjacent counter.

“Put in a special request with the necessities. I doubt they even noticed it.” He laughed, handing each of them a cup. Spock’s brow remained furrowed.

“I must admit that I’m unfamiliar with this... beverage,” He said awkwardly, looking it over as some of the cream melted onto his fingers, “What is it?”

“Hot chocolate,” Jim supplied, his smile growing wider (as it often did when he found that he was teaching his Vulcan boyfriend something about human culture), “The name really explains it all. Humans drink it when it’s cold outside, usually during the holiday season. It’s one of those things that gives us that warm and fuzzy feeling.”

“A feeling, I’d imagine, you’d be rather unfamiliar with, Spock.” Bones said bluntly as he took a spoon and scooped most of the excess cream and marshmallows into the waste bin.

“Aww, Bones, why?” Jim mildly scolded the man for his action, pursing his lips as the man simply licked the spoon in response before tossing it into the sink.

“Sorry, Jim boy, but holidays or not, I’m still a doctor and there’s only so much sugar I’ll willingly put in my body.” He replied with a smirk, turning his gaze over to Spock, “You going to be alright though?”

It was Jim’s turn to feel confused. “Why wouldn’t he- oh!” He winced, realizing the issue at hand. He hadn’t considered the effects chocolate itself had on Vulcans, turning back to his other boyfriend with an apologetic look.

“Spock, I’m sorry,” He insisted, reaching to take the mug, “We can see about making you something else.”

“No.”

The two humans paused, unable to help their looks of surprise at Spock’s exclamation (or as close to an exclamation as a Vulcan could get).

“I think I would like to partake in this tradition,” Spock murmured, looking down into the mug, “I am not on shift and am not due to be on the main deck until 0700 hours. I can... indulge.” As hesitantly as he said the word, it still bloomed bright, enthusiastic smiles across the faces for his partners.

“Now, that’s a man with a plan.” Bones chuckled, turning to open some of Jim’s cabinets. “You got any bourbon, Jim?”

Jim couldn’t help but snort at the request. “I thought you said that ‘as a doctor’-”

“Doesn’t apply to liquor. Now, do you have any?”

“Second cabinet, under the sink.” The blonde laughed and guided Spock to sit with him on the floor, leaning against the wall as they waited for Bones. Ever since Spock introduced the pair to his methods of meditation, the trio often found that when they were lounging together (at least for short periods of time), the floor was the preferred spot (Plus, by Bones’ logic, sofas made things get horizontal a lot more quickly and that was not what tonight was about... yet). Jim smiled as Bones joined them, a vague grunt of discomfort escaping the man as he lowered himself to the ground. He held up his mug as a method of greeting.

“To Jim’s weirdly romantic plans.” He supplied with a fond smile, the other two holding up their mugs in a similar sentiment before taking a sip. Jim sighed contentedly as the familiar taste and feeling of warmth filled him. He stopped just short of a contented ‘ahh’, figuring it’d be best to try and save face.

“Thoughts, gentlemen?” He asked, turning to Bones and then Spock, only to immediately bite his lip at the sight of the latter. The Vulcan was entirely oblivious, staring into his mug with something of a questioning expression as his entire upper lip was coated in a mixture of whipped cream and melted chocolate.

A snort of laughter slipped past Bones’ lips before he tried to stifle himself. Spock glanced over at them with something of a confused look.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, looking between the two. Jim forced himself to shake his head as Bones replied with a squeaky “No, not at all.”

The two humans looked to one another for a split second, only to burst into laughter, desperately trying to catch their breath as Spock looked on at an utter loss for what was happening.

As they both slowly pulled themselves together, they shared another look, both men seeming to share the same sentiment. Without further exchange, they set their mugs aside and moved closer to Spock. With the ease of men who have done such a thing before, they reached up and used their thumbs to gently wipe the excess cocoa from his lips, grinning mischievously when his cheeks bloomed an even darker green.

“Why don’t we let you finish your drink first?” Bones murmured, pecking a quick kiss to the top of his head before easing back to his seat. Jim nodded in agreement, sliding back between the two. As Spock collected himself and Bones took another sip, Jim rested his head against the latter’s shoulder and let his free hands run along the former’s thigh. Oh yeah, this was definitely a good idea.

[jackofallworlds]

Of Blood and Brass: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Exposition

The first thing that visitors noticed was the noise. To be perfectly clear, it was the change in noise. There was a hush, a wave of whispering like grass before the wind, a rumble of exclamation like the engine for the rumor mill being kick-started. Where there had been auditory chaos, an entropy of noise spread in all directions, there was an epicenter of looking, listening. Every stand-owner’s heart beat faster, every company man stood taller, every crier and hawker of wares shouted louder into the openness of sound and then, suddenly, quieted. As suddenly as it came, it went, right back into the chaos.

There were five of them. Five not-quite-right visitors. No entourage, no accountants attending, nobody. Only five.

<><><> 

Deep in the HCEC’s Outer Pavilion, where hundreds of shopkeepers had set up stands in appropriated bazaar spots, someone in workman’s garb (simple, yet clean) wandered through, occasionally buying food and munching it idly, picking up odd trinkets and mechanisms, weighing tools and implements in a broad hand. There was an air of practical curiosity around the figure, a humble nobility in the appraisals.

Eventually, the sprawling exposition campus of Broadson’s Farming Manufactory saw that figure, far enough back from the stand to keep out of conversations, but close enough to clearly be interested. A broad, slow smile crept across the features of this working-class visitor, below eyes that took in every rivet and gear of the massive combines that sat smoking and gleaming in the Inner Garden, eyes that ravenously took in the shirtless laborers feeding the boilers that had been red-hot for hours. Sam Broadson got chills from those eyes. They had no place in a face like that.

<><><> 

Tesibius’ voice took some getting used to. It was like children’s stories about river spirits talking; somehow, the random splatters and burbles of a stream were supposed to form recognizable words. Being encased in a closed system of glass tubes and brass bands, the Inquo’s voice was a combination of fluid moving through a brass organ somewhere deep within the system, and the odd settlings and gurglings of the water in general. Calling it a voice was really not doing it justice. He said things. People knew that he said things, and responded accordingly.

He was in favor. He still thought that, as a side trip, they could break into some hidden vault with unknown treasures (at least two pairs of eyes rolled, but you couldn’t tell with the Shaman’s mask). Whether that happened or not, this would represent access to a whole new biome, a place where alchemical and biological wonders would be in excessive abundance. That, in turn, would open doors to a serious alchemical monopoly.

The construct leaned forward, resting gentle clockwork appendages on the table’s varnished surface, careful not to leave the faintest mar.

Furthermore, the thought continued, surviving accounts of the Underdark described an organism that distilled and used ambient magical energy. Finding a third form of energy production besides chemo- and photo-synthesis would jumpstart sufficient research to make one despair of the endless questions. Among them, the construct noted seriously, was the creation of a biological construct to house the Inquo form, such as it was.

Tesibius smiled (or, at least, the board members knew he was doing that smiling thing, despite no outward physical changes). Who wouldn’t, on top of all that, not want to wonder at the marvelous craftsmanship of the Lady of Life in the presence of no less than dragons? Content with arguments placed on the table, the construct leaned back, fingers clicking softly in concert 

<><><> 

A tall figure with fiery red hair strode through the HCEC. The spontaneous exposition and convention that had sprung up in the days following the out-of-the-blue article in the Courant interested that figure not at all. Wherever the red hair was seen, so were the piercing eyes, appraising machine shops, workbenches, craftsmen and artisans in the slightest glance, carrying a weight of sneering judgement the most haughty monarch could barely manage. Though hundreds, even thousands of visitors crowded every hall and corridor, this one stood out. You couldn’t help but try to impress those deadly eyes, and fail.

The impatient path was abruptly halted in front of the alchemical spread of Haven Haemonetics and Homunculi. A much shorter tiefling with his half-orc girlfriend ran right into the impeccably dressed figure, and the apology immediately offered died on his lips. Those eyes, up close, were like watching knives being made for the express purpose of a slow death. The tiefling just stopped moving, barely breathing for the fear, and his girlfriend ran away at a dead sprint that would have done her orc chieftan grandfather proud.

Leaving the devil-spawn idiot behind, the figure strode into the Haemonetics sprawl. There were visits at every stand and bench, listening to lectures, testing the samples, measuring with deadly eyes the enhanced volunteers the company produced. No longer mired in the old accusations of necromancy, HHH was using alchemy to increase speed, strength, reflexes. In short, while their PR focused on labor abilities and medical applications, there was really only one thing that the visitor stayed at for longer than a minute; military applications. Super soldiers. Enhancement in a test tube.

Kan DerVeeldt, senior consulting alchemist for the HHH, saw those eyes change. It was the hunger, no longer judging but coveting, that made the cold sweat break out. There were bad memories of a particular gnome he associated with that look.

<><><> 

While the construct Tesibius was making his points known, Irvin sat back and looked over the article again. He skimmed a few lines, and then his eyes unfocused. His breathing quickened. His fingers started counting, then just shaking. The very tips of his hair started to change color imperceptibly to an iridescence. Dragon blood and scale, a whole new class of reagants, sample collection, traps, products…

“I’ve decided.” The outburst cut through the pause after Tesibius stopped talking. “I want to go.” There was a short, awkward silence as the rest of the board waited for further explanation, watching the gnome’s hair turn an excited yellow. Just as a different voice was about to be raised, the pieces of Irvin’s thoughts came crashing together into the whole he was waiting for. “It goes like this. Farthington: you get an unreasonable new hold on the weapons market with that plant they just mentioned. Tesibus is already in; I want to go. Kai: you know you can't ignore the possibility of a totally unique and new adventure, and Shamus over there is outvoted no matter what he wants, whatever the hell he wants.”

The Shaman rested a pair of dull-colored fingers at the bridge of his mask’s nose as the alchemist strolled over to the construct and started a muttered conversation. A burned but recognizable tail (nobody wanted to know why, how, or when that tail was procured or turned into functional charcoal) was produced as charcoal as drawings and schematics began to flower on grubby paper. Completely oblivious to all but these plans, the gnome sat on the edge of the table at Tesibius’ hand, diving right into the ideas that came to mind like a wildfire.

<><><> 

One moment, there was an empty space of floor. The next, there was an officer.

The uniform was not recognizable, but it was more than that. The way that the boots shone, the polish on the bronze buttons and low-profile medals, the featureless deep of the black and the brilliance of the red, all of it was secondary, costume, the frame. It was the eyes (it was always the eyes). Below a helmet that would have been as bright as chrome for lack of surface imperfections were it not jet-black, two killer’s eyes coldly inspected the vista before them. Those eyes had watched cities burn on their master’s command. They knew the screams of the dying. A bed of ice would be a comfort compared to the mercy in those eyes.

The position was perfect; in the main convention hall, the two primary armaments manufacturers had set up right next to each other, with rows of military products gleaming, ready for inspection. APCs, models of airships and carriers, mobile fortifications, gleaming guns, tickets to weapons tests later in the week. The officer could see attendants spot-polishing as necessary, demonstrating loading and unloading. From the occupied position, the military wealth of Haven was laid out and visible.

The officer stood there for two hours, perfectly still, merely watching.

<><><> 

"What a wonderful opportunity for profiteering. What a wonderful chance to acquire spoils." The metal of the Shaman’s bones produces a series of clacks that brings the room to silence for a while. A sarcastic laugh rings out, tinged with the otherworldly quality of his strange lungs. "I do not doubt there are spoils to be found. Maybe we could get ourselves a barking dragon."

Casting aside the pretense of humor, he gently laid his beautiful tin mask on the table, revealing the protruding metal bones and unsettling glass eyes. The visible and colorless muscles settled into a neutral expression as he paced softly on the thick carpet.

"What I am about to say is not going to be popular, but I must offer my perspective so that our group can function as it needs to. I am truly privileged to be in such good company as I seek my answers and ride my life into the infinite. I mean this. But, as I have said in the past, I cannot support profiteering. The Underdark is not a treasure trove; it is an unholy abscess. It may contain answers, knowledge—spoils, even—but we cannot forget that Khoriv fell into the maw of something great and terrible. The Underdark is a shadowy wyrm that writhes in its apparent stillness."

An escaped terrarium beetle, flipped onto its back, took a moment of the Shaman’s time, pausing to crouch silently and flip it over with his little finger, rising to continue his address.

"We see cause and effect, and we need cause and effect, but seeing this opportunity as either cause or effect is folly. The moral world is made of arcs and tendrils, though we perceive instances. I am eager to join any expedition so long as we fear the shadows and respect them as they thrash about."

No one cared to meet the glass eyes as they scanned the room, but the expressions of the other board members illustrated some lack of understanding, some concern, some worry.

"Fear not. I am eager to seek out any knowledge that may help me make sense of my condition, our condition, and something in me longs to delve into the Underdark. It feels right, though I have my worries. Let us respect the unknown, terrible, entropic dangers that await us."

<><><> 

Sister Lai of the Order of the Silver Star knew her place. One of the most shunned religious orders in Haven (and that was saying a whole lot), they were one of the three groups which considered dragons to be not-bad. The heretics of the Ascendant Fire claimed that through eventual reincarnation, all stood a chance at becoming a dragon, and the apostates at the Silver Flame claimed that slavery under the dragons had been the only way to achieve righteousness. The Black Sorrow didn’t count, since they were equal opportunity death-cult evil-worshippers. The Silver Star, however, knew that because the dragons were not completely evil, they were capable of understanding right and wrong to a greater extent than small-minded mortals. They knew morality was a longer game, and though Sister Lai did not understand what that long game entailed, she trusted that a dragon could, perhaps, eventually explain it.

She had helped Mother Superior Foli set up the tiny corner stand after paying the convention manager the space rent. They had handed out a few dozen pamphlets, not counting the three that were shredded by angry members of the Silver Flame. It was a good day; there was less hate with the rumor of dragons around.

There was a moment when Mother Superior Foli and Sister Cho had left her alone to man the stand while they went and got food. A moment when a tall figure clad in a featureless white robe approached the stand, their face filled with a surprised curiosity, as if there was an unrecognizable but lovely smell in the air. Sister Lai had been surprised herself, for a moment; if the robe was so white, why wasn’t it more shiny and obvious? As the figure stopped before the stand, looking over the pamphlets and artwork, Sister Lai got a look at the eyes, filled with a sadness deeper than oceans, a mirth higher than clouds, a strength like cold stone. Their eyes met, and Sister Lai experienced a vertigo, double-vision, as she saw something impossible.

The figure left, and Sister Lai could only say to her fellow nuns, “It wasn’t white… it was silver!”

<><><> 

Howard Armon Dalius Farthington rotated his ring, a broad steel band emblazoned with the symbol of his work, with mild unease as the Shaman finished talking and returned to his seat. Feeling that the time was right for his own intervention in the discussion, he cleared his throat, pulling the protruding coat of his pinstripe suit into better position around his expansive self.

"Gentlemen!" Howard leaned forward and laid his workman’s hands on the table in front of him, palms face-down, fingers splayed. "I must say, that I would like to hope that none of us would take our own mortality, nor the risk of foregoing enjoying any rewards from this little venture, quite so lightly! Indeed, my dear Shamus, I myself wouldn't underestimate the dangers posed in exploring the vast and unknown Underdark! No, not even if I had my trusty original Dailus Mark I with me!" Howard chuckled at his own joke and beamed at them all brightly. A faint groan of indeterminate origin issued from someone else, but the momentum was his.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no... such casualness won't do. No, it won't do at all." Howard spoke quickly and in a slightly chiding manner, as a father reclining would speak to a growing son. "But gentlemen," he said, resting one thick hand upon the Courant, "in all seriousness, I think that we absolutely must embark upon this quest. Fame, fortune, and knowledge are always useful in my book and I never turn down a chance to make either history or bank. But I think that prudent precautions are important and a level of preparation ought to be considered. Only one life to live, eh?" Howard smiled, nodding at the Shaman in respect.

The prototypical capitalist then turned his attentions on Tesibius and Irvin. "And I just have to hear what you know about this thaumo-synthetic plant, my good Tesibius! And Irvin," Howard said, shifting his gaze towards the alchemist, "if you're in the business of learning more about dragons, just let me know! I have been eager to make some better connections in the Imperium for some time now.” He paused, speaking more to himself. “Real dragons! If I could only have access to some of their military-industrial technology and methods..."

Howard seemed lost in thought for a brief moment before shaking himself out of dreams of gears, steel, and profits. He then put the end of the rolled up newspaper to his chin, his brow furrowed. "Hmmm," he said before looking up and moving his eyes to the only member of the board yet to speak at the table. "You've been rather quiet Kai, what are your thoughts on the matter?"

Kai sat up straight, his reverie broken, his gaze now focused in the present. Since his turn reading the article, his mind had packed up a few important things already. A few small tomes, custom-bound down the street and prepared for loving decoration once their crisp, blank pages had been filled; writing utensils for the road (good, solid charcoal, not one of those ridiculous tail disasters); a small pack of necessities. His mind had already left the building with these items in tow and started traveling, for the moment the words "enter the Underdark" had crossed his retinas, the rest had been merely a symposium of little bright points of happiness. Reconstructing the tension. He shivered with delight as that phrase passes through his consciousness again now.

Ponderously, he said, "I can't recall the last time you bothered to ask my opinion, Howard." Kai does not mean this as a barb, of course. He is simply casually observing the length of time this has taken. It's generally clear they will not agree, but here lies a clear exception.

"I am for it, of course. I understand your concerns, Shaman, of course, but I am sure you know full well not one among us will not seek to pursue this opportunity. I have little doubt we will succeed in acquiring the privilege," he noted, not cockily, just matter-of-factly. "The chance to learn firsthand what has become of an entire society, an entire region lost to the records of history, in all this time isolated from the rest of the world -- what could possibly be more interesting? Sure, we could stay here and read about it someday. But as lovely as books can be as a source, there is absolutely nothing quite like seeing a thing with your own eyes and experiencing it with your own mind. And the fact that it comes with an adventure and so many other mysteries only adds to the case. Surely, we must go. Even were we certain to only find this writhing, unknowable, probably metaphorical wyrm of yours, still I would insist. Would we be true disciples of the Nomad if we planted our roots here and ceased to seek out the new and the unknown? Should the day come that I desire such a thing, I would renounce my path immediately."

He stood up, eager to begin his preparations. "I believe we are decided, then?"

There was a brief pause before the shaman raised his voice hesitantly. "The very notion of such an adventure gives us all pause, indeed." He clasped his hands, tendons clearly twitching, and began to speak cautiously: "A major point of concern is, I believe, the military inclinations of the dragons. If we allow them access to our technology, I fear the worst regarding how… creative they might get. That being said, a sort of performance or exposition may be one of our only ways into their inner sanctum.”

His hands moved, balancing in the air the ideas put forth. "I feel as if we have sufficient Nomadic ability, and technological, alchemical, financial prowess that we could use to show ourselves off not as able fighters but as… entertainment? A distraction. Of course, this would not be our true goal, although a troupe of performing artists is no less noble than any other institution of purpose. We could be... The Halcyon Troupe. Or Group, depending on our mission." He chuckled, a thin sound from such a throat as his.

"I say we dazzle them, confuse them, and keep things strictly superficial, strictly economic. They will doubtless inquire about my appearance, but careful costuming should take care of that. As for Tesibius... Do we want to reveal our mechanical man? I don't know if my ideas are making any sense, or if they are feasible, but perhaps they resonate with the group in some way?"

Tesibius considered the idea. He was in favor either way, but in his consideration there were some minor problems. First, while he was capable of deception magics through his own powers, he was more a student of life magics and could not put up more than a simple defense. Second, any deception could be brushed aside by the legendary prowess of dragons. These were ancient creatures, steeped in lore and power, and the obscuring of form by a spirit less strong than they would go over poorly. Finally, and with emphasis, he really wanted to get in the good graces of the dragons, and not risk anything. There were some things they might not want to show the dragons, but why risk it? One thing the Shaman got right was the idea of entertainment; they should be dazzled, blown away by the work put on by the Foundation.

Howard nodded, starting his addition in the not-quite-silence after Tesibius stopped speaking (it was always strange not going off of auditory cues for conversation). “We must play to our strengths, which are many. Anything less and we risk the money, the fame, the opportunity, and I think we are all clear on how important this is. I believe we have significant preparation ahead of us; we should meet at the end of business today and go over our initial plans, start fitting them together.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them as over a fire, a wide and predatory grin fitting his features well.

<><><> 

The Farthington Industries and the Transitive Anthropology Foundation separately applied for and got huge exposition spaces in the HCEC Main Convention Hall. Howard Farthington was a high-leverage sort of man, and despite the obvious complaint of “they’re basically the same thing, why do you need two you complete bastard” he was able to strong-arm the ad hoc exposition board into doing what he wanted. It was capital well spent.

The Farthington/TAF campus was, therefore, easily twice as large as the next biggest competitor (as it certainly was understood to be a competition). Half of the convention hall was filled with a tightly organized display of the absolute mastery of the combined organizations. Petrochemicals and alchemicals were produced in small and fiercely precise batches, overseen by Irvin and his immediate staff. A small weapons foundry, with the fastest assembly workers in the company, had been running the whole day, producing dozens of Mark I rifles every hour. Lecturers were drawn from the general research staff to describe the host of products and projects being developed within the massive facilities to the north of Haven proper. Kai himself was doing a lecture series describing the expeditions funded by the organizations in great detail, resplendent in his traveling gear, walking through his memories with the hundreds of available artifacts. The Shaman was part of a small, slightly disturbing, yet quite popular exhibit where he did calisthenics (with his mask on) while people watched. Howard was everywhere, gladhanding politicians and competitors alike, always watching for the dragons, always counting ticket sales.

Tesibius was manning the terrarium exhibits, his nature hidden from view with a small cloak of magic and flannel. Visitors came through regularly, more to enjoy the peace and quiet, to marvel at the biological curation, than to investigate. It was a quiet corner, and it was his. Tesibius was happy, for his work to be appreciated, and to walk among the humans. It had been a while.

Sometime in the late afternoon, he found himself alone among his plants and creatures. He did not tire in any normal sense, but it was nice to not worry about people touching fragile specimens. The construct wandered through his territory, taking note of any problems. His attention was so focused on his work that he almost ran into a visitor. Tesibius looked up to offer an apology, but stopped short. A question then rose in his mind, but was quieted almost immediately as the obvious answer prevented it.

The visitor was tall, not tall and thin, but off-scale tall. His clothes were woven from a fine golden flax, with threads of red woven in intricate patterns. He was completely bald with skin as dark as charcoal, which provided an exquisite contrast for the light green eyes that now curiously took in the construct’s appearance. Tesibius, however, saw something vastly different. To a spirit, the world looks far different than that seen by mortals.

He saw the years and the power. He saw the vast knowledge that he was measured against in that inscrutable mind. When a hand extended to touch him in the center of his ‘chest’, he expected a far different set of digits than the hand of flesh and bone. When a grin of surprise spread across the visitor’s face, he expected a far different set of teeth than the perfect pearly whites on display. A spirit’s double vision takes in what is, not just what is seen.

This visitor, this dragon, was practically twitching in excitement and curiosity. Tesibius knew (he knew) that he was completely unknown to this ancient mind, and currently unknowable. He felt that, perhaps, there was more than just economics behind the treaty. The two creatures from outside the mortal ken spent a few more minutes together before the dragon bowed, and left.

<><><> 

“You what?”

I know what I saw.

“There’s no way, we didn’t see it, him, her, whatever, at all-”

That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

“No, good Tesibius, there honestly isn’t a way that happened. My man at the ticket booth saw no-one like that.”

Your man was wrong.

“How did you get so lucky? How? I must have seen half of the visitors to the expo, my throat will be sore for weeks, and I didn’t so much as catch a glance

Really?

“Really.”

Do you want tea for that?

“Actually, would you mind? I’m sure you’ve got something good.”

“Tea needs aside, I was kind of expecting someone to show up. I heard just before lunch from one of my old staff members who got poached by Haemonetics that a really weird guy, all red or whatever, rolled up and acted like he knew everything.”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who got poached?”

“That kid, the uh, where’s he from, back country Arimicia, the hick. Wanted to study creature development for farming. We stay in touch.”

I liked him.

“We all did.”

“If this was a dragon, are we surprised that it moved in mysterious ways? It went where it wanted, saw what it wanted, and left. As the wind blows without source or home, so a dragon must fly… or move.”

“Honestly, that’s an entirely fair point.”

“Did you hear about the officer?”

“I saw him when I went out for some food. He stood like a stone of hate, like an engine of fury and death idling in the snow. I avoided him like the plague.”

I am even more glad I didn’t leave the terrariums.

“Seriously.”

“So what now?”

“I guess we wait? It all kind of went according to schedule, and a lot of other deals and business happened besides the dragons.”

<><><> 

The sigil of the Imperium is straightforward and immediately recognizable. On a background of an context-appropriate color, a metallic circle is embossed, circumscribing a dragon displayed affronte with head to dexter. Banners of Saurian legions have text, mottos of their company, names of their origin districts, sometimes additional details. The diplomatic corps has the dragon passant in peacetime, perched overt in war with small humanoids in its claw.

A package had arrived at the foundation, with two letters. The first was from the attache to the Imperium embassy in Haven (an incredibly imposing Saurian by the name of Doriadus). Inside was a congratulatory letter with a request for an audience in three days’ time to discuss the second letter. The second letter, which Howard had resisted opening until the board had gathered, was contained in an envelope of unmatched paper quality. On its surface, a red-gold sigil, with the words De Imperium Draconis Nobilis in impossibly fine letters below. The silence was a physical presence in the boardroom as Howard solemnly opened the envelope and withdrew the letter.

By authority of the Golden Emperor, Protector of the Imperium, Flame of Bahamut, Mighty and Invulnerable:

In accordance with the Eighth Treaty of Haven, signed on Midsummer’s Day in this year of the Age of Fire:

By unanimous vote of the Council for Underdark Expedition Selection:

The submission by the Farthington Industries Company, and by extension the Transitive Anthropology Foundation, for exploration of the Underdark through the Coboldia Delve is probationally accepted. Further progression towards a successful bid will be fulfilled by more extensive presentation.

The five representatives of the Council will examine the board members of the Transitive Anthropology Foundation accordingly:

Tesibius, Inquo and construct of ancient make, by Cauraelus of the First Order.

The elf, shaman of indeterminate origin, by Ardurian of the Second Order.

Howard Armon Dalius Farthington, master of his industries, by Ordiadus of the Third Order.

Irvin Wildhair, artificer and alchemist, by Elodicius of the Fourth Order.

Kai Longstrider, adventurer and nomad, by Harodaius of the Fifth Order.

A representative will inform you of the additional details and examination criteria that you will need to meet in order to submit a complete bid for the exploration contract. A successful bid will result in a final interview with the Council, financial backing from the Imperium for preparation, and travel visas through the Neutral Zone and to the Delve.

Offer no less than all you have to show.

 <><><>

Three other companies received similar letters, the Courant quickly learned: Haven Haemonetics and Homunculi, the dwarven construction firm Kopatel, and an international team representing the HCEC itself. The dragons had made their offer to Haven’s (and the world’s) finest, and though generous things were being given, they were offered in a claw.