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#like do they really think its a good idea to be passing down those genes lmao
blorbobird · 1 year
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LUCEMOND
hotd × harry potter au
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Lucerys Strong liked his life, thank you very much.
The second born son with nearly no heavy duty responsibilities placed upon him. It was a simple, adaptable living. Nothing overly splendid but he found himself in no position to complain ( just yet). He had learned to take things less seriously than his older brother , Jacerys , whilst taking nothing for granted along with it.
That doesnt mean however that his life was perfect. No, no. The life he was born into was rather fucked from the start. The core of its blams could be placed upon the family he was made into. His mother's side, truthfully.
Power hungry pure-bloods that had a taking for insanity and greed. Targaryen. The name alone was a caution tale for all knowing or at least somewhat aware. With their fiery tempers and unwavering need for control , it all had been a passed down trait along with the ivory-white blonde hair and lilac eyes, like any other natural chromosome gene. Neither of which Luke or his brother Jace possessed physically. The rest however…
Have it be noted that Lucerys resembled his now-deceased birth farther, Harwin Strong, on an exterior forefront mainly . With large brown doe eyes that looked more bambi-like than threatening, and a mop of unruly curls that lay ontop of head with a mind of its own.
He was soft, for a Strong.
Cute where he was meant to be seen as manly. The kind that causes girls to friend-zone you in two sentences flat. The kind that boys instantly take you as No Real Threat to any given topic. But if having your cheeks pinched by your mother too frequently is the hardest thing going on in your existence then well … you really can't complain.
You can complain however if it's those big brown eyes that get you into more trouble than good. These adorable things? You'd think it'd do the opposite. But never anything was as simple as that. Or maybe Luke wasn't lucky? If he could bat his eyelashes in the way he saw pretty-girls do, or adorable little puppy dogs, then he would've. Merlin knows he's tried.
His eyes were wanted. Well, one of them? Technically. For a long over-paid debt by the very man making eye contact with him right now.
" Im gonna die," Luke chokes out under his breath. Turning his head away from the gaze currently being inflicted on him from a few tables down.
Flipping a brown strand of hair behind her shoulder as she reads. "Calm down. Its going to be easy." Maris Baratheon hums as she flips a page. " Just a recap of the hexes we learned last year. Maybe that Boggart summary -"
An exasperated sigh leaves the fifth-years mouth. "Not in DADA class!" He presses his elbows to the table and lets his forehead fall onto his palms.
She nearly looks up from her new assigned work book. "Why not? After the smoke-screen charm 'mishap' from last year Id be pretty concerned about Professor Daemon wanting to kill me," A side-ways glare causes her to stir finally. Wide eyed. "Is there another welcome back pop quiz I should be preparing for? Honestly, I swear if its herbology Im ringing you by your ear —"
"You know for the smartest sister out of your siblings you sometimes really are daft!" He sassily remarks looking towards her eyes finally. She stares back, slightly offended, but letting him continue for once before she rambles too much. "You remember that man I told you about? The one that I maimed?"
A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. "The one you told us about in third year? C'mon you're still going on with that lie?" The idea of Lucerys maiming anyone seemed humorous. Unachievable, even. He hadnt even been the sporty brother. Frankly, he'd been known for fainting at a mandrakes scream on more than one occasion.
He never did listen to those warnings of putting on the ear muffs correctly. Luke didn't listen in general.
"Its true!" He gasps sitting up finally and nearly swatting her arm. "Don't believe me? Look towards the Durmstrang table. They're sitting at the end of Slytherins."
Last night they had arrived during dinner. The lot of them, less then twenty but more then ten. Those Beauxbatons students too but they hadnt been the cause of his headaches. His paranoia. The acute awareness of the ticking time bomb above his head.
Maris' eyes scan for a moment before an shocked intake of breath. Maybe she caught on quick or maybe, just maybe , it hadnt been all that hard to find the person sending a death glare across the dining hall. A known presence to those seeking. A bulking shadow.
Aemond "One-Eye" Targaeryn. Brooding as always.
"You did that to him?!" She says in mainly shock alone.
"Im guessing he's still staring?" Luke didnt dare to seek a second peak. Especially when he can feel a small concentrated hole starting to burn its way into the side of his skull.
"I dont even think he's blinking, babes, Imma be honest." Maris is unable to look away apparently. Its like a car accident. A burning, dare she say hot, tragedy to tear your eyes away from. "You maimed a Targareyn? The moody one? The evil one?"
"He's not necessarily evil?" Luke picks up his fork. Trying to find something to do with his hands to seem busy. To try and make the conversation not seem so obvious. "He's just Machiavellian and a Byronic-wannabe." Although Luke knew death could be a very plausible possibility with the kind of psychopath he was dealing with, he had grown up not feeling overly-threatened by it.
He found it humorous ... sort of. He shouldn't have, he knew that. Some part of him knew he should be scared, truly. But adapting possible trauma into humor was the only way Luke learned to cope towards things. It was all just a funny misunderstanding. Yes .
One where he possibly ends up six feet under or bleeding on the floor and screaming. He spiraled last night after seeing Aemond enter the Great Hall. A quick study of what to do if your eye is gouged suddenly from your head. The books in the library said to close the other and try not to move it because eyes mimic each other. If you apply pressure —
" Are you even listening to me?" Maris whisper-scolded with an elbow to the ribs. "You've zoned out again."
A stab to the peas on the plate and he watches them scatter. The butter he smeared previously has gone cold and is making the vegetable stick to the plate as they roll. "Im just thinking of what a joyous last meal this is. Maybe we can sneak to Honeydukes later and get some of those lemon cakes?"
" Stop joking-"
A pointed look. "I never jest about cake,"
A smack over the back of the head causes him to wince. "You're not dying!" She rubs the back of his head in an apology for how hard she smacks. "He's not gonna kill you,"
He dares a sneak finally. Aemond's eye stares him down with an emotionless expression. The way his large hand wraps around his knife however? The white knuckled grip of death that Luke can practically already imagine suffocating him into a inky, black, nothingness …
" He's gonna kill me and he's gonna like it," Enough is enough and Luke finally looks away. Trying not to imagine that twisted cutlery metal as his spine bending. "He's so much larger then he was years ago,"
Its an odd observation but true. Lucerys remembers even less about Bulgaria than his family seems to believe. A bit more than his younger brother, Joffery , who had been but a babe at the time. He hadnt even started school yet. He had been shorter than he was now of course and the towers of snow seemed so tall. The harsh, cold rain that still sends chills down his spine at the thought.
The funeral. The yelling under fyre-light. He just wanted the screaming to stop. The way the curse dripped so easily from Aemonds lips. Like venom, like poison. Wandless and young, untaught cruel magic.
Luke wasnt good at magic now hardly and he hadnt been then. The slice of metal through air then blood. So much blood. The screams only got worse, but it wasn't Jace who had been crying them anymore.
It had been nearly a decade ago when they fled. Daemon Targareyn, his mothers uncle, provided them with lodging near the school he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at.
The last time he saw him, them , any of them. It had been that night after Alicent had gone after young Lucerys in return. Shortly after Harwins death. Enough had been enough. A young Rhaenyra fled with her children to England. Jace had gotten his letter to Hogwarts some time after. They made it their new home.
Luke adapted quickly. As quickly as he could. The less toxic life style away from Pure-blood greed was comforting. The constant scolds for being turned half-blooded nearly didnt matter here. Sure, some of the Slytherin families held prejudice. No one who mattered to him. It was shrugged and waved off other wise.
It was a modern age anyway. Most wizards and witches were half-bloods in this new age of 1976. Muggles , non magic folks , had a lots of interesting things to bring to the table.
Music, for starters. Music he wouldnt have heard otherwise. Art and poetry and movies and groovy new clothes. All these things he focused himself off because he wasnt perhaps best at the rest of it all. Magic, swords, dragons …
"Ya know what?" Luke starts. The cold plate of peas and the distant thought of drowning panicked sorrow in Lemony-sweets going on pause. "Im not gonna die."
"Thats spirit!"
"By Aemond or Mister Daemon-"
… " Now, thats a bit bold I'm not gonna lie." Maris whispers in a slightly judgy tone.
"I just," He squares his shoulders and sits straighter. "I just need to kpen up his perspective,"
"You need to open up his what now?"
He ignores and continues. "Show him? That he's wrong and that he can't have my eye or my life and neiTHER will be his because of his sick twisted — "
Maris pupils widen and theres suddenly a shadow looming from somewhere over him.
"My sick twisted what now?" A cool, liquid metal voice spills its way into Lucerys ears. Maybe reality hits a bit finally as goosebumps spread and a bit of fear kicks in.
A wince. A breath.
Lucerys tilts his head up slowly. Meeting the unwavering glare of Aemond Targaryen as he stands some where behind him. Above him. Peering down at Luke like he's the smallest thing he's ever gazed upon. Something to step on and squish where he stands. Something that belongs under his heel.
"Oh, yeah. Im dead."
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imperfectercell · 2 years
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ahh no pressure but i’d also love to hear what headcanons people submitted! i’m not very creative with dragon ball so it’s cool to hear for me
Anon I shall do this... For You <3
I'll be putting them under a readmore and crediting anyone who sent one in who wasnt on anon! And I do promise thee, it is a Long one. I will try to give me thoughts where applicable/where I have anything to say about it, but its just fun to look at different hcs!
First is from me dear friend @/kaiheads !
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i love this. their family just became so cringe and fucked up that they had to properly control their genes through science to uphold their frankly insane tradition. and we have talked before about Cooler being a "failure" despite being so powerful this is Such good shit
Next is from @/starshields !
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I really like this idea! Its very interesting. I honestly dont have a ton to add to it, other than I'd love to see the differences of namkians even further from what we see of earth raised namekians vs other ones
Here is the next one, from an Anon!
"so sort of a mix of head canon and canon, but for namekians, they seem to be SUPER social—they live in huge family units and have the mindset of “it takes a village.” i think being raised so closely in these groups enables easy telepathy, and there’s a very communal mindset rather than individualistic—they’re not a hive mind, they’re just collectivist and it’s considered the right thing to do when you put aside yourself for the group, and keeping secrets/privacy is difficult when mental communication comes so naturally, and doing so feels like a betrayal (we’re not angry, just disappointed). feel like it’s almost constant, like passive information and knowledge just passes along through groups easily. i’ve always felt like dende would consider piccolo to be impaired somewhat, like a kid who never really got much socialization—he he has a clear mental link with kami, but aside from that, by the time they went to namek, he was only capable of communicating with gohan. in this way he’d probably be considered kind of kiddish and a little pitied, which pisses him off lol. he does gradually form strong links with a few other people (sometimes accidentally sharing thoughts) and is capable of reaching out to those he’s not quite as close with at times, but never on the level of a native namekian. i also like to think that namekians used to have more diverse accent colors, but after the cataclysm, it’s all guru (yellow)‘a offspring, while piccolo/kami had pink (since anime/manga colors are different)! i also think namekians sort of never stop growing, although it slows down considerably at a certain point—that’s why we have giants like king piccolo and guru, they’re just that old."
I've seen ideas like this before, and I really enjoy the ideas about Telepathy. I'm sure it's basically like Whispering for a Namekian, and I like the stuff u got here
Next is a Bunch of them from @/madamecricket!
"madamecricket asked:
baby icejin hc 1: baby icejins learn to fly before learning how to walk, but being babies with no coordination, they tend to hover around uncontrolled like lil' balloons.
the cold family are supposed to be unusually cruel and powerful mutant icejins, yes. but they aren't mutants just because; cold's own father wanted an extremely powerful progeny and deliberately used experimental serums and enhancers on baby cold to alter his DNA and make him stronger, which cold himself did with cooler and freeza. so it's more like genetic engineering than random mutation. inspired by amiz06-certified-b1mb0
when toriyama states that "freeza was born from king cold alone", i assume that means cloning technology was involved. freeza and cooler are test tube babies, essentially.
i hc that icejins don't have distinct biological sexes. freeza is every bit as female as he is male - that is to say, none at all - but defaults to he/him pronouns because his muscular flat-chested build looks more masculine to most people.
(getting self-indulgent here) i also hc that non-mutant frost demons do actually need a mate to reproduce, but not because they reproduce sexually. they're a little bit like Kif from Futurama, because the requirement for reproduction is just true, requited love. so there's no gene exchange, but a pregnant icejin will 'imprint' their unborn offspring with what they consider their mate's best qualities, producing variance... incidentally, this is why king cold had to rely on cloning.
i kinda figure that by the time of the namek saga, non-mutant icejins are extinct. king cold, the progenitor of mutant icejins, made sure of that. at best there might be a few scattered survivors in cryosleep somewhere, but freeza might be literally the last of his kind.
king cold backstory p1: he was created as a superstrong mutant by his own father (called, idk, blizza?) essentially to serve him and build his kingdom. baby cold went through a LOT of painful treatments to achieve this, and did all the killing and fighting and intimidation while daddy blizza reaped the benefits. eventually young cold had enough of blizza's BS, killed him, and took his place.
king cold backstory p2: incidentally, this is why cold spoils freeza the way he does. freeza is much stronger than cold the same way cold was so much stronger than blizza. so i imagine king cold was just trying to keep history from repeating itself, letting freeza have his way and straight up retiring rather than contending with freeza over control of the empire."
WOW a lot of fun stuff about Frost Demons, thanks for sending it all in!
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lake-lady · 2 years
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I come from a long line of people who should not have had children but did anyway
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An Officer and a Gentleman
Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; oral, anal, cheating (sort of), name-calling.
This is dark!(silverfox)Lee Bodecker x (married)reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Synopsis: Your after hours work gets in the way of your day job.
Note: I had the first half sitting around and finished it so here ya go. It takes place in the 70s so Lee is older and it was inspired by an article I read about the creation phone sex lines by a housewife in the 70s (which now of course I can’t flippin find). But anyway, here you go.
Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
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The sheriff sat down in his usual spot as you wiped your hands on the rag tucked into your apron. He set his hat on the table and tidied his greying hair. Even at his age, his locks were thick and looked soft. Strands of brown lined the shining silver and shone under the diner lights.
He came in at the same time every day, only an hour into your shift. You approached and flipped the cup on its saucer before you filled it. He took only sugar, no cream 
or milk. You smiled as you watched him read over the menu, he never ordered anything but the waffles.
“Good morning, sheriff,” you said as you held the carafe aloft. “Lookin’ to try something new?”
“‘Dols Leck’?” Lee Bodecker mispronounced the French words, “What’s that?”
“Dolce Leche,” you corrected, “It’s caramel.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his ruddy cheek and reached for his mug. He drank and held out the menu. “Waffles with strawberry.”
“Extra cream,” you finished for him. He nodded and had another gulp as you walked away.
You put in his ticket after you replaced the coffee pot on the burner. You checked on the few other customers along the counter and wiped down the empty tables. The bell rang and you went to grab the sheriff’s breakfast from the window. You set the plate down before him as he folded the newspaper and replaced it in the little holder at the end of the table.
“How’s Eugene?” He asked as he unwrapped his cutlery. “And the boy?”
“Gene’s still on nights.” You lamented and subconsciously touched your stomach. “Little Ezra’s almost a year now.”
Your boy was buxom and buoyant. You smiled as you thought of his round cheeks and warm brown eyes. You only wished his father was around more to take him off your hip as you cooked and cleaned in your spare hours after work. Eugene was asleep as much as he was at the factory. You saw each other in passing as you scraped for ends meet.
Ezra was with Eugene’s mother during the day. You’d pick him up and take him home to wait for your husband to wake. If you were lucky, you got a kiss before he grabbed his lunch pail and headed out for his twelve hours. You hadn’t gotten more than that since before Ezra came. Neither of you had the time or energy, though the want was there.
“And you sheriff? How are you doing these days?” You asked before you could get lost in your self-pity.
“Ah, you know. The same old. Patrol’s ain’t too exciting.” He cut into the stack and licked his lips. He was a man with a sweet tooth, a substitute for his former alcoholic habit.
“Well, you enjoy, sheriff, you know how to get my attention.” You left him and did a round of refills for those eating and greeted the new arrivals.
Lee was always alone when he came in. He never brought any of his cadets or officers, he just sat, read the newspaper, and ate his waffles. He wasn’t married and had no children. Nearly fifty years on his back but he seemed content on his own. You almost envied him as you struggled with your small family.
🚔
You laid Ezra down carefully in his crib. He was getting big. You tickled his forehead and watched him for a moment before you left the room. It was late. Eugene was gone and the phone would ring soon. You had to prepare yourself for your night time duties.
It started small. An idea found in the pages of one of those feminist magazines, the very ones your husband called good kindling. A woman lost her job, still hard-fought for the domestic sex, and found herself in a similar way as yourself. Money was always needed and harder to come about. So she started her own service for the lonely men. A phone line with illicit intentions.
You read about it in the late stages of your pregnancy and laughed at the idea. It was so stupid. So scandalous. But once you were back to work and Eugene was on the late shift, you grew lonely and your checkbook was harder to open.
You hand wrote the little cards after a visit to the phone company. Eugene didn’t know about the second line. The number redirected to your main line and was active for only three hours a night, after your husband was gone. It was registered as a commercial line so each incoming call was billed to the dialer and a percentage was refunded on your own invoice.
You left the number around town, certain not to be seen as you dropped the cards in the car shop and the bar. At least, you hoped you hadn’t been seen.
The first night had you addled and sleepless until your shift began at the diner. It was hard to keep up the sultry voice and the lies. Difficult to act like the whole thing didn’t make you cringe. The men called and said their dirty words as you encouraged them with moans and little prods. “Oh yes, baby.” or “Tell me more.” It felt like you were cheating on your husband but it kept his plate full and the house warm.
The phone didn’t ring right away that night. Later in the week, you got more calls but one or two was better than none. The real profit was keeping them on the line as long as you could, but there were times you had to end abruptly to see to your wailing child.
You were half-asleep when the first call came in. You fumbled with the receiver and batted away your fatigue with your lashes. You held in a yawn and your sleepiness added to the allure of your put-on voice.
“Hello, mister, what are you longing for tonight?” You laid back on your pillow and played with the spiral cord.
“Well, I…” You blinked and held the phone against your ear. He sounded familiar, as many of the men did, but his timbre made your ears prick sharply. “I don’t know. I never did nothing like this before.”
You squinted and thought. You knew him but you couldn’t place the twinge in your head.
“I can start for you, darling,” you offered. “Mmm, tell you what I would do to you?”
He cleared his throat and you heard movement. He was nervous. So many of the men sounded the same. Most of them were afraid of being caught by their wives or uncertain about their desires. At first, you had the same fears but had since grown indifferent. It was human nature, as natural as one’s instinct to quench their thirst for water.
“How do you like it, darling? You like it when a lady bends over? I like it like that. Or maybe you want to start with me on my back.”
He groaned and you heard the receiver scratch. He let out a strained breath and moved the phone to his other hand.
“I want to use your mouth.” He said at last. His voice was low and gristly. “I want to push your head down in my lap as I choke you with my cock.”
You stared at the ceiling as you reclined and hummed. “Oh yeah.”
“Shut up.” He snarled. “I don’t want to hear your voice, I just want your mouth on me until you can’t fucking breathe. I want to hear you struggle. I was your tears streaming down your face and salting the taste of me on my tongue. I want to hold you down and cum until it’s deep in your belly.”
You parted your lips and raised your brows. You were still focused on trying to recognize the voice. His tone made you quiver. He was more forceful than most men. A lot of them just talked about sucking on your tits or went straight to fucking.
“I’d love that, darling.” You lied and bent one leg over the other as you swayed your foot.
“I said shut up!” He hissed. “I want to hold you down with my hands around your neck. I want to fuck you until your screaming. I’ll fuck you until you bleed. Until you beg for me to cum again.”
His breath was furious and you heard something else. The phone was moving against his chin as he moaned and you were certain you could hear his hand somewhere else; lower. It set your cheeks on fire and you sat up. His voice, his breath, the sheer anger and lust laced in his rasps. Your throat tightened as if he was truly choking you.
“But I want to cum in your ass. I want to make it hurt. I want you to cry as I tear you apart from the inside.” He growled and coughed as his voice fizzled out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He stroked himself furiously and the receiver dropped with a thump and you flinched. “Fucking bitch, yeah, you want my cock deep in your ass. Fucking whore.”
Your fingers hurt as you gripped the phone tightly and listened. His curses streamed steadily until the line clicked and died suddenly. You lowered the receiver and stairs at the little whole clustered together on the mouthpiece. You set it in the cradle and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.
It was unlike any call you’d had. It was terrifying and made your blood curdle. You felt as if it had actually happened as your chest was heavy and your heart raced. You blew out a shaky breath and reached to silence the ringer. 
That was enough for the night.
🚔
The next day at the diner, you couldn’t stop yawning. You hadn’t slept much as the call replayed in your head over and over. The man’s voice was so clear in your mind and every time you started to drift off, he spoke in your ear. You dragged the rag over the top of the counter as Amelia spoke with the elderly couple in that corner.
The door chimed and you looked up. Sheriff Bodecker took off his hat as he entered and nodded at you. With the coffee pot in hand, you went to his table, already set for his arrival. You wished him a good morning and filled his cup. His voice was thick as he muttered his response and picked up the menu. He looked as tired as you felt.
“Strawberry, sheriff?” You prompted.
“Hmm,” he scratched his chin, stubbly from a missed shave. “This Dolsay Leckay. I’ll try that today.” He held out his menu. “I’m trying new things this week.”
You took the menu stiffly and nodded. “Waffles with dolce leche sauce. Right away, sheriff.” 
You turned and walked off to write out his ticket. You returned the coffee pot to its place and set down the menu as you took out your pad and pen. Your hand shook as you scribbled out the order. You stuck it in the window and leaned on the counter.
It couldn’t be him. You were crazy. You didn’t get enough sleep and you were wanting to hear that voice everywhere. Your reassurances were weak and only made you shiver as you righted yourself and continued wiping down the tables.
You angled yourself to look at the sheriff as he squinted down at the newspaper. He stuck his tongue out as he read to poke his top lip and tilted his head coyly. He cleared his throat and coughed as his order rang in the window. 
You went to grab the plate and struggled not to fumble it. It was him. The way he coughed, the gravelly scratch of his throat, the deep and firm undertone. You couldn’t deny it was him. You were stunned you hadn’t recognized him at once.
“There you are, sheriff,” you said as you set down his plate. “Enjoy.”
“I think I will,” he rubbed his hands together. “I’m starving this morning.”
“If you need anything,” you made your usual offer.
He looked at you and smiled. You noticed how his eyes strayed to your name tag and the buttons of your blue dress. He turned to his waffles and took out the knife and fork.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said as he ran the tines of the fork through the dark caramel. “I think I’m just fine.”
You left him to eat and straightened your apron. You were confident you’d changed your voice enough that he didn’t have the same epiphany. Even so, everything about him was different. At least in your head. He was no longer the desolate sheriff, he was desperate and demanding. He wasn’t who you thought he was. He was a man with a lot of power and a hunger to use it.
🚔
It was several days before you dared to leave the ringer on after Eugene’s departure. Your husband was loving but almost entirely absent. Since Ezra was born, he’d only grown more distant and work could not excuse him completely. When you ate dinner late with him, he barely heard you as he kept the radio on and those nights he didn’t work, he didn’t touch you.
You felt worse for your own misdeeds. The phone line made you shy and sullen with him. You should tell him but you didn’t know how and truly, you couldn’t. You knew he wouldn’t take it well and even if he was barely there, you couldn’t lose him. You were already painfully alone.
That night, he volunteered for overtime and so you hardly saw him before he headed out. He said you needed the money but your books were well balanced from your own after hours work. You’d done it to take the burden off of him but he still took the extra time, even as you argued that your bills were in good standing. 
Was it you? When had it all grown so cold?
Ezra ate his mashed peas and you set him down for the night. You heard him cooing still but you kept to your schedule even when he was wide awake. He always tired himself out and never fussed very long.
You sat on your bed and read. You checked the time. The phone would start soon and that night you couldn’t leave it off. You needed the money and you couldn’t be picky about where it came from. The month would be over and there would be a whole new batch of debts to account for.
You jumped as it rang. You kept the volume low so it didn’t carry through the whole house and you answered after several rings. You gave your usual greeting and breathed a sigh of relief when it was one of your regulars. You closed your book and picked your nails as you went along with his routine.
When he finished, you wished him a good night. You were dead tired but one more call wouldn’t hurt. You waited and grabbed the receiver on the first ring.
“Hello, mister, what are you looking for tonight?” You made your voice higher and breathier.
“Shhhh.” The long hush chills your veins. “Don’t talk.”
You quivered. It was him. You looked at the phone cradle.
“Don’t hang up.” He said as if he could read your mind. “You want it, don’t you? You want to feel me inside you. Down your throat, fucking the whore out of you.”
“I…” you uttered.
“I said be quiet.” He barked. “I want my cock so far down your throat I can feel it as I choke you. I want your spit all over me, I want you gasping and gulping until you pass out and I’m fucking your mouth lifeless.”
Your eyes widened and you listened in disgust. He growled and his hand slapped off his thigh as he pleasured himself. You sit paralysed as fear bubbled in your chest and you felt as if he could see you. You crossed your legs and huddled down over the receiver.
“I want to fuck your cunt until it hurts to sit down. I want to hear my body slam into yours, I want you to beg me to stop and keep going at the same time. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t make a noise, until all you can hear is my cock pounding inside of you.”
“Please…” You wanted him to stop. You wanted to hang up and yet you were terrified to move.
“And I know you want it too, whore. I know you need it. Not these words, not these calls, but you need me,” he shuddered “and I need it just as bad.”
He grunted and the line grew still. He hissed and cursed. 
“I’m a fucking mess,” he sneered. Another silence and you think he hung up. His voice startled you when he spoke again. “Who’re ya?”
“Wh-what?”
“I ain’t stupid. You’re some lady in the county. Maybe some lonely housewife. Ain’t sound like no prostitute I ever knew.” He sniffed and let out a groan. “Maybe you some dumb teenager playin’ games on the telephone, huh?”
“I don’t-- No. I--” You hung up. 
You stood and pulled the line out of the phone and dropped down heavily. You put your head in your hands and shook it. Fuck!
🚔
The next morning at the diner, you served the sheriff with a false smile. Every time he spoke, you heard the words he said to you on the phone. Although his tone was placid, his fervour played over and over in your ears. And when you overpoured his coffee, you apologized only to have him assure you it was alright and let you mop up the mess with your rag.
He left you his usual tip and you cleared his table. The newspaper was tinged from your spill and you dumped it on his plate. As you did, a card slipped out onto the table and your handwriting stared back at you from the carefully cut rectangle. You hid it quickly in the newspaper and rushed to toss it all in the trash and drop the plate in the bin.
It must have been a mistake, you assured yourself and excused yourself for a breath of air. The chef, Carson, was already by the kitchen doors and you said yes to a smoke from his pack. You lit it after the third try and inhaled the tobacco deep into your chest. You would go to the phone company tomorrow on your day off and shut down the second line. Your lesson was learned. It wasn’t worth the spare pennies.
Your day dragged by as all you could think of was the line. When you got to the phone company, you were jittery with worry. It was easy enough to shut it down but the fee cost you your tips for the day. You checked the clock before you left, bound to be a few minutes late picking up Ezra.
As you came out onto the street, your open jacket flapped in the wind over your uniform and your mary janes clacked on the pavement as you rushed to get to Enid’s and pick up your son. When you stopped at the corner to wait for traffic to pass, a flash and a honk made you jump.
Sheriff Bodecker pulled up to the curb and rolled down his window. He waved and leaned his arm on the door as he peered out at you.
“You needa ride?” He asked.
You smiled awkwardly and clutched the handles of your weathered purse.
“Sheriff, no thank you, I’m not goin’ too far,” you waved him off.
“Nonsense, you on your feet all day. It’s the least I can do.”
“You must be busy.”
“Radio ain’t goin’ off,” he slapped the door, “now come on.” He reached down and opened the door, stepping out with a groan, “Get in. You always are so nice down at the diner.”
You swallowed and your lips quivered as you tried to hold your smile. You followed him around the other side of the car as he opened the door for you. You got into the vintage cruiser and crossed your legs as you cradled your purse on your lap. He closed the door and dropped in on the other side.
He shifted into gear and pulled off. You thanked him and fiddled with clasp of your purse.
“No problem, but uh, I just needa know where you’re goin’,” he chuckled as he slowed at the next four way.
“Oh, I gotta get Ezra from his gramma’s,” you explained, “She lives just down Carsbee.”
“Not far at all,” he commented as he turned the wheel, “So, how was the rest of your day then?”
“Not so bad,” you said breathily as he looked at you in his mirror and you focused on the pedestrians on the street, “and yours, sheriff?”
“You can call me Lee if ya like,” he offered, “And wasn’t so bad either. Which number is it, sweetheart?”
You sniffed at the pet name, he was usually so formal at the diner with his ma’ams.
“21B,” you answered as you wiggled your foot nervously, “you can just drop me off. It’s not too far to home.”
“Don’t be silly, I wanna meet your boy,” he intoned, “you talk about him so much.”
“Oh, uh, of course,” you murmured as he pulled up along the front of your mother-in-law’s, “I just gotta go get him then.”
You hooked your purse over your elbow and slid over the seat. The sheriff kept you from opening the door as he bid you stay and got out quickly as he rushed around the front of the car. He opened the door like a gentleman and removed his hat. 
“I’m old but I haven’t forgot my manners,” he nodded and waited for you to step out.
You got to your feet and thanked him again before you strolled up the crooked walk to the front door. You knocked and let yourself in like you always did. You could hear Ezra babbling as he played with wooden toy cars. Enid sat in her usual spot and rocked as she watched him.
“How was he today?” You asked as you grabbed the bag you always left with him and packed up the loose ends beside it.
“Loud,” Enid muttered, “hyper.”
“Well, he’s at that age,” you grasped your purse and Ezra’s bag in one hand and picked him up from the floor as he reached out for you. “Alright, Ez, say buh bye to grammy.”
He waved and cooed as you held him on your hip. Enid said buy in her grumpy way and got up to see you to the door. You came down the single step as Lee waited by his cruiser. Ezra buried his face in your shoulder as he turned away from the sheriff.
“Don’t be shy, Ezra, this is the sheriff, Mr. Bodecker,” you tried to shake him upright but he clung to you and hid.
“Ah, don’t worry, I’m used to that,” Lee laughed and opened the door, “people see the badge and they’re not so friendly.”
“He just goin’ through a phase,” you assured as you sat with Ezra in your lap.
As Lee shut the door, you let the bags lean against it and the car dipped as he got in the other side. He turned the engine and you gave him your own address as your son squirmed in your lap. At the first corner, Ezra found the courage to look at the sheriff and the officer looked back and stuck out his tongue.
“He looks like you,” Lee said as he pushed down on the pedal, “real cute.”
You accepted the compliment and hugged Ezra tighter. You could barely process the sheriff’s words as your mind returned to those he spoke the night before. Every time he spoke, you heard him, hissing and cussing at you.
You were relieved when he came up to your house and you turned to grab your bags. You felt a tug on your elbow as you balanced Ezra and your things. You looked back at Lee as he held your arm.
“I’ll get the door,” he said, “you just stay put.”
You waited as he let you go and once more, opened the door for you. He took the bags as you climbed out and you protested that you were fine. His hand settled on your shoulder as he pulled you to face him.
“Well, sweetheart, you gonna invite me in for some coffee?”
You were shocked by his boldness and couldn’t hide it. You blanched and looked at Ezra as he tugged at your jacket. You laughed awkwardly.
“Eugene’s still sleepin’ for his shift, I don’t--”
“We got some things to discuss and I think the least you can do after I was so kind as to drive you home is a coffee.”
You squinted at him in confusion. “Maybe another time, sheriff, I’d really hate to wake--” you reached for your bags and he stopped you with his grip firm on your wrist.
“Does he know?” Lee asked in a gristly voice.
“Know what?”
“Know you a whore?” Lee sneered.
You reeled and tried to twist from his grasp. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You can’t say them words on the phone and not mean ‘em,” he leaned in close, “Now I think you know what I want to talk with you about so you invite me in and I’ll be real nice about it but if you keep me out here, I can’t promise your neighbours won’t get a show.”
You pouted and rocked Ezra as he began to fidget, sensing your discomfort. “Please, I got Ezra--”
“You put him in the next room so we can discuss,” Lee insisted.
He let go of you and you nodded dumbly. You watched him wearily as you turned and led him up the walk. You unlocked the front door and he followed you inside. He hung his hat on the rack with his leather jacket and you hurried into the bedroom to set Ezra down in his crib. You distracted him with his stuffed rabbit and left him. He was usually due for a nap around then anyway.
When you got back to the front room, Lee sat on your couch and you went to the kitchen to start the coffee. You waited for the water to boil and filled the percolator as you dreaded what would come next. You poured a mug and set it out on the coffee table with the sugar dish. 
Lee leaned forward and spooned the sweet powder into his mug as you stood and wrung your hands. How had he figured it all out? How long had he known? Was he going to tell Eugene?
“Sit,” he said as he inhaled the savoury scent and took a cautious sip. His mug made a deafening clink as he set it down and you sat. “I s’pose you went by the phone company to end your little game.”
You sucked your lip in nervously and nodded as you looked down guiltily.
“Mhmm,” he hummed, “you know I was down there a few days ago and they just hand the records over if I say I got a warrant. They ain’t look close enough to realise it’s just a receipt.”
You gulped and kept your head down. You ran your tongue against your lip and blinked away the moisture in your eyes.
“How long you been doin’ all that?” he asked.
“Couple months,” you admitted, “I just needed some extra money. Ever since Ezra was born…”
“But you could get another job.”
“I gotta be home for the boy. Eugene never is.”
“Now a woman don’t be talkin’ like that if she happy. If she not alone.”
“Stop, please. It was a mistake. I’m sorry if you feel like I--”
“Sorry?” he interrupted, “you’re sorry? You think Gene would accept that?”
You sat in silence and picked at the button on your jacket. You hadn’t even bothered to take it off. “You gonna tell him?”
He let out a heavy breath and took another drink of coffee. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
You looked at him and furrowed your brow in confusion. You shook your head as he smirked.
“I will if you make me but if you want me to stay quiet--”
“Sheriff--”
“Shhhh,” he raised a finger, “now, you want me keep my mouth shut, you be waitin’ for me tonight after he goes.”
You stared at him in terror as your heart threatened to jump up your throat.
“And then we’re done talkin’. Then you do all those things we spoke about.”
“You can’t-- I got a son.”
“And a husband but you still be talkin’ to strange men about your pretty little pussy, don’t you?”
You blew a shaky breath between your trembling lips and sank down in the chair in shame. “I thought you were a good man, sheriff.”
“I am, don’t mean I’m not lonely.”
He drained the rest of the mug and coughed. He stood and adjusted his belt, his hand lingering on his belt. You watched his finger trace the barrel and your eyes crept up to his face.
“I’d hate to wake your husband, sweetheart, so I’ll be on my way.” he retreated around the couch and paused by the door, “but I’ll be around.”
🚔
The night went by faster than any. You never felt like you got much time with your husband but it was almost as if he was gone as soon as he woke. He left you with a peck on your forehead and dread in your chest. You thought of telling him, you wanted to confess and fix everything that had broken, but you couldn’t. You were too ashamed.
So when he was gone, you put Ezra down for the night and hoped the Sheriff was just trying to scare you. He couldn’t be serious, could he? You’d known him for years and he was only every sweet at the diner. He was a solitary man but was never unkind. That afternoon, he had been an entirely different man.
You sat on the couch, no radio, no nothing, and picked at the lines of your hand. You were certain you would sit up all night and laugh at yourself in the morning. He was just making sure you stopped, that had to be it.
But then the knock came and your whole body went rigid. You waited until it sounded again, harder, louder. You got up and went to the door. You didn’t need to look out to know who it was. You opened up and Lee watched you with his menacing blue eyes. They were no longer the gentle gems you knew from the diner.
“Sweetheart,” he drawled as he stepped inside and you backed away from him.
He closed the door and locked it then he removed his hat and jacket, just as he had earlier. He bent to ease off his boots and stood as he cleared his throat. He peered behind you and looked around your small house.
“I’m just in time, huh?” he mused as he touched your side and let it slip down to your hip. “What you shakin’ for?”
“I thought…” you rasped. “Sheriff, you know me. I’m not a bad woman.”
“You ain’t?” he snickered. “I do know you. I’m the only one in the county who knows the real you.”
“I don’t understand why you’re doin’ this,” you whined.
“I’m old but not decrepit,” he took your hand and raised it, “and you’re a beautiful woman. I daresay,” he kissed the back of your hand, “motherhood did make you even sweeter.”
“Please,” you begged.
“You get in that bedroom before I lose the last of my will,” he bit his lip as he looked you up and down and released your hand.
You shivered and backed away from him. You went blindly to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. You couldn’t, not in the bed you shared with your husband. Lee came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle.  His hot breath tickled your ear as he leaned into you.
“I wanna see what you hide under that dress,” he purred, “now don’t make me ruin it.”
You gasped and drew away from him. You neared the foot of the bed and unbuttoned the top of your dress. Your fingers were ungainly as you struggled and you pushed the sleeves down your arms with a stifled sob. You shoved the fabric past your waist and hips and his growl made you stand upright with a snap.
Your stockings were held up by fraying garters and your old underwear added to your shame. Your brasserie was pointed and too tight. You hung your head and balled your hands into fists.
“Turn around, I wanna see you,” he said.
You reluctantly obeyed and stared at the floor. He hummed and his thumb ran over his belt buckle. A sudden cry made your blood cold and he scowled. Ezra was awake.
You moved to go to him and the sheriff blocked the door.
“I gotta go to him. He must’ve had a bad dream.”
“I’ll take care of the boy. You just be waitin’ when I get back.” he ran his tongue under his teeth, “naked.”
He pointed to the bed and didn’t leave until you took several steps back. You listened as he went to the small room attached to the master. You worried he might hurt the boy but his coaxing voice surprised you. 
“Shhh,” you heard the distant tone, “it’s okay, son, it’s okay.”
You reached to unhook your bra and sat to roll your stockings off. You needed this man gone. If you abided him, he would be away sooner. You dropped the last of your clothing to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Your nails dug into the blankets and you closed your eyes.
It was over a year since you’d been touched. That alone made you shy but that man made you terrified. You heard him enter but didn’t look up at him. “You get up on all fours and ready that mouth for me.” he ordered as you heard his buckle tink, “yeah, I wanna start there.”
You swallowed and did as he said. You felt like some lowly animal as you stared at the floor. You heard the flutter of fabric as he stripped and when he came close, you shut your eyes. He grabbed your hand and jerked you to the edge. He tapped the tip of his cock along your lips.
“Now, open up, sweetheart,” he snarled, “I know you remember every word I said.”
You parted your lips and he forced his way into your mouth. He poked at the back of your throat but didn’t relent. You gagged as he sank down your throat and your entire body twitched. His hand went to your neck as he drew back and pushed back in. He felt himself as he invaded your throat over and over.
“Ah, yes, that’s it,” he uttered, “you can’t tell me you’re not a whore. You take me like one.”
You tried to swallow around him and breath and it made him groan. He kept fucking your face as his hand squeezed your throat. Your spit spilled out and smeared across your face and his pelvis. He kept your head bobbing until you were dizzy and dazed.
He stopped, deep down your throat, and grunted. He let out a shuddery breath and pushed you off of him. You slipped down onto your stomach and gasped over the side of the bed.
“Hoo, I almost blew,” he huffed, “oh, you bad, bad girl.” He trailed his hand down your back and slapped your ass, “turn around and get back up.”
You whimpered and lifted yourself back to your knees. You moved stiffly around and wiped your mouth as the taste of him stained your tongue. He grabbed your hips and pulled you back. He kneaded your ass with hungry growls and pinched your thigh. He felt along your cunt and tutted.
“You wet for me,” he taunted, “just from a taste, sweetheart.”
You dropped your head and he moved closer. He pressed the head of his dick against your folds and ran it up and down as you slickened. He lined up with your entrance and his large hand gripped your hip. He slid into you with a sigh and you let out a startled cry. Maybe it was because it was so long but he felt massive. You quivered around him and clenched your teeth.
“Oh, fuck, you want it just as bad as me, don’t ya?” He bucked his hips and you exclaimed, “how am I suppose to hold back with you squeezin’ me like that?”
He didn’t hold back as he caught his stride. He hammered into you as your flesh slapped loudly. You feared the noise would wake your son again, or worse, be heard by the neighbours. He groaned and grunted as he rammed into you and your thighs quaked. Ripples rolled over your spine and multiplied down your legs.
He stretched his hand over your back and slid them up to your shoulders. He bent over you as he forced your arms to fold beneath you and pushed your head into the mattress. He stilled and wiggled his hips until you moaned. He pulled one hand away from your shoulder as the other spread over your neck.
He slid out of your cunt and spread your juices up and down. He guided his dick between your cheeks and leaned into to pant in your ear. “I didn’t forget about your ass.”
He pushed against your hole and you tensed. His hand tightened on your neck and he poked harder. 
“You relax or it’ll hurt more,” he coaxed, “come on, almost…”
He pushed past your ring and you both gasped. Your eyes filled with tears and you sniffed as he urged himself deeper past your resistance. He let out a long breath as he advanced inch by inch. He drew back each time before adding more and when he was at his limit, you sobbed and clawed at the mattress.
“Oh, oh, fuck, oh, shit,” he swore as he rocked his hips, “you know, urgh, I wanted to do this for so long. Even ‘fore I called.”
He growled and built a steady pace as he stretched you. Your tears seeped into the blanket as his grip threatened to break your neck. His belly bounced against the top of your ass as he rutted without restraint.
“I always thought ‘bout you over that table. Always thought-- Always thought you deserved better than that husband,” he rasped out, “but I never thought you’d feel so good.”
He slammed into you harder than before. Your legs fell out from beneath you and he was quick to descend over you, covering you with his body as he bent his arm across the back of your head. He fucked you into the mattress as your head began to spin and your body reacted to his.
You’d never felt anything so intense as the maelstrom of pain and pleasure building inside you. You moaned and muttered until the sudden tide swept you up and had you murmuring like a fool, drooling onto the bed as he kept on.
He planted his hand on either side of you and lifted himself. He dropped his hips down into your ass over and over. The symphony of flesh filled your mind and you succumbed to the afterglow of tortured delight. He sank as far as he could and spasmed.
“Shit, oh, sweetheart, sweetheart,” he slowed and lowered his sweaty body onto you. You suffocated beneath him as his heart beat against your back. “Oh, you made me… made me blow.” He tilted his hips. “You feel how I filled your ass?”
You let out shallow breaths and turned your face into the blanket. He grunted and raised himself off of you, his cock slipping out easily and his cum trickling down after. He fell onto his back beside you and tried to catch his breath. He reached over blindly and let his fingertips dance along your ass.
“Really it ain’t your fault,” he said as his fingers crawled along the top of your thigh, “a man must be crazy to leave you all alone at night.”
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plus-size-reader · 3 years
Text
Sneaking Around
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Columbus Ohio x Plus size!reader
Word Count: 2344 words
Warnings: none
Summary: Tallahassee finding out that you, his daughter, and Columbus have been seeing each other in secret
—————————————————————————————————
It was a bad idea.
All things considered, there was nothing worse that you could have done. You both knew it, but at the same time, you couldn’t help yourselves.
Once Tallahassee found out about this whole thing, he was going to lose his mind. However, as much as you loved and respected him as your father, you weren’t blind to the fact that he wasn’t always right.
Where Columbus was concerned, for example, he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Florida acted like there was something wrong with him, even though the younger male was arguably your father’s greatest friend in the world. It was where you were concerned that the whole thing fell apart.
Columbus wasn’t good enough for you.
The idea of the two of you together, in any way, made him want to throw up and Tallahassee wasn’t exactly secretive about that. It was his one rule, the one thing he’d forbidden you from doing.
You weren’t allowed to date him.
So, naturally, that was exactly what you were doing.
It was inevitable.
The two of you were around the same age, going through something that only you were going through, and as if you didn’t already know, the apocalypse was lonely.
It wasn’t like the dating pool was vast and diverse.
Besides, you didn’t see anything wrong with it. Just because Tallahassee was your father didn’t mean he got to decide everything you did for the rest of your life.
There was a difference between keeping you safe and running your life. All you asked was that he learned the difference and respected it.
The two of you had grown up together seeing as Tallahassee had you pretty young, and your mom gave up custody of you almost immediately. In that way, you knew you were closer than the typical father-daughter would be.
...but controlling who you could and couldn’t date in your early twenties was a bit of a stretch.
You liked Columbus, and at this point, you weren’t even sure if you’d be able to stay away from him if you tried. The only other option then, if you didn’t want to be lectured into eternity, was keeping your relationship a secret.
It wasn’t ideal, and you weren’t happy about lying to him, but sometimes you had to do what had to be done.
What Florida didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Right?
Wrong.
Sneaking around was bound to get old at some point, and the longer you kept it up, the more you ran the risk of getting caught, which just couldn’t happen.
You would never, ever, live that down.
Though, one of you wasn’t nearly as worried about getting caught as the other. In fact, Columbus was having a really good time keeping secrets from Tallahassee and sneaking around behind his back.
He was getting a kick out of it.
The older man had been busting his balls since they met and knowing that he had such a huge secret that Florida knew nothing about was some pretty sweet irony for him.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was head over heels in love with you.
From the start, Ohio had been in a desperate search for love and as soon as he met you, he knew you would be the one. There was just something about you, and he couldn’t imagine anyone else changing his life like you had.
You were strong and determined, without the uncontrollable anger and sass that Tallahassee had. It was as if you mixed together all the good qualities in the man with the genes of your mother, who he could only imagine was an angel.
That was the only way he could imagine Tallahassee having a kid like you.
It didn’t make any sense otherwise.
“Come here, look at this” You gushed, grabbing Columbus by the arm in a desperate attempt to get him to pay attention to what it was you were seeing.
After what had happened at Graceland, you had very little hope for the Hound Dog Hotel but it wasn’t shaping up to be too bad a time. All things considered, there was some pretty cool stuff here.
...and you weren’t the only one who thought so.
You hadn’t seen your dad since you walked through the doors and you were sure he was sneaking around here somewhere, snatching memorabilia from the shelves and singing at the top of his lungs.
At the very least, this place would put him in a better mood than he’d been in lately.
“Are you seeing this? These are Elvis’ actual shoes” you gasped, gesturing wildly to them as you fangirled. You had been raised on Tallahassee’s love of the King, and harbored quite the obsession yourself.
Being here was putting you in a really good mood.
Columbus grinned, watching you stare in awe at the blue suede, taking in every little detail of them as if you had never seen anything better before now.
It was sweet.
There was something sweet about it, something innocent that he hadn’t seen in you in a really long time. It was a real joy, without the worry or concern that came with living in a world like this one.
“I see” he hummed, not even bothering to hide the amusement in his tone as he talked to you.
A pair of shoes seemed a little silly as far as things to get this excited about were but he was just glad you were so happy. If you were happy, he was happy.
That was how this whole thing worked.
“And isn’t that amazing?” you continued, hoping that you could prompt a similar amusement from him but nothing came, not in the way you were looking for anyway.
More than anything, he just enjoyed being here with you.
The two of you didn’t get a lot of chances to be alone without the intrusion of someone else, whether that be Wichita, Little Rock, or worst of all, Tallahassee.
Just being together was all he could have ever wanted, but there was one other thing that would have surely gotten the reaction from you that he wanted so badly.
Without so much as a second thought, Ohio snatched the blue suede shoes from the pedestal they were on and slipped them on to his feet. It wasn’t a sure thing at first, but he quickly realized they were a perfect fit.
What were the odds of that?
“What do you think?” he grinned, doing his best to be suave in them, though it didn’t really work that way because he was too lanky and awkward. Instead, he sort of resembled a newborn calf learning to walk.
Thankfully, he was so endearing and adorable that you couldn't help but laugh.
“They’re very sexy” you teased, closing the space between you with a smirk on your face, doing your best to keep the giggled bubbling up in your throat at bay as you draped your arm over his shoulder.
“Oh yeah, you think?”
Columbus’ voice came in the same teasing tone as your own, his eyebrows wiggling as he looked at you, jaw tight to hold in his own laughter.
This was just too much for you both.
“Absolutely” you smiled, leaning forward just enough to capture his lips with your own as the best way to punctuate your point. They weren’t really all that sexy so much as you just liked him, but he wasn’t about to split hairs over it.
He was just glad to be kissing you, in all honesty.
However, the moment was over as quickly as it started because from somewhere behind you, someone else had entered the room and wasn’t about to leave you to it.
After all, Tallahassee was just doing his best to keep his head from exploding as he took in the sight of you, his daughter, in a heated make out with his most pathetic acquaintance.
It wasn’t happening.
He was sure it wasn’t.
The more viable conclusion was that he’d fallen somewhere and given himself a concussion, inducing hallucinations, or maybe he was dead. Anything would be easier to accept than what he was looking at.
“Oh fuck no”
Those three words were practically inaudible at first, but that too was short lived because once he’d realized that what he was seeing was really happening, that was when the yelling started.
...and once he started, it was hard to get him to stop.
In fact, by the time you’d turned around, fully separating from Columbus, your father was already red in the face.
Evidently, today was the day.
You were never going to hear the end of this.
“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING THIS FROM ME? I MEAN, ANYONE WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER THAN HIM? WHAT HAPPENED TO MY RULES? THAT WAS THE ONE THING I ASKED-”
There was no good way for this to end, which you and Columbus both knew. Even as you looked at him, eyes wide, Tallahassee kept going. He couldn’t imagine how this had happened right under his nose.
As far as he knew, the two of you didn’t even get along but clearly that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t born yesterday, and he knew what kissing like that meant.
That wasn’t a passing smooch or a casual make out out of boredom. This was something the two of you had been maintaining for quite some time, and that was the worst part of it all.
You had been lying to him.
“Buddy, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal” Columbus tried, practically shouting into the void with his suggestion. Though, as soon as he spoke, Florida stopped his rant in its tracks.
Which wasn’t a good sign.
“Oh no, not gonna happen buddy” he spit back, momentarily making you glad he’d left his gun in the van. If he had it right now, there was no telling what would happen.
Tallahassee was angry, in general, but this was something different. For him, this was more of a betrayal than something that would make him angry, which made it so much worse.
He just couldn’t believe this was happening.
All you knew was that someone had to do something before this escalated much more and ruined the entire thing you all had going on. You were a family, but if you didn’t step in, there wouldn’t be anything left.
Clearly, Columbus wasn’t the one to fix this whole thing.
“Okay, can we just talk about this like adults please? I’m a grown up, remember?” you hummed, intentionally keeping your voice calm to keep this from escalating that much more.
Over everything else, you were sure he was more upset with you. At its core, this issue was about you growing up and doing something you shouldn't have done.
It had very little to do with Columbus himself.
If it had been anyone else, Florida would have been just as upset.
“Oh, you’re a grown up, well then, what am I even doing here?” he grumbled, completely ignoring the male at your side now, his focus completely on your face.
Objectively, he knew you were right. Even with as much as the world around you had changed, you had too. You weren’t a little girl anymore, clinging onto his pant leg and crying every time he left your side.
You were a grown woman, which was hard enough for a father to grasp, but this was something else entirely.
You weren’t allowed to be with him.
You just weren’t.
“That’s not what I meant. I just don’t get why it's such a big deal” you huffed, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans, where you could hide the anxious tapping you got up to.
All you were doing was seeing someone who you really liked and while having your literal father walk in on an impromptu make out wasn’t ideal, it also shouldn’t have been the end of the world.
He used to date plenty, before most of the population died out.
“Because it is. I told you not to do it, and you did” Tallahassee grumbled, crossing his arms, his words leaving his lips in a traditional dad fashion.
That was always his go to thing, even when you were a kid.
You can’t do that because I told you not to.
It might have worked out well when you were six years old and trying to tie your opposing shoelaces together but not anymore.
Now, the world was literally crumbling around you and you all faced death on a daily basis. If the worst thing you got up to was falling in love with a man who carried a tiny purell in his pocket, you didn’t get why that was such a problem.
Out of all the men you could have chosen, even before the end of the world, Columbus was by far the best.
He was sweet, smart, and cared about you more than anyone ever had in your life. By all accounts, you were lucky and while you felt bad for lying to Tallahassee about being with him, you wouldn’t have done anything differently.
Being with him was important to you, and you loved him.
Nothing was going to change that.
“I love him, okay? That’s why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew this was how you would react” you sighed, finding it almost impossible to not just give up completely.
You knew that no matter what you said, it wouldn’t make a difference. Once Tallahassee had made up his mind, there was nothing you could do to change it.
As much as you would have liked for him to be supportive of your relationship, you weren’t going to stop seeing the man you loved just to appease him.
It just wasn’t going to happen.
It would seem that if there was any time for you to act like your father and take on his stubborn nature, it was now. You just weren’t ready to lose Columbus.
Not now, and not ever.
205 notes · View notes
jimlingss · 4 years
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Kale’in Me Softly
➜ Words: 17.1k
➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU
➜ Summary: After your grandfather's passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It's a struggle to be in the countryside when you've always been a city girl. But there's someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who's constantly trying to pick a fight with you.
➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut
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Home — you left it all behind for this.    The tractor chugs and wheezes. Its wheels roll over the craggy and unpaved road, making you feel every bump and pebble through constant jolts and bounces. The sweltering heat of the scorching sun was already making you break into a sweat and you sigh, listening to the buzzing of cicadas and the sputtering engine.   But otherwise, it was quiet. More than what you were used to. There isn’t any traffic, honking, construction or the noise of motorcycle engines or sirens of ambulances. There’s just the rustle of leaves and the swaying of grass strands.   “I can’t believe Old Man Seok had such a pretty granddaughter.”    A laugh bubbles out of you. “It’s all in the genes. Did you know my grandfather?”   “Everyone knew Old Man Seok. Everyone knows everyone here. But it sure helps that our farms are next door to each other. Just down yonder.” The middle-aged farmer grips the steering wheel. A good-natured aura in spite of his intimidating disposition, he feels like a strict but caring father figure. “He was very kind even to the end of his life. Offered my family a lot of jam throughout the years. A good man through and through. My condolences.”   Your smile softens. “Thank you.”   “I gotta say, it’s nice to have a new face around these neck of the woods. Doesn’t happen often.” The corner of the man’s mouth pulls and the wrinkles by his eyes crease. “You should come meet my son sometime.”   “I wouldn’t mind.” The tractor pulls up to the worn house you’ve seen in your mother’s childhood pictures. “I always love making new friends.”   You hop off the tractor the moment it comes to a stop and the man wishes you luck before you thank him again and he’s on his merry way.   With only one packed suitcase in hand, you walk up to the house and push your Gucci sunglasses to the top of your head to get a better look. The fence, door and roof are made with a cherry wood that compliments the forest green walls. The patio, on the other hand, is out of oak that matches the rocking chair in the corner. There’s white trim lining the rectangular windows, giving you a peek at the purple, paisley curtains inside.   The house looks tattered through time, but cozy.   “You’re leaving?!” — “Do you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?” — “Do you even know what you’re going to do there?”   The voices of the friends you left behind echo in the recesses of your mind while you fiddle with the hem of your dress in the shade of classical blue — 2020’s pantone colour and a fantastic fashion statement. It’s not farm-appropriate, but better than most of the things in your closet.   You went shopping for the last time before you packed your one pink suitcase, but you’re starting to realize those tight, denim overalls might not work like they do in the movies.   “You think you can run a farm?!” — “I didn’t raise you so you could go back to the countryside!” — “You don’t even know what you’re doing, Y/N! Grow up already and stop being ridiculous.”   An exhale squeezes out of you as you dispel away your family’s discouragement and you grip your grandfather’s letter as you finally muster the courage to approach the house.   When your grandfather passed away, you inherited ten thousand dollars and his five acre farm. It’s small. Nothing worthy of bragging about and one of the hundred of reasons everyone thought you would sell it. They even urged you to, so they could get a split of the money. But they never thought you would refuse. That you would leave everything behind and come all the way here.   It’s a mess.   Thick layers of dust coat the antique furniture and peering out from the kitchen window, the field is littered in leaves and twigs, wooden planks and debris. A sense of guilt overwhelms you.    You can’t believe your family let it become this way.    You set down your belongings and almost immediately, you begin to look around. Pacing the backyard, the field, the barn, trying to figure out what is what. And it’s not long before a dark-haired man with doe eyes and a permanent dear-in-headlights expression finds you.   He nearly startles you to death with his timid greeting. “H-Hi...”    “Holy shit!” You press your hand to your chest, spinning around and he boyishly grins. “You scared me!”   “S-Sorry…my bad...” Boots, jeans and a white shirt, he looks like a newly graduated high school student who stumbled into the wrong place. “Are you Y/N?”   “That’s me.” You wonder if he’s here to kill you. The farm setting was the perfect location after all and serial killers these days have the potential of looking as cute as he does. “You’re...?”   “I’m Jungkook. I used to work with Old Man Seok. My mom told me you’d be comin’ today and that I should show you around, so….” He scratches the back of his neck, oddly endearing for how awkward he is.    You let him guide you despite having already gotten the chance to peek at almost everything — a detail you leave out to spare him from being disheartened. But with Jungkook here, he has the strength to widen the doors of the old shed out back and you get a better look at the storage and old equipment.   “God.” You cough and bat your hand from the dust piles arising. “It’s so dirty.”   “Yeah. The tractor needs a bit of fixin’ up which I can help you with, if you need.”   It’s clear that towards the end of your grandfather’s life, he was too weak to properly take care of his property. You can tell by the way the field is in tatters, all his crops long dead and his machinery is in desperate need of repair. But as you gander at the space, you discover that there’s everything you need right here. Shovels. Wheelbarrows. Sickles and spades.   “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”   Jungkook nods, wearing a small smile. “Your grandpa used to help me out a lot, so it’s the least I can do. If you ever need any help, I’m down a few acres West by the market. Just give a holler.”   Your cheeks warm, realizing he’s not as young as he appears to be. “I will.”   After a while longer, Jungkook leaves you to get settled down and you bid him farewell. You know it’s going to take a bit of time for you to get used to this change, but with a sigh, you try your best to familiarize yourself with the land and surrounding climate.   //   Back in LA, you were a fashion design marketer.   Originally, you set out to fulfill your childhood dream of being a top designer for a big brand like Chanel or Dior, but along the way, you ended up in the marketing sector. It wasn’t as bad as what people thought. A kind of niche you actually quite enjoyed and while you might've left it all behind for the farm life, you know the first step to starting anything is doing market research.   So at nine in the morning sharp, you enter the farmers’ market.   Open every Sunday, there’s a certain bustle and liveliness in the atmosphere. People from surrounding communities and even far away cities have come to get their fresh produce and dairy products. The market place is held in an open building with doors and massive garages wide open, practically held outdoors itself, and as you walk along the stands, you notice goat milk to beeswax lip balm being sold. There’s everything someone could ask for, bath salts and herbal soaps, baked goods and handmade aprons and quilts. You didn’t know farmers’ markets had so much to offer.   “Would you like to try some raspberry jam, darlin’?” A plump lady offers you a spatula.    “Sure. Thank you.” The sweet taste ends up bursting on your palette and you hum at the taste, considering buying a jar for breakfast. But she interrupts with a curious stare and a bigger smile.   “I haven’t seen you around before, dear. Did you come from somewhere far?”   “Oh no, I just moved in. My grandpa was Seokjin….”   “You mean Old Man Seok?” Her entire spine straightens, face lighting up. “I never knew he had a granddaughter!”   You warm, proud that your grandfather’s made such a lasting impression. “I just moved in a few acres away.”   “Taking care of your grandpa’s farm?” she asks and when you nod, the woman practically swoons. “Why, what a gracious thing you’re doin’! Old Man Seok would be proud to have a granddaughter like you! Keepin’ his legacy alive like that. Heaven knows I can’t even get my boy up to milk the cows!”   You laugh and she ends up handing you a small jar of raspberry jam for free, wishing you the best of luck.    Apparently word spreads fast in this place. After ten minutes of exploring the market, kind and overfamiliar strangers approach from behind their stands, greeting you and taking your hands. Some muse how similar you are to your grandfather while others happily send you some cheese and bread. By the time you’re at the end, it looks like you went grocery shopping.   But in the midst of it all, you get the chance to talk to some customers. Making conversation with a pregnant woman, an elderly man, and a little kid overly excited to use his allowance for some candy. People are receptive and friendly, more than what you’re used to back in the city. But you study what they purchase, their spending habits, what people seem to be interested in.   Then, your attention is caught at a cute honey stand — jars of honey sealed being sold with beeswax candles tied with pastel yellow ribbon. More importantly, you recognize the doe-eyed boy at the cash register.    “Jungkook!”   He greets you with a big smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N! I didn’t expect you’d be here.”   With your previous lifestyle, the attention of a cute boy like Jungkook isn’t enough to make you bashful — a few years too late on that — but you can still appreciate how endearing he is. “I’m just taking a look around. Thought I should get to know the place since I might be here soon.”   “How’re things going? Did you settle in yet?”   “I did actually.” It wasn’t in the realm of your expectations to make friends so quickly out here, but to have such pleasant small talk with Jungkook proves your anticipations were wrong. “It took a lot of time to clean the house, but totally worth it! I strung polaroids above the mantle and I found a vintage armchair that’s really in style, so I’d say things are going pretty well.”   The boy grins from your enthusiasm. “It sounds like you’re adapting better than I would.”   “I’m trying.” Your smile becomes sheepish. “I’m still figuring out the fields and the land. I haven’t even gotten started in clearing out the shed yet.”    He nods, lips parting to respond. But then there’s a call of his name behind him and he sighs before sending an apologetic expression. “Sorry. My ma has more honey to unload from the truck. I gotta skedaddle before she yells, but I’m glad things are working out for you!”   Jungkook’s undoubtedly cute, even when he says goodbye and promises to catch up with you soon. You don’t dwell either, continuing to parade through the market by yourself and discover all the places you missed on your first walk that was overwhelmed with others intercepting.   What piques your curiosity this time is a wooden stall with a soft green cloth draped over the flat surface and a sign that reads ‘Romaine with Me’. What’s offered in the crates are lettuce. Lots and lots of different heads of lettuce lined in rows like plush animal prizes on display at carnival games.   You don’t pay much mind to the man behind the stall that’s sleepily blinking and leaning his head in his hand, elbow propped up and figure slumped over. He looks like he’s dozed off but somehow kept his lids peeled back.   You approach and read the labels underneath. Red. Green. Romaine. Boston. Bibb. Arugula. Batavia. Radicchio. Iceberg.   “I didn’t know there were so many types of lettuce,” you mutter to yourself.   “It’s two dollars for each bundle or head,” the man suddenly pipes up in a raspy tone, nearly startling you to death. You realize his pupils have darted right on you and that’s he’s not in fact sleeping with his eyes open. “Romain is three. And there’s a sale on the radicchio.”   The man has an oddly intimidating disposition for looking so tired. He has tender features and seemingly soft skin that makes you wonder about his skin care routine. Yet, his hair is as dark as his cat-like eyes that have narrowed in on you. You suddenly feel pressure to make a purchase lest you waste more of his time.   “What are the differences?” you ask, studying the lettuces in front of you.   “Iceberg, romaine and radicchio are crispy. But iceberg has a clean and fresh taste. Romaine is more bitter and radicchio is a bit bitter and spicy. Boston and bibb are butter lettuces which are softer and have a sweet taste. Boston's leaves are wider and lighter green than bibb's. Arugula is peppery. Batavia is your usual with more crinkled leaves. Red and green are your standard.”    The man breathes the explanation out with only one lazy inhale in between and when he’s done, he gives you a look as if asking if you’re satisfied. But you’re more than that. You’re genuinely impressed.   He spat facts at you and you’re not sure what to do with the information.   “You know a lot about lettuce.”   “I’m a lettuce farmer,” he deadpans.   “Really?” The corners of your lips pull, even more intrigued than before. You didn’t take him for much of a farmer. The man has a kind of bad-boy vibe that you’re accustomed to and without much thought, the clumsy words stumble out of your mouth— “I thought farmers were dirtier.”   “What?”   “Like sunburnt, straw hats, overalls.” You nod, studying the produce and missing his offended expression. “Like that’s totally the farmer’s aesthetic.”   “Aesthetic?”   “Yeah,” you hum, not realizing the man was glaring holes into you. “I’ll take a bundle of the romaine, please.”   You end up going home shortly after, trekking underneath the sun with recyclable bags full of food that fills your fridge, sure to be enough for a whole week. You’re not sure what to exactly do after that — there’s plenty of tasks and jobs to be done, but you’re not certain where to start.   So you decide to take a break — partly to relax and partly to procrastinate. With your sweat wiped away and a fan whirring in the corner, you plop down into the vintage armchair and grab one of the magazines you brought with you. But it isn’t a good read, not when you had already looked at most of the pages on the plane ride over here….   Your mind ends up wandering, considering what you should do with grandfather’s land, if there was anything new you could offer at all. And at the same time as you’re flipping through the magazine, you stumble on a particular page. A recipe for an avocado kale poke bowl.   You skim it and your eyes stop at a single word. Kale.   Kale. It sticks to you like glue and you squint at the text, the four letters in print. Your mind searches and it hits you that kale was never sold at the farmers’ market. There was everything, every fruit, every vegetable. But not kale.    A smile stretches across your face, determination blooming in your chest. Organic kale was a total new fad. Good for you. Healthy. Sought after in the city, but yet to be prevalent in the countryside. It was a perfect opportunity, one that was sitting right in front of you this entire time.   Relief overwhelms you as you make a decision on your niche: kale.   //   It starts off with books.    Gathering as much information as you possibly can, you also learn through guides and internet articles on your chosen crop. You find out that kale becomes bitter over the summer, sweetest in the Fall after being touched by a light frost. It bolts in Spring, so sowing seeds is most appropriate around April to May while they can still be planted throughout the seasons. It provides a yield between late September to early May, direct seeds maturing in fifty to seventy days while transplants take a bit less than half the time.   You learn how to protect seedlings from pests, purchasing lightweight fabric to cover rows, and you begin to plow the fields.    It takes time to clean up, to get your grandfather’s equipment fixed, to become financed. But you start right away and soon, you’re sewing the seeds eighteen to twenty four inches apart. Getting transplants. Watering them appropriately. Working day and night.   You’re not exactly sure if you’re doing this right. Especially on hot days when you’re sweating buckets, dirt has marred your skin and your lower back screams. But you know that even if you fail and have to pack your bags, the effort of trying would be enough for you to feel satisfied.   So, you persist.    And day by day, the seeds begin to sprout. The dirt is littered with tiny green specks and you feel thrilled that it’s actually growing. Slowly, but surely, you would return this farm to its former glory by your own hands.   //   It’s another Sunday when you take a trip to the farmers’ market.   In spite of having only been here for a short amount of time, you’ve become acquainted with the market. You don’t get lost anymore in the bustle and many like to stop you to ask about your day. It’s a hospitable place, never making you feel uncomfortable or awkward, and you feel relieved that your grandfather was surrounded by such warmth till the end of his life.   You’re also starting to become familiar with one particular wooden stall and the sleepy man behind it.   No matter what week it is, he’s always there, wearing the same loose flannels but in different colours, flipping through a pamphlet or dozing off. He only looks up when someone comes to buy lettuce.   But today, he’s joined by an older man that recognizes you all too easily. “I almost didn’t see you there without being so gussied up in those city clothes. Looks like you’ve gotten yourself comfortable with farm life. Almost reminds me of Old Man Seok back in his heyday.”   Immediately, the younger lifts his head up, brow cocked. “You know her?”   “She’s Old Man Seok’s granddaughter. I gave her a ride to his farm when she first came,” Mr. Min introduces and his son gives you a better look, one that’s ridden with a modest amount of distaste. “Y/N, this is my boy, Yoongi, that I was talking about.”   It never occured to you how similar they are. Their husky voices and quiet yet intimidating dispositions are unparalleled. But the older seems more open and friendly than the younger who has a blank expression and his eyes narrowed in at you. Although you don’t get much time to dwell, ask him that the issue might be or if that’s simply who he is.   Some people naturally have a resting bitch face and Yoongi might be one of them.   “How’s the countryside life doing for you so far?” his father asks and you smile, attention redirected.   “It’s not too bad. But the sun’s hot and I didn’t know farming could be so hard!” Your head quirks to the side, still awed that this was the lifestyle of so many. “I always thought it would be easy cause the organic edamame plant back at my apartment wasn’t so bad to take care of.”   Yoongi scoffs.   “Yep, it’s difficult alright.” Mr. Min’s engrossed and asks, “What’re you growing?”   Enthusiasm and a sense of pride makes you exclaim the answer— “Kale!”    Yoongi winces at the volume of your voice while his father is made even more curious.    “Kale?”   “I was thinking about what wasn’t being sold at the farmers’ market and I found that kale was underrepresented,” you rant, “Kale’s totally the new wave. It’s a trendy, super food and packed with antioxidants. Did you know that kale is among the most nutrient-dense foods on the planet?”   “Can’t say I knew that.” Mr. Min has his mouth upturned into an amused smile. Yoongi, on the other hand, sighs. “I’d love to hear more about it. My wife’s quite passionate about these kinds of things too. She practically runs the entire farm! You should come over for dinner sometime, Y/N.”   “She should?” — “I’d love to!”   Both you and Yoongi talk over another, but you don’t hear him. You’ve never been invited to this kind of thing before and your family rarely ate together. So, the aesthetic of sitting down for a countryside meal with a farming family, like it’s Thanksgiving, is a fantasy you’re eager to fulfill.    //   Unfortunately, dinner at the Min household has to be held off when your first harvest comes.    Finally after a month of waiting, there’s actual kale out in the fields that are ready to be collected. The leaves are small, a little bitter and it’s not a large yield — but it isn’t bad for the first time. You’re happy enough that you’ve grown something, so you don’t nick pick for now.   Instead, you focus on wrapping up the bundles, on preparing a stall, on organizing a spot at the market to sell. And when the days of busy work and high pressure accumulate into the first Sunday of the month, you’ve arranged crates of freshly washed, organic kale ready for purchase.   It’s exciting. One week you’re walking around as a customer and the next, you’re on the other side of the stand as a vendor. You get to witness the behind the scenes of other farmers, the doors opening at nine sharp, the increasing bustle of the market.   But for some reason, you only have a few people who stop by and only one who buys a bundle.   “Don’t be worried,” Jungkook comforts, having stopped by once he noticed you. “People tend to buy what they’re used to, so just wait a while. You’ll eventually get your own set of customers!”   You can only hope he’s right.   By five in the evening, it’s over and you hold in your sigh. You wonder what you should do with the abundance of kale you have left, but you try not to linger as you close shop and the market shuts its doors.   Everyone seems to disassemble their stalls with ease, carrying crates to their cars, collecting their earnings. Most are gone within ten minutes but you struggle, unable to keep up when it’s all too new to you and before you know it, you’re the last one left in the space that’s still cleaning up after yourself.   The only person you catch is Yoongi who’s walking off, passing you with a crate of two lettuce heads, having already sold most of it. You notice he’s in one of his open flannels again, this time it’s yellow and gray, and you send a friendly smile. But he doesn’t say anything or make a change from his indifferent expression.   But then he stops. Five meters away.   “You should stop treating this like a joke,” Yoongi deadpans, swiveling around on his heel.   You freeze, halfway from grabbing the mason tip jar that you decorated with washi tape the night before. You blink, not sure if Min Yoongi is actually and willingly uttering words to you or if it’s your imagination. “What?”   But it isn’t. He is very much talking to you. “The market isn’t here for someone like you to play games.”   Now, you’re just confused. “But…...I’m not playing games...?”   “It’s obvious you’re not serious about this.”   You scoff. You’ve had your fair share of running into mean girls in the fashion industry and in High School, the ones who are snarky and make passive aggressive insults that are disguised as compliments. You just never expected to run into something like that here.   And in such a straightforward way too.   Usually people are more subtle when they show that they don’t like you.   “You can’t accuse me. You don’t know anything about me!”   Yoongi stares at you boredly. “You’re making a mockery out of people’s livelihood.”   “I’m trying to learn.” You cross your arms, standing your ground.    You suppose from his perspective it might be off-putting that you’ve come from nowhere and you’re trying your hand at the farm life. But you swear you haven’t been condescending nor have you ever looked down on anyone. At least you hope it hasn’t come across that way.   “I don’t know what I’m doing, but if it seems like I’ve been mocking you then I’m sorry.” This isn’t just a hobby to you nor is it a spectacle for your amusement. You’re serious. Even if you might come across as ditzy, insincere and inexperienced. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to insult me. I already know I was stupid for coming here. Why do you think I came alone? This is a whole new world for me and I’m trying, so I’d appreciate some empathy.”   Yoongi stares at you. You stare at him.   The two of you have your eyes locked in one another’s, and you want to throw hands, but then he suddenly walks away as if he didn’t hear a word you said.   You glare at his backside, huffing out in frustration.    As if your day wasn’t bad enough, he had to make it worse.   //   “Stop being ridiculous, Y/N!”   Your mom’s voice is jarring on the other end of the line. It’s grating to your ears. There’s a strong urge to hang up, but you’re not sure if she’ll call again. You’re surprised she called you in the first place — the likelihood of a second time is slim.   “I’m actually doing well, thank you very much.”   She ignores you. “Sell the land and come home. Do you really think you can do this?!”   Tears sting your eyes against your will. You inhale to keep your voice even and steady. “I do actually. I’m learning while I’m out here and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”   “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. You had a high paying job. An apartment. Clean water to drink. Lots of food to eat. You were comfortable! And you gave it all up, why?!”   “The air’s fresher here,” you quip much to your mom’s chagrin and frustration. “I’m a grown woman, mom. I can make my own decisions.”   “Until you make others pick up after you!”    You wince, hand tightening on your duvet. You try your best not to cry. She doesn’t need to know that you’re running out of money, that your kitchen is filled with leafy greens you couldn’t sell, that your back aches from working out on the fields. “Don’t come running to me when you finally get bored or you’re halfway to starving to death.”   You know they think sooner or later, you’ll show up back home with your packed bag. But you refuse to give in. You’ll prove your friends and family wrong — you’ll follow through with this.   If there was one thing you were good at, it was being stupid. Being stupid made you at the bottom of the class, it made you have friends who used you, it made you struggle. And it made you resilient. It made you know what working hard to get to where you want meant. It made you determined.   And you’re gonna fucking give it your best! Even if the smarter route would be to give up!   So with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, you brace yourself and enter your kitchen full of kale. If you can’t sell it raw, then there are other things that you can try.   //   “Get your kale kombucha! Your kale smoothie! Full of vitamins and nutrients!”   You’re holding a tray of paper cup samples, voice loud with a wide smile. A woman who’s looking at your stand curiously passes by and you steal the chance, smoothly intercepting her way. “Would you like to try one, ma’am?”   “Sure.”   She takes a sample and once she sips, her eyes light up and her expression becomes inquisitive. The woman approaches your stand, looking over the products you have. “It’s really delicious. How much is it for a smoothie?”   “The three sizes are here.” You gesture to the display and she hums. “Two dollars for a small, two fifty for a medium and three for a large. We also have salted kale chips, kale guacamole and kale pesto.”   “Is this all homemade?”   “It is!” Your enormous smile is proud. “I grew the kale organically and made these with fresh ingredients.”   “I’ll take a large smoothie, this guacamole and a bundle of just regular kale then.”   “Coming right up!”   You’re no stranger to the art of advertising — it’s one of your strengths with your marketing background. You’re pretty sure the chalkboard signs are doing a good job of directing attention to your stall and the samples are certainly going a long way too.   “Can I try one, miss?” A little kid tugs on your green apron and you lower yourself down to their eye-level, happily handing them two.   “Of course you can!”   Sunday after Sunday, you do better and better.   Of course, it’s not without constant trial and error, honing in recipes and packaging, learning how to keep products as fresh as possible. But the improvements make the labour all worth it.    You notice how Yoongi watches you across the floor and when you smile, he immediately looks away. But there's little time to pay attention to him when the lineup at your stall gradually becomes longer and longer. Jungkook helps you out when he can, whether that’s manning the register beside you or handing out samples to draw in curious customers.   “You’re gonna run me out of business soon, Y/N.” Jungkook says in the midst of a slow down when you’re finally able to catch your breaths.   “Please,” you giggle. “I’m sure you’re the one drawing in the business. Weren’t those last two customers trying to get your number for the past ten minutes? Last time they kept on asking me about you too.”   The boy laughs shyly and it’s all too endearing. “They’re just bein’ nice. If anything, you’re the one drawing in the customers since you’re so pretty and all.”   More giggles bubble out of your throat and you lean closer to him. “So you think I’m pretty?”   Jungkook realizes what he said and his face reddens. He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I mean...isn’t that a fact?”   “You’re too sweet, Kook,” you sigh wistfully. “Thank you for helping me.”   “Anytime, really.” Jungkook’s smiles softly and his lips part, but before he can say anything, his peripheral vision finally catches the weight of a third party’s stare. His eyes travel across the market floor to the wooden stall of lettuce — right on the man behind it who’s rolling his eyes.    You follow his line of sight and a knowing smile appears on your features. “Jungkook, can you hand me the sample tray?”   You might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but you’re not that big of an idiot. For the past two weeks, you’ve noticed how Yoongi keeps staring at you. You don’t suspect it to be sudden infatuation either. Most likely, it’s surprise that you’ve proven him wrong or reluctant admission that you’re on your way to success, or perhaps passive aggression too.   Whatever the case is, you approach him and witness him visibly stiffen as you come closer.   Your smile remains bright when you ask, “Is everything okay, Yoongi?”   “I’m fine,” the man deadpans. “You should move. You’re blocking my customers.”   “You have no customers.”   “I would if you weren’t standing there.”   You scoff. “You are not cute.”   Yoongi’s brow lifts, amused at your comment. “Excuse me?”   “I want to make peace,” you outright declare, having no shame with confronting him. “I’ve had my fair share of drama back home and I’m not looking forward to picking fights here, so I forgive you.” Yoongi snorts as you raise your sample tray as a peace offering. “I know you’re curious, so you try one. My kale kombucha is my most popular item. It’s a fermented tea that has lots of healthy yeast and bacteria.”   “No.” The dark-haired man rejects without needing to blink. “Kale is disgusting. There’s a reason no one sells it here.”   You’re shocked, not knowing where to start. But there’s no point in arguing with him and spewing nutrition facts. Your pride is much too high to insist too, so you merely lift your chin. “Fine. Suit yourself. But one of these days, you’re going to fall in love with kale, Min Yoongi.”   It’s a challenge — but a one-sided one. Yoongi simply sighs as you strut away, feeling more tired than he did before.    //   The engines of the moving truck rumbles and coughs as it rolls down the dirt road.   It’s drawn the attention of several, including his dad and mom. They’re peering out the front window, curtains tugged with their noses pressed to the glass. Usually, Yoongi doesn’t care much for what the neighbours are up to or keeping up with community gossip, but for some reason, his curiosity is piqued enough that he glances out as well.   “What’s going on?”   “There are trucks coming back and forth from Old Man Seok’s land.”   Yoongi wonders if you’ve given up and you’re moving out. He wouldn’t be surprised.   But suddenly, before he can walk off and mind his own business, his mother whirls around. “Yoonie, go check up on our new neighbour.”   He exhales exhaustingly. “Why?”   “Well, you’re friends, aren’t you?”    “We’re not.” It’s a firm fact, but his mother doesn’t hear him. She’s already moving into the kitchen and making him follow her. He knows arguing is futile — once she’s set on her mind on something, no one can change it.   “Go on and deliver some cheese too.” She hands him a paper bag. “We haven’t welcomed her properly yet and it’s customary to at least give a greeting and gift.”   Yoongi begrudgingly obliges and minutes later, he finds himself making the trek across the acres to the cottage that always reminded him of Christmas with its cherry red roof and forest green walls. The polluting trucks drive away in the meanwhile, wheels turning against the gravel fading, and the countryside returns to its quaint atmosphere. As he comes closer, Yoongi notices the wooden spools on your lawn and some barber chairs littered around, akin to a dumpster yard, but he avoids them and walks up the porch, knocking twice on the door.   He can imagine thrusting the bag in your hand, muttering a greeting and question or two before getting back to the farm. Yet, what he doesn’t anticipate is silence and then noises farther away.   The man sighs and decides to follow the sounds lest he spends the rest of the afternoon waiting at your front door.   He rounds the house to the backyard.    “What are you doing?”   Yoongi discovers mason jars, picnic blankets, wooden crates sprawled all over on the grass — things he guesses the trucks brought over — and he finds you on a ladder with fairy lights tangled around your limbs.   You jolt. In horror, Yoongi watches the ladder dangerously wobble back and forth, but luckily, it steadies and you twist yourself around. “Holy shit! You almost scared me half to death!”   “What are you doing?” he repeats, more urgently and concerned than before.   “I’m setting up fairy lights obviously.” Your smile is big, cheeks swelling with it. “I’m gonna decorate part of the land with hipster furniture and channel the farm aesthetic. It’s going to become an Insta spot. Hashtag kale-in-farm.”   Yoongi doesn’t understand half of what you just said and he’s not sure if he should even ask.   “What’s a hashtag?”   “You don’t know what a hashtag is?” Your eyes are perfectly rounded, looking at him like he’s an alien and he chuckles. The irony isn’t lost on him. He isn’t the weird one — you are.   “Should I know what it is?”   You don’t answer, merely climbing off the ladder and his breath hitches at how you don’t watch your step.    Yoongi doesn’t get stressed easily, but he swears he’s going to get a heart attack looking at you.   You pull out your phone suddenly from your back pocket and after some tapping, you thrust the screen in his face. “This is Instagram, see? It’s an app where you can follow people and see the pictures that they post. An Insta spot is a place where you can take good Instagram pictures. Hashtags is a way to label the posts, so others can see and search it up. Or at least that’s what I think it is. It’s kind of hard to explain, it’s one of those things that just catches on and you get after using it. This is my page, see?”   You’ve given your phone to him and Yoongi eyes your bikini photos before handing it back.    “Uh-huh.”   “I can’t believe you don’t have an Instagram. You should make one and add me!”   “No thanks.”   You huff, pouting at him and Yoongi’s mouth twitches as he resists the small smile. There’s something in the way you react to him being mean to you that makes it all too entertaining.   “My mom wanted to give you some cheese.” He hands the paper bag over and you excitedly peer inside. “It’s just goat cheese. Usually she makes a cherry pie as a housewarming gift, but today….was a bit last minute.”   Yet in spite of the measly present, Yoongi’s taken aback at how happy you seem. “This is so sweet! Tell your mom I said thank you! I should probably give her some kale—”   He lifts his palm, stopping you in the middle of your sentence. “There’s no need.”   “Well, tell her I said thank you.” You put it down on the wooden patio steps and move towards the ladder. Then something by his foot catches your eye. “Oh, can you do me a favour and put that typewriter on the wooden crate?”   Yoongi doesn’t know why you have a broken typewriter, but he follows your instructions. His eyes travel to several worn bikes you have leaning against the railing. It’s strange considering you don’t seem like the type to bike.   As if reading his mind, you laugh. “They don’t work. It’s just for the aesthetics.”   “Uh-huh.” He turns back, about to bid goodbye and leave this mess behind him. But as he turns away, he witnesses you step on the highest prong of the ladder. The part you’re not allowed to step on. With the danger warning signs plastered on it that says ‘STOP’ in big, red letters.   Yoongi’s breath hitches and he lurches over, grabbing the ladder to steady it as it wobbles.   “Woah!” You regain your balance and turn to grin at him. “Thanks for that. You saved my life!”   “Get off.”   “What?”   “Get off the ladder before you die.” His stern command has you obeying and you come down to the ground again. Yoongi sighs and takes the lights from you. “I’ll do it. Tell me where you want them and hold the bottom rung for me.”   You’re bewildered, but you don’t reject his offer of help. Yoongi follows your instructions too, working quickly and more efficiently than when you were, and you can’t help but giggle as you watch him string the fairy lights.    He glares at you. “What?”   You look up at him, beaming a grin. “For being such a mean, old grump, you’re actually pretty reliable and considerate, Yoongi.”   He diverts his vision elsewhere. “Whatever.”   But it’s all too true.    In many ways, Yoongi reminds you of peppermint candy. Hard on the outside but with just a bit of melting, all too sweet and sugary on the inside.   //   It starts off with you.   A post, a cute caption, the hashtag. You manage to get Jungkook to follow suit and then it’s a group. A person who shows up with their friends, stopping by to enjoy your kale farm and haphazardly filming their adventure to put onto their social media. Then it’s three or four, more and more of the hashtag being used, of pictures being taken, of others catching wind of the trendy new place to take photos, of fresh kale being harvested and kale kombucha being sold.   It’s an exponential growth and before you know it, there’s a bustle at your farm.   Strangers that park in the designated area, families enjoying the picnic spots, young adults posing for photographs underneath the strung fairy lights after dark. Your kale chips and smoothie sales skyrocket and after constructing a website, you know you’ve made a name for yourself.   You hire Jimin, Jungkook’s cousin, to help you out. Recently turned eighteen, he’s gentle and luckily attentive. He excels in customer service and in between selling your products and doing measly tasks to upkeep the farm, you know you’ve finally found a sustainable income aside from the farmers’ market alone.   “This ‘s what I call innovation,” Yoongi’s dad muses as the two of them stand near the tractor, looking over the field to the figures prancing on your land and listening to the laughter that leaks over. “It ain’t often a smart woman suddenly shows,” he says, glancing at him. “You should take advantage of it.”   “It’s not smart.” Yoongi turns away. “It’s dumb luck. There’s nothing impressive about it.”   His dad sighs at him, but as they retreat home, Yoongi can’t help glancing over his shoulder.   //   Yoongi has accepted that you’re a complete wild card — when he thought you were making a spectacle of this rural life for your own amusement, you make a whole declaration about how serious you are. When he expects you to move out, you instead bring bits and bobs to your farm. When he expects you to completely and utterly fail, you thrive.   Yoongi always thought that he was the enigma — hard to understand, hard to get to know, one of the many reasons he isn’t particularly close to anyone. But in reality, you are. At surface level, it looks like you’re simple-minded, overly enthused, optimistic. Yet you continuously defy his expectations.   And he has to applaud you for it.    But of all things, Yoongi most certainly did not expect to see you on his porch one afternoon.   “I got invited by your mom for dinner,” you explain with another infamously bright smile and your arm lifts with a bag. “I brought kale!”   “You did.” He holds in his sigh.   “I don’t know how you want to eat it, so it’s raw….unless…..do you not have electricity? I can go back to prepare it.”   “What?”   “You know, electricity.” When he stares at you, you begin explaining to be helpful. “The stuff that gives you light and power and you can turn on the stove—”   “I know what electricity is!” Yoongi shouts. He’s almost always calm, but you have a talent for being condescending without even realizing.   “What’s with all the noise?” His mom emerges and her face immediately lights up, lips forming into a warm smile. She wipes her hands on her apron and comes to embrace you. “Y/N! I thought I heard your voice! Come in, come in! Oh my word, what’s this? Kale? Thank you! Was the walk here long?”   “Not at all.” You smile, being ushered in the kitchen. It still amazes you how much Yoongi looks like his mom. They both have tender, soft features. Albeit, the male took on his father’s personality and characteristics, his physical appearance compared to his mom is nearly a carbon copy. “It’s only a few acres away. I love your home, by the way. It has a good energy to it.”   Yoongi wonders when you got so comfortable with his parents.   “I’m preparing dinner right now. Should be done fairly soon, but Yoonie! Why don’t you show dear Y/N around the farm?”   Yoongi knows he doesn’t have a choice and you hold in your giggle at his dejected expression. It’s not often you can witness him being obedient and when he takes you through his backyard, you can’t help poking fun at him. “Yoonie?”    “It’s a childhood nickname,” he grumbles.   There’s an urge to squish his cheeks together. They’ve always reminded you of jello or bread loafs, but for the sake of not being slapped, you control the desire.   The Min property is vast.    Chicken coops and several sheds are close to the house, but in the distance, cows and goats graze in the open pastures. The lush fields seem to stretch to the horizon, only broken up by the occasional tree left to grow in peace. It’s a tranquil landscape and there’s an urge to sit back in a rocking chair and knit. Even though you don’t know how to knit.   “How big is the farm?”   “It’s a hundred acres.”   Yoongi says it like it’s nothing impressive, but it’s still fifty times the size of your own farm.   “Is that all lettuce?” You look over the plowed fields filled with green.   “Some of it is asparagus and carrots, but it’s mostly different kinds of lettuce,” he explains, “We don’t sell all of it at the market. We got a few contracts from grocery stores and those get shipped out, so we’re always busy year round.”   You’re amazed. His family manages to do a lot more than you and you already feel swamped half the time. But you suppose you still have a long way to go before you can call yourself a real farmer.   The pair of you approach the fence and you watch the goats chewing on their grass, bleating at you. You grin and mimic their noises, oblivious to the way Yoongi steals a glance at you. “What do you do with all the animals?” you ask.   “They’re for personal usage. We eat chicken eggs and my mom makes cheese a lot.” Yoongi diverts his vision at your intense stare and clears his throat. He didn’t know all of this was so interesting to you. “Have you ever milked a cow before?”   “No!”   “Do you want to learn how?”   “Yes!”   This time, Yoongi can’t hold back his chuckle at your childlike enthusiasm.    He leads a smaller cow into the stall, introducing her as August, and you help him brush her down. Yoongi shows you how to wash August with warm, soapy water, how to clean her utters and let the milk down by relaxing her. He demonstrates as well, clamping the top of the utter between his thumb and first finger before squeezing.   You follow his instructions, mimic his movements and milk squirts into the silver pale successfully. “It feels kind of weird.”   The corner of his thin lips pull. “Is it supposed to feel nice?”   When your hands get tired, Yoongi leans over to help you out, explaining how often someone can milk cows for, where August came from and how long she’s been around. You never expected how awfully endearing it would be to listen to a farm boy talk about his precious cow, but it is. Or maybe that’s just Yoongi being Yoongi. Everything that comes out of his mouth is interesting to you.   “—months ago and…..are you even listening?”   “Of course I am!” You totally weren’t and he doesn’t seem to believe your assertion either, so to divert his attention, you turn the direction of the utter and squeeze. The line of milk squirts directly at Yoongi’s kneecap, dampening his jeans and you laugh at his scandalized expression.   “What the fuc—!”   “Stop! Stop!” You stand, giggling incessantly while blocking your arms up when Yoongi lunges down and squeezes two utters at you. The milk is warm and sticky against your skin. “I’m sorry!”   “Too late!” His cheeks are swollen with a gummy smile, happily taking his revenge.   Before any of you have realized, the sun has gone down and there’s a lingering scent of milk on your clothes. But no one other than you and Yoongi notices or at least his parents don’t say anything.   “How are things going, dear?” his mom asks you with a satisfied smile as she watches you devour her dessert apple pie. Dinner at the Min’s was all too cozy and welcoming. Food had filled the rounded table and the family, albeit only three members in total, had gathered together.    For the past few months, you’ve been eating by yourself with a magazine by your side or in front of the old television with some obscure show on. You missed having conversations over delicious meals and part of you wonders how you’ll return to your regular routine after tonight.   After a taste of the forbidden fruit, you’ll wish every night was like this.   “Better than expected actually. It’s a learning process, so it goes up and down, but everyone’s been so helpful to me that it hasn’t been bad.”   Yoongi’s father nods solemnly. “All on your own too.”   You become shy under their praise. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to preserve the memory of my grandfather and all I have is his land, so....”    Sometimes you lay awake thinking about how much your life has changed. A year ago, you were still in LA in a high rise apartment working, and in an effort to connect with your family roots again, you left it all behind. But you don’t regret your decision whatsoever.   From the moment you came here, no matter what challenges you faced, it all became worth it in the end. It’s a hard life, but a peaceful one. A simple and serene way of living that you always needed.   “Bless your heart,” his mother swoons and you realize Yoongi’s gazing at you too — with an odd sense of gentleness that you aren’t used to. Or maybe that’s merely the dim lighting of the small dining room. “You are the hardest working, gosh darn smartest young lady I have ever met.”   You look away from Yoongi, face warming at the compliments. “No, I just try my hardest.”   “And try hard you do!” His mom leans across the table, eyes bright. “Don’t you think so, Yoonie? Isn’t Y/N marvelous?”   You turn to him expectedly, but Yoongi’s eyes are suddenly down at his empty plate. “Well, there’s nothing else to do out here but work, so isn’t that the default?”   You scoff and it takes his attention. “You aren’t cute at all.”   The corner of his mouth tugs. “Excuse me?”   “Don’t pay any attention to him, Y/N.” His mom bats at your arm. “He’s too much like his dad.”   “You mean, he took after my best traits?” The older man at the table has his brow cocked and you smile at the banter, but the woman beside you doesn’t entertain it.   “He took after your temper and grumbling.”   “Which is why no one ever bullied him.” Yoongi’s father slaps him on his back and he sighs.   His mom turns her head to continue, “Never mind them. I swear, Yoonie used to be the cutest kid in the whole country. I don’t know when he changed. Do you want to see his baby pictures?”   Your spine straightens and your eyes widen. “I would love to—”   Suddenly, there’s the ear-piercing noise of the chair leg scraping against the wooden floorboards. Yoongi has stood up and tosses his napkin down. “It’s getting pretty late. Probably time to go home, right?”   You laugh, but oblige only because it gives you reason to come over again. Yoongi’s mother at least assures as much, promising that next time you’ll be able to see all the albums and photographs of that time he cried while being chased by a goose — something you’re looking forward to, much to Yoongi’s dismay.   He’s just too much fun to tease.   The more and more you get to know Yoongi and the people in his life, the better you’re coming to realize that he’s not that much of a grump at all. It’s a facade, really. A thin curtain that hides how soft and pouty he actually is. Less like the bad boy you initially thought. More like a farm sheep.   “You didn’t need to walk me home, you know.” You turn to him, glancing at his profile. “It’s only a few acres away.”   “Yeah, but then I would never hear the end of it from my mom. It’s dark out anyway and it’s not like I mind.”   You nod and the pair of you fall into a comfortable lull. There’s a lot from tonight that you have to think about and it’s not just about Yoongi and his family. After seeing how they run their farm and how much they’ve expanded, you wonder if you’ll ever get to that size too.   “What do you think if I started growing quinoa and soy?”   He gives you an incredulous look, still visible in spite of the darkness, and it makes you laugh.   “What would you do with quinoa and soy?”   “I don’t know. Make different smoothies or flavours of kombucha? I would have to look into it. But it’s just a thought for no—” The pitch of your voice raises as you lose your footing, about to plunge. But then Yoongi yanks your arm back, steadying you before you trip in the ditch. “Oh my god! I almost died!”   “Watch where you’re going, woman,” he scolds and his hand boldly wraps around yours, palms clasping together firmly. You glance down, foreign to the feeling of his affection and Yoongi notices. He looks straight ahead, but quickly explains, “If you die and haunt the farm, that’ll bring down the value of the land nearby.”   You scoff. “You’re lucky you have a cute face, Min Yoongi.”   His lips curl. “I thought you said I wasn’t cute.”   “Your personality isn’t, but your face is alright.” If anything, you’re downplaying it, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Out here, you’re a good eight, but where I’m from, maybe you’re a six and a half.”   His laugh is mellifluous, and it infects a smile on your own features. “What about you?”   You look down to where you’re joined at the hands and muse how much larger his palm and fingers are to you, how his skin is calloused from working the fields, how warm and secure it feels.   “Clearly, I’m a ten wherever I go,” you quip. “Can’t you see?”   Yoongi apologizes, “I’m sorry, I might be blind then ‘cause I can’t see you as attractive at all.”   Another scoff tears from you, a lighthearted one that makes his grin widen. “You know what? I take it back. You aren’t cute at all. Not even your face can make up for your sour personality.”   Yoongi chuckles, squeezing your hand, and it’s awfully unfair how your face heats more.   //   Despite how busy you get managing the Insta spot, planting and harvesting kale, and cooking and packaging products, you never fail to find time to be at the market every Sunday. While your other sources of income are slowly increasing more than what you get from the farmers’ market, the atmosphere and sense of community is enough for you to scrape up time out of your week to set up your stall.   And it’s often the time that you get to have your conversations with Jungkook too.   “So….did you try it out?” Your eyes glisten, locked into his. “What did you think? Did it work?”   The boy scratches the back of his neck. “I...don’t think kale shampoo is it, Y/N.”   You deflate, keeping your sulking to a minimum. It didn’t work for you either, but you were trying to see if it was just your hair that was the strange one. “Really? But it looks soft.” You reach over and plant your hand in his black bed of hair. To your surprise, it’s even silkier than it appears.   “Woah! It’s soft!”   Jungkook ducks his head, colour blooming on his cheeks. He doesn’t bat your hand away nor does he lean into your touch when you pet him incessantly. “It isn’t that soft…”   “What shampoo and conditioner do you usually use? It feels so nice, Kook.”   The both of you are oblivious to the flannel-wearing man from across the market who’s glaring above the heads of lettuce. He bores his gaze into you, wondering what the hell you’re doing in the middle of the farmers’ market and putting on a show for all the older ladies to watch. Don’t you know how gossip and rumours start at this place? Merely chatting is enough to grab attention, but to be outright flirting like this was downright reckless.   His jaw ticks, nostrils flaring. He’s uncomfortable. It isn’t any of his business, but Yoongi feels an urge to do something. It’s utterly irrational. Completely out of the norm of his usual behaviour.   But somehow, he finds himself abandoning his stall and crossing the floor.   “What the hell are you two doing?”   “Yoongi!” You turn, greeting him with a big smile and suddenly that irrational emotion is replaced with something else that sits at his chest. To have your attention, he feels…..satisfied. Even if it’s childish. “I was just talking about the kale shampoo I made, but I think it’s an idea I’m going to have to scrap.”   “Shampoo?”   “It left a sticky mess on my head and took me ten minutes to wash it off,” Jungkook tells and his smile softens at your sigh. “Sorry, Y/N.”   “Maybe kale conditioner would work better....”   At the same time, Jungkook’s name is called by his grandma nearby, so he bids goodbye and a see you later to the both of you. It’s a slow down period right after lunch, so there’s fewer people around and with Yoongi here, you take the opportunity. “Can you watch my stall for me?”    “What?”   “I need to go to the bathroom.” You clasp your hands together and bat your lashes, trying to appeal to him. “Pretty please, Yoongi? I would really, really appreciate it.”   He exhales and waves his hand boredly, not sparing you a glance. But you already know he’s relinquished before he says it. “Fine.”   You jump up with a smile. “Thanks! You’re the best!”   In the next three seconds, you’ve jogged away and Yoongi’s left standing at the market, watching your stall and his stall from across the floor that he abandoned. He wonders how he got into this predicament, but doesn’t dwell when his eyes stray to your bottles of fancy kombucha on display.   He picks up a bottle, curious as to how you made these fancy labels, and he snorts when he notices in tiny text it says, ‘don’t kale me’. You’re such a dork, it’s impossible to believe. Then again, his mom decided to make a pun for the lettuce stall too, so he’s not one to talk.   For a moment, Yoongi ponders what the hell this kale kombucha tastes like.   He got a chance to try it before when you waltz up to him all those weeks ago with a tray of samples, but he denied you out of pride and stubbornness. He knows it must taste somewhat decent if you’re making all those sales. He’s seen people drinking it as they walk around too, but he’ll be damned if he actually went up to you and bought one. He’s sure you’d throw a celebration and do the whole ‘I told you so’ dance if it was actually delicious.   Relinquishing, he places the bottle back on the display.   But then the awful happens. Time slows — there’s a noise and the entire dainty shelf is collapsing. Yoongi is helpless to the way the bottles collide against the ground deafeningly, how the dark green liquid splatters on the concrete, to the way the glass shards spray. He cusses and manages to catch one bottle before turning around.   There are people staring at him — customers alarmed and vendors sympathizing.   But more importantly, you’re standing meters away, returned from the bathroom.   He catches your shock, your confusion, and then the heartbreak — even if it only lasts for a blink before you’re smiling again.   You come over, looking down at the mess. “I didn’t know you hated me this much to sabotage my stuff like this,” you quip jokingly. But there’s no banter or excuses being made. There’s silence. And you lift your eyes to meet Yoongi’s, realizing how mortified he is. “Hey, it’s alright. I knew the shelf had a few loose screws, but I didn’t know it would fall like that. I should’ve fixed it sooner.”   “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”   “You don’t really need to do th……”   “I’ll make it up to you,” Yoongi states more firmly than before, eyes darkened and you swallow hard. He knows you’re trying to cover up how hurt you are, how you’re trying to save face and not only is he embarrassed, he’s guilty. “You were supposed to sell all this, weren’t you?”   You give in and Yoongi grabs a broom, aiding you in cleaning up the mess. You’ve never seen him so serious and solemn before, but it makes you glad that he’s the one here to help.   //   At six in the morning, you wake up and less than ten minutes later, you hear the wheezing engine of a truck out front.   The sun was barely on the horizon, but when you walk out to the porch, you discover Yoongi shutting the door of his vehicle and coming up to you. He’s dressed in an oversized purple and black plaid flannel and gray shirt underneath, black hair flopping to the side, features softer than usual. He’s yawning and rubbing his eyes, all too endearing that you have to admit it.   “Mornin’,” you greet with a grin and he merely grunts, gesturing inside your house. A laugh draws out of you and you open the door for him. “You didn’t need to do this, you know. I told you I was totally fine.”   “Just accept my help, lady,” he sighs and looks around your living space, glancing at the polaroids strung above the brick mantle, the recycled jar of flowers on the kitchen counter, and the couch cushions made from flour sacks you reused. You grow warm under his scrutiny, realizing that no one has ever entered your home before. But while you expect to get criticism, Yoongi instead says, “I like what you did with the place. It’s cozy.”   You smile, still a bit self-conscious. “Thanks. Do you want tea? Coffee? Kale juice?”   “I’m fine.” He follows after you, stepping into the kitchen. The space is crowded or maybe it’s just you feeling small with him so close. “I’m here to help. What do you usually do at this time?”   “Well, I usually start by harvesting whatever kale I can. The weather seems good today too and there are some fields that need to be plowed, so I should do that and then plant some seeds…”   “Okay.” He’s already tugging his sleeves up. “Let’s get to it.”   It’s unusual to have someone join you during your morning chores, but it isn’t unwarranted. Granted, you have to teach him a little on the way you do things, but he already knows a lot from working on his own farm and you find Yoongi is a great listener. He might have a blank expression and be exceptionally quiet, but his occasional questions are insightful and he’s attentive when he mimics you.   It’s peaceful — the sun not yet sweltering in the sky or giving an unbearable heat that makes it hard to work, the animals in the far distance not awoken, the breeze curling through your hair. When you look up from your spot, you see Yoongi working as hard as you are and it tickles the corners of your lips into a subtle smile.   Things finish twice as fast and then you’re taking a break, making breakfast for Yoongi.   His company is nice at the table, even when he complains that your sunny side up eggs are too overcooked and you threaten to throw him out. It’s a kind of banter that doesn’t so much irritate you — rather, it keeps you on your toes, making you giggle at witty remarks while he rolls his eyes.   After breakfast, Yoongi insists on washing the dishes and succeeds when he whines and feigns annoyance on how you don’t trust him to clean your plates. He ends up fixing a light fixture in your kitchen too after you mention that it sometimes flickers off and startles you.   He’s helpful and handy, more than you thought he would be, but you try not to get used to it.   “This is where you keep your kombucha?” he asks as you show off the pantry that you’ve practically changed into a cellar.   “Yep.” You tap one of the large jars on the shelf. “It takes five to seven days for it to ferment after I make it. Then, I have to add in the kale and let it ferment for another three days. These babies will be ready for tomorrow. But I have to make a new batch today.”   “That’s a lot of work,” he comments.   “Oh. You haven’t seen it yet.” You brush past him, smirking.   Yoongi looks all too cute in the pink apron. It’s a comical sight and albeit, isn’t actually a part of your usual routine to wear one, you made it up on the fly just to see him wear it and he’s too cute.    “What?” His head whips up, brow cocked at the way you’re grinning.   “Nothing. Hand me that bowl.”   It’s a bit of an irony that Yoongi hasn’t tried any of your kombucha, but is first to learn the recipe from you. You show him how to brew the gallon of black tea, how to add the cup of sugar in and allow it to cool before pouring it into the jar.    “What’s that?” he asks when you’re sticking a rubbery flab into the jar.   “It’s a scoby. It has a bunch of yeast and bacteria that helps with fermentation. It’s made from kombucha, sugar, black tea.” You seal off the jar and Yoongi goes quiet. You look up at him, discovering a thoughtful expression on his face as if he’s impressed you know what you’re doing. “I’m not completely stupid, you know. I know I come across as—”   “I never thought you were dumb,” Yoongi suddenly states without missing a single beat. Your eyes become rounded and the corner of his mouth pulls. “Maybe insensitive and ignorant, but not stupid per se.”   “Hey!”   “There’s a difference,” Yoongi laughs and insists, “Being ignorant means you just haven’t learnt yet, but being stupid means you can’t learn at all.” He ducks when you half-heartedly swing and more chuckles fill the home, including your own. But Yoongi’s right. You had no clue what you were getting yourself into when you first arrived. Everything’s been a learning process, but it finally feels like things are falling into place.   Yoongi helps you wash the kale out back and stays by your side, peering over your shoulder, as you make the kale chips, guacamole and pesto. He stirs and gets ingredients when he can, and you find he has quite a knack for packaging things neatly. He’s somehow careful yet efficient.   “I didn’t know you did so much.”   “Yeah.” You wipe your sweat with the back of your hand. “I try to space everything out, but sometimes everything falls on the same day and I’ve been running low on products, so I can’t put it off.”   He hums, sealing the jar of pesto shut and then working on smoothing the label on the surface.   It’s mid-afternoon already. You didn’t realize how quickly time was going. The golden sun is already coming through the windows of the kitchen as you and Yoongi work across from one another, falling into a lull. You turned the staticky radio on, but it often acts as background noise when either of you start another conversation.   You giggle and he tilts his head up at the noise. “What? Did I put the label on upside down again?”   “No.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “It just kind of feels like we’re a married couple, that’s all.”   Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi freezes. But then he eases, the corner of his own mouth tugging.   “You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?”   “Seduce you?!” You scoff, looking up to see him focused on tying the ribbon around the jar. “I have higher standards than that, Min Yoongi.”   “Says the one who’s been flirting with me all morning.”   “I’m not flirting with you.”   “Uh-huh. Don’t tempt me with the suggestion of marriage then. I might actually do it.”   You’re baffled, made speechless with how he twists his words and how sweet he can talk. Your face heats and you know that if you open your mouth, you’ll blubber and make a fool out of yourself. So you opt for a huff and silence which only spurs on his chuckles and inadvertently makes you sulk harder.   If anything Yoongi was the flirt. But you’re not about to declare it in case he asks if that means you’re affected by it. Because you are.   The rest of the afternoon is spent finishing on packaging and storing away the products to sell tomorrow when the Insta spot opens and the following day at the farmers’ market. But as you dust off your hands, you feel the gurgle of your empty stomach and you offer to make him an early dinner.   “Is there anything you want to eat? My cooking skills aren’t that great—”   “Clearly.”   You glare at him. “—but I can look up any recipe you want.”   Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise and he leans over to open your fridge. You peep over his shoulder and at once, blood drains from your face.   “There’s nothing in your fridge, Y/N.” He turns around with puzzlement on his visage. “How did you make breakfast this morning?”   “I….used the last of my eggs to make breakfast. I didn’t think you would actually stick around long enough for dinner.”   “And what would you have eaten tonight if I did leave?” With one foot keeping the fridge open, he starts taking out several things like a maid cleaning out your kitchen. “The strawberries have gone bad...and there’s….mold on the bread. How do you live?”   “My budget was a bit low for this week and I underestimated how much groceries I would need.” When he pulls out the drawer with bundled kale, you stop him. “That’s for me to sell.”    “You don’t eat what you grow?”   “Not really,” you admit. “I don’t actually eat much kale….I brought lots of instant noodles from the city, but I ran out two weeks ago….”   He shuts the fridge. “I’ll talk to my mom and bring more eggs and milk to you more often.”   “You don’t need to do that.”   “No, but I want to.” Looking at you, Yoongi realizes that you’re really just a girl who came from nowhere to start a whole farm. Partly hopeless and causing an urge in him to take care of you, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind as much as he thought he would. “Move. I’ll make dinner. You have some iceberg lettuce and kale that I can work with.”   He starts rolling up his sleeves again and you don’t let your eyes linger on his exposed veiny forearms for long.   You feel a bit embarrassed that you didn’t prepare more and that he caught you at a struggling week. But more than that, guests are supposed to be treated better. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   “Don’t be.” As he passes, he plops a hand on your head and you look up at him, surprised at the unusually affectionate gesture. “I’m quite the chef, you know. I make better breakfast than you do.”   Yoongi probably does, but your pride won’t let you admit it. “Psh. You haven’t started yet. Don’t get so cocky.”   You help by setting the table and then pulling a stool to watch him cook. Maybe it’s a bit lame, but you’re impressed at his knife skills and how fast he chops the lettuce and kale into thin strips, keeping a constant rhythm and never once stopping. You scoff when he glances at you with a smirk, but there’s little you can say, especially when he sautes it in a pan with oil and half an onion you have left.   The house is filled with a mouthwatering scent and it’s even more delicious than expected once the plate is plopped down in front of you and you get a taste.   “Oh my god….how did you make this?”   Yoongi smugly shrugs. “I made it up on the fly. Can’t help that my talent is inborn.”   You’re too busy eating to retort with a snarky comment. “Maybe I should marry you.”   He laughs and quickly eats before you steal his own portion.   The sun eventually goes down and it’s hard to say goodbye after one of the best days you’ve had since coming here, but you know you’ll see Yoongi tomorrow and the next day — whether that’s across the acres and through a giant wave or arguing as you do at the market.   He’s always been around, an addition to the farm life itself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
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When Yoongi returns home, he announces that he’s back. There are storming steps, his mom enthusiastic and racing down the stairs to ask him how it went. His dad looks around the living room corner as well, and he sighs at their intrusiveness.   “It was fine.” Yoongi tosses the keys aside, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s actually a lot more hard-working than I expected.”   He walks off before they can bombard him with any more inquiries, but they understand their son well enough and they exchange knowing smiles.
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You never expect to see Yoongi awkwardly lingering on your porch like a car salesman, especially considering you were once doing the same thing at his house not long ago. But while he’s here just to deliver some apple pie his mom made, you eagerly pull him inside.   “Why? Why?” he whines childishly, but stumbles after you anyway.   “I need you to try something for me.”   It was an Insta spot day, cars filled in the lot you designated, people from the city out in the back and the chatter loud enough to leak inside the kitchen. Families were strolling about, children picking kale, young adults posing for countless pictures by the picnic blankets and decorations. Yoongi can’t quite understand what their fixation and fascination is to drive all the way out here for such frivolous things, but if it works then it works, he supposes.   You set the apple pie on the table and notice Yoongi peering out of the window, primarily watching the brunette boy fussing about and working the register behind the cute stall you made.   “Oh, that’s Jungkook’s cousin, Jimin,” you tell him, even though he probably already knows. Everyone knew everyone around here. “I hired him to help out.”   “Doing well enough to hire people?” he asks, brow lifted and a smile raising on his cheeks.   “I guess you could say so.” Your pride is supported by the bustle outside the window. “I need all the help I can get.”   “Are you trying to get me to help out too? Because I don’t work for free, lady.”   “Pft. No. I thought you might want to try out the kale kombucha you made with me last week. You came right in time actually. I just got it packaged and everything. Wait here. I’ll go grab a bottle.”   Without another word, you pull the door open and Yoongi sighs with a softened smile, watching you march across the land to chat with Jimin. But within seconds, his attention is taken away by the squeak of the door and a middle aged woman sticking her head through.    “Excuse me,” her voice is shrill, “is there a bathroom in here?”   “Uh…” He’s fairly certain you don’t let anyone inside your house and that he caught sight of fancy porta potties you set up on the side. “No. If you turn the corner, there’re some bathrooms you can use.” Yet, she blinks blankly at him and Yoongi holds his long exhale in his nose. Whatever your intentions are, it seems like he’s working for you anyhow. “I can show you.”   Yoongi hopes he’s not wrong or it’ll be terribly awkward, but luckily for him, there’s indeed bright blue stalls and the woman thanks him as she waddles off. But he can’t take refuge inside your home when he’s interrupted by someone again.   “Excuse me!” This time it’s a group of girls around his age giggling with caked makeup and dressed in short rompers. They thrust their phones forward before he can utter a word. “Can you please take some pictures for us?”   “Uh, sure.”   Yoongi feels out of his depth. Embarrassed. While you knew nothing about farm life, he knows nothing about city life. You might’ve disproved a lot of prejudices and stereotypes he held, but he still feels awkward and out of place in their scrutiny. Like he’s part of a completely different world, and he’s not sure what to say or how to act.   But he still tries and crouches down, trying to frame the photo and catch the trees in the back with the stringed fairy lights above. “One. Two. Three. Smile.”   “Thanks!” The girl comes forward to look, but before he can ask if it’s good enough, her friend comes up to him with another phone.   “Can you take another one?”   “Alright.” He gets back into place and times it. “One. Two. Three.”   Yoongi hands back the device and is about to duck his head and seek refuge no matter who calls out to him, but the girl stops in front of him with a brightened smile. “Is it alright if you take a photo with me? I’ve never had a picture with a farmer before!”   Yoongi sputters, speechless. For one, he hasn’t taken a photo in years, much less for a stranger’s personal collection. And secondly, he’s not some spectacle to be gawked at. He’s not some dancing monkey or clown. Not a poster boy or a cardboard cutout. This is his life—   “I’m sorry.” A voice calmly cuts through his annoyance and Yoongi feels a hand against his shoulder. You’re beside him with a polite smile. “Staff aren’t allowed to be photographed.”   “Oh. Okay.”   They walk off and resume their activities. You take Yoongi’s hand and tilt your head towards the door. “C’mon. Let’s go back inside.”   He feels safe inside your house again when he can remain an observer and not a participant.   “Sorry about that. Some people can be a bit insensitive, but most of them have good intentions.”   “It’s fine.”   You pour out the bottle of amber liquid into a tall glass. “They probably just wanted a photo since you’re good-looking.”   “What?” Yoongi snorts and turns around with a grin. “So you think I’m good-looking?”   “Isn’t that a fact? That’s why people were staring at you. The whole rugged look works well for you.” You plop down the glass in front of him before you can think twice about the honesty that just unabashedly spilled from your mouth. “Try it. You had a part in making it, so it’s only right, right? And if you like it, I’ll even let you bring some home.”   He rolls his eyes at your mischievous smile and lifts the glass to his lips. It’s fizzy, and the taste is both tart and slightly sweet. It reminds Yoongi of sparkling cider, but with a herbal hint that he assumes is the kale. He doesn’t utter a word, even when you’re watching him intently. But after Yoongi smacks his lips together, he goes for a second sip.   And you take that as a positive sign. “You like it?!”   He’s startled at your overly excited voice. “It’s not bad.”   “See?! I knew it! All you needed to do was to try my amazing kombucha recipe and your mind would be changed. Didn’t I say that? I totally told you I would get you to like kale!”   “Hold on, hold on.” Yoongi stops you in your ramble. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I only said it was decent.”   You laugh. “Sure. Whatever you say.”   He sighs, but ruffles your hair as he walks past, already bidding goodbye. “Get back to work.”   “Yes, sir.” You dramatically salute him and he leaves through the front door. But then it hits you a moment later. “Wait a minute….”    This is your farm. Not his.   //   You’re thriving in more ways than one. Aside from your personal projects on the farm, you’ve gotten yourself established at the market, like one of the decade long vendors who’ve spent their whole lives here. After a few months of setting up your stall, now everyone knows you by first name basis. A few older ladies even gave you the nickname of Sunshine and it only makes you love them more.   “You’re staring at her a lot, Yoonie.” His mother nudges him and he tears his eyes away from you across the market floor.   “No, I’m not.” He’s not sure why he bothers. Yoongi feels like a child trying to deny the obvious.   “Go talk to her. Lookin’ is not gonna do you any favours, young man. You have to talk.”   Yoongi already knows — he doesn’t need his mother to tell him.   “She’s busy,” he grumbles, “I’ll talk to her later.”    Fortunately, a customer comes up and Yoongi takes the opportunity to escape the conversation, immediately moving to ring them up and leaving his mom with a hopeless sigh.   At the same time, someone approaches you. After taking a sample from the tray, she decides to purchase a whole case of pesto much to your delight. “I actually bought smoothie and kombucha from you last week,” the lady mentions as you’re packing it up for her and you nod.   “I know. You bought two large smoothies and half a case of kombucha, right?”   Pleasant surprise takes hold of her expression. “How do you remember? Don’t you get a lot of customers?”   “I remember most of them, but I especially remember your Chanel classic handbag,” you point out with a smile. “The medium pink is a rarer one, plus it’s not the kind of thing lots of people wear in this sort of place.”   “You have a good eye,” the lady notes and you take the compliment. “It’s the only flashy thing I own and I have no other place to wear it aside from running errands.”   “Oh trust me, I’m like that too.” You grin, finishing up and passing the machine card for her to tap and pay. “I find that as long as you have confidence, you can pull anything off and it makes running errands a lot more fun.”   The lady laughs and easily agrees. She takes the box you offer her, but lingers. “Your kombucha and your smoothies are delicious by the way, and the pesto seems pretty good too.”   “Thank you. It took me a while to narrow down the recipe, but I think I nailed it.”    “You did.” She affirms and then out of the blue, asks, “Would you be willing to sell your products at the supermart? It’s a local grocery store I run with my husband, five miles from here, just down Imlings road.”   You’re speechless, blinking twice at her as your mouth opens and closes. The older woman waits patiently with a smile and you muster a half-coherent answer. “I-I would definitely consider it!”   “Great.” She smiles and then reaches over to her pocket. The woman hands you a business card. “Some folks around here have contracts with me too, and I’d love to add your products on the shelf. Give me a call some time tomorrow and we can chat about the details.”   You’re stunned and only broken out of your trance when a customer comes up and clears their throat.   It’s a triumphant day. You feel like you’re floating, walking on clouds — and Jungkook notices how you’re humming to yourself too and boyishly grins. “Something good happen, Y/N?”   The pair of you are walking out, Jungkook carrying your boxes as you lug your totes with you while waving goodbye to the other vendors that were leaving for the evening. “Just everything. I feel like things are going right for me, you know? And that’s kind of rare for me.”   “No, I get you. Pop always says there are rainbows after the storm. Then again, he always says how the Kim’s are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”   That makes you laugh, but then the two of you interrupted by a sharp cry of your name. “Y/N!”   You witness Yoongi running up to you, completely out of breath.    “Hey. Are you okay? Where did you even come from?”   “Never mind that.” He straightens out. “Let me drive you back.”   “Oh, Jungkook was just going to….”   “Nah.” He insists and takes the boxes from the younger boy. “Our houses are closer together anyway. I don’t mind.”   “What about your mom?”   “She’s already left since she’s having dinner with a friend.”   You look at Jungkook who’s wholly confused, a deer in headlights and you decide to spare him from the trouble. “Well, alright. Thanks then.”   It feels a bit odd, but you take him on the offer and bid Jungkook a goodbye. The rest of your kale and belongings are packed into the back of Yoongi’s truck before you’re getting in. It’s old and worn, but the vehicle feels like it’s full of memories. You buckle yourself in and then he’s driving off with the fuzzy radio playing in the background as the golden sun sets over the horizon.   “Jungkook ain’t shit,” Yoongi suddenly pipes up after a moment. You glance over to discover him looking straight out the windshield, hands gripped on the steering wheel. And you burst out laughing.   “What?”   “He was seeing Aria for a while and then left her for the hills, so he’s got a reputation around here. I thought I should let you know.”   You see him peek at you in the corner of your eye, but you can’t repress your grin. “You sound like a boyfriend.”   “Yeah, well, I’m actually a good one.”   “Oh yeah?”   Yoongi’s knuckles are white and with the way his tongue peeks out to lick the seam of his lips, you wonder if he’s nervous. “I could show you.”   A giddy giggle that belongs to the sixteen-year-old you bubbles out. “And what would dating Min Yoongi look like?”   Yoongi plays off of your playful tone. “For one, I haven’t gotten to show you around properly yet and you still haven’t gone to one of Taehyung’s bonfire parties. He’s the guy with the strawberry farm. And I have access to his exclusive parties cause we went to school together, so you could use me to get in.”   “Hmmm….you drive a hard bargain, Min Yoongi.”   “I know how to cook a mean dinner if you give me real ingredients too.”   You laugh again, leaning your head back against the seat. “You’re too good at sweet-talking. Does your mother know you chat up girls like this?”   “Maybe. But I only really sweet talk you.”   He’s bold tonight and it’s not doing good things to you.   Your face is heating and you’re incessantly tapping your fingers against your leg. Beneath the lighthearted flirtation was a sort of simmering nervousness that’s filled with questions of if the line is going to be crossed and when that would be, and who would be the first to make the move.   Yoongi parks the car in front of your house and pulls the keys out of the ignition.   The pair of you naturally shift and look at one another. Your gazes lock together and there are three seconds of tense silence — neither wanting to get out, to break the rather intimate moment. Where you muse how brown his eyes are and Yoongi, himself, hitches his breath.   And then you’re lurching over for a kiss.   It’s all mouths and noses bumping together, obscene and sloppy, but a long time coming. His lips are softer than expected, only chapped at the corners, but you don’t get to think about it for too long or deepen the kiss. Not when you’re too busy giggling and laughing against him.   You pull apart, hands grasping onto the collar of his loose flannel. “You’re so eager.”   It’s a bit unusual to see Yoongi be anything other than annoyed or composed, but you soak it up as much as you can. The sunset is painting his skin golden and the car smells like him too. It seems like you’re surrounded in Min Yoongi and it’s fully welcomed.   “You are too,” he retorts on an exhale, hand skimming down to the dips of your waist. But then Yoongi swallows hard and retracts. He leans his arm on the steering wheel and looks out the window in disappointment. You wonder if you did something wron— “I can’t stain the truck. My mom has hawk eyes and she’s gonna know if we do something, and I’d rather she not.”   You scoff and lean forward, swift enough to plant a kiss on his cheek and pull away. “For such a good talker, you sure are stupid, Yoongi. There’s a whole house behind you and no one in it.”   A gummy smile spreads into his face and you feign a tired huff, lifting your chin and sticking your nose in the air. You add, “But for your information, I only give people the time of day when they make it worth it for me.”   He’s already opening the door and accepting the challenge before you can finish.    “Oh, I’ll make it worth it alright.”   You find out that Yoongi has a dirty mouth and an even nastier tongue. Part of you always wondered if he hated your guts, but you couldn’t be any more wrong.    You’re tugging on the strands of his hair, chest rising and falling as you pant. “W-Where did you learn how to do that?”    The bastard shrugs with a smug smile. “I might be unlikable, but I’ve had plenty of practice before.”   “Oh yeah?” The corner of your own mouth tugs. “With who?”   Yoongi grins and lifts himself up to plant a sweet kiss against your lips. “You wouldn’t know them. But they’re not as important as you are.”   “I’m going to choke over your greasiness, Min Yoongi.”   “Good. Choke.”   “You’re gonna have to stuff me with your cock first.”   Yoongi laughs at how you’re desperately tugging him closer to you, but he easily agrees with one condition— “Only if you’re good for me.”   The pair of you are sweaty when you finish. You thought the old bed frame was going to give up mid-way. Luckily, it held up even with all its loud squeaks and creaks. But you wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a dent where the headboard slammed against the wall.    But you’ll count your losses later. You’re just relieved that there was no one in the house.   While Yoongi might’ve been all soft groans and rapid exhales, he made you absent-minded to your own noises that somehow leaves your throat sore. You’re sure anyone who would’ve stood by your porch would’ve heard and been scandalized for the rest of their life.   “You know.” You turn to Yoongi, having stared at the ceiling. His eyes meet yours. “You’re pretty good for a farm boy.”   The playful quip ticks him off enough that he does it again. Yoongi pins you underneath him and is merciless. Your bubbling giggles turn to tears leaking down the side of your face from overstimulation, but you climax again through a moaning apology.   When you’re spent, Yoongi collapses next to you.    You’re surprised at how cuddly he is, how he naturally reaches for you, torso molding against yours and arms wrapped around your waist. In spite of feeling hot and sweaty, Yoongi holds you against him and you relish in it. “How is it possible that no one’s snatched you up yet?”   “Maybe it’s because I’m known to be standoffish.” He smiles against your temple, soothed by the way you run your fingers through the strands of his hair. “And what about you? Do you have a boyfriend or a husband I don’t know about that’s waiting in the city?���   “No. No one’s drawn me in quite like you have.”   Yoongi’s smile pulls into a grin, and the pair of you are lulled by each other’s inhales and exhales, unintentionally falling asleep in one another’s embraces like lovers underneath tree canopies on a Summer afternoon.   It’s some of the most peaceful sleep you’ve had, but then you’re shaken awake by a rattle and an ‘ow’. Your eyes open to find the other side of the bed empty and Yoongi nursing his hip after presumably bumping into your nightstand. You sit up, disoriented as he’s hopping up and down, barely getting his pants on.   “I need to get home before my parents find out I was gone the entire night and start asking questions.” His voice is thick and husky, hair in a disarray, eyes bleary and barely awake.   His panic makes you giggle and you watch him struggle to put on his clothes. Peeking outside, the sun isn’t up yet and the clock reads that it’s five in the morning. “Are they even awake this early, Yoongi?”   “I don’t know. Sometimes.” He fiddles with his flannel, putting his arms through the wrong holes, and even when he figures it out, he doesn’t realize it’s inside out. “I’ll...see you later?”   “Wait. Yoongi.” You stop him for a second and he turns around. It feels awfully juvenile, like you’ve reverted back into your sixteen-year-old self that giggles over crushes, but Yoongi always seems to make you feel that way. “Are we….dating now?”   “If I didn’t make it any more clear last night and by sleeping over, then I don’t know what else to do.”   It takes a beat for the words to sink in, but once it does, a bright and overexcited smile overcomes your features. Yoongi snorts before the corners of his own mouth tickles.   When he’s gone, you discover that you miss him already.
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The morning alarm rings at six. But by then, you’re already up.   You’ve fallen into a natural schedule, a cycle that your body has picked up on and has awoken before anything needs to call you. And after brushing your teeth and running a comb through your hair, you’re taking care of your farm. Plowing fields. Harvesting kale. Having breakfast.   You also package the last of the pesto and guacamole, pouring the kombucha into the bottles with the proper labels. Some of which are prepared for the grocery store to pick up while others are packed for tomorrow. Afterwards, you come to the farmers’ market and meet Hoseok, a boy you’ve hired to help you take over. He helps you man the stall and the cash register, giving you the freedom to chat with customers and other vendors or complete other tasks with Jungkook.   By afternoon, you come back to the farm to check out the Insta spot and aid Jimin in running things smoothly.   “This is beautiful, Y/N.” Today, you’re graced by a few friends from the city. They drove out here after you reached out to them again and you couldn’t be more pleased from their genuine reactions. “When you said you were coming out to start a farm...I didn’t imagine this.”    “It took a lot of work, but it’s not half bad, right?”   Mina leans in, eyes flickering around. “Where’s this infamous Yoongi?”   A laugh spills from you. “He’s busy. You’ll see him next time.”   “I keep hearing about him, but I haven’t even seen him or his picture once,” Tiffany huffs. “I’m beginning to think he’s fake.”   You grin and insist, “I promise you he’s real.”   “Oh my god!” Yeri startles the group by the sheer urgency in her voice, but when you all swivel to her, she has her phone held in the air, screen directed to her face. “This is the perfect lighting! Guys, come here and take selfies up before the sun moves!”    You can’t help smiling as you watch them, matching their footsteps as they approach the fields. You can tell that they’re still surprised, that they love what you did — and you couldn’t be prouder.   At ten at night, the last people have filtered out and you bid them goodbye.   “Great job, Jimin. Thanks for the help as usual. It didn’t get too busy when I was gone, right?”   “Not at all.” The brunette with the polite smile shakes his head. “Oh, but the customer feedback box was full. I put it in the living room for you.”   “I saw that. Thank you. I’ll take a look tomorrow.” Looking ready to go, you walk him to the door. “Rest up then! I’ll see you tomorrow.”   “Goodnight, Y/N.”   But as one man leaves, you catch another down the road. The familiar truck is chugging, head beams piercing through the darkness settling across the horizon. Jimin recognizes it too after months of the same routine and smiles at you before he’s on his way.   The truck is parked on your lawn and the dark-haired man in the flannel is already smiling when he catches you through the front windshield. He opens the door and slams it shut as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed and the screen door held behind you.   “Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.”   Yoongi chuckles and grabs a crate from the back of his truck. “It’s groceries from my parents.”   He meets you at the porch and plants a chaste kiss on your lips as a greeting. You follow him into the kitchen as he beelines to it. It’s almost like this is his home — an idea that tempts you greatly.   “Aw, she packed me more pie.” There’s goat’s milk too and you store it in the fridge as Yoongi organizes your cabinet, making sure there’s enough sustenance to keep you healthy for the week. You’ve already told him that you could take care of yourself, but he’s stood firm and you didn’t argue. It was a guilty pleasure to be pampered by Yoongi after all, and you weren’t about to refuse it.   “My parents want you to come over soon. They keep asking me about you.”   You nod. “I’m happy to come over whenever they want. But I should probably bake something. Your mom always makes me food.”   “Nah. She does it cause she likes to. How about Tuesday?”   “That works for me.”   “Have you eaten yet?”   One shake of your head leads to him cooking and then the pair of you sitting at the table across from one another and sharing a warm meal. You ask Yoongi about his day and he tells you about bailing Namjoon and Taehyung out of jail. Apparently, they landed themselves into trouble after they lost their cow and went looking for it. Yet somehow, they ended up miles away on an orchard farm where they had a confrontation with an old grump and got arrested for trespassing.   But as exasperated as Yoongi likes to act, the irony isn’t lost on you how he drove that far out to bail them out and keep the secret from their parents. He’s the kind of man that conveys his feelings through his actions instead of his words and you’ve come to endear that quirk about him.   After dinner and cleaning up, you turn on the twinkling fairy lights strung along the backyard and stand on your patio, leaning against the banister. The land and rows of kale are strangely bare without people and the ruckus of crowds, yet there’s a certain peacefulness of the uncertain horizon.   “What’re you thinking about?” A husky voice sounds beside you as Yoongi meets your side.   “Nothing.” You shake your head. “All day I’ve been feeling proud of myself, that’s all. I think...my grandfather would be proud of me too.”   “Of course he would be.” Yoongi drapes his arm around your shoulder. “I’m proud of you too.”   As calm and detached as Yoongi may be at times, he still has the effect of catching you off guard when he sweet talks. And it’s a kind of duality that makes you adore him even more.   You wrap your arm around his slim waist, grinning and he plants a wet kiss at your forehead.   “Hey, Yoongi. Since you love me….does that mean you love kale too?”   “Those things are mutually exclusive.”   “But kale is my lifeblood.” You look up at him. “You can’t love me without loving kale.”   He scoffs at your ridiculous argument, but it’s pointless back and forths like this that you enjoy the most. Especially when Yoongi gives in. “Fine. I love kale. But for the record, I love you a lot more.”   You laugh and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I came here.”   You’re glad you never gave up or gave in to the discouragement of your family, the apprehension of your friends or the voice inside your own mind.    You’ve finally found your place.   “I’m glad too.”   There’s no need to go home when home is right here.
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tezzbot · 3 years
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applejack headcanons in a sort of timeline i have in my head based on the flashbacks/statements in the show lol this is gonna get long i apologise
aj is born in the sweet apple acres barn to bright mac and pear butter :D
we get the apple family reunion episode flashback where she is lichrally baby asking for apple fritters 🥺
she grows up a bit, just by family gene pool luck shes a strong little fucker and as she grows her family realises she's not just physically strong but strong willed too, it becomes a running joke that shes secretly part mule with how stubborn she can be :P
bright mac had a dog from when he was younger that he loved with all his heart, big mac loved him too but applejack thought was a grumpy old lump of a beast she just Did Not Like This Animal you know how kids can be lmaooo
applejack and big mac dont really leave the farm all that much, theyre homeschooled by their parents and granny smith so, generally they dont have that many friends their age in their childhood, they say hi and play a bit with fillies and colts they pass while helping out with deliveries, aj and rarity possibly have a few interactions through this but nothing really sticks at this point, they know each others names and thats probably it, the apple siblings are a big hit with usual customer and ponies who sell them things in the market
pear butter teaches aj how to play the guitar and she practices until her hooves hurt, her ma is very proud of her, they like to play duets when they have some alone time :] then, deciding to branch out from that applejack also picks up other instruments like the banjo and the fiddle, they find out she has quite a knack for music! (applejack is only slightly disappointed she doesnt get her cutie mark from it, but unlike applebloom would be in the future, she doesnt mind all that much, after all granny smith always said it'd come with time 😌)
not long after little applebloom is born we get the great seedling episode flashback which is a turning point in applejack, a moment like finding out santa or the tooth fairy isnt real, she matures a little bit that day, gains more of the work ethic we see in her as an adult
around this time is when bright mac and pear butter die :( i dont have a concrete headcanon on How they die but the dangerous trade routes the apples have to take to make deliveries may have had something to do with it, or maybe they were trying to protect the farm from something coming from the everfree forest, im not sure
the rest of the apple family make their way to sweet apple acres to give their condolences and help out in any way they can around the farm while our apples grieve :( its sad but it brings aj and big mac closer than they'd ever been
after shes recovered a little from that, i think aj kind of loses herself, i mean how can you not after losing both parents :(( so she decides to leave the farm in the hopes she'll be able to find herself again in manehattan, this is the cutie mark chronicles flashback and where she realises she belongs in ponyville, Runs home and gets her cutiemark
after a little bit, to help her become a little bit more social with foals her age, applejack goes to camp friendship where she meets little coloratura and the two Immediately click, aj gives her new best friend the nickname rara and they're practically inseparable the whole summer, their friendship starts to grow into something more but rara is heading back to manehatten after camp and applejack belongs back in ponyville, so they decide to give a lonb distance relationship a try, they manage to exchange letters back and forth for a long time, ultimately deciding a long distance relationship wasnt gonna work so they mutually decide to break up but still stay pen pals! after a while, the letters stop and they become just a memory in one anothers minds
sweet apple acres eventually returns to a business as usual state, with groups of relatives stopping by the farm now and again to give a helping hoof considering its now run by a late-middle aged lady, two children and a baby lol, applejack, while still doing a lot of tree bucking, is starting to take on a more maternal figure role in applebloom's life as well as being her sister, her and big mac feels more responsible and protective of the foal since she would be growing up with no ma and pa, they sort of took on those roles, applejack more intensely i guess i just see her as having strong maternal instincts embedded in her or something lol, but she for sure isnt "single mom"ing it, with granny smith and other relatives ready to take the little bugger when aj needs to get stuff done :P it takes a village and all that lmao
since at this time aj and big mac are starting to go into town more often and are free to do as they please as long as their chores get done, they start actually interacting more with teens their age in ponyville! applejack starts hanging out with fillies like rarity who she had known in passing but now could finally get to know and the cake's new apprentice and ponyvilles youngest party planner, pinkie pie
after starting to hit some awkward growth spurts as she reaches her teens lol, she starts taking an interest in the business side of the farmwork too, dealings with customers, looking into trade routes stuff like that, this is when the where the apple lies flashback takes place i fuckin love that episode please watch it, and this starts applejack's lifelong promise to never lie ever again which she keeps bc shes a legend as fuck <3
one day aj notices cloudsdale passing through probably to start preparing ponyville for the next season, and she hears a Thud coming from a row or two over from where she's working, she goes over to investigate to find a pegasus filly shaking off what aj can only assume was a crash, she asks if shes alright, n the filly is like of course i am im so tough toughest around actually thanks<3 and aj is internally like hm. this kids kinda annoying. they introduce themselves and applejack finds out rainbow dash is looking for her friend fluttershy, she likes to come down from cloudsdale to play with animals or something, but applejack hasnt seen any yellow pegasi fillies around so the little blue filly says thanks anyway and zips off at what aj can only describe as probably the speed of light, she somehow has a strange feeling this isnt gonna be the last she sees of this kid
she turns out to be right when shes invited to a happy visit to ponyville from cloudsdale party thrown for rainbow and fluttershy, apparently rainbow had bumped into pinkie while asking around ponyville for any idea where fluttershy and of course pinkie Had to make an event out of it once she had helped rainbow find her friend, the party was of course a lot of fun rainbow and aj somehow managed to turn every party game into a competition and despite their first impressions of one another they actually got along really well and gained a good amount of respect for each other, aj eventually found fluttershy sort of hiding away from most of the party and fluttershy actually opened up a little after talking with aj bc of how calming her presence was for her
over the next few years the five got to know each other quite well, anytime cloudsdale passed by rainbow and fluttershy would drop into ponyville to hang out or just say hi, and once they were old enough they moved into their ponyville houses and the five of them became just a regular friend group youd see hanging out on the streets of ponyville, fluttershy helps aj pick out a border collie puppy for help with wrangling critters on the farm (applebloom was getting too old to be sent off to mindlessly run after little animals all the time and she had started going to school so she wasnt around as much lmaoo) and just as a companion for applejack, she names her Winona :]
and then after those few years Twilight shows up! you know the rest from there :P
if i missed anything uhhh whoops<3 lol
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deonideatta · 3 years
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@ohcoolnice @whyyoudo I couldn't get the concept of han seok and junwoo being two different people out of my head so on this vincenzo-less sunday I give you a loose rewrite of canon where jun woo is the third jang brother and han seok's twin!
They were born jang han seok and jang han sol, and han seok is the older twin. They were separated when they were very young, because of han seok and an incident which ended up with han sol in the hospital. It was supposed to be temporary, but one of the house staff took pity on the poor child and smuggled him away. His name was changed to jun woo and they didn't find him again until both him and han seok were adults
They grew up very differently, han seok under the jang family, tormenting han seo and becoming the unhinged, solitary figure we all know and hate, and jun woo in an adopted family somewhere across the country into the dorky, sweet intern we knew for a bit and loved
Both of them somehow ended up spending time in america, though neither knew and they never met. Han seok because his father sent him there and jun woo because he got a scholarship to go to university there
Very few people now know about han seok himself, much less his twin brother. Before han seok's chairman takeover, most people think han seo is the only jang child
Jun woo knows he has a twin brother, but he doesnt know who he is. He can't remember his name or his face, or those of his real family. When he receives an offer for a job at wusang, he takes it as a learning opportunity and accepts
The only one who has all the cards is han seok, and so when he hears that jun woo has become an intern at wusang he decides its time to play them
So he spends people to observe and record jun woo, and after things start heating up and chayenzo declares war on babel, he kidnaps and threatens him, and tells him that he has to let him cosplay as him so that he can scope out the increasing threat
This is not how jun woo had ever thought meeting his long lost twin brother would go. He tries to put up a fight, but han seok hits him in the stomach with the hockey stick he's wielding like some kind of ancient weapon so hard that he spits out blood, and that takes the fight out of him
Han seok crouches down in front of jun woo and stares him in the eye, and it's like looking into a mirror except his reflection is staring at him with chillingly blank eyes.
It's the same for han seok, except his reflection looks back with open terror. The feeling it gives him is unpleasant and han seok doesn't like seeing weakness like that on a face that could pass for his own. But if he wants to get what he wants, he can't harm his twin too much just yet
Visually they're identical, so han seok passes perfectly for jun woo. He doesn't get all his mannerisms right at first, but with practice basically no one can tell the difference unless they look hard enough to notice that han seok's eyes are always empty even when he's copying jun woo's biggest grin.
A part of han seok feels a flash of jealousy at the fact that his twin has had a pleasant and fulfilling life while he's had to live neglected in the shadows for so long, so he takes extra satisfaction in the way jun woo's face falls when he appears in front of him for the first time dressed in his work attire, indistinguishable from jun woo on the average week day, backpack and all.
To spite him even further, han seok mimics his cheery, enthusiastic way of speaking, smiling so widely that it's mocking, and embraces the glee that jun woo's downtrodden expression gives him
He does hate having to curl his hair to copy jun woo's usual hairstyle though
At this point han seo finds out he has a second older brother, because han seok wants him to be able to continue to act normal and not freak out if he sees him cosplaying as jun woo
This brother is identical to his other one but actually really nice to him and it's both incredible and completely terrifying. It takes han seo a while to warm up to jun woo because he looks so much like han seok, as well as for fear of han seok's reaction, but he gets there
Whenever they meet (usually bc of han seok) the two bond over their shared fear and hatred of han seok. There's twice the himbo power. Incredible
Jun woo had had no idea that he had a younger (half) brother, and his heart goes out to him for having to live under han seok's abuse for so long
So he makes an effort to get to know han seo when han seok isn't around to yell at them. Han seo appreciates this a lot, because jun woo is like han seok on his incredibly rare good days except much better and all the time
Being a veteran at Handling Han SeokTM, he gives jun woo tips on how to get on han seok's good side and avoid getting things thrown at you
Jun woo tells han seo that one day when they get free of han seok they should take a trip to disneyland. Han seo, who has never been to an amusement park before, makes him promise it
Han seok's babel boss reveal presentation goes more or less the same way, except it's also a twin reveal and choi myung hee and mr han have to deal with the fact that not only is their intern the babel chairman's twin brother, but they have also been switching places regularly
Meanwhile cha young, who is out there living her best anti big pharma life, thinks jun woo is acting weird. Some days he's super bubbly, almost too bubbly, and on other days he's more subdued, seemingly a bit on edge.
Biggest red flag comes when she, him and vincenzo eat spicy food together
The spicy food tolerance gene missed han seok altogether and endowed han seo and jun woo with its power
So though he doesn't protest when cha young orders the extremely spicy dish jun woo usually gets for him, han seok struggles to finish the food almost as much as vincenzo does
Cha young thinks that's really sus, but she keeps her questions to herself because there's really no explanation for it unless jun woo was replaced by a government clone or aliens. Or his secret identical twin. Hah, imagine
She files the thought away for later and they continue to dig into the man behind han seo and babel. They find out about han seok, but there's no remaining information about jun woo in the files because the jang family thought losing him was supremely embarrassing so they tried to make sure no one knew
Meanwhile han seok is super happy he's gained another protective shield. If babel gets into trouble he can force han seo to go to jail for him, and if he ever gets personally exposed he can make jun woo take the fall for him. Genius
For that purpose he makes sure no one except the babel quartet know about him and jun woo being twins
He finds that it's interesting living as jun woo though, people interact with him in a way they never do when he's han seok. Jun woo's neighbours say hello to him when he goes by, and the lady in the local convenience store makes small talk with him and asks how his new job is going. And cha young is an incredibly unusual person, han seok finds that he has some level of attraction to her, and enjoys her company
While han seo is a puppet, jun woo is a mask, a protective measure and a means to explore the world, and han seok mentally pats himself on the back for having such useful brothers
But he has to stop spending time pretending to be jun woo for now bc he knows his identity is at risk of being discovered by jipuragi squad as they hunt down the person who exposed vincenzo as a mafia member
So when vincenzo does find out that han seok is allegedly jun woo, and tells cha young, it actually isn't han seok she's sitting with when she receives the news
Naturally she doesn't know this, and she feels supremely betrayed
And when vincenzo breaks into 'han seok's' house, it's actually jun woo's house. Jun woo, who was not expecting the mafia to break into his house, is understandably scared. The kneeling gun scene goes down, except there is no bravado on jun woo's part and he's genuinely terrified
Vincenzo is arrested as planned, and jun woo meets cha young in the police station as she goes to help vincenzo
She's furious, and jun woo honestly denies that it was him who killed her father and the babel victims, unable to expose that it was han seok because he's scared of the consequences and because it sounds like such a ridiculous excuse
Poor guy gets the double slap intended for his twin brother
When han seok hears about it he laughs a lot. Jun woo is understandably angry about his reaction, but he is forced to seethe in silence
Nevertheless han seok decides to go into hiding (and forces jun woo to do the same somewhere else, hiring guards to make sure he doesn't leave) because even if chayenzo think jun woo is the babel chairman, they still have the same face
Unfortunately for han seok this means that vincenzo's spy squad see him going into his own safe house, and he gets to be the victim of the drugged water
After a few more near death scares courtesy of the local mafia man, choi myung hee suggests he reveal himself as chairman so he doesn't die at the hands of vincenzo unknown and like a loser. And so he does
At the expense of jun woo, whose identity has more or less been stolen now, and who is now indefinitely confined to the family property han seok had him hide in
The war begins all out, and jipuragi squad works hard at removing han seok's support circle, starting with daechang daily, then the anti-union activities
Han seo watches all this unfold and starts to wonder how he can get his better older brother free while taking down the other one
The answer comes to him when he sees chayenzo cover han seok with pigs blood. They're the only people who seemed to consistently be able to one up han seok, and he has only heard good things about cha young from jun woo, not to mention the fact that surely even han seok can't defeat a mafia member in the long run
So he asks mr han to help him meet vincenzo, and he tells him he has twin older brothers and asks for his help in betraying the bad one and saving the good one
Vincenzo thinks he's messing with him, and turns down han seo's request to be on the same side
But then jipuragi squad opens the guillotine file, and there below han seok's escapades in homicide and the details on han seo's suffering, is the shocking secret of the jang family, the existence of a 3rd jang brother, han seok's twin brother jang han sol
Cha young remembers how jun woo hadn't been able to eat spicy food that one time and suddenly everything makes sense
For his part vincenzo remembers what han seo had said and mentally kicks himself for thinking it was a lie
They puzzle over what this could mean and where han seok's twin brother could be now. Is the man who revealed himself as the babel chairman the real han seok? Are both of them evil? Is one being used by the other?
Cha young silently wonders which times jun woo had just been jun woo, and which times she had been eating lunch or joking with han seok the babel chairman and serial murderer
They decide they have to find the other jang twin in order to answer their questions
Problem is that he's been absent from work for the past 2 weeks, and when vincenzo breaks into his house, it looks like it hasn't been lived in for quite a while
The trail seems to lead nowhere, and they turn their attention back to tearing down babel, with the new knowledge sitting uncomfortably in the backs of their minds
And then han seo shows up at the jipuragi office in all his coffee wielding glory to plead his cooler older brother's case again
This time, to han seo's surprise, they listen to him patiently when he tells them about his older brothers. He makes sure to stress that the only one he wants to betray is han seok, and that jun woo has done nothing wrong
If the fact that they've read the part of the guillotine file that talked about what han seo had had to suffer under han seok makes it easier for them to believe him, he doesn't have to know that
The only way they can strike at han seok and simultaneously clear jun woo of suspicion is to reveal that they're twins
To do that they have to find jun woo. Han seo doesn't know where exactly he is, but he tells them that han seok would probably try and use jun woo as a shield should he ever be sent to jail
The guillotine file gives them what they need to force the prosecution to put han seok behind bars under fabricated charges. It wouldn't last long once actual investigation starts, but hopefully it will be enough
Han seok takes the bait, unknowingly, and shuttles jun woo off in his place. There's not much that irritates him as much as the thought of going to jail, and this is the perfect chance to test jun woo's loyalty. It also gives him a blind spot to operate, while his enemies think he's in jail. You can't dodge a hidden dagger and all that.
When the jipuragi squad watches the arrest of the babel chairman on the news, there's a nervous hunch to 'han seok's' shoulders, and the impassive smile he seems to be going for isn't quite right
Vincenzo and cha young go to visit him in jail
When they first see him, cha young immediately feels bad, despite herself. He looks like he hasn't slept well in ages, and his expression is far from his usual cheer, sober and sullen. This had better really be jun woo, she does not want to ever feel pity for jang han seok
It is jun woo, and he really hasn't slept well in ages, as reuniting with han seok and his violent tendencies has reawakened the memories from his childhood in the jang household that he had supressed, causing all kinds of nightmares
He doesn't look up as they enter and sit opposite him. Cha Young takes charge, and vincenzo lingers behind her, a solid and present support
When she speaks his head snaps up at the sound of her voice, before he seems to want to correct himself and looks away
When he looks at her again there are no traces of jun woo in his face, his expression haughty and unbothered
It's chillingly like the han seok they had sat across following the pig's blood incident, and cha young has to work hard to push down the flare of anger the expression causes
She decides not to beat around the bush. She presses the printed page of the jang han sol section of the guillotine file up against the glass, and watches as jun woo's eyes widen, the facade falling as quickly as he had donned it
Jun woo takes in the picture of the two identical little boys and has to squeeze his eyes shut at the wave of fear that hits him
In its wake is a small flare of hope. If they know he isn't han seok, maybe they can help him
Cha young watches as jun woo seems to deflate at the sight of the document, and now she's sure it isn't han seok, because she's never seen him allow himself to show any form of weakness
When jun woo looks up again, there is determination mixed in with the weariness in his eyes
A while later, cha young exhales shakily as they walk out, vincenzo's hand steady and comforting on her back. She's surprised at how relieved she is to know that the jun woo she had known had not been an elaborate set up, a con which had seen her at some of her lowest moments. Her heart goes out to jun woo, but there's an undeniable joy at the confirmation that her friend still exists, because it means he can be saved
The plan is simply to collect evidence of the fact that jun woo is not han seok. Best case scenario a video of them together, though a good photo will do as well. It would also work if they can somehow get footage of han seok out and about while jun woo is in jail
The first obvious course of action is to look for cctv footage. They hunt high and low through the cameras at babel, at wusang, and around han seok and jun woo's houses, but the searches are largely fruitless
With han seo's help, they locate the safehouses han seok likes to hide out in, and vincenzo sends men to snoop around each property. This ultimately pays off when, at the 3rd property, han seok is spotted standing by a window.
The second stage begins with Mr ahn's help, and they get a swat team to raid the house han seok is hiding out in.
Fully believing that everyone thinks you're in jail makes you sloppy, and han seok doesn't see it coming until the black vehicles are speeding down his driveway
He doesn't stop to take anything much, he grabs a hockey stick and he runs, wild and angry, out into the dark of the woods surrounding the house
Vincenzo watches him charge into the forest on the cctv footage retrieved from the house and smirks
The footage hits the news the next day. The headline is in large, bold letters, "Chairman Jang Han Seok spotted at holiday residence, despite prison sentence." The picture below the tagline serves as the final blow, side by side images of Han Seok sprinting away from the house, and an identical man sitting demurely in a jail cell.
As the story breaks, people begin to step forward, old employees of the jang household who had known and seen both han seok and han sol. There's nothing like good gossip to get people talking, and the shocking secret of the jang twins makes the rounds in record time
Jun woo's identity is rechecked, and he is set free
Cha young, vincenzo and han seo go to meet him when he gets out. Han seo tackles him in a hug, and cha young smacks him heartily on the back. Vincenzo doesn't react much but he does shoot jun woo a smile.
Han seok hasn't been seen in days, and jun woo is unbelievably happy to be himself again
It isn't over yet though, babel still needs to pay and han seok still needs to be found. Search parties comb through the woods around the house regularly, but there's still no sign of him. In the meantime, jipuragi prepares their final attack.
Han seo lets jun woo stay with him, and the house is fortified by multiple levels of guards
It's still mildly unsettling for han seo to have someone with han seok's face in his house, in his own safe space, but jun woo makes for a far better housemate than han seok ever was, and gradually he relaxes
For a few days, despite the tension of not knowing where your psychopath brother who probably really wants to kill you could be lurking, when there is a spare moment in the evening, han seo and jun woo catch up on years of lost brotherhood
Han seo tells him about his mother, and jun woo talks about his adopted family. Neither of them mention han seok, they skirt around his name like he doesn’t exist, like speaking their trauma aloud to someone who had been there too would make it too real to bear. Jun woo knows he had gotten the better end of the deal, he had been separated from han seok pretty early. Han seo had lost too many years of his life to their psychopath brother, and jun woo isn't sure he knows how to confront that, or how to comfort him. He hopes he can learn
Han seo wants to ask what exactly had happened to lead to jun woo being removed from the jang household and separated from han seok, but he doesnt dare. Maybe later, maybe when they aren't still worried about what han seok could do to them
Then the jipuragi squad files their lawsuit against babel. Han seok still hasn't been heard from, and they begin to wonder if he got lost in the woods. Maybe he fell of a cliff, or into a river
Either way, the trial goes spectacularly badly for babel, aided by the fact that vincenzo had threatened the unjust judge before the trial. The verdict is guilty, and it serves as a means to kick-start further investigation into previously dismissed babel trials
The day after the trial, han seok reappears
He was lost in the woods for a while, but he found his way out and laid low for a while plotting a way to get back at vincenzo and cha young for destroying his backup plans and destroying his family and company's reputation. He will also have to deal with his traitorous brothers.
It's a big blow, but it's not one he cannot recover from. All he has to do is get his revenge, terrify his brothers back into submission, and go back to his plans for his babel.
So he requests the kidnapping of cha young, and he gets his men to attack the guards at han seo's house and take her there, cornering his brothers. He strolls in when he gets word that everything is done, cocky and confident, twirling a gun between his fingers
He takes in the open fear on han seo's face, the frightened anger on jun woo's face, and the sneer on cha young's face, and he laughs. They are consistent to the very end, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
All that’s left is vincenzo, and a short while after a brief and taunt filled phone call he arrives, eyes wide and angry. Han seok does not waste time in pointing his gun at the mafia man. He stops where he is, still glaring at han seok, eyes darting regularly to cha young
Because he is never one to turn down some fun, in a bid to further anger vincenzo, han seok crouches down and points the gun to cha young's head. He watches at vincenzo's face twists with anger and worry, and he revels in it. Out of the corner of his eye he sees jun woo has moved in front of han seo, like he's protecting him, and han seok wants to laugh
He speaks to cha young in jun woo's voice to spite them both, mockingly sounding out his words in his twin's bright tone
But suddenly vincenzo drops to his knees to plead for cha young's life, and han seok grins in satisfaction. The satisfaction is shortlived, however, as something solid suddenly crashes into the back of his head
It dazes him enough that he lets go of cha young for a moment, and she takes the chance to headbutt him so hard that he drops the gun. Vincenzo pounces almost immediately, and aims a kick to han seok's head, knocking him out
The last thing he sees before everything fades to black is his spitting image standing a distance away, holding a dented art deco lamp.
When they are sure han seok has been knocked out for real, the relief that sweeps the room is palpable. Han seo slumps down and jun woo moves to check on him as vincenzo unties cha young
Jun woo moves to call the police, but vincenzo tells him not to. 
Instead, he makes a call of his own, and soon two men enter and carry out the still unconscious han seok. Jun woo wants to ask where they’re taking him, but there’s a dark glint in vincenzo’s eyes that makes him swallow the question.
None of them see han seok again until he’s on the news. His body is found in a river near the family property he had first run away from, and the consensus seems to be that he fell in and drowned while lost in the woods
The whole matter has vincenzo written all over it, but no one is going to ask about it
Han seo and jun woo hold a funeral for him because it would be suspicious if they didn’t, but they work hard to make it as underwhelming as possible. When han seo cant stop shaking (whether it’s in weariness, relief, or anger at any traces of grief, jun woo can’t tell, and honestly neither can han seo) as they stand in front of the portrait of their deceased brother, jun woo silently rests a hand on his back.
After that is over with, they take a break to have a small ‘han seok is gone’ party, and then they both throw themselves into work
Han seo takes charge of babel, firing all of han seok’s people and working hard at cleaning up the stain of corruption he’d left behind. He works hard to transform the company’s reputation, and begins the process of compensating all the people who had been wronged by them in some shape or form
Jun woo leaves wusang and starts his own law firm. Han seo makes the company his first customer, and jun woo tries hard to run his firm without any traces of what made lawyers at wusang such monsters
Cha young and him have a friendly law firm rivalry going, much to vincenzo’s amusement
When they aren’t working, jun woo and han seo hang out a lot. Jun woo is determined to replace han seo’s memories of a terrible older brother with better ones with a more pleasant older brother. Han seo still struggles sometimes with seeing han seok in jun woo, but he’s more than happy to overwrite han seok’s image in his mind with jun woo’s
A few months after everything is stable again, they do take that trip to disneyland. The picture they take outside the park is framed on both their desks.
The next year, vincenzo and cha young get married, and han seo and jun woo attend the wedding. They bring expensive gifts, and jun woo cries like it’s his own family getting married. Cha young rolls her eyes at him, but she’s pleased to have him there
It will take a while to move on fully from the damage han seok caused, but they are all working hard at it. Because now han seok is gone for good, and everything is fine.
bonus
The Incident that led to han sol becoming jun woo happened when he and han seok were 6 and han seok, having decided that they had to see who was the superior twin, challenged him to a fight to the death
It was traumatic to the point that jun woo repressed all the memories of his childhood with han seok
Han seo once called jun woo hyung when speaking to han seok, and han seok got really angry and threw a lamp at him
Before vincenzo finishes off han seok, cha young slaps him six times to make up for the two slaps she mistakenly gave jun woo
After everything blows over, jun woo takes han seo with him the next time he goes to visit his adopted family. They dote on him like he's their family too, and han seo feels more loved than he has since he lost his mother. He says so to jun woo, and from then on he takes him along whenever he visits them
Cha young, jun woo and han seo meet up sometimes to eat spicy food, both because they like it but also to spite han seok’s memory just that little bit more
Because han seok died before he could find out about vincenzo’s mother, she’s alive and well and vincenzo visits her regularly
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sunnysidevans · 3 years
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𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 - 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬
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Summary: Being married to someone in the biggest motorcycle gang is hard, what happens when you see steve one minute and the next its like he never exsisted? 
Paring: Biker!Steve Rogers x Reader
Warnings: Weapon Mentions, a swear word , slight stalking mention.
THREE YEARS EARLIER. 
You jumped at the sound of the alarm on your phone going off, it probably was the longest fifteen minutes of your life. You sighed heavily, grabbing the test off the counter, holding it upside down first, taking a deep breath you went to flip the test over, but the door downstairs slammed shut, causing you to jump. You turned and set the test under the sink and made your way out to the hallway and downstairs to meet your husband. You furrowed your eyebrows at his state, a mess in truth. You watched him pace along the living room in front of the couch, yet to notice you at the end of the steps. “Steve?” you asked softly, adjusting the hoodie on your arms, you could hear the squeak of his boots coming to a stop on the vinyl flooring in the living room. “Baby?” he sighed heavily “what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice held slight panic “I thought you were out for the night anyways” he continued. You could tell something was wrong you just weren't sure what, his demeanor was off, yes he was rough around the edges but not with you, you pulled back those layers. 
You walked towards him, tilting your head “Steve what is going on?” you asked quietly, gently taking his hand. You could see the slight sulk of his shoulders as he sighed, looking down at your connected hands, the ring on your left hand shining against the lights. You knew with what Steve did you knew you were going to be giving your husband to others but you were concerned with what was going on. Steve played with your wedding ring, his dangling between his chest. “I’m so sorry baby, I am” he whispered, his focus on your hands, you lifted his chin,noticing the tears in his eyes as you frowned, wiping his cheek gently “hey” you whispered to him noticing him close his eyes tighter. “I messed up” he whispered, licking his lips and turning away from you “how did you mess up babe? What was going on tonight?” you asked, you never knew what was going on with the guys, you always opted to never know. “I got messy” he looked at you running his fingers through his hair “I-I don’t know how it happened or what happened honestly, Buck was keeping watch and I-” “hey” you cut him off, taking him into your arms the best you could. “Baby we have to fall off the grid” he whispered against your head as you nodded “okay baby” you whispered pulling away from him “I’ll pack a back, pack you one too” you looked up at him as he shook his head “no, I have to fall off the grid” he whispered looking over your face “I’m technically a fugitive” he looked over your face as your face fell. 
You couldn’t believe this was happening, you didn’t want to know what Steve had done, or what Bucky had done, any of them really. You opted to stay the innocent wife to the most notorious biker in the whole Brooklyn area. You sighed looking at him “Steven Grant, I have no idea what the fuck you did but I can’t just let you go” you looked at him, the tears were flowing between him and you as he kissed your forehead, turning to the steps to go upstairs. After he packed his bag he walked back downstairs, you sat on the couch, sobbing softly into your hands as you couldn’t believe upstairs held the fate of your and steve’s marriage. He walked to you, lifting your chin, “I’m so sorry my love, I will know more when I can, I am sorry” he leaned down kissing the top of your head, pulling the chain over his neck and setting it in your palm, the cold metal of his wedding ring sitting in your hands. You sobbed harder as you heard the door close behind him, holding the ring closer to you. After a few hours you managed to go upstairs to the bathroom, you had to know. With or without Steve, no matter what the result was going to be, you knew you would do your absolute damndest to be good. Grabbing the test from under the sink you shakily turned the test over, as you turned the test over you were met with two pink lines. Positive. 
PRESENT DAY.
You laughed as your little boy ran across the park playground, still a bit wobbly on his feet but with having the genes he did, he blossomed fast. You smiled watching him, as you looked over your shoulder you noticed someone standing back at the edge of the park, you quickly turned back to your little man, as he babbled his way back to you, slowly. You scooped up Miles and made your way to the car, diaper bag on your shoulder. Driving from the park you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, it had been a long time since you had a bodyguard, let alone have someone with you. You quickly dialed Natasha, after a few rings she answered, “Hey (Y/N)!” she answered happily “Hey, I need you to stay on the phone with me” you replied as you noticed the SUV still following you, noticing the same guy in the driver seat. “Are you okay?” she asked quickly, the worry in her voice evident “I’m really not sure Nat, I took Miles to the park he was playing and I just happened to look over and there was someone watching, too intently for my liking” you replied, gripping the wheel tighter. “Okay.. Do you know what he looked like?” she asked as you bit your lip “He was tall, I think blonde? I didn’t get a good look Nat I wanted to get the hell out of the park” you replied as you slowly turned down your street. 
You looked back out the rearview mirror as you noticed the SUV still following you. You passed the house, biting your lip as you circled the block. “(Y/N)” Nat knocked you out of your daydream as you wiped your cheek, clearing your throat “yeah yeah sorry” you replied, she sighed softly “I’m sorry I know this would be much easier with him” she replied softly as you shrugged, as she couldn’t see you “I miss buck everyday” she replied again. You sighed “I’m sorry were together in this” you replied as you finally gave in and pulled into the driveway. “Okay Nat, I’m home, I’m gonna get Miles inside and then I’m gonna get some answers, I love you, If you do not hear from me-” she cut you off “I know I know fifteen minutes then I’m there to get him” she replied. You hung the phone up and quickly got Miles inside the house. Turning on his favorite cartoon and leaving him in his playpen you made your way upstairs quickly, you rummaged through your closet to grab the safety box from the back, unlocking it and grabbing the gun inside you shoved it in your back pocket and made your way back outside.
You approached the car, as a man in a grey suit stepped out. You stopped at the end of your driveway, baby monitor in hand to keep your ear out for your little man. “Ma’am” the man nodded, “Is there a reason you followed me?” you crossed your arms, jumping to the point quickly. “Ma’am I’m sorry to show up like this” he approached you slowly as you held your hand up “do not get any closer to me, what the fuck do you want?” you seethed, he looked at you as he held his hand up in defense “I’m sorry ma’am” he pulled his wallet out, the gold of his badge shined in the light “I work with the FBI ma’am” he replied. “What the actual fuck does the FBI want with me?!” you grit your teeth, “We would like to know if you have had recent contact with your husband” he replied shoving his hands in his fancy suit pockets, you laughed “this is about steve?” you asked, he nodded. You pushed your hair back and out of your face, laughing and shaking your head “no and why the fuck would I tell you?” you replied, walking back inside to your little boy. 
You sighed as you shut the door, leaning against the door and closing your eyes. You looked out the window to notice the black SUV was gone from the front of your house. You felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket, knocking you out of what small dream you were in. You walked to the kitchen, setting the gun in front of you on the counter, hiding from Miles view, answering. “Hello?” you asked, sighing “Hey!” Natasha replied “just making sure auntie nat wasn’t gonna have to jump in” she replied softly as you shook your head “no its okay i’m okay” you replied as she sighed “you don’t sound it, I’ll be over in twenty” she hung up before you could protest. You made your way upstairs to the bedroom to lock up the gun back in the safe and back into the closet, after doing so you made your way to the dresser, picking up Steve’s ring. You sighed heavily sitting down against the bed, the tears welling up in your eyes. 
You quickly wiped your cheeks, getting up off the floor as you tossed the necklace back on the bed. Making your way downstairs you opened the door as you checked the time, a quick twenty minutes went by. You opened the door to Nat smiling. “Hi” she whispered, a sad smile as she noticed your tear stained cheeks, you sniffled hugging her back as she made her way inside. You let her go and get a few minutes of auntie time before you put Miles down for his nap. You smiled as you watched the two of them, Natasha was one of the only ones who knew you were having a baby, the only person you let know, giving her the privilege of god mother. After a good fifteen minute cuddle you slipped Miles away and upstairs to his bedroom, laying him down for his nap, walking from the room slowly you closed the door, leaving a crack gently. 
You made your way downstairs to the living room to Nat with two glasses and a bottle of wine, “you look like you could use a little” she replied as you shook your head chuckling, sitting down “it’s still afternoon” you replied as she shook her head “for one more hour” she shrugged. “Okay what's going on?” she asked, adjusting comfortably on the couch, you sighed “it was the FBI” you looked at her as she choked on her wine “I’m sorry what?” you nodded as you sat back “they wanted to know if i’ve heard from steve, in which I haven’t sense he left” you told her as she nodded “that means they’ll probably get in touch with me and probably with Lily” you nodded as you sighed, you natasha and lily all lost your husbands in the same time. You sighed as you looked at her “I just don’t understand” you replied “they could've just come to me personally not creep on me and scare the shit out of me” you pushed your hair back out of your face “have you heard from bucky?” you asked. She sighed as she shook her head “Not technically, I got a random package that I didn’t order that I think was from him” she replied as you nodded “thats sweet though” you smiled as you reflected, she took your hand squeezing it gently “it’s gonna work out okay? We will be okay” you nodded as you sighed, you hoped so. 
After a few hours of chatting with Nat she decided to head home and call lily incase the fbi contacted her as well about Sam. You danced around the kitchen slowly as you fed Miles the meal of oats banana and peaches. You smiled scooping the food into his mouth as you both giggled. After dinner you got miles upstairs to get cleaned up, laughing as he played with the ducky in the tub. You gently rinsed his blonde hair, the hair he got from his father, as he looked up at you with the blue eyes he also got from his father. You smiled as you gently finished his bath and scooped him up and into the bedroom for jammies. After a long hour you got Miles down for the night and made your way to the bedroom when you heard a noise downstairs in the kitchen. You stopped dead in your tracks as you heard the commotion, in the moment you wished you had listened to lily when she suggested a dog. You quickly made your way to the closet, grabbing the gun and slowly making your way downstairs to the kitchen.
You stood against the back of the stairs,peaking around the corner to the kitchen to a figure in the back door of the house. You slowly made your way down the steps and around the corner, holding your gun up to the person ahead of you. “I’m gonna give you to the count of fucking three before I call the cops” you whispered holding the gun tighter, you were lucky steve tought you self defense, weapons included. The person ahead of you held their hands up in front of you as you made your way back to flick the light switch on to get a look of their back. “Turn your ass around slowly” you watched them slowly turn around to face you, you guessed by now it was a man, the body stature was manly. You grit your teeth as you sighed, watching them closely. “Okay, take your hood off, show me what kind of coward breaks into a house!” you replied, a little too loudly. They slowly took their hood down, you gasped, you felt like you had seen a ghost. “Steve?”.
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Pro-variation vs. pro-selection culture
Evolution requires three things: some form of information that’s inheritable, some way to create variation from that information, and some way to select what information will be passed on to future generations. In biological evolution, of, course, we all know what these three things are: genes (information) can mutate (variation) -- well, it’s more complicated than just mutation, but this isn’t a biology lesson -- and those that are worse at surviving and reproducing themselves are of course naturally weeded out through cause and effect (selection). But other things -- art, culture, language, science, technology -- evolve as well, and they all need the same three things.
When it comes to variation and selection in things like culture and politics, there’s a sliding scale of which one people think is most important -- whether they’re more pro-variation, or pro-selection.
People on the pro-variation end of the spectrum tend to view diversity as a positive thing and selection as something that will take care of itself, or even something to be actively suspicious of because of its tendency to cause harm -- a rainbow queer community, an education system available to people of all cultures and economic backgrounds, country borders that are as open as practical, and embracing a diverse array of art make a community stronger, and things like gatekeeping, means testing and heirarchies on ‘what counts as art’ should be abandoned unless there’s a really good reason for the selective process to exist, in which case it’s grudgingly tolerated. To pro-variation people, exclusion and oppression within a community are threatening. Pro-variation people recognise that yes, you’re going to get some freeloading drains on resources and obvious money laundering schemes masquerading as terrible art and a few people pretending to be gay for a few years to look more interesting to their straight friends, and this is largely a non-issue, a perfectly acceptable price to pay for a diverse and fair world.
People on the pro-selection end of the scale tend to view selection as the main means of advancing or healing a society, and see diversity as something that will take care of itself and as something to be deeply suspicious of. Gatekeeping, unequal opportunities and financial heirarchies are needed to sort the what from the chaff and make sure everyone does their best (”capitalism breeds innovation”); initiatives to redress inequality and give minorities or poor people an ‘unfair’ advantage or make it easier for outsiders to enter the country should be abandoned unless there’s a really good reason for their existence, as they’re dragging down the ‘deserving’ and polluting the culture. To pro-selection people, contamination or invasion from outsiders is threatening. Pro-selection people recognise that yes, you’re going to lose some talented geniuses in sweatshops and stop some deserving people from achieving success and bully some LGBT people out of the community to face abuse and oppression alone, but this is largely a non-issue, a perfectly acceptable price to pay for an advanced and fair world.
“Oh, Derin, you’re just talking about left-wing vs. right-wing philosophies.” Sort of, but not really. It fits the stereotypes and common arguments to a T, but one can’t assume that all righties are pro-selection or all lefties are pro-variation. I have met pro-variation righties, although I’m not really sure how. And there are leftie TERFs out there, despite TERFism being an undeniably pro-selection philosophy. I find determining where people sit on the variation-to-selection scale to be a lot more useful for communication than left-to-right.
I say this because often I’ll see pro-selection and pro-variation people talking to each other, and notice that they’re having fundamentally different conversations. For example, let’s look at the issue of meritocracy. Most modern people would say that meritocracy is a good thing, but ’meritocracy’ means a fundamentally different thing to pro-selectionists than pro-variationists.
A pro-selectionist, when conceiving of meritocracy, tends to think in terms of, well, selection; devising a system where the strongest (those that excel in whatever the thinker thinks is important; innovation or determination or whatever) rise to the top and gain special privileges and power over others, that they can use to determine the rules and make life better for themselves and their children, elevating society as a side effect. To the pro-variationist, this is absolutely not a meritocracy. “You’ve built a system whereby those who don’t start out with more, those who are born poor or disabled or underprivileged in some way, have to work way harder and be lucky in order to get anywhere than those born lucky. People don’t get ahead on merit in this system because the playing field becomes drastically uneven after a couple of generations. This is not a meritocracy.”
A pro-variationist, on the other hand, would concentrate on making sure that everyone has a fair chance at exercising their skills and getting ahead. They’d focus on making sure that people had the space and security to exercise their skills and that, when it came to supporting the society to make that happen, those with more contributed more. To a pro-selectionist, this is absurd. “So those who have pulled ahead and succeeded are being penalised by having to give more? That’s the opposite of a meritocracy! That’s a system designed to drag the best down!”
I find this framework useful in explaining a lot of weird political quirks of certain subcultures. TERFs and tradwives, for example, are theoretically political opposites, but in practice their logic sounds almost identical to outsiders, sounding rather a lot like standard right-wing talking points and Fascism Lite. This is because they’re all using pro-selection arguments. To a pro-selectionist, the arguments of these groups look very different -- “we’re saying that X kind of people are good/virtuous/victims, and Y kind of people are bad/oppressors/sinners, which is the exact opposite of what the other group is saying!” To a pro-variationist, the fact that they are making literally the same argument makes them identical -- “you’re still putting people in your little ‘keep or cull’ boxes for exactly the same reasons, you just wrote different names on the boxes to keep or cull according to your personal taste.”
I think a lot of the things associated with right-wingers could be more accurately associated with people on the pro-selection end of the spectrum in general. It’s known, for example, that right-wingers tend to have a more sensitive disgust reflex and, as a consequence, be generally more xenophobic. You can see this in the way xenophobes talk of making room for outsiders; they talk of invasion, contamination, infection, hygeine, purity. LGBT exclusionists, lefties and righties, talk in the same sort of language. So do antis.
It’s also notable in the sorts of innocuous-seeming things that such people get really angry about. Right-wingers and authoritarians are known for their trend of an almost comical hatred of modern art. The idea that anything can be art, or that art can be measured on any level that isn’t strict complexity and realism of paint and sculpture, causes a surprising level of dislike in such groups. (See also arguments like ‘what is a video game’, ‘does this even count as a game’, althoughpeople thankfully seem to be bored of that now). Exclusionists are equally renowned for campaigns against inclusive terms like ‘queer’, and TERFs get obsessively nitpicky about people’s genitals to a really creepy degree and get very uncomfortable when you mention the ‘grey area’ in biological sex. This is normally assumed to be just dislike at people challenging their arguments, but I think it’s deeper. I think it’s like the modern art thing. Any kind of radical inclusivity is threatening to pro-selection thinkers, not because it’s a challenge to their rules and definitions -- they can have those arguments perfectly comfortably -- but because it is an attack on the very concept of meaning. “Words mean things! Groups exist! You can’t just... just get rid of groups and open up categories to include more people without putting them through a serious, rigorous proving ground first! You can’t just call anything you want to ‘art’, you can’t just call anyone outside cisheteronormative expectations part of the LGBT community, you can’t just call people men or women based on how they feel! That’s chaos! How can any progress be made if we just decide words don’t mean anything??”
(I also think this is a much-overlooked aspect of the same-sex marriage debate. Yes, most of that was garden-variety homophobia, but I’ve known a lot of people who were perfectly fine with ‘the gays having equal rights’, they just didn’t want it called marriage. To a pro-variationist, having the same legal language for partnerships regardless of the sex or gender of the participants is really important -- it’s a shield against future discrimination as the laws relating to either marriages or civil partnerships change over time. To a pro-selectionist, changing the definition of words related to fundamental cultural activities is a huge deal. “They’re eroding the very meaning of marriage! Chaos! How much more will the word change? Can people marry animals or cars next?!”)
As I said, this is a spectrum. I’ve met very few people who are on either extreme end -- even the most pro-equality liberal anarchist acknowledges that some standards of behaviour, community responses to inappropriate action and definitions of different communities do have to exist, to protect people, and the most hardocre fascist admits that there needs to be some measure of generating diversity to avoid stagnation and extinction. And people’s default reaction isn’t necessarily their position on all issues -- somebody who’s generally pro-variation might feel specifically threatened by immigration and think a strict proving ground for immigrants is necessary, or someone who is generally pro-selectionist might think that a robust social system is necessary because one’s economic status at birth has no bearing on one’s merit or value. But I’ve always found it to be a very useful general model.
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subbing-for-clones · 3 years
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The Alpha and The Omega Part 1
Alpha!Maul x Omega!Reader     
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Word Count: 4.5k
Summary: A Jedi Padawan prepares for her trials to become a knight but learns something new about herself that leads to her having to leave the order. With a fear of the large galaxy and a new, unexpected companion she has to learn to live with herself and how to survive an unforgiving environment.
WARNINGS: fear, going into heat (no sex), nudity. A/B/O dynamics
A/N: Maul is not actually in this chapter. He shows up in the next just so everyone is aware. This chapter establishes what my version of an alpha and omega are. No y/n
NEXT         MASTERLIST
       You had never been so hungry in your life. Master Plo Koon, Master Qui Gon Jinn and your fellow padawan Obi Wan all watched you in various levels of amazement and bewilderment as you worked on your third helping of whatever kind of stew the cafeteria had prepared. Your master however, was chuckling under his de-oxygenator.
“Are you alright little one?” Qui Gon asked with a brow quirked. If you paid attention, you’d have guessed he was more impressed than his horrified padawan at the immense amount of food you were consuming. You couldn’t pause between each spoonful long enough to answer him so your master spoke.
“For the last few days, she’s been utterly insatiable.”
“Are you quite sure you don’t have a parasite or something?” Obi Wan asked with a concerned frown. Your only response was shooting him a glaring look before continuing to eat ravenously. Clearing your bowl, you stood and went to drop off your empty dish with the rest of the dirty dishes followed by your friend.
“I am starting to become concerned for my padawan. At first I assumed that the rise in her nerves were caused by her upcoming trials for her knighthood but I’m not so sure.”
“What else is going on with her?” Qui Gon eyed you as you left the cafeteria followed by Obi Wan, no doubt to continue your studies.
“She’s always struggled with controlling some of her stronger emotions but she has made immense improvements over the years under my tutelage. However, the last few days it almost seems like she’s reverted back. She’s not outward with them in the least but I can sense them through our bond. She’s incredibly quick to anger and sadness specifically.”
Qui Gon furrowed his brows and sat pensively for a moment before asking, “you don’t think she could be pregnant, do you?”
“No, that’s not an option. She hasn’t left the temple in months except for her training mission on Hoth and it was just the two of us. Over the last few months, she has been fervently preparing for her trials bouncing back and forth between the archives, the meditation gardens and sparing with various willing masters. Even if she did find the time, with how emotional she’s been I would’ve sensed something but I don’t think she even has any idea what’s going on.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I’ve always liked her and appreciated her friendship with my padawan. Have the healers take a look at her if you can convince her to let them.”
“Yes, that might be a good idea.”
      You had in fact spent the remainder of the evening in the archives with your long-time friend Obi Wan attempting to study while dodging his various inquiries to your condition. At the end of the night, you fought the urge to slam the doors behind you while you urged him for the hundredth time that you were fine. Walking back to your sparse room in the living quarters you realized that you were in fact not fine. You had never felt anything but safe living here at the temple, surrounded by your peers and masters. Now though, a sense of dread formed in the pit of your stomach. You hadn’t the slightest clue as to why. Yes, your trials were approaching in the following months but you felt completely prepared for them.
    Your skin felt hot under your robes and the second you entered your private quarters you stripped out of them, hopping through a quick cold shower. It only granted you a temporary relief and by the time you left the ‘fresher you were burning up and feeling way too exposed, even within the confines of your small room. You watched your hands pull the mattress off of its rails and onto the floor. Gathering up all of your spare blankets and robes you had, you bunched up a makeshift perimeter along the edges before climbing into the center and curling up, not bothering to dress before-hand.
    Rest did not come to you that night. You woke frequently in cold shakes and waves of fear despite your best efforts to push them away, panic always on the edges of your mind and intense cramping in your abdomen.
      The following morning when you had not come down for your first meal Master Plo reached out to you through the force, when he sensed your terror, he practically ran back to the living quarters, banging on your door. When you only answered with chocked whimpers, he unlocked the door with the force and drew his lightsaber. His initial worry was sated momentarily finding that you were alone but was quickly replaced when he saw the state you were it.
    You lay in the center of your clumsily made ‘nest’ naked and covered in a thin sheet of sweat shivering violently. The only sounds that left you were terrified, incoherent mumbles, eyes widened in alarm.
“M- master… help me. I -… I don’t know what.. what’s happening,” you sobbed.
Plo removed his large brown cloak and quickly covered you with it. When you were properly concealed, he lifted you in his arms and rushed to the healers. Utterly confused by your state.
       Hours of examinations and blood tests did nothing to sate your unease but did well to expand it. You had begged your master to stay by your side, clutching onto the one person you felt remotely safe around. He only left when one of the healers came to your bedside and beckoned him away with a worried look in her eye. It took several attempts to assure you that he would be right back, utter panic setting in once again once he left but you could feel the waves of tranquility he sent you through the force.
“What do her blood reports show?” he asked with his arms crossed.
“Well master that’s where it gets kind of tricky. She seems to be exhibiting symptoms of a heat cycle.”
“But, humans don’t go through heat cycles. Wait, do they?” Plo asked.
“No, they don’t. I tested her for exposure to various strains of the sex pollen but they all came up negative. To ease her pain, I gave her a dose of a common suppressant that some of our resident Jedi use to help their own cycles but it didn’t take. That led me to perform a genome test.”
“And did you find anything?”
“Yes, she has the Omega gene.”
“Oh… Oh. Well, that is, unfortunate...”
“She’s terrified and feeling exposed. I wanted to tell you first so you could decide if she should hear it from you or me. She seems to feel safest with you.”
Plo thought for a moment, “I think I should tell her.”
 “What the fuck is an Omega gene?!” you were still shaking, trying to fight off the arousal that had taken root in your belly that swirled with your fright.
“It is an uncommon genome; its sole purpose is to ensure survival of a species. Most commonly men develop the Alpha and women the Omega although there are records of it being the other way around. Almost every species in the galaxy has at least a few Alphas and Omegas.”
“And the suppressants didn’t work because..?”
“Because it is stronger than a common heat cycle. It is a mutation that developed not just to ensure frequent breeding but survival of a species on a grand scale.”
You broke out into uncontrollable sobs; when your master tried to soothe you with a touch to your shoulder you jumped and growled at him, surprising you both before falling back into your distress.
      Over the following weeks you could feel the change in your peers’ attitude towards you. They would snicker if you passed by and taunt you silently behind your back. You could feel the unease the masters felt when you came into close proximity. Even Master Qui Gon was hesitant around you. You did however still have Obi Wan. Still the loyal friend he had always been.
    It took more searching than you thought but with his help you were able to find information cataloged by only one author.
“Did you really build a nest?” he asked, void of any judgement, looking over your shoulder at the writings.
“Yes, I did,” you said without taking your eyes off of the tome. “It says here that its genetic and pops up every few generations…”
“Your birth mother probably had no idea.”
“No, I don’t suppose she did. It says here I have scent glands? On my neck, my wrists, between my breasts and on my hips..” Obi wan leaned in and gave you an undignified sniff, you smacked him away.
“I can’t smell anything, just that minty shampoo you like so much.”
“That’s because you’re not an Alpha bantha brains,” you flustered.
“You don’t need to be rude about it,” he chuckled, “I’m just trying to lighten the mood here. You’ve been so sad since you found out. What, your heat will come once every few months right? It can’t be that bad.”
“It really is terrible; you have no idea. It’s not even the heat that I’m worried about.”
“Well, what has you so worked up then?”
“It says here that being an Omega is dangerous, the Alphas are often times violent and that they can smell me long before they see me… I’m safe here at the temple but what if they kick me out of the Order?”
“You’re not going to be kicked out.”
“I very well could be!” you pushed yourself out from behind the desk and huffed, “being a Jedi means no attachments, be one with the force, calm and collected, rational and compassionate. I am none of those things when the heat comes and no suppressants can stop it. What if it’s enough to pull me to the dark side? What if the council decides I am too big of a risk to everyone here to keep me around? Needs of the many always outweigh the needs of the few.”
      Sure enough, it was less than a week before the council called you to stand before them. The room was silent, the faces that painted the members was grave. You could tell that whatever decision they came to was a long argued one. It was the look on your Master’s face that made a sadness ring through your heart.
“Do you know why we called you here?” Master Windu asked.
You inhaled deeply and sighed, “I think I have an idea..”
“Please understand padawan that if we had known you were an Omega, we wouldn’t have recruited you to the Order. We simply can’t have an Omega or an Alpha within our ranks.”
“I…I think I understand Master.”
“Understand how you feel, we do.” The Grandmaster said with a grave tone and a nod.
“Forgive me Master but, no, you don’t. With reason or not, I have had my birth family cast me out into your care because I was force sensitive and now, my second family does the same because of a gene I carry.” Your eyes flashed angrily. Abandoned again because of what you were. “I will gather my things and be gone before nightfall,” you turned on your heel and strode out of the council chambers, leaving the heavy sighs behind you as you fought tears.
    When you finally reached your quarters the dam broke. Fat tears and wailing sobs poured out of you while your heart bled. Fear, pain, self-disgust all swirling in your mind. You had no idea what you were going to do, where you were going to go. You barely heard the knock against your door while you tried to wipe the salty wetness from your eyes. When you composed yourself as much as you could you opened the door to your Master and Obi Wan, both looking solemn.
“May we come it?” your master asked. Standing aside you allowed them entrance. “I voted no. I don’t think the council is making the right choice in this matter.”
“Thank you Master but the result is the same, with all due respect,” you pushed past him and starting shoving your sparse belongings into a travel bag pausing only when your friend stood in your way.
“I-I’m going to miss you..” he looked down at his feet.
“Oh Obi,” fresh tears wet your lashes. “I’m going to miss you to,” you pulled him into a tight hug. “I know you still have a few more years before your trials but; you’re going to make a wonderful knight.” His only response was to hug you tighter.
“The council has allocated a small fund for you young one. Because of the nature of your departure and the fact that you never broke the code or did anything wrong…” Master Plo held out a large purse filled with credits, “I hope it’s enough to get you settled somewhere until you can find something to do..” you took the purse and wrapped your arms around your Master’s waist.
    Thanking him silently for everything. For raising you, teaching you everything you knew and again for advocating for you. You gathered your one personal item aside from your clothes, a holo-pic Obi Wan had taken of you and your Master standing on a cliff overlooking the water on Naboo. At the time he said he took it because you looked like a knight with your straight back and hands clasped behind your back, mirroring Plo perfectly. You thought him silly at the time but now; you felt grateful.
      Months later you found yourself waitressing in a dirty little cantina on one of the lower levels of the city. The credits given to you were enough to pay for a dingy little studio apartment and the owner of the cantina owed Qui Gon a favor for some reason. Giving you a job made them even. You were drifting through your new life. Every night you would show up in your too tight, too short uniform and serve various drunkards and bounty hunters. Every morning you would stumble your way back to your new home utterly exhausted. When your heat hit your boss was understanding enough to give you time off so you could cry and feel the terrible pain and loneliness in peace.
    A few days after your last heat, the third one you had ever experienced; you were back to work. It was a pretty slow night. The atmosphere was surprisingly calm in the run-down little bar. You heard the door creak open while you were in the kitchen grabbing an order for a young starry eyed Rodian obviously new to the city. You looked around the kitchen smelling something strange, something incredibly strong, smokey and musky. It only got stronger when you dropped off the plate. Your eyes met the new customer’s, a lone Duro looked up at you from under the lip of a worn wide brimmed hat. A smile grew across his face as you approached cautiously.
“Hey there little lady. Where’s your Alpha?”
    A serious trepidation squeezed your insides as you realized exactly what it was you were smelling. The man in front of you was an Alpha. There was no doubt about it, if he could smell you, it was true. Your feet moved faster than your brain and carried you out of the bar, ignoring your boss’s bellowing. You pounded into the duracrete until you reached your little room. Opening the door as quickly as you could with trembling fingers you slunk into a shadowy corner. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as the cool night breeze drifted through the window.
    Window. As soon as you thought the thought his scent flowed through it, he followed right behind, slinging his lithe body through the opening. Standing silhouetted in the flickering streetlights, you backed up until you hit the door. His long leather trench coat fluttered around his calves. You could hardly process how he lifted his palms up to you and tried to calm you down.
“What in the seven hells’ the matter with you ‘mega?” you lifted your hand and force pulled your light saber into your grasp and ignited the blue blade.
“Whoa whoa whoa there little lady. Calm down I’m not gonna hurt you.. been a while since I seen another one a us. Outside Corellia at least.” His voice was smooth with a rasp to it, his eyes glowed bright red in the low lighting, your saber casting a blue glow over the room.
“Never seen a Jedi ‘mega before,” he started.
“I’m no longer a Jedi,” you spat. It was the first thing you could say to the Alpha before you.
“You gotta calm down girl. I told you I’m not gonna hurt you,” he was inching closer to you.
“What do you want with me?” you tightened your grip and clenched your teeth, causing him to halt again on the stained floor.
“Where’s your Alpha? I can’t smell him.”
“You’re the first one I’ve met.”
“Listen I wanna help. Obviously if you’re here the Jedi gave you the boot. I’m gonna go out on a limb here, they found out when the suppressors didn work on ya.”
You sheathed your blade and lowered your head in sorrow.
“How long you been on your own?”
“A few months,” you looked up and wished you were back in the temple. You missed the gardens, you missed the archives, you missed your friend.. The Duro eyed you carefully like he could read your history just from your face before he scrunched his eyes up in confusion.
“Diddn they even tell you shit or did they just give you a pat and ‘good luck’?”
Your lack of a response was response enough; he sighed and muttered curses under his breath.
“Listen, most of us Alphas aren’t dangerous. We’re leaders, protectors. Omegas aren’t weak, you’re our second in command so to speak.” Your eyes widened at him. “I wanna help you.. I kinda feel like I have to. My mate would’ve if she was still around…” his eyes dimmed, “some of the Alphas can be shitty but it’s the others you gotta worry about. Slavers like buying your kind up and sellin em to the highest bidder. Sometimes they got a paid Alpha to sniff you out, some of em got hounds that can pick out your scent. If you stay here, you’re sittin pretty an ripe for their pickin.”
“What happened to your Omega?” your voice was quiet and cautious. You didn’t know if you could trust him or not but if he found you, others would be able to soon too.
“Trandoshans… I was off on a hunt; left her at home. Thought it was too dangerous for her to come with… I tried to find her, looked everywhere, called in every favor, went broke on bribes… never found her.”
Some primal, instinctual part of your heart broke for him. You had no idea what it was like to have a mate but you thought you’d rather die than lose yours and the look on his face confirmed that, he would too.
“Look, take it or not but this is me reaching my hand out. Tryin to make sure that what happened to her, doesn’t happen to you. Bounty huntings lucrative if you nab the right contracts. I can get you set up… the moving around ‘s safer than sitting still.”
    You thought for a few minutes, pondering the information this man dumped on you all at once. Your Jedi brain told you not to trust him; that this guy was bad news, but you weren’t a Jedi anymore. They were the reason you were sitting here trying to decide if you could trust him or not. So, you listened to your Omega gut and it told you to go with him; and that’s what you did.
      You spent a year with Cad Bane and if you were being honest, it was the best year of your life. He introduced you to the Bounty Hunters Guild by the name ‘Mega. Told you if they found out you were a former Jedi you wouldn’t get contracts so you went with it. There was even a whole house of the guild that was dedicated to Alphas and Omegas a secret little society that you had been welcomed into. He taught you how to use a blaster, damn well too. Your light saber was a hidden last resort to use only if you were about to be killed and you left no survivors. The two of you galivanted across the galaxy bringing in dangerous, high paying bounties.
    He taught you about the sub culture of the Alphas and the Omegas and helped explain some of the odd tendencies you showed but didn’t understand. He was respectful during your heat and let you wait it out locked in the cabin while he slept in the cockpit. Occasionally you’d ask him to put a hand on the back of your neck to cool you down. His cold-blooded hands were the perfect ice pack for your fevered skin.
    Not once did he ever try to scent you. To say he was friendly though would’ve been a lie. You had a companionable silence most of the time. You could count the times you made him smile on one hand. Most of which were when you got extra rough with a difficult quarry. The only other time was when some guy tried to hit on you in a cantina while you and Bane celebrated the largest reward you had ever gotten. You pressed the barrel of your blaster into his balls so hard, without even looking at him, he cried. Life was… good. Life was actually good. After the costs of resupply and fuel he gave you half of whatever was left over.
    That’s how you got to where you were now. On Corellia in a ship yard looking to buy your own transport. Bane had introduced you to the Guild Master on this planet, long having gained membership with him as a sponsor and you got yourself a few of your own pucks. He stood beside you now as you tossed the credits to the seller and loaded up your new; well new to you, ship.
“Better than my first ship that’s for damn sure,” Bane said as he walked around it. It wasn’t large, it wasn’t small either, but it had a kitchenette, a cabin and a carbon-freezing chamber in the small cargo bay below deck. “That freezers gonna let you pick up a few bounties at a time,” he noted, leaning against the doorframe of the cabin, watching you put away your clothes and setting up the holo-pic of you and Plo by the large bed.    
“That’s the plan. Move around as much as possible. Get rich on these dumbasses,” you moved to toss the pucks into your bag.
“Listen ‘Meg,” he straightened up, clenched his jaw and looked at the floor, “it was shitty goin for me for a long time. It’s gonna get shitty again and stay that way for the rest of my life but; well, you made it less shitty,” he was visibly uncomfortable.
“Don’t go getting all warm blooded on me now Bane,” you shot him a sad smile. You had to move on. He wasn’t your Alpha and you weren’t his Omega. You didn’t really think you would find a mate of your own but you could feel it through the force; as much as you relieved some of his stress, you made him miss his mate.
“Don’t get your hopes up sweetheart, I like you but not that much,” he smirked, “you got my commlink channel set up in there right?” his thumb pointed to the cockpit.
“Yeah I got it.”
“Don’t hesitate if you get in over your head kid. I mean it ‘Meg, don’t be so proud you go and get yourself killed.”
“I won’t, I promise Bane.”
“Good,” he walked over to you and for a second you thought he was actually going to hug you; what he did was a bigger shock. He took his hat off and placed it on your head. Your eyes widened to saucers and you looked at him almost confused. A grin cracked your lips when he pulled a new, bigger one out of no where and shrugged his shoulders.
“I like this one better anyway,” he turned to leave the hull but not before rasping out a “see you around ‘Meg, give em all seven hells out there,” over his shoulder.
You made your way to the cockpit, pulling Bane’s hat down tighter on your head and running your finger across the brim; watching him leave the shipyard through the view port with one last swish of his coat. You were sad to watch that gun slinging bastard go but thanked the maker he found you, thanked the maker that you followed him that night.
    You ran through your preflight checklist and started her up ‘The Wolf.’ You liked the way it sounded. Pulling up into the atmosphere and punching in the coordinates for Lothal, the highest priced bounty in your current collection. You pulled back the lever, shooting you into hyperspace. You made your way back to your cabin and picked up the holo-pic of you and your master. You wondered what he was doing right now. If he had taken in a new padawan. You hoped he had; he was a wonderful master; the best you could’ve asked for. You wondered if he thought about you as much as you thought about him. You smiled, probably. He always had trouble not forming attachments. You set the picture back down and pulled another one out of your bag. You had tried to keep it a secret from Bane but you were sure he knew about it.
    It was from the night you almost took off the nuts of the guy who tried flirting with you. You had bought a round for everyone in the small cantina out of your own pocket, you were so excited about taking down the biggest quarry the two of you had seen to date. Several beings of different species all raised a glass of various liquors in your honor while Bane faced the bar not looking at you, the smallest smirk on his face below the rim of the hat you were wearing now. The smile you had on in this picture might be the biggest you’ve ever made. You set it down next to the one of you and Plo and compared the two, hardly believing you were the same person. You weren’t, but they were both you.
    You kicked your boots off and plopped down on the bed, arms crossed behind your head and the hat tilted over your eyes. This was it; this was living.
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missnight0wl · 3 years
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What do you think of Rowan, Ben, Penny and Merula's Patronus? Though I don't like Merula very much, I still think she is able to conjure one.
I’m putting it under the cut because it turned out a bit lengthy.
Rowan
I used to think of an Owl for Rowan because, y’know, it's “a symbol of wisdom” and all. But when I got this ask, I remembered that I found the site on Irish Astrology just days earlier – the same Rowling was using for birthdates and wand wood of the Golden Trio. Interestingly, each sign has assigned an animal there, and since the rowan tree is one of them, I decided to check it to find out that it’s a crane or a green dragon. A dragon makes me think of Charlie, but I did a little bit of digging on another option, and I have to say – I think I’m gonna stick with a Crane Patronus for Rowan.
This is what I found on the Crane symbolism:
Throughout Asia, the crane is considered as a bird of happiness and prosperity. The Japanese, Chinese, and Korean traditions relate it to longevity and fidelity.
Aristotle wrote about this bird that it always held a stone in its mouth so that if it fell asleep and the stone would fall down, the bird would wake. Thus crane symbolism came to be linked with vigilance.
I also checked Indian symbolism since Rowan is part Indian, and I found this:
[The Sarus crane] is also known as the eternal symbol of unconditional love and devotion and good fortune.
Interestingly, cranes are monogamous and they mate for life. That’s actually why in Japan, they’re often incorporated in wedding décor!
Overall, we have pretty positive symbolism. The parts about devotion and unconditional love sum Rowan up as a friend pretty well. We also have a part about vigilance which again is pretty fitting for Rowan who was probably the most aware from all of our friends that MC is indeed in constant danger – and that’s why they were suspicious of Ben (not because they simply didn’t like Ben – let’s remember that Rowan and Ben were friends at the end of a day).
Admittedly, “in some cultures, the meanings of crane birds can be negative: they represent deception, a harbinger of death, and even the symbol of the devil.” However, it’s actually a bit meta, considering all the people suspecting Rowan of being a traitor.
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Ben
I really like the idea of a Lion Patronus for Ben. A Patronus form is not only about representing one’s personality, but also “the Patronus represents that which is hidden, unknown but necessary within the personality” - and it fits Ben’s bravery so nicely. I talk here mostly about Old Ben, but that’s also a pretty old idea of mine. I mean, Ben was always super brave when his friends needed it, he just couldn’t really accept it himself. I also find it kind of heart-warming to imagine Old Ben being intimidated by his own Patronus at first, only to become more and more comfortable around it with time.
Another thing, I remember reading once someone else’s point that it could be a funny reference to the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz – which, now that I think about it, Ben would be probably familiar with as a Muggleborn!
Now, as for New Ben… Well, honestly, I don’t think that Ben would be able to cast Patronus Charm at this very moment. He probably still feels too much guilt for Rowan’s death and whatnot. Still, I remembered a discussion I had with my friend after Rakepick’s Patronus was finally revealed, and she pointed out then that male lions tend to kill little cubs if they defeat a previous male lion and take over his pack. Y’know, to eliminate wrong genes. And you know what? It’s kind of what Ben did with his old self. Before the end of Y5, Ben had a pretty good understanding of bravery. There was that very sweet moment in the O.W.L.s TLSQ, for example:
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But then, the end of Y5 happened, and Ben was like: “Nope. I know no fear and THAT’S bravery”.
Either way, I do hope that Ben will eventually return on his path of a healthy balance between his old and new self, and I have a feeling that a Lion would still be a pretty good match then.
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Penny
Probably an unpopular opinion, but I always thought that Penny’s Patronus should be some kind of a predator. I once even proposed a Black Panther, but I didn’t have a lot of reasoning behind it, to be honest. Now, I think I’m gonna change it anyway, and I’ll say that Penny would have a Fox Patronus. This is information I found on it:
The fox is a natural trickster, and brilliantly charismatic. Those with this Patronus are often more reserved, but do have the social capability to speak to just about anyone. They are strongly ambitious and observant of the behaviour of others, watching key points in what others do and storing them for further reference, when they may need them. They are good talkers, meaning they can convince people to do what they want and make them think it was their idea in the first place.
Foxes are quick, intelligent and strongly ambitious. Although they are known for their cunning nature, they are very charismatic and easy to love. If your Patronus is a fox, you have an ability to think outside of the box and act quickly during emergency situations.
Penny is insanely ambitious about her Potions-making. She said on more than one occasion that she couldn’t pass the opportunity to brew more advanced Potion. She’s also obviously charismatic, and the part I might like the most is about “making others do what they want and even make them think it was their idea”. Because when you really think about it… it’s exactly Penny.
Like, making MC steal the ingredients for the Forgetfulness Potion and very similar situation again with the Draught of Peace (each time not even telling MC what it’s about until the very end). Making MC impersonate a Professor or a Prefect. All those situations could get us in pretty serious trouble. Yet, the best example in all of that is the Animagus TLSQ, in my opinion. 
The quest started with the rumours that Talbott is planning to become an Animagus, and so MC got intrigued and decided to help Talbott get ingredients, hoping that Penny could make an extra Potion for them. But then, it turned out that Penny doesn’t make the Potion for Talbott at all, and she wanted MC to take it instead. Moreover, Talbott was already an Animagus, so the whole story didn’t really make much sense from the very beginning. Now, it might be the case of Jam City screwing up badly in writing, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is basically what happened: Penny wanted to brew the Animagus Potion, so she sent Talbott to get MC intrigued in the whole thing, so MC thought it was their idea while Penny could brew her Potion. Now, tell me she’s not a Fox – especially that again it could’ve been pretty dangerous for MC if anything went wrong.
There’s also a part about thinking outside of the box and acting quickly during the emergency, and funnily enough, it’s also kind of true for Penny. The thing is that she doesn’t act well in those situations – but that’s a separate problem.
Also, I don’t know if you can tell it by now, but I totally believe that Penny should’ve been a Slytherin, and I will die on that hill. Just a digression.
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Merula
Hm, how about a Mole? Or a Rat? :D Just kidding, of course. Mostly…
Seriously though, I had a bit of a problem with Merula. I thought of a Skunk or a Frilled-neck lizard at first, y’know, because they try to look more threatening as a self-defence mechanism. I considered a Yorkshire Terrier as well because they’re always yapping at bigger dogs. And while they kind of fit Merula, they’re definitely not perfect matches. Merula has no dog qualities whatsoever, and even though her aggression is probably caused by a lot of insecurities, skunks and frilled-neck lizards don’t really harm whatever threatens them. Merula does harm, whether physically or emotionally, and she’s pretty calculated in that.
So, I kept thinking about something else, and there was one option I was coming back to. And even though I didn’t fully like it at first, I think I’ll stick to it, and I’ll say that Merula would have a Black Mamba Patronus.
Here’s some information about Black Mambas:
Cloaked in the color of death and measuring over 14 feet in length, the Black Mamba is regarded as one of the most vicious snakes in the world. It’s also one of the most venomous. (…) Unlike many animals, which simply have an anger problem, Black Mambas are driven by an extreme form of fear-based aggression. Being exceedingly nervous, the slightest sense that the snake’s escape route is compromised may unleash an attack of unparalleled ferocity.
There’s also an interesting quote from the discussion on whether or not they chase humans:
No, they absolutely don’t chase humans. No snakes chase humans. However black mambas are so high-strung they’re practically hysterical the moment something makes them nervous, and they’re really not very intelligent. As a result, these snakes are extremely prone to absolute panic. If you corner a mamba, its fight/flight reflex is triggered, and it will freak out and try to fight you to escape. This involves wildly throwing itself around and biting you like 60 times in a row, if you don’t get the blazes out of the way. (…) And they’re not very good at evaluating the level of danger they’re in. Or… much of anything.
… and that’s basically Merula. She’s in a constant state of panic that people are better than her. Especially in earlier years, she constantly felt threatened by MC’s mere existence, even when MC was clear they just don’t care about her – so she was attacking. All. The. Freaking. Time.
Moreover, snakes in general are often associated with deceit, so there’s that.
Of course, there’s also much more positive symbolism around snakes, like a rebirth, transformation, or heling. And while I have no doubts that Jam City won’t give Merula a proper redemption arc (because they're too lazy about it), she clearly is a character who’s supposed to be all about redemption. So, I guess that’s another reason why a Black Mamba would fit nicely, even though it seems a bit stereotypical for a Slytherin (then again, Merula totally should’ve been a Gryffindor, but that’s a topic for a different discussion).
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the-firebender-girl · 4 years
Text
Thick As Thieves (Zuko x Reader)
-> In which Azula got her redemption arc and gets to be the cool aunt.
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Zuko has been equally dreading and anticipating this day for months. The day his sister will finally be released from the asylum on a nearby island. She was continuously monitored and deemed stable now, safe enough to roam free again and insert herself back to society. His last encounter with her a few years back wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience so he doesn’t know what to expect now, will it go awry again? or has she really turned a new leaf? guess he’ll find out sooner than later.
His worries extend far beyond his own discomfort of facing his deranged and misguided sister because he also has others to worry about, he’s got his own family now. A wife, a daughter, and a son. His wife had briefly met Azula when she tagged along with him at one of his visits but he can’t say the same for the younglings. Izumi and Isao, the new beloved princess and prince of the Fire Nation, his pride and joy.
Being a father suprisingly comes natural to him despite his dreadful childhood and having no father figure to look up to. He learnt a lot from watching Hakoda though, he owed that man a lot. Especially now that the closest thing that he has to a father is gone. Uncle Iroh decided that he had done all he could in the material world and chose to ascend to the Spirit World, leaving his mortal body behind and letting his soul make a new home there.
It was a decision that Zuko supports wholeheartedly, but still sometimes he wishes that Iroh is still around to guide him with his wisdom. Now he has this world of ruling and fatherhood that he has to navigate on his own, hoping that he won’t mess it up.
“Love, are you ready?” Y/N’s gentle voice broken his train of thoughts, pulling him back into the real world.
“Yeah... just thinking about... things” He replied lamely, reaching out for her hand which she gives. He always love playing around with her fingers, the contact brings him comfort.
“Don’t get lost in your head too much, okay?” She said, giving him a tender smile.
He stares back at the love of his life appreciatively and gives her a sure nod.
“I just... I don’t know how to feel, it’s like i’m scared of expecting anything if it’ll just put myself up for a disappointment. You know how much of a wildcard she is” Zuko said timidly, looking small and more vulnerable than he has been for years.
“I know Zuko, this must be soo confusing for you, i’m scared too but we’re in this together right? I’ll be with you every step of the way” Y/N assure him, trying to subdue his worries as much as she could. Rubbing comforting touches at his shoulder.
“Spirits, Y/N. What did I ever do to deserve you?” He leaned his head back a bit so that he can nuzzle it into her stomach.
She hums, “I don’t know, you must be a hero or something with what a great catch I am” She grins teasingly, easing up the tension.
She considers it as a triumph when her husband lets out a scoff of disbelief, “Woman you are unbelieveable” Shaking his head at her.
“Part of the charm, love”
To that he can’t help but burst out laughing.
Oh the married life.
———————————————————————
Azula stood on her own two feet, no longer bounded by straitjacket nor in a wheelchair. She stood as a free woman now. She wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘free and changed woman’ because some things just scarred too deep too remove but the therapies she undergo definitely did some good. So was the time she spent away from the capital and from the expectations she used to bear.
Now she stands face to face with Zuko, all out in his Fire Lord regalia. It suits him, not that she would admit that out loud, her pride is still very much intact after all.
“Should I bow to you now?” Her voice sends a cold chill running through Zuko, despite being locked away it seems that his sister managed to keep the bite in her.
“According to formalities you should, but no” He replied, feigning indifferent.
“Whatever you say, Fire Lord Zuzu”
Zuko’s composure cracks at the sound of his childhood nickname combined with what is now his title, one of his eyes twitching in annoyance. From his peripheral vision, he saw Y/N raising one of her hands in front of her mouth to hide her growing smile and a laugh that threatens to escape.
Even the guards who are standing by and thus being a part of this reunion seems to have trouble doing their part after witnessing this exchange. The sound of giggling little voices reaches his ears, at this he softens and put his hands on Izumi and Isao’s shoulder.
“Now who might these be?” Azula said as she redirects her line of vision to the source of noise, raising both of her eyebrows expectantly.
“This is my children, Izumi my eldest....” Zuko said while patting her head lovingly then he moves to do the same to his son, “And Isao, her younger brother”
Azula’s eyes roamed over them, taking in every features as if sizing them up, then she stops when she reaches their faces. Molten gold meets its exact pair, a courtesy of the royal family (superior) gene pool if she say so herself. That eye color might as well be their trademark after all.
“Well hello there little ones, i’m Aunty Azula” She said as she carefully took a step closer towards them. The guards almost block her away but Zuko raised his hand to signal them to be at ease and let her pass.
Izumi shrinks back, scared but at awe at the same time at her aunt’s cat-like movement. It’s soo smooth she looks like she is gliding across the floor and now she’s in front of them in no time. She may be 7 but she’s old enough to understand things, things that she heard people say in a whispers about her aunt whom she never met before. And that is enough to make her reluctant.
Izumi looked to her right at her little brother but Isao doesn’t show the slightest hint of being unfazed. In fact he looks intrigued.
There was a small awkward silence moment before a huge grin bloomed on Isao’s face, making his puffy cheeks even more prominent.
“Hey there aunty! i’m sooo pumped to meet you” He said innocently, excitement oozing from his very being.
Azula is caught off guard by such a welcoming reaction, this is not something that she expected at all. She never even realized her inadequacy in dealing with children until she’s finally forced to face one. What’s the first thing that she should even do? feed them flaming fire flakes? use them as target practice? Agni, Zuzu better not do anything stupid like leaving her with any of them.
Y/N watched as her sister in law seems to be frozen in place, looking at her son as if he’s an alien being. Who knew that the great Azula will one day be stupefied at a mere interaction with a 4 years old child? well the more you know.
“Sooo... lunch, anyone?” Y/N said, a pathetic attempt to break the ice.
Azula just walked past them without a second glance. Making her way inside the palace that she once called home, with Isao tailing behind. Small feet attempting to catch up to her long strides. Zuko and Y/N shared a glance at each other, to which he just shrugs and they too follow after her.
———————————————————————
A week has passed since she came back and Azula is adjusting pretty nicely, well people still cower at the sight of her and most of them stay as far as they can but not that she mind that.
Well everyone except this little bugger called Isao aka his brother’s second spawn. He loves following her around and looking at her with those annoying big round eyes, think that would work on her too huh? too bad she hates children. He really doesn’t know what’s good for him.
Tonight they’re having a family dinner. To formally celebrate her coming back or whatever. At least the food is good. The mouth-watering scent of smoked sea slug, roast duck, komodo sausages, extra spicy fire noodles, and fruit tart filled the air. It’s starting to look more and more like a feast instead of a nice and quiet family dinner. Trust her brother to always make a spectacle out of everything.
Azula was minding her own business, scooping bits of this and that into her plate when the empty chair beside her got dragged back by a pair of small hands. Isao’s round face greeted her as she watches his sorry attempt at climbing the chair. Grumbling, she picks him up and put him securely on top of it before he hits his head on the side of the table or something.
“Thanks Aunty Azula!” He said, giving her his signature wide grin.
“Ughh whatever kiddo”
Azula turns her attention towards the head of the table where Zuko and Y/N are currently sitting, haven’t yet realized that their son has disappeared from his designated chair.
Azula clears her throat, that successfully got their attention.
“Zuko, Y/N would you mind giving some help over here? it’s trying to bond again” A hint of awkwardness creeps into her voice, face scrunching, she’s even shifting left and right in her seat.
Y/N rolls her eyes, “It’s got a name, Azula and he’s your nephew so play nice”
“B-but....” Before she could voice her protest, the couple has already turned their attention away.
She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, Isao’s curious stares burning into her.
Once she opens her eyes again, the boy is already stuffing his mouth full of sausages.
“I guess i’m stuck with you then” She said defeatedly as she watches him happily munching his food down.
———————————————————————
“You know you look exactly like your father when he was little” Azula said to the boy whom she’s babysitting, it pains her to even think about this. What were Zuko and Y/N even thinking when they decided that leaving their son to her care for the day is the best idea. Does she look like she’ll make a good nanny? Spirits, the audacity.
This carbon copy of Zuko is currently sitting beside the pond, with two little feets dangling in the water, creating small ripples here and there. The turtle ducks happily swam around him, waiting for him to throw in another good measure of breadcrumbs.
“Yeah I know that! Grandfather Iroh used to say that a lot” He said to which Azula scoffed and tsked under her breath, “Grandfather Iroh”
“Of course of course....” She said while lazily drawing patterns on the grass, “Good ‘ol Grandfather Iroh”
Isao stops his feeding session and crawled to where Azula is sitting.
“Do you know that my name means ‘honor’ or ‘meritorious’ ? How cool is that huh!? father picked that out himself” He said, wide eyed. Visibly bouncing in his seat while giving her this piece of information.
Azula lets out an incredulous chuckle as she shakes her head, “Of course Zuzu would choose something like that as a name, your father was obsessed with his honor” Drawling out the word obsessed to make her point clear.
“But I think it suits you, little one. So there’s that” She said giving him a shrug. That earned her a smile and Isao makes an exaggerated air fist pump, clearly pleased.
Azula reached out for the picnic basket that Y/N has earlier prepared for them, taking out the wrapped mochi and some tea. She then gives it to Isao, right on time as she hears his stomach rumble.
“Hungry are we? the mochi looks delicious but too bad the tea is already cold”
“Not to worry about that Aunty Azula! I got a little trick I can show you”
Imagine her surprise when fire sparks out of his fingertips, dancing on the bottom of the teapot, warming it quickly to a nice temperature.
“What?!?! how did you do that?” She said still pretty much in shock, watching as the fire slowly dies down.
“I once watched Grandfather Iroh do it, I haven’t figured out how then but now I can do it on command”
This boy really has no idea that he just executed a firebending trick perfectly didn’t he? warming up tea is a complicated form of art, it has to be done perfectly for the leaves and spices to fully release its essence. Such a raw talent in someone so young.
Come to think of it, even if he knows, he wouldn’t have thought about it too much nor dwell on it. If Azula got it right, Zuko’s eldest is a non-bender so Isao most likely or not has no experience in watching a firebending training.
“Kiddo, you can firebend? is there any other tricks that you can do?” Azula asked in an encouraging tone, this attitude is unusual coming from her but even she can’t deny that she has developed a soft spot for her nephew.
“I can create little fire here and there or warm myself up if I needed to but that’s all” Isao replied, looking her straight in the eye.
Azula hums as the gears in her brain is starting to turn, “Would you like me to teach you some things?”
Isao jumps up and down in excitement, this is all soo exciting! he is actually bonding with his aunt.
What an interesting turn of event indeed.
———————————————————————
They are in the middle of a rather pleasant dinner that night when Azula decided to break the news to her brother and sister in law.
“Do any of you know that your son is a firebender?”
The reaction that she earned is priceless, Zuko starts choking on his food whereas Y/N’s jaw dropped open, mouth forming a perfect O-shape.
“He hasn’t shown any sign of firebending abilities, we thought he’s a non-bender like his sister” Y/N answers for her husband because Zuko is still trying to clear up his air pipe.
“Firecracker, why don’t you show the trick that I taught you earlier?” Azula said to Isao, beckoning him with her fingers.
He excitedly nodded and turns to face his parents. He took a deep breath and concentrate, sparks of fire lights up from his fingertips. Slowly he guides the fire into forming a small circle in front of him, the circle then starts to take shape into a dragon, a fire dragon.
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Y/N gasps as the shape becomes more and more prominent, flying across the dining hall but never too hot to burn anything. It’s an incredible thing to watch, she is indeed a proud mother. Even Izumi is enjoying the show, her eyes following the dragon’s every movement. Zuko is at loss for words, he can’t believe that his 4 years old son not only can firebend, but he’s damn good at it too. Azula may have discovered his potentials, but of course it’s up to him to mastered it.
Isao can only holds the form for 5 minutes before the fire burns out, after all he’s still young and has a lot more to learn, but that display is enough to make everyone clap their hands.
“Firecracker, you are marvelous! told you they’ll love it” Azula said as she moved one of her hands to tussle his hair teasingly.
Both Zuko and Y/N rushed from their seats to engulf Isao in a hug, Y/N peppering little kisses all over his face, meanwhile Zuko looks as if he’s high on cactus juice.
“Father, mother...stop....I can’t breathe” Little Isao complaints as he attempts to break free.
“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Y/N said as she bends her knees so that she can be at head level with her son.
“I want to do it right, mother. That’s why I learned some new tricks first before I showed it to you. I don’t want to accidently burn something” Isao replied.
“And you will do it right, son. I’ll make sure of it” Zuko said as he gaze at his son fondly.
“Yeah! you’ll be a great firebender, brother” Izumi joins in and smiles encouragingly.
Azula can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips. This is a scene that she and the palace walls never got to witness before, a loving and supportive family. Zuko has done it right.
———————————————————————
That night as Azula makes her way down the corridor of the Royal Wing and passes by Isao’s slightly ajar bedroom door, she can’t help but sneak a peek.
The little boy is being tucked to bed by his mother, Y/N who sensed the presence of someone else turns her head around and gives her a small smile.
“Would you like to wish him goodnight, Azula?” Y/N asks her, inviting her in with a nod.
Azula nodded back and let herself in, meanwhile Y/N stands up and gives Isao a kiss to his forehead, “Sleep well my little prince” Azula can hear her whispers the word softly.
After that Y/N walks out of the room. Azula took a few steps closer to the bed and sit at the edge. Hands rubbing comforting circles at his blanket-covered feet.
“You know you’re literally a mini Zuko but I like you much much better than him, firecracker” Azula said in a teasing tone.
“I’m glad you think so Aunty Azula because I like you too! people said you’re scary but I don’t see it, I think you’re a nice person”
Isao’s words got Azula holding back a choked sob, her eyes starting to get watery. No one had ever told her that she’s a nice person. People just see her as this monster, even her own mother.
Coming back here was a hard thing for her to do, she never had a home anyway or anyone to come back to. That does not comes as a surprise to her of course, her family is as dysfunctional as they come anyway. But this little firecracker proved her wrong. Maybe she too deserves to belong somewhere after all she’s been through.
Azula gives him a smile and a kiss to his head, “Sleep well, firecracker” to which she got a “Goodnight Aunty Azula” back as a reply.
As Azula steps out of the room and closes the door slowly, she turns around and came straight in contact with Zuko, nearly tumbling to the floor.
“Why you..” Azula started before Zuko puts a finger in front of his mouth in a shushing motion, reminding her not to wake up Isao.
Zuko made a motion for her to follow him and she did, they walk side by side along the hallway.
“He’s really fond of you, you know” He said, staring straight forward.
“Agni knows why, but despite him being your son he is actually.... tolerable” Azula said curtly.
“You know you should learn to express yourself better, sister. Some emotions won’t hurt you”
“Are you just gonna lecture me or is there a point to this conversation?”
“Fine, fine” Zuko said as he rolls his eyes in a childish manner, “Will you be Isao’s firebending teacher?”
Azula stopped on spot, “Did I just misheard you or do you actually trust me enough to train your son?”
“Hey, you’re a great firebender! no one can deny that. I can’t think of anyone better to be his master, your moral compass might be crooked but that’s what me and Y/N are here for, right” At this he earned an elbow shoved to his chest.
“You don’t have to be so abusive you know” He mutters.
Azula gives him a grin, satisfied that she caused him a slight pain.
“I’ll teach him, not because you asked me to, but because I genuinely wants him to be even greater. He’s got potentials, Zuko” Azula said, more serious than Zuko has ever heard her.
“Yeah I know that, he’s a great kid”
Azula and Zuko look at each other, sharing a silent understanding, and gave each other a nod.
Zuko reaches a hand out for her to shake, “Truce?”
With no hesitation, she reaches out her own hand and take it, “Truce.”
They both then part ways but before Azula turns around the corner, Zuko speak up again.
“Hey, Azula?”
She turns around and raised one of her eyebrow, silently asking him what.
“I’m glad you’re here.... welcome home” Zuko said, giving her a small smile before he turns around and walk to his chamber.
Azula stood in that same spot even after Zuko’s silhouette has disappeared. Contemplating to herself, before letting out a sigh and a smile that is actually meant for her brother despite him not being able to see it.
“I’m glad that i’m here too, brother.”
———————————————————————
A/N : I’m a sucker for Azula’s redemption arc so I can’t resist myself from writing this one. What do you think about it? would like to hear more from all of you darlings ♥️
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ofendlesswonder · 3 years
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Congratulations on the impending release! That's so exciting. Also so excited to see you're taking prompts - 27, if you're so inspired!
27. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”
Cat thinks she’s dreaming, when she sees a cape flutter outside her balcony. 
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d dreamt of red and blue and a sunny smile. Probably wouldn’t even be the hundredth, if she counts her daydreams, the one allowance she’d made, for when the itch under her skin, the desire to reach out and touch had almost become too much to bear. 
Had become too much to bear, in the end. Had sent her fleeing across the country to another coast entirely, separating herself from any temptations, from blue, blue eyes and the traitorous voice in the back of her head wondering would it really be so bad, if you told her? 
Yes, she’d always answered. Yes, because I can’t ruin her, too. 
Not like she had every other relationship she’s ever had. Couldn’t bear to see the light in her eyes dim, for her to become bitter and jaded, and look at Cat like she despised her. 
That’s something she knew she’d never be able to handle, no matter how many times Kara had pressed close beside her on the couch, staying long after her work hours had ended. No matter how often she’d looked at Cat like she held the world in her hands, her gaze had lingering when Cat had dared to undo an extra button, knowing she was playing a dangerous game. 
The cape flutters again, propelling Cat out of bed, feet sinking into the plush carpet of her bedroom. Her new home isn’t quite as nice as the penthouse she’d left behind in National City, but it’s a decent replacement, she thinks. Carter had taken some convincing, but she knows D.C. has grown on him. 
“Aren’t you a little far from home?” She asks the superhero slouched over her balcony railing, pushing open the doors with the palm of her hand. 
Kara doesn’t move, and Cat thinks something must be deeply wrong. Why else would she be here, after so long? Why else, after years of silence stretched thin, would she have come to her? 
“What’s wrong?” She asks, a silence of a different kind pressing into her ears. This high, the city traffic is quiet, the low hum of the people milling on the sidewalks below snatched away by the wind. 
Cat grabs her robe off the back of the chair by the door, steps into stupidly fuzzy slippers Carter had bought her last Christmas. The ones she will never, ever publicly admit to owning, but that she adores slipping on at the end of a long day, and joins Kara on the balcony. 
She doesn’t move, remains still and silent, and Cat wonders if she’s finally gone mad. If something in her has cracked, and she’s conjured an image of Kara, a ghostly mirage that will disappear as soon as she’s within arms’ reach. 
“Nothing’s wrong,” she says, when Cat steps close, in a voice suggesting the opposite is true. “Not really.”
“And yet here you are, on my balcony in the middle of the night, for...what? An interview? A catch up? How long has it been, Kara? Four years?”
She doesn’t react to her name, and Cat thinks that might be the most worrying thing of all. A secret she’d guarded so closely, so fiercely, terrified of Cat finding out the truth, and now she doesn’t care? Doesn’t acknowledge it, even? 
No, this isn’t the Kara she knows. 
But then, it’s been years since Cat last touched her life. 
Years, for her to grow and change. 
Years, where Cat didn’t know her at all, aside from brief glimpses of news footage, from the articles she’d read, written by Kara’s hand. 
The woman standing before her may as well be a stranger. 
One she has no idea how to help. 
“You were always...like a port in a storm. A safe space to land, a voice of reason when I needed it. You were never afraid of telling me the truth, even if it was painful to hear, and you always knew exactly the right thing to say. And I think I need that, now, because I...I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” 
She doesn’t look at Cat when she talks, her jaw clenched tight, her fingers wrapped around the bar of Cat’s balcony railing, leaving indents in the metal. 
It’s then Cat notices the blood. It’s caked under her nails, smeared across her knuckles, and Cat’s gaze darts over her body, searching for other signs of damage. 
Maybe it’s not hers. 
Maybe that’s why, when she turns to face Cat, her eyes are dark and haunted, so lost within herself Cat struggles to find a trace of the woman she once knew so well staring back at her. 
“Feel what way?” Cat asks, and her voice is hoarse, because, different though she may be, it’s still Kara looking at her for the first time in years, and Cat had known it was naive, moving away to run from her ever-growing feelings, known it was unlikely to work, but it’s only now, four years down the line and feeling like not a single day has passed, that she realises just how naive. 
Can Kara hear the uptick in her heartbeat, as their eyes meet? Has she heard it before? Does she have any idea, how a single glance from her can knock Cat breathless? 
“Like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.” Her eyes close, and Cat lets her gaze settle on her face, how though she is physically unchanged—something about those Kryptonian genes, she suspects—she looks so much older. 
Weary. 
Defeated. 
“I can’t...I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to. The world needs a hero, but that isn’t me.” She shakes her head so violently she lurches to the side, and Cat steadies her—futile though the gesture may be—with a hand on her elbow, her suit rough beneath her fingertips. “I’m not a leader. I’m not...I’m not cut out for this.” 
Cat casts her mind back, tries to remember any mention of Supergirl in the news, recently, that might make her feel this way. Smear campaigns against superheroes are nothing new—Cat could almost understand it, because who was going to stop them if they decided this whole being good thing just wasn’t for them?
But not Kara. Never Kara—red Kryptonite aside. 
“They deserve better than me.” She sags when she says it, falling into Cat so suddenly she barely manages to catch her, face pressed into the side of Cat’s neck, and her tears hot on her skin. 
“You are the strongest person I know,” Cat says, cheek pressing against Kara’s head, a hand settling at the small of her back, nothing but certainty in her voice, in her gentle grip. “The strongest person I’ve ever met, in fact—and let me tell you, Kara, I have met a lot of people. None of them could hold a candle to you.” 
She sobs harder, and Cat breaks, because what is it that’s brought this beautiful, selfless woman to her knees? 
“There is no one better than you,” she continues, because she thinks these are words Kara desperately needs to hear. “But you’re right about one thing—they don’t deserve you. And no one is entitled to you. What you do, Kara, putting yourself on the line, day after day, forfeiting your rights to a normal life, risking losing it all every time you charge into battle—that’s incredible. But it’s not sustainable. You keep doing it, and sooner or later, something’s going to break.”
If she’s being honest with herself, Cat is surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Just goes to show, then, how strong she really is. 
“You’ve endured so much. So much pain, so much loss.” The likes of which Cat can’t possibly comprehend, the likes of which she will never even fully know. “It’s okay to have days where you can barely even drag yourself out of the bed in the morning. Hell, I feel like that at least once a month, and I don’t have to cope with anything like you do.” Cat doesn’t know what she’d do, if their situations were reversed. Doesn’t know if she’d be able to cope. “Kara, what...what happened?”
Something triggered this. Something to send Kara flying a thousand miles across the country, to seek out the embrace of a woman she hasn’t spoken to in years. The why, Cat thinks she understands, now. Certainly, there have been a dozen other conversations on a balcony just like this one, though the view had been a little different. And Kara had been different, too, buoyed with the feeling of something new and exciting, invincibility in its most naive form, drawing strength from Cat’s imparted wisdom, which she’d never been truly qualified to give. 
She definitely doesn’t feel qualified to deal with this, with Kara breaking in her arms. Doesn’t know what to say to make her feel better, not without all of the pieces of the story. 
“There was a fight,” she says, and she doesn’t lift her head, the words muffled against the silk of Cat’s robe. “Nothing special. No really. But he...he was strong, and he tossed a car at me, and I...I pushed it off. Didn’t look where, until...until I heard a scream.” 
Kara shifts, leans away, like she thinks Cat is about to be repulsed by her, swipes at damp cheeks with a bloodied sleeve. 
“I didn’t notice her.” Kara’s bottom lip wobbles, and Cat has never seen someone look so broken. “I didn’t know she was there, but she...it crushed her.” She clenches her jaw, clenches her fists, like she can change the story by sheer force of will alone. “She’s six years old, and she’ll never walk away.”
“Kara…”
“Don’t,” she says, so viciously Cat flinches. “If you’re about to tell me it’s not my fault, don’t. Because it is. I did that to her, not him.”
“You can’t save them all.”
“She wasn’t even in any danger though, was she?” Kara’s laugh is bitter, and not one Cat has ever heard come from her lips before. “That’s the irony of it. If I’d never been there, she’d have been fine.”
“But someone else might not have been.” 
Kara scoffs, takes a step back, and for one horrifying moment, Cat thinks she’s going to launch over the balcony and flee, leave her standing out here with an ache in her heart. 
“No one ever talks about the collateral damage,” she says, eyes focused on the horizon. “How many people’s lives have been ruined, because of me? How many buildings destroyed, how many people in hospital?”
“And how many people would be dead, if you’d never started using your powers, hm?” Cat has her counterattack ready, can’t let Kara keep going down this rabbit hole. “Thousands, I’d wager. Or the whole world, perhaps. You stopped Myriad, you stopped an alien invasion. And they’re just the ones I know about.” She steps closer, wraps her fingers around Kara’s wrist, squeezes hard so she feels it. “You will carry this in your heart for a long time, Kara, there’s no way around that. It will hurt, and it will ache, and it will make you not want to carry on, but it doesn’t erase all of the good you’ve done. All the lives you’ve touched, the people you’ve saved.”
“How can you look at me like that, knowing I’m a monster?”
“You are so many things, Kara, but monster isn’t one of them. You’ve made a mistake—a grave one—but it was an accident, and you give up because of it. What you do, is you put on the suit, and you grit your teeth, and you vow to do better next time. You carry on. You persevere.” 
“How?” She asks, and her voice breaks over the word, over the plea, and Cat clenches her jaw so she doesn’t cry, because she knows that is the opposite of what Kara needs right now. 
She came here because she needs someone to be strong for her, because she needs someone to tell her it’s going to be okay—and mean it. 
“Only you can come up with the answer to that,” Cat says, and she wraps her fingers a little tighter around Kara’s wrist. “But I think a good start is, perhaps, a shower. Wash away the bad.” Wash away the blood, staining Kara’s skin. “Come inside.”
Kara digs in her heels. “I-I don’t...you don’t have to do that. I should go.”
“I don’t want you going anywhere like this.” Not on her own, not where there’s no one to keep an eye on her. “Please, Kara. Let me help you. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Why you came here?”
She nods, jerky and quick, and lets Cat pull her into her bedroom, all the fight seeping out of her. 
“Wait here.” She leaves her hovering by the end of Cat’s bed, arms wrapped around her torso, and steps into her en-suite. 
She turns on the shower, sets it to scalding, and waits until the room is full of steam, until the ends of her hair begins to curl. 
When she returns to her bedroom and finds Kara stripped from her suit, she nearly has a heart attack. 
“I didn’t want to wear it anymore,” she says, and she’s shivering but Cat doesn’t think it’s from the cold. 
“I’ll find you something clean to wear.” Something not stained with dirt and regret. She digs out an old, worn Harvard T-shirt and some shorts, passes them over to Kara and politely averts her gaze as she does so before prodding her toward the bathroom. “Take as much time as you need.”
She folds the suit while she waits, puts it carefully on the chair by the balcony door along with her boots. When it starts buzzing, she jumps, worried she’s inadvertently pressed a button she shouldn’t have. Has she activated a GPS tracker? Self-destruct? Were a team of shady government agents on their way to her apartment to cart her off to a black site? 
Thank God Carter is spending the night at his friends house. She has no idea how she’d explain any of this to him. 
The buzzing doesn’t stop, so she ventures closer, finds a pocket and a phone with nearly thirty missed calls, and a dozen more texts. 
Alex is a name she recognises, but Nia and Brainy are not. Another reminder things have changed, she thinks, setting the phone down on her vanity for when Kara re-emerges. Clearly, she hasn’t told anyone where she is. 
“Thank you,” Kara says, when she opens the bathroom door, a cloud of steam enveloping her. On Cat, the shirt is baggy, but it clings to Kara, highlighting the muscle and strength hidden beneath her lithe frame, and Cat chastises herself for staring. 
Not what she needs right now. 
If Cat had ever had her doubts about Supergirl’s identity, if Kara had tried to argue when Cat had named her earlier, it would have soon come crashing down. Because now, standing in borrowed clothes, damp hair curling around her shoulders, hunched in on herself, the woman staring back at her was entirely Kara Danvers. 
Cat can’t believe she’d ever doubted it. 
“Kara, does anyone know you’re here?” She asks, makes sure her voice is gentle, and not condescending. The last thing she needs is her feeling attacked. 
“Like they’d understand,” she says, voice soft, and that’s true, Cat thinks, because she finds it hard to understand herself. “I don’t want them to.”
“At least let someone know you’re safe? Your sister, perhaps? It’s either that, or toss your phone out of the window.” As if on cue, it begins to vibrate again. “She’s calling for the hundredth time.”
Kara sighs, but takes the call, resignation on her face as she lifts it to her ear. “Alex. I’m fine.” 
A lie, Cat knows from one look at her face. She wonders if her sister can tell, too. 
“I just needed some space,” Kara says then, and Cat wonders where her sister might think she is. “I’m somewhere safe.” She casts a glance toward Cat, whose heart thuds at the thought that Kara thinks of her as a safe space. Somewhere to land, when she feels like her whole world is falling apart. 
Cat wonders when she’d earned the honor. 
“I don’t know. Tomorrow, probably. I don’t want to fucking debrief, Alex.” It explodes out of her, so sudden it takes Cat by surprise, her back ramrod straight and her fingers holding the phone so tight it’s a wonder the plastic doesn’t crack. “You saw what happened. Don’t make me relive it.” 
Cat crosses the room without thinking, pressing a hand to the small of Kara’s back. The effect is instantaneous, body relaxing beneath Cat’s fingertips, tension leaching out of her with every breath. 
This close, Cat can hear Alex’s voice on the other end of the line, tight with worry. “Come home, Kara.”
“Not yet,” she says, her voice shaky. “I...I can’t yet.” She hangs up before Alex can argue, and Cat pretends not to notice her turn the phone off before tossing it onto the chair with her suit. She’d done what Cat asked—and she doesn’t think she wants the sister knowing her apartment is the place Kara chose to land. 
Somehow, she doesn’t think that’ll go over well. 
“You can stay here tonight, if you want.” Even if she felt about Kara the way she was supposed to—appropriately, for a woman double her age, and a former boss to boot—she wouldn’t have been able to turf her out when she looks so dejected. “You can stay as long as you want, even. If you want a place to hide away from the rest of the world, consider this your sanctuary.” 
“Beside the Queen of all Media.”
“There’s a moniker I haven’t heard in a long time.” 
“Do you have a new one? Or is it just Press Secretary, now?” 
“Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?” If this is what Kara needs, idle small talk in the middle of Cat’s bedroom at a stupid hour in the morning, well. 
Cat has never been able to deny her. 
“It suits you, though.”
“And reporter suits you, Pulitzer Prize winner.” The flush that stains Kara’s cheeks is expected, but it makes Cat chuckle all the same. “You’ve been doing good work. I knew you had it in you.” 
“You always saw the best in me.”
“You say that like it’s difficult to.” Seeing the best in Kara is one of the easiest things Cat has ever done. She’d seen something special in her that first fateful meeting—she’d just no idea how special. How this meek, bespectacled woman with the hideous fashion sense would tip her life on its head. “You should get some rest,” she says, when Kara yawns. “You’ve had a...difficult day.” Something of an understatement. “You can stay in here.” 
Kara shakes her head. “I’m not kicking you out of bed, Cat.”
“You’re not—I’m offering it to you.”
“I can take the guest room.”
“There is no guest room.” Cat’s smile is wry when Kara frowns. “Not like I get a lot of visitors. It was three bedrooms, but I turned the third into an office.” 
“The couch, then.”
Cat stops her with a hand on her arm when she makes for the door. “Stay here, Kara. It’s fine.” 
“Will you...will you stay with me, then?” She asks, in a voice so small Cat feels like her heart is being squeezed in a vice. 
“I…” Is there a polite way to say no? To say I can’t think of a more terrible, masochistic idea than that without breaking the poor girl’s spirit? 
“Please? I...I don’t want to be alone.” It’s the sheen of tears in her eyes that does it, the wobble of her lip, the desperation in her voice, and Cat tells herself that it’s not specifically her that Kara wants. It’s the comfort, it’s the presence of another warm body, to ward off the chill of loneliness. 
And yet, it was her that Kara had sought out. 
And that has to mean something, even if it’s not what she so desperately wants to be. 
“Okay, I’ll stay,” she says, knowing the memory of Kara wrapped up in her sheets will linger long after they’ve been washed, but knowing, also, that it’s worth it, for the way her face lights up when Cat pulls back the covers and climbs inside. 
She has to be up in four hours, she thinks, wincing when she glances at the clock. 
Worth it, she thinks, as Kara slips in beside her. Worth it, when she turns to Cat in the dark, and presses into her side, face in the crook of her neck, and tears once again damp on her skin. 
Cat holds her, and she doesn’t sleep a wink, even when Kara’s breathing deepens, hot against her skin, fingers twitching where they’re gripping at Cat’s robe, still wrapped around her shoulders. 
Cat holds her, and thinks they might not talk about it tomorrow—Kara might, perhaps, wake up mortified in her former boss’ bed, the light of morning bringing with it a sense of clarity that maybe the decision to come here was wrong. Kara might, perhaps, flee without saying goodbye, and Cat may never see her again.
And Cat would accept that decision without question, because for her, this is enough.Stitching the broken parts of Kara back together, being here for her, offering her the comfort she so desperately needed, means more to her than anything else ever could.
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madegeeky · 2 years
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So, I've been thinking a lot about Squid Game and whether or not I'd recommend it to people. And the answer I've come to is: no, I would not recommend it because of the ending.
Mr. Geeky says that I put a lot of emphasis on the ending and that I sometimes put it on a pedestal. And I did think about it and whether that was true or not. But I have other things I still love that have really dumb endings like The Autopsy of Jane Doe, which has an aboslutely brilliant and subtle horror for the first 3/4 and then just fails completely at the end. What I realized thinking about this though, is that whether or not an ending ruins a piece of media for me is entirely contigent on if the ending undermines everything that came before it.
And, for me, the ending of Squid Games absolutey undermines what I see as a main thesis for the entire show. And it's fucking frustrating because everything before that is legimately so good.
SO MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE END BELOW THE CUT READ MORE AND JUST A WALL OF TEXT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
This entire show, the entire premise of it, is about the connections that human make with one another. About reaching out to other people had having them reach back. Connecting with people you know will know will die later. Connecting with people who you know are going to die soon. Connecting with people who don't want a connection. Connecting with people who desperately do.
Gi-hun, our main character, spends the first episode of the show abusing his connections. He steals his mother's money. He uses the fact that he wants to buy a gift for his daughter as an excuse to go and bet on horse racing with that money. Later his uses his connection with his daughter's mother to try to get money (granted, it's to pay for his mother's medical bills but still). The connections are there and they do mean something to him but largely in the way that they affect him.
And then he goes to the Game to try to win some money and everything changes. He finds an old friend and reconnects with him. He connects with an old man who has a brain tumor. He almost dies in the first game except another contestant saves him, creating a connection that they will have until the other's death. Later on he attempts to connect with a young female contestant, is rebuffed, but doesn't stop reaching out until she lets a tenuous connection form, and he keeps that connection until she dies. Gi-hun makes those connections despite everyone dying around him, despite the fact that these connections are only going to bring him pain in the end, because he is a human being and it is literally in our genes to want to be with each other. It's just that, for the first time, he's not being selfish.
He has two foils throughout the game, his friend and a gangster. Both the friend and the gangster make connections but they're only for show. The gangster is honest in the fact that the connections are only surface level, that as soon as someone is no longer useful he will cut them out. But the friend is more insidious. He closes himself off emotionally but doesn't really let people know. Then, when push comes to shove, he's more than willing to backstab them. He is cold and thoughtful in destroying the people around him and I have very rarely hated people as much as I hated him. (Especially the marble episode, fuck him so hard.)
But probably the most important connection that Gi-hun makes is the one with an old man he first meets, a man who is dying from a brain tumor. The man is old and sick and Gi-hun will not leave him behind. He consitently puts himself in danger, at risk of dying, because he refuses to let the man die. His does this over and over again. Until the marble episode. Where either he dies or the old man does. This is only after they have affirmed that they will look out for each other, that they will be gganbu, friends who are close enough to lend marbles when needed; before they are old that only people who have all the marbles in the pair will live. It is viscerally horribly painful for him, to be up against this man that he has worked so hard to keep alive and who he cares for so deeply. (Huge, huge props to the actor, he does an amazing job.) And, in the end, he does end up lying to the old man to win but it is only after the old man starts to lose himself, after the brain tumor shows that it is beginning to very much destroy him, that he finally gives in. It is selfish, yes, but it's hard to blame him when he has a mother and a daughter to go back and take care of him and the old man is moving quickly toward death. It's hard to do anything but have your heart break for him as you watch him slowly die a bit as he makes choice after choice that will end this old man's life. It is an amazing, affecting episode.
He makes and reaffirms the connections he makes until the very end of the game. And when I say end, I mean end. It's down to him and his old friend and he ends up incapaciting his friend in a way that means he will win. All he has to do is go and touch a circle and then his friend will be shot and he will get oodles of money. However, there are very few rules to the Game in total but one of those rules is that, at any point, a contestent may call for an end to the games and if the majority agree, then everyone left can walk away but no one gets the money. Gi-hun stops, right at the finish line, and calls for an end to the game, tells his friend to agree and then they can both walk out. His friend refuses to, begs Gi-hun to look after his mother, and then shoots himself.
Gi-hun makes it out. He wins. But when he gets back he finds his mother dead and his daughter in America. He has no connections, he is broken, and the tenuous connections he does have left he ignores. He refuses to even touch the money and instead lets himself drift through life. Until he gets a note asking "my gganbu" to come to an empty floor on a tall building where he finds the old man, lying in a hospital bed, dying, but at the moment very much alive.
It turns out that the old man is one of the ones who actually started the Game. That he started it because he had so much money that there was nothing that made him happy or entertained him anymore. And he'd even gotten bored with watching the Game which is why he decided to join it. But the fascinating thing, the meaningful thing, is that at the end of his life, when he could be doing anything his last moments alive, what he does is reach for the connection he made with Gi-hun. He finds nothing meaningful in life, so he claims, but here he is, talking with Gi-hun, spending his last moments with him.
But one connection does not make a kind or caring person. He points out that humans are selfish and horrible and points to a person passed out on the sidewalk as it starts to snow, getting colder and colder, and makes a bet with Gi-hun that no one will help them. They will all just walk past. And here is where it utterfly fails at this huge important theme, here is where the series become unsalvageable for me.
Because Gi-hun just sits there. He just sits there, also betting on this person's life, hoping that a connection between a stranger and this person passed out on the sidewalk will happen and the person will be saved. He just accepts the bet. But the thing is, there's nothing stopping him from being the one to save this person. There's nothing stopping him from running out there or calling an ambulance or the police. There's nothing stopping him and yet he doesn't go.
Gi-hun, the man who made connection after connection with strangers despite the fact that all he was doing was hurting himself, the man who learned that connections are so important, the man who broke himself inside when he thought he killed the old man. This man, the man who chose at the very end his connection with others over a huge cash prize, this man just sits there and hopes that someone will come along and save this person in the cold so that he can win a bet.
And the rest of the last episode continues in this vein of him not making any connections at all. He keeps his promise to the young woman and goes and gets her brother out of the orphanage. He takes the kid to his old friends' mom and gives her cash so she can take care of herself and the boy. We see him getting ready to board a plane to go see his daughter but then choosing not to go because his need to stop the Game is more important than his connection with his daughter. The connections he has don't matter in the end, only stopping the Game.
Everything that this show has done with connections, every beautiful moment in all the meaningful connections that were made throughout this series, turn out to be ultimately pointless. And I don't think that this has reached the point of me being actually angry at the show for this ending, as I have at a couple other things, but it's close. It's very close. Because despite the blood and the horror and pain and the cruelty that is in the series, it's a beautiful series until the end. It's meaningful and poetic. But the ending kills that. The ending says that connections aren't actually important and it's not about learning how important it is to connect to other human beings, how we are all connected in some way or another. The ending says that all that matters is harnessing your anger to destroy the people who are doing horrible things. And at its core that's not a bad idea. But it ignores everying that comes before hand. Having angery being the inciting feeling for change feels antithetical to everything that the series did beforehand and it makes it feel all meaningless.
So, yeah, I can't recommend Squid Game. And it makes me legimately sad that I can't.
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jmoriarty-221b · 3 years
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New AU idea: I’ve found out that there’s some versions of the Batman comics where Tim Drake becomes Red Robin straight off the bat (he was never Robin & didn’t go to Batman) so I’m running with that
This Tim Drake doesn’t find Batman all that amazing, he recognizes Batman as a hero and as a symbol of Hope for Gotham, but he also sees him as just one man trying to make a difference, he holds more admiration towards Robin, specifically Jason’s Robin since he knows Gotham in ways Batman doesn’t, he checks on the street kids and the homeless, makes hot chocolate runs for the working girls when he can, and he is more interested in helping those in Crime Alley, a place where Batman and the previous Robin didn’t tend to patrol before Jason
And Tim has never been a normal child, there’s really no way for him to be human but there’s also no way to prove that he isn’t human, he passes the DNA tests, he doesn’t have a meta gene, he doesn’t have a mutation nor a difference in genetics, physiologically? There’s nothing to prove that Tim is anything other than human. In practice? Tim isn’t exactly limited if he cut off a limb, if he were to be shot in the head it would take approximately five minutes for him to heal back up, he can decide whether or not a wound will leave scars on his body, he can choose whether or not a mortal wound would put him in the ground permanently, most importantly, he can choose whether or not to contact his crew from the Isle that was supposed to be his home
There’s a reason as to why Tim isn’t exactly fond of heroes, after all, heroes decided to sentence countless of children yet to be born to a life of pain, suffering and poverty amongst an island filled with villains, heroes are the ones who put a barrier over the Isle that prevented its occupants from accessing their magic, heroes are the reason that his fae sisters and djinn brother and sea witch cousin and pirate friends are unable to access a part of themselves, he reason that they are unable to grow up properly and learn to control and feel and channel their magical cores, heroes are the reason for why him and his family hide behind fake names, and if it wasn’t for his parents’ quick thinking and preparations to flee then heroes would’ve been the reason he would’ve also grown up imprisoned and unable to access an integral part of himself
So no, Tim isn’t exactly impressed by the Batman
But Gotham exudes a similar signature as the one of the Isle of the Lost, making it the one place to where his parents could establish themselves undetected as the pollution would obscure their magical signatures had anyone looked for them, of course, Tim wasn’t old enough to learn how to lock down his own magical core in a way that wasn’t detrimental to himself, so he couldn’t be taken out of Gotham to accompany his parents on their numerous trips around the world, and such was his boredom that he decided to take advantage of his lack of adult supervision and explore Gotham
Having been taught about what became of the people he would’ve known as family from his parents as well as reading up every book he could in the ancient family library regarding long distance communication with magical kin, Tim ends up with a plan to meet with kids on the Isle as soon as he can, it turns out that establishing communication with the Isle requires for him to be in a part of Gotham that has the same atmosphere as the Isle, so Little Tim sets up shop in a semi secure rooftop in Crime Alley and establishes communication, needless to say he’s in for a surprise because “Oh wow why are you there Mr. Hades, you could escape any time and there’s no way those mortals could hope to contain your power, so why are you on the Isle?”
Turns out that attempting communication from a place surrounded by death and sorrow would lead to Tim establishing a magical video chat with the Lord of the Underworld, who’d’ve thunk? Anyway, Hades is literally just chilling for the next hundred years on the Isle because it’s easier to agree to mortals’ demands than obliterate them, and it’s less paperwork too so win-win, and one afternoon he’s suddenly communicating with one of the cutest little chipmunks he’s seen (kids are cute, and Tim is still a baby so he’s Tiny Cute) who introduced himself as Timothy Dwake and isn’t that just precious that the little tyke still has trouble with his r’s but how is he able to communicate with him on the Isle oh, that’s Janet’s kid, well shit guess he has a godson now (Janet had always wanted for Tim to be protected and that’s why she had been one of the few to escape the Isle, she had been a good friend back in the day so it seemed only fair for him to return the favor by looking out for Tiny Tim; it has nothing to do with Tim’s very cute face and slightly chubby cheeks that he kinda wants to pinch and his cute little lisp no Persephone I’m not attached-)
Anyway, so Tim ends up learning from his Uncle H on how to control his magical core and how to defend himself against physical and magical threats, he has a talent for using shadows to conceal himself as well as to listen in on others and gather information, if he concentrates really hard he can even manipulate shadows into solid figures, once he told this to his Uncle new training lessons began and now Tim is able to maintain his shadow constructs solid for longer periods of time as well as give them shape, over time he would learn more control over his ability and it will become easier to make weapons from shadows, his Uncle H also trains him in combat, particularly lost forms of combat from ancient civilizations
One particular night Tim wasn’t able to go to their meeting spot in Crime Alley, there was an Arkham Breakout and he wasn’t about to be caught up in that shit because could he fight off some villains and protect himself? Sure, but that would mean a possibility of getting the Batman’s attention and he’s not about to do that so staying at home it is, and now he is walking alone in the Drake gardens, he has no one to practice his fighting techniques with, no one to talk to, no one to teach him about what’s happening in the Isle, no one to teach him how to control his powers and his parents are gone for most of the year and they say that they’ll take him with them when he’s older but they’ve been saying that for years and now he’s much better at concealing his power and the King of Auradon believes he put every villain away for good so it’s not like they’re searching for his magical signature anyway so WHY WON’T HIS PARENTS TAKE HIM WITH THEM!?!?!? WHY IS HE ALWAYS LEFT ALONE!?!?!?
As he got progressively angrier, Tim hadn’t noticed how his power became stronger, how shadows grew larger, nor how the ground seemed to tremble and crack, it wasn’t until the ground literally split in front of him that he realized that maybe his power may have gotten out of hand, a bit, maybe, to be fair, he didn’t mean to summon a skeleton warrior with who he could practice his fighting with but hey, silver lining and all that, and he has something else to tell his Uncle H about in their next meeting (Hades may or may not have blessed his godson, and the blessing may or may not have given Tim some sort of control over his domains)
Anyway, eventually Tim learns how to see what’s happening in the Isle on his own from a sort of bird’s eye view, he sees what kids his age are going through and tries to find ways to alleviate the pain, he begins to talk to the kids and establishes rapport with them, he becomes friends with little Uma and Harry by bonding over swordplay, he gives Jay and Carlos tips for how to find the best hiding spots, he learns from Evie how to hide more stuff in his clothes and how to add more protective fabrics to his wardrobe, he and Mal bond over high parental expectations (she reminds him of Hades sometimes, and he thinks her eyes are a very pretty green with gold flecks sprinkled in, he may have a crush???) (Psssst, Mal likes Tim’s eyes too, she thinks it’s very pretty how they seem to change shades depending on his mood and when he’s happy they match her purple hair) *cue cuteness from these unfortunate little beans because yes*
Anyway, Tim has been working on creating a portal to a secluded part of the Isle from where he could send supplies to kids there, he was 8 years old when he started looking into this possibility after managing to make friends with the kids and now, at 13, he has finally managed to make it happen, he can only send non-living things through the portal tho, because although theoretically he Could send himself over, then he’d be stuck behind the barrier and couldn’t access his magic so that’s a big no, and he also can’t take the risk of getting someone from the Isle out because he can’t guarantee their safety (he tried with small insects and one time with a mouse; they died); the first thing he sends are medical supplies, food and bottled water, at first it’s only for his close friends, then they all establish a sort of routine and plan to get these supplies to other kids while hiding what they’re doing from their parents behind the guise of building their own gang on the Isle, Uma with the pirates and Mal with the inner city, Tim becomes their sort of advisor on important matters having seen what strategy tends to work when recruiting people as well as how to better approach street kids, he gets nicknamed the Shadow Angel for helping from behind the curtain, literally
Tim continues to learn as much as he can from his Uncle H, shadows Robin around Crime Alley, avoids gaining Batman’s attention and acquires supplies to send to the Isle three times a week from different places (he’s gotta cover his tracks, otherwise he runs the risk of getting Batman’s attention even if it’s just because the same person keeps buying food, water and medical supplies from various stores each week) but Tim has money, and he has experience regarding gangs and their recruiting and internal works (he’s helping his friends make their own gangs after all) and these people are in need of help as well, so he decides to make his own ‘gang’ by hiring people to do supply runs for him, he poses as a recruiter and gives fliers with information about his own gang and the benefits that joining will have (health insurance, dental, payed maternity leave, payed recuperation period, payed physical therapy and medical bills in case Batman decides to pop in, education is provided for anyone who wishes to get their GED and continue their education, etc); in the end, Tim keeps the Boss’ identity a secret until he reaches adulthood because no one would take a kid seriously, but he ends up amassing his own gang in Gotham while at the same time improving the life of people in poverty areas like Crime Alley and the Bowery
Of course, everything comes to a head when Mal, Evie, Jay and Carlos are elected to go to school in Auradon leaving Uma as the only leader on the Isle, meanwhile Tim has been keeping tabs on Robin and gets to save Jason from Joker in Ethiopia (turns out being able to summon a skeleton army comes in handy when rescuing Robin from a deranged psychopath like Joker) so Tim is simultaneously saving Jason while still trying to remain anonymous to Batman (he’s built and maintained an entire gang in the most crime ridden part of Gotham for years, he’s not about to get involved with the Bats now)
So Tim only finds out about what happened to Mal, Evie, Jay and Carlos until they’re already in Auradon and decides you know what? Fuck it, I’m gonna meet my friends face to face, besides, he can handle maintaining a gang in Gotham, he’s sure he can handle Auradon (update: he cannot, he’s this close 🤏 to rocking someone’s shit, he proposes overtaking the kingdom twice a day, he knows they could do it, and it’ll be easy even, but it’s the paperwork that’s holding them back, meh, let Ben do the grunt work and become an advisor, at least their manipulations would be in favor of improving the life of kids in poverty unlike other people who just want to get more money from their position close to the crown, gotta love politics)
Anyway, Tim Drake does become Red Robin, gang leader and benevolent overlord of Crime Alley and the Bowery, helping Gotham citizens and being the Shadow Angel of the Isle, plotting Auradon’s downfall for fun on his slow days as well as working on taking out the kids from the Isle and setting up safe houses for them for when he and his friends figure out how to save the kids
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