#been a long time comin holy cow

[weirdstuffandthingsthatmatter]

I got a new phone and I'm getting my PC worked on.

#feels good yo #been a long time comin holy cow #i am grateful

[jimlingss]

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

cr.

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.

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.

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.

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.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenario #yoongi reader insert #bts farm AU #bts farm!AU #YOONGI AS A PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE BOY IN FLANNELS #AND OC AS A GIRL WHO KNOWS WHAT'S TRENDY #welcome to my first and only farm AU lol #hope you enjoy

[do-not-call-me-meathead]

aposiopesis (part one)

My Orphan Black fic on AO3

part two  part three  part four  part five  part six  part seven

Summary: 

Cosima and Sarah turn to each other for support after the night they both almost end their lives.

It's simple, at first. Their friendship and care.

But things are never as simple as they seem.

Cosima loves Delphine, but there's something about Sarah that makes her question everything.

...

Ironically enough, it all began with the news of life. Delphine’s life, that is. Cosima had believed that she was dead, long dead. There was a sliver of hope that the woman she loved was still alive because it wasn’t like she felt her death like she believed she would if the French blonde had really died. But still. The radio silence carried the dread that led to her almost putting the bot into her cheek like a lunatic.

But she didn’t.

Kendall was dead and the scientist wanted to beat those Neolution sons of bitches. And deep down, she knew she couldn’t do that all sick and tired and dead. And besides. Kendall’s death was her fault. At least, that’s what she thought. She knew that she needed to make up for what she did so that she could live with herself. And for Kendall and Siobhan and all the clones. She (stupidly) thought the bot would fix it. Give her more time. She almost put it into her cheek.

But she didn’t.

Cosima apologized profusely to Scott and Hell Wizard about her moment of brief insanity, but they refused to leave her alone for the rest of the night. She was grateful for her friends of course (especially Felix who had stopped you from doing something so… dangerously stupid) but she needed time to accept the news.

Delphine was alive.

At least, Krystal saw her leave alive.

Things only seemed to escalate when she received a skype call from Alison. She had expected Felix to tell the other clone about her break down, but when she answered the call, she was bombarded with a terrified Alison who had her house raided by the police and her husband arrested.

“Oh, dude, that’s awful,” Cosima told the rambling woman, trying to find words that weren’t completely awkward. “W-what are you going to do?”

She listened as Alison explained how Felix had already gotten his (biological) sister to agree to be Donnie’s lawyer and ranted about wanting to torture Duko for scaring her kids. She had to admit that she wanted to torture him too for what he did to Kendall. For what he’s done to all of them.

“Does Sarah know?”

She was surprised by Alison’s sudden silence and frown. Alison looked down (avoiding Cosima’s gaze) and mentioned with what seemed like a forced calm, “I think Felix told her, but heavens, I don’t want to stress her out with this. With everything going on.”

Cosima didn’t know what the hell the soccer mom was referring to. She was positive that more than anyone in the clone club, it was Sarah who would want to be involved and help. But there was something in Alison’s eyes that made her wonder if something else was going on. Something that she had no knowledge about.

“What do you mean? Did something happen to Sarah? Kira?”

Alison held her hand to her cheek and sighed. “Lord knows Felix didn’t want this to be on your mind either, Cosima. He told me what happened last night. Honestly. Finding out that--”

“What happened to Sarah, Alison ?”

Alison made a tutting sound and crossed her arms. “Felix practically begged me to not tell anyone. I’m not even planning on asking Sarah--”

“ Alison .”

The mother put her hands up in the air in surrender. “Holy cow. Okay, Cosima. But please don’t ask her about it. I’m not even sure Felix told me the whole--”

“Just tell me.”

“Last night, Sarah almost killed herself,” Alison said so quickly that Cosima barely had any time to process what she said before she continued, “and Felix says that she was going to do it like… like…”

Cosima bit her lip, trying to stop the tears from coming to her eyes. She filled in the blank in her mind, but she still needed Alison to say it out loud.

“Like what?”

Alison blinked and stared like it was the last thing she wanted to say out loud. “Like Beth.”

Cosima’s heart felt like it had stopped with all the air knocked out of your lungs. She wanted to ache for Alison (knowing how close she was to the late clone), but she couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. The cold truth (not that she’d tell Alison or anyone else for that matter) was that Sarah was much more important to her than Beth ever was. The idea of losing her, losing the person who held them all together, made her whole body feel weak and like it was decaying (more than usual). Especially since she realized that Sarah's pain must have been her fault. That this wouldn’t have happened if Cosima hadn’t been so…

“We almost lost her?” She asked in a whisper, not really expecting an answer.

Alison narrowed her eyes. “What, Cosima? I can’t hear--”

Cosima ended the call. It was Cosima after all who wanted to make the deal with Evie Cho. It was Cosima who allowed herself to be played and caused Siobhan’s mother’s death. It was Cosima who lost the months of work and advancements they made, probably stopping any chance of a cure. None of it was Sarah’s fault, but then… she could imagine the guilt she must have been feeling. Sarah kept the world on her shoulders. She let on the pain of others. She felt more than anyone but forced herself to not always show it.  

She dialed Felix’s number not knowing what she would say to him when he would pick up. She couldn’t call Sarah, at least, not yet. Not until she got the full story from him first. She liked to think that it was the scientist in her who needed her facts straight before going to the original source. But truthfully, she was terrified of talking to Sarah knowing that she was the root of her pain.

“Oi, do you know what bloody time it is?” Felix croaked as if he had just woken up.

She didn’t answer his question. “Is Sarah around?”

“She was plastered last night, mate. She’ll be out for at least another few hours. Please tell me you aren’t planning on doing another senseless act. Let’s not put any more foreign objects in mouths except for--”

“What happened with Sarah last night? And why didn’t you immediately tell me?”  

Felix paused for a second but then sighed. “You would think by now I would know not to tell Alison anything--”

“ Felix .”

“You had a lot on your mind, if you remember, darling,” He snapped cooly with an edge that made Cosima almost cower in her chair. “You nearly put a bloody bot maggot in your face. And you were all weepy about Delphine. It wasn’t the night to worry you about Sarah. Besides, you almost died too.”

Cosima roared with a growl. “Who cares? I still have the right to know.”

“If Sarah wanted you to know, Sarah would tell you, but as I said, she’s knackered. I shouldn’t have told Alison. I just needed… to tell someone.”

His voice changed from angry to… something tired. Desperate, maybe. Cosima gulped. She hadn’t realized how terrifying it must have been for him too. She thought about seeing Kendall and knowing she was about to die and closed her eyes tight. She couldn't imagine seeing Sarah in her place.

Lowering her voice, she asked, “How close of a call was it?”

“Dunno, really. Found her standin’ on a bridge lookin’ down at the trains. I’d say pretty bloody close. She was… not talkin’ right either. I don’t think she’s told me everything anyway. Which means nothin’ because she’s Sarah.”

Sarah was the one who everyone leaned on for support and help and armor and yet… she never allowed anyone else to do the same for her. It wasn’t something that Cosima had realized right away. She thought that Felix was her confidant and that people like Paul or Cal had gotten through to her emotionally. Hell, Cosima even thought that she’d be a person that Sarah’d go to if she needed someone. But now…

“Cosima, I can practically hear you think. Please don’t tell me you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do. You are not comin’ to the safe house.

She huffed stubbornly. There was no way that she wasn’t going to see Sarah now. “Well, either I’m going there or you’re bringing Sarah here.”

“You cheeky bitch. She’s not well, Cosima. You askin’ her questions about her bloody feelings ain’t gonna make her better. Look, I told Alison because I knew she wouldn’t have the balls to ask Sarah about it. You on the other hand…”

“I’m not going to make her feel bad about it!”

“She doesn’t want to concern you!” Felix yelled uncharacteristically. “Sarah likes to appear like she’s tough as nails for a reason. If she found out that you know--”

“I won’t tell her that I know. Dammit, you can even tell her I need to see her for my own emotional wellbeing. I won’t bring it up. But I just… I need to see her.”

Felix was quiet again. “Why?”

That was a loaded question. Her immediate thought was because of the guilt. For Kendall. For Mrs. S. For not realizing Sarah was in a dark place. For being too caught up with the bot and Delphine that she didn’t notice Sarah’s pain.

But Cosima had to be honest with him. “Because I can’t stop imagining Sarah jumping off a bridge and getting hit by a train and maybe if I see her alive, I will stop imagining the way her body looks all broken and dead on the tracks.”

More silence.

And then she heard him sigh like he was giving in. “Bloody hell, darling. Fine. We’ll come see you, yeah?”

Before she could thank him, he hung up. She understood his trepidation and need to protect her, but she was Sarah’s… Cosima couldn’t find the right word for it. They were close, at least, that was what she had thought. But when she really thought about it, she realized there wasn’t much about Sarah’s life (other than the clone shit) that she knew about.

“Were you talking to someone?”

Cosima almost sighed in relief that Scott had interrupted her darkening thoughts. She was already spiraling about Delphine and Sarah’s behavior. She didn’t want to spiral about her relationship with her either.

“Don’t worry, Scotty. I’m not turning into a nut and putting a bot in my face. Again. I was on the phone with Felix.”

Scott nodded and looked relieved. “The news about Delphine must have really shaken you then.”

“I mean, obvs I feel like the luckiest woman in the world that she’s alive, but I have no damn clue where she is or how she’s doing or if she’s okay. If Neolution has her…”

“Don’t think so negatively. We are going to find her, Cosima. And then you’ll have your science partner back and--”

“Scott, I don’t want you to think that you’re replaceable or something. Or that you’re like any less valuable than Delphine. I mean, you’re here because of your kind heart and bravery. I sorta dragged you in, but you didn’t have to stay.”

He stared at her with this wide-eyed look as if he was genuinely baffled by her words. “Yes, I did. I might have put a few things on hold, Cosima, but this is what I chose for my life. I know what I’m doing is important. There’s purpose in my life. And I’ve never… I’ve never had people before all of you. You, Hell Wizard, and even Sarah. You’re my family.”

Cosima’s eyes flooded with tears. She was so obsessed with the cure and Delphine and battling Neolution that she put almost everyone else on hold. Scott had never left her side, but Cosima felt like she had abandoned him. Just as she abandoned Sarah.

“Dude… I don’t know how to thank you.”

Scott gave his classic dorky grin and shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me, Cosima. Thank me by finding a cure so that we can stay mad scientists forever, okay?”

Cosima nodded vigorously. Forever sounded like a good amount of time to her.

.....  

The door to the basement swung open and the sound of heavy footsteps caused both Cosima and Scott to jump. Surprised that it wasn’t Hell Wizard, Scott looked from Felix and Sarah to Cosima wondering if this was indeed a planned meeting or something spontaneous.

Felix looked annoyed as he and his sister made their way toward the scientists. His arms were crossed and his eyes were cautious. It was obvious to Cosima (and Scott) that he was not happy to be there. He even stood in front of Sarah slightly, like he was protecting her. It made Cosima frown. She hated that he seemed to be protecting Sarah from her.

Cosima could barely see Sarah behind him. But she could tell that the woman was looking… incredibly Sarah-like. With her baggy tank top and ripped black jeans, messy eyeliner, and partially braided hair. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets of a leather jacket that Cosima hadn’t recognized but soon fell in love with. She couldn’t meet Sarah’s eyes, though. She didn’t know how to without revealing to the woman that she knew.

“I hope we’re interrupting something outlandishly nerdy,” Felix greeted and put his hands on his hips as if he was waiting for something to happen.

Cosima ignored him and turned to her lab partner, trying to tell him through her eye movements that he needed to go along with whatever she said. “Yo, Scotty, can you take Felix upstairs and show him the new bottle of vodka?”

Scott tried to hide his apprehension by nodding vigorously. “Yeah. Er… sure. Felix, do you mind if we… head…”

Felix waved his hands up in the air and shouted, “you are all hopeless,” and then started to walk up the stairs while his feet pounded the pavement with more drama than he usually mustered.

Cosima motioned her head toward Felix at Scott, telling him to follow the man. Scott gave her another terrified look, but she ignored it. Her attention was now solely on Sarah and the realization that even though Cosima was the sick one, Sarah looked much paler and skinnier.

Suddenly, Cosima didn’t have any idea how to greet the woman that she had felt so close to for the past few years. There was so much that she wanted to say, but she couldn’t find any of the right words in her mind.

Luckily, Sarah wasn’t struggling with talking like she was. “Felix said ya almost put my bloody bot in your face.”

She blinked at the woman with the British accent that always caught her a little off guard. “Yep. Not totally the smartest idea I have ever had.”

“You can’t always be a brainiac,” Sarah replied seriously.

Cosima snorted. “Tell that to well… everyone.”

Sarah frowned (somehow more than she was already frowning). “Fee said you’re strugglin’. With the Kendall shite and all. An’ losin’ all your work.”

“Ergo the bot in my face. Yeah, I had a rough day. Everything sorta hit me at once, you know? And I shut everyone out. But I’m just lucky your brother didn’t let me. He’s the reason why I’m not dead right now.”

Sarah blinked and sat down next to Cosima on her bed. She slouched over and stared at her feet, not allowing the other clone to see her face.

“Yeah, not all of us have a ‘Delphine’ that would flip the switch for us and make us want to live. But hey, good for you, yeah?”

Cosima hadn’t felt this breathless since the time she had almost died in Felix’s bed. She opened her mouth, wanting to apologize for some reason, but then knew that she couldn’t do that. She wasn’t sorry for finding out about Delphine. She wasn’t sorry for not putting the bot in her face. And she definitely wasn’t sorry that she was still here. Though, she did feel sorry for Sarah, but she knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t want her pity.

“I know Fee told you,” Sarah commented, a little less harshly, but with the same amount of coldness. “I could tell the second I walked into this fucking dungeon. So, what, Cosima? You want me to talk about it or somethin’? Share my bloody feelings with you?”  

“I want--” Cosima paused. She didn’t know what to say. “I want…”

“ What, Cosima? Spit it out.”

Tears fell down the scientist’s cheeks without fail (she didn’t even care if Sarah saw them). And with the tears, she finally found the words. “I just wanted to know that you were alive. I just wanted to see you. Touch you, maybe. Know that your heart was still beating, Sarah.”

Sarah finally looked up at her, startling Cosima with her red and watery eyes. “That’s fuckin' rich comin' from you. What would I have done if you offed yourself, eh? Who says you have the right to end your life and I don't?”

Cosima fidgeted with her hands and sighed. “Sarah, it’s dif--”

“Oh, so now your suicide attempt is different than mine? Better than mine?”

“I didn’t want to die! I wanted to live!” She shouted at her, standing up too quickly, causing her to topple over, forcing Sarah to catch her ungracefully as they both fell to the floor. She started coughing and couldn’t stop. She hadn’t had a fit like this since…

Sarah grasped both of Cosima’s shoulders and asked her what to do, how to help, how to stop the coughing. Cosima wanted the look of worry on Sarah’s face to vanish. She hated scaring people with her sickness and this was the absolute worst timing.

Finally, the coughing ceased and Cosima drank the water that Sarah had forced into her hands. The scientist began to apologize and didn’t know how to stop.

“Don’t say you’re sorry, it’s all my fault.”

Cosima tilted her head with confusion. “How the hell do you think that you made me cough? It’s the sickness, Sar. Not your charming personality.”

Sarah rested her head on Cosima’s shoulder, no longer upset with her clone. She was worried about her for sure, but the anger was all gone.

“I hate that you were the one who was with Kendall when she was killed. I hate that you had to go through that. I hate that we got played. I hate that Kendall’s gone and the research is gone and that you’re still bloody sick.”

Cosima reached for Sarah’s hand and squeezed it. “Sarah--”

Her voice trembling, Sarah interrupted, “I fucked things up, Cos. For all of us. I let everyone down. I let… I let Beth down. And it fucked me up. I don’t want to die, Cos. I just want it all to be over. And I want everyone to be okay.”

“Woah, dude. First, you didn’t fuck things up, Sarah, okay? Second, the whole Kendall stuff was my fault. I was desperate and not thinking things through. Especially with the damn bot. I don’t… I don’t want to die, Sar. I want to live this crazy life and do something good. And this sickness, it makes me feel so helpless.”

Sarah shook her head and then held it against Cosima’s own forehead. “You aren’t helpless, Cos. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. We wouldn’t have gotten this far. And we won’t find the cure or end this Neo shit without you. I need you here with me. I can’t do this without you.”

It was the same thing she had said to the scientist months ago when Cosima was dying in Felix’s bed. It wasn’t something they talked about often. Sarah’s rare moment of vulnerability and Cosima’s death bed wasn’t something that they would like to revisit. Even if it was a solemn moment of bliss where two women who understood each other, held hands in silence and compassion and love. Though, that could have been a part of the reason, too.

“You won’t have to. If MK can find Susan, we might be able to find a cure together. Not that I really want to work with that bitch.”

Sarah snorted and moved away from her clone. “Do you think Susan knows where Delphine is?”

Cosima’s eyes darkened. “Krystal said that she was alive when she was taken but… who’s to say she didn’t die minutes later? Hours later? Days later? I could be searching for a ghost.”

“Or you could be searching for the French love of your life who can help get a cure, yeah?”

The scientist tilted her head. “Now who’s little miss optimist?”

“Oi, don’t be spreadin’ that to everyone, yeah? Especially Alison. I don’t think I have enough optimism for her and Donnie. Bloody hell. I’ve always hated cops, but Neo cops are just another layer of shite I never thought we’d have to face. But it’d make sense. Cops do normally include the worst of people.”

Cosima gave Sarah an all-knowing look that made the mother roll her eyes and groan.

“Yeah, yeah, know-it-all. Besides Art and Beth. You have a good point.”

....

“You’re bloody joking,” Sarah blurted in the middle of Cosima’s story while they shared a joint (or two). “Alison’s mum did not say that.”

“She did,” Cosima said and nodded as she flopped onto the bed that she had been sleeping on most nights in the basement (if she were to sleep at all). “Called me ‘mulatto’, the horrid bitch. God, I can’t imagine growing up with that woman.”

Sarah hummed in agreement. “And I thought S was bad growin' up. Can’t imagine livin' with some racist arseholes. Probably homophobic arseholes too.”

Cosima never thought too much about how the other clones grew up. She thought about it in an analytical way (obviously, she noticed that nurture impacted everyone’s personalities more than nature) but she never really thought about how different she would be if she had grown up in Sarah’s or Alison’s shoes.

She gathered that maybe it was selfishness. Or that she was so entwined with living in her own head and learning about her own biology that she didn’t give other people much of a thought. But here, staring at Sarah and her lion’s mane of messy hair, thick eyeliner, and clothes that hung off her body, she realized that Sarah’s life didn’t start when she met Cosima (or Alison or Beth for that matter). It started when she was born. A separated twin forced into the foster system. She had been living a very different life than Cosima, but it was just as real and emotional.

Sonder.

“My parents were—are—great. College professors who always allowed me to be curious. I was never just some little kid to them. I was an equal. When they talked about physics, they let me talk too. Even if I had no idea what I was talking about.”

A smile grew from Sarah’s lips. “Are you sayin' that if I had your parents I would be a genius too?”

Cosima chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t know. If I was raised by S, would I like boys and alcohol?”

“Ah, touché, geek monkey. Yeah, it’s loads to think about. I mean, we are all who we are ‘cause of how we were raised but… there are similarities.”

Cosima was dazzled by the curiosity she was feeling for whatever Sarah was thinking, even if they were both high as a kite. Sarah’s thoughts were more intoxicating than any drug.

“Like what?” Cosima asked her as she took a big puff and coughed as she did a sultry little dance. “You mean our hot bodies?”

Sarah laughed again which made Cosima grin. She didn’t know if she heard her fellow clone laugh this many times before.

“Not just that. I’m talkin’ about our recklessness. Stubbornness. Our fucked up relationships.”

Sarah had a good point. “Now who’s the smart one?”

“You, ya twat,” Sarah muttered and wrapped her arms around the scientist and laid her head on her chest. “Always you.”

Cosima looked down into Sarah’s eyes and just stared. Neither of them could look away. Most of it was pure fascination. They were two completely different people and yet… they had the same (but different) features. The same (but different) face. It was jarring and complex and intriguing.

They heard the door open and both of their eyes flickered toward Felix and Scott who were walking down the stairs with glitter in their hair that wasn’t there before they left.

Sarah quickly moved away from Cosima and tried to joke, “Though I could’ve been the genius. We’ll never know.”

Cosima couldn’t laugh. She just stared as Sarah moved toward Felix and suddenly seemed so far away again. So untouchable. So hardened and alone.

“Keep me updated with the science cure shit, yeah? We will come back soon.”

Cosima wanted to ask if Sarah promised that, but the words wouldn’t escape her mouth. Instead, she just nodded and waved, feeling like the light was escaping the room and what was left when Sarah was gone was the darkness.

#orphan black #ob #clone club #orphan black fic #orphan black fanfiction #orphan black fanfic #ob fic #ob fanfiction #punky monkey #cophine #sarah manning #cosima niehaus #felix dawkins #alison hendrix #beth childs #soccercop #soccer cop #punky monkey fanfiction #punky monkey fic #scott smith #rachel duncan #helena #siobhan sadler #kira manning

[canid-slashclaw]

The Outliers - A Guildwars Love Story

Chapter 5

Four months had past since Kaleb's introduction into the Seraph guard. During that time, both he and his best friend Brad had distinguished themselves as fine, albeit troublesome, soldiers.  Cynthia Waterstone who had been their mutual friend, commanding sergeant and (occasionally) Brad's lover, had helped the two young men excel in many facets of their military life. 

Training as a warrior, Kaleb had become renown for his use of the broadsword as well as the use of short-range pistols.  Brad, meanwhile, excelled at using the long bow, and as a ranger, he could also do petty well with axes.  

The trio was stationed at a Lionguard base known as Kessex Haven that was located in the Kessex Hills region.  Throughout their brief duration at the base, they had all seen plenty of combat; especially against the centaurs.   Kaleb was busy affixing a piece of armor to his damaged pauldron when Sergeant Waterstone stepped in front of him.  

"Ten hut!"

"Ma’am!  I mean, sir!" Kaleb stood up as he saluted his commanding officer. 

"At ease, private.  How goes the repairs?"

"Armor cracked after receiving a blow from a centaur’s javelin.  It’s all better now," Kaleb said as he showed her the now-repaired piece. 

"Not a bad piece of work there, private.  Even if I do say so myself." Cynthia saluted him then turned away.

"Thank you, sir.  But I have a question..."

"Go ahead and ask." "Rumor has been floating that Seraph are prepping for a major assault on Earthworks Bluff.  Is there any truth to this?"  Kaleb asked as he refastened the repaired pauldron onto his armor.

"Officially, you are on a need-to-know basis.  And right now, officially, you don’t need to know," Sergeant Waterstone replied. 

"Then what about the antithesis of official?" "Unofficially? We may be setting up for a major assault upon the centaur main base. The reason being, our supply lines keep getting disrupted and all roads leading into our fort have become too hazardous for many merchants to travel," Cynthia said with a hint of resignation in her voice. 

"So what you're saying is we are being strangulated."

"Yup, that's what's happening. Unless we find a way of neutralizing their main base of operations, our supply lines will continue to be disrupted to the point merchants will be too afraid to replenish our stores.  The Lionguard are stretched thin as it is and they can only do so much to protect the roads.  The rest is up to us, unfortunately."

Brad located his friends among the throng of gray armor-clad soldiers. As their gazes met, he slung his sturdy long bow over his left shoulder and began to give them a hearty wave.   "Come join the party, corporal.  Three's company is good company as my father used to say," Cynthia shouted as she beckoned for him to come over.

"Any luck scoring a few hits on some apples?"  Kaleb asked as he shook the hand of his lifelong friend.

"One taur got it through the eye socket.  Arrow didn't pierce that thick skull of his, but that beast did run off in full gallop bleating like a castrated bull," Brad said with a laugh.

"Ouch. That must bite for them being unable to wipe their own bottoms.  I mean, what would happen if one of them got shot in the ass and no one was there to pull the arrow out?"  Kaleb mused as he made a mock gesture of firing a bow.   "Only you would think of something like that, Kal."  Cynthia quipped. "Just considering sound military strategy, ma'am... I mean, sir." Shortly thereafter, the platoon captain arrived and announced the official plan in preparing for the assault.  He mentioned that food stores were in dire shortage and that the only feasible supply route was via a nearby lake port town called Triskell Quay. 

Captain Errol Conrad stood in front of his troops to address them.   "Each of you may have heard rumors regarding the assault upon the Earthworks Bluff.  I am here to confirm that those rumors are, in fact, true.  Before the next sunrise tomorrow, our forces will be marshaled at the foothills of the centaur base."

The captain gazed across the rows of armor-clad troops as he continued his speech.  "It is also true that our food stores are running dangerously low.  We are in desperate need of grain and protein staples.  About twenty miles from our base, lies at the lakeport town of Triskell Quay.  Information from the locals indicates that there are a couple of meat supply stores located somewhere within the town."

"Currently, our garrison has only one serviceable supply carriage.  All of the others have either been damaged or destroyed.  Henceforth, what I am calling upon is for at least one qualified volunteer to commandeer said carriage, ride into town and requisition the necessary supplies."

Without hesitation, Kaleb shouted.  "Then I'm you're man, sir."

"Say your name, private."

"Private Kaleb Grimwald, first infantry, sir.  I'm a wagon maker by trade and can probably lift and carry more stuff in a shorter amount of time than just about any man, or woman, here."

"I can vouch for him, sir," Sergeant Cynthia Waterstone shouted as she saluted the captain. 

"Me too," chimed Brad. 

Shortly thereafter, several other soldiers vouched for Kaleb's abilities as well. 

"Congratulations, private.  It looks like you've been volunteered."

"Thank you, captain. All I need is a sturdy dolyak and a trusted comrade to tag along."

Brad whistled.  "That's me! Sir!"

Several of the Seraph soldiers helped Kaleb hitch the dolyak onto the transport wagon.  His friend, Brad, made sure everything was secured properly before climbing onto the riding bench. 

Kaleb made some last minute checks to see if the wagon's structural integrity was secure.  Captain Connor approached then beckoned for the two men to come. 

"A brief word, private, corporeal.  I didn't want to announce this to the rest of the troops, but there's something else you and your comrade should know."

"What would that be, sir?"  Brad asked curiously.

"Just so the two of you are aware - the only meat suppliers in town who have the capability of providing enough stock for our troops are, shall we say, not human."

"Well, if they are norns then loading up a ton of meat will be a breeze," Kaleb said with a smile.

"That makes two problems, private.  First - the owner is disabled.  Second - both he and his offspring are charrs." 

The news hit Kaleb and Brad like a load of bricks. 

"Charr?! Why would their kind be living in a mostly human settlement?" Brad said in a disgusted tone. 

"Dunno.  Perhaps they are taking advantage of the peace treaty to expand their business.  Either way, I don't want this information to become common knowledge.  Is that clear?"

Both man said to their captain in unison.  "Yessir!"

The captain gave a quick salute.  "Good luck you two." 

Kaleb then turned to Captain Connor and asked.  "Sir?  You mentioned about one of them being disabled.  What about the other one?  Are they able to do anything?"

"The other one is about your size - small by charr standards.  And rumor has it that it - can't tell if its a male or female as they all look alike to me - mostly sits up in their room doing whatever it is that charr do.  In other words, I wouldn't hold your breath on expecting any help from either of them.  The both of you are on your own.  Now, dismissed!”

With a final salute, the two lifelong friends headed out from the base as they began their journey towards the small fishing village. 

***

The air that permeated Triskell Quay was rife with the odor of dead fish that emanated from the boat docks.  Kaleb's nostrils had not yet acclimated to the pungent scent that was typical of all waterside communities.  As the two men entered the outskirts of town, they noticed a couple of pedestrians walking by.  Not being of shy disposition, Kaleb immediately took it upon himself to ask for directions. 

"Excuse me.  But where can I find a meat marked that's run by a couple of charr?"

"I dunno why fellas like you would be lookin' fer um, but they's place is just up the road a couple of miles due west.  Look for the sign that says Blazeridge Butcher Shop & Marketplace. And if ye can't find it, just follow yer nose till ya gets a whiff of something that smells like a cross between dead cows and a smeltin' factory."

Kaleb and Brad thanked the gentleman for providing the directions then proceeded to follow the instructions they were given.  When they rounded the west corner, Kaleb could detect the unmistakable smell of burning coal along with the faint stench of ripe meat.

"Holy Balthazar!  Are charr really this nasty?  The cistern in my uncle’s backyard smells better than this place!"  Brad commented as he winced up his nose at the pungent aroma. 

"You are naive, bro.  All slaughterhouses have about the same foul aroma.  As a matter of fact, this one smells rather pleasant compared to some of the places I've been to," Kaleb replied as he slowed the cart to a complete stop just before exiting from the right side of the seat.

"Are you comin in too?"

"Nah. I'll wait outside here and guard the cart.  Besides, you’re better at the PR thing than me," Brad said with a wave.

"You just don't like charr, that's all."

Brad laughed. "Nah.  I think every human should have a right to skin one."

Kaleb looked up and saw the sign that read - Blazeridge Butcher Shop & Marketplace. When he walked in, much to his surprise, his nose was greeted with a symphony of exotic herbs and spices.  Once the door closed behind him, a high-pitched whistle sounded for a split second. 

It must be a charr version of a doorbell, he thought as he walked towards butcher counter. 

Within moments, a massive feline-looking creature greeted him.  It had horns jutting out from either side of its head just above its eyes and its face was caged with rows of menacing dagger-like teeth.  The large paw-like hands sported massive claws and its fur was a tiger stripe pattern of umber and dark orange strip patterns.

"Something I can help you with?"  Came the creature's deep and almost thundering voice. 

Kaleb promptly saluted him then pulled out a series of documents from under his breastplate.  "Private Grimwald of the Thirty-First Seraph Platoon, sir.  I am here on behalf of the Queen's army to requisition a supply of protein products from your establishment, sir."

Ludrick grumbled for a moment then promptly snatched the paperwork from the jaded human's hand.  He quickly looked over the documents while muttering a string of incoherent words to himself. 

"Everything seems in order.  But what makes the Queen assume that we even have enough product to supply an army of your size?  Look around you, human.  I sell to the locals.  My supply chain doesn't accommodate masses of marching mice," the charr grumbled as he handed back the paperwork. 

"Well.  I'll remember to say that the next time I'm enjoying a few brews with my friends.  Just repeat after me - masses of marching mice.  Masses of marching mice.  Masses of marching..."

"Gah!  It's got to be something in the air around this village.  It seems to make everyone around here behave like obnoxious morons."

Kaleb bit his tongue.  "Oh.  Sorry Mr. Charr, sir. The heat has made me a bit loopy.  Plus I've never met one of your kind before.  I just tend to say stupid things when I'm nervous."

"The best thing you can say to me right now, human, is 'what can I buy' or 'I'll take x amount of product y'.  If those aren't the two phrases coming out of your mouth then I suggest you get out of my shop."

"Hey.  I'm just here on the Queen's orders.  No need to bite the head off the messenger, kind sir.  But I had heard things through the asura gate that yours is the best meat supply market around.  My soldiers are in need of food badly and what better way of fostering a sense of good will between our people than to make a noble contribution to mutual corporation," Kaleb said with a smile. 

"You're damn right.  Mine is the best market around!  Now, are you going to reciprocate that 'good will' and buy something from me today?  Look around you, it will take days for me to carve up enough cattle to supply your damn army." Ludrick looked away for a moment before glancing back at the rather bulky-looking human.  

"Well, if you must insist.  I would very much be interested in those briskets over there.  But first - I would very much like to inquire about those oh-so savory spices I've been smelling since I walked through the door."

"Not my expertise.  But hold on..."

"Amalthia!  Customer interested in the spices."

Kaleb stepped back for a moment trying to locate the origin of the fragrant aromas.  As he walked towards the nook of spices on display, he heard an echo of footsteps coming down the spiral staircase.   He turned his head to see a slender charr not much bigger than him, padding gracefully down the bare metal steps.

Her pelt had an orange yellow hue and her markings were of a tiger-striped pattern as well.  Four horns framed her amber-eyed face.  The two bigger horns extended from the mid-ridge of her skull and tapered off into elegant points while and two smaller ones jutted back along the length of her cheekbones. 

The young man deduced right away that this charr was, in fact, a female.  He had done enough history lessons to easily recognize the distinction between the two sexes. 

"How may I help you?" She asked in a slightly deep, but otherwise noticeably feminine voice. 

"Those spices other there caught my eye the moment I smelt them," Kaleb said in a strangely sheepish tone. 

"Hmm.  That's something the legions never told us about when we were at war with your people."

"What's that?  If I may be so bold as to ask."

"Bold you are, then.  For your people seem to become unhinged and stutter about like adolescent cubs whenever you meet one of us for the first time," Amalthia commented as she walked over towards the spice nook and pulled out a tray of some dried herbs. 

"Well, I told your dad...."

"Sire."  She corrected him.

"Excuse me.  Ahem... 'sire', that it was my first time meeting your kind..."

"A fact that I already stated to you.  Did you even listen to what I said just thirty seconds ago?"

"And do you, have a habit of always interrupting your customers before they had a chance to finish their sentences?"  Kaleb quipped.

"You just did and I did not.  At least that time," Amalthia retorted.

"What did I not do to you the thing you said I was supposed to have done?  You lost me there."

"I think you are only confusing yourself further.  What kind of spice would you be interested in?"  Amalthia grumbled.

"No. You are the one who is trying to confuse me. I'll take the Siverpeak bay leaves and the Ascelon sagebrush stalks."

Amalthia plucked the chosen spices from their respective boxes then proceeded to individually wrap them with some tissue paper.  As she moved, Kaleb couldn't help but study her form.  He had never seen a charr up close let alone a female one.

She immediately glanced in his direction.  "Is there something else you want?  You can't seem to take your eyes off me."

By now, Kaleb was visibly blushing.  He rarely felt embarrassed about anything, but yet there was something about this charr that he was drawn to, something he couldn't quite explain.

"You have twice as many ears as I do, yet you only seem to possess half the cognition.  Didn't we make it clear earlier that when I get nervous I tend to say and do crazy, stupid things?"

"I think you must have been talking to the wrong charr.  Or is it because you think that all of our kind seem to look alike... hmm?"  Amalthia chided as she carried the packaged contents to the register. 

Moments later, Brad popped his head through the door.  "Hey, bro.  What the hell is taking ya so long?  Don't you realize we have a mission to complete?"

"Hold your dolyaks, Brad.  I'm in the process of delicate inter-species negotiations.  I'll be there once I iron out a few things."

Ludrick looked at Amalthia then Kaleb.  "Still going to purchase that brisket?"

"How will I be able to get it to my base before it turns rancid?"

Amalthia reached over one of the counters then pulled out a small jar of rubbing salt.  "By using this.  Don't worry, it won't leave an aftertaste like so many other salts do."

After the meat was treated and wrapped, Amalthia handed him the salted brisket as she rang up the final sale. 

"Thirty silver even."

"Thanks for the stuff.  And thank you, Amalthia, for being such an interesting... person.  See ya later," Kaleb smiled as he turned to head out.

"Two rules to follow the next time you come here.  First - we are not on a first-name basis.  Second - I'm not a person... like you.  Got it?" Amalthia said as she gave the impetuous human a clawed thumbs up.

Kaleb gave a wink and a thumbs up in response.  "Forever and always."

Brad looked over as Kaleb stepped out from the shop door.  "Here ye, here ye - to all citizens of Kryta. Today the esteemed Kaleb Grimwald has single-handedly started an entire new round of negotiations with the charr.  From now on humans and charr shall rub salts together and sate each others' hungers with copious amounts of meat."

"Hey.  Don't knock it bud!  It was a classified operation.  Somebody somewhere's gotta take the first step toward world peace.  Am I right?"

"If you say so, bro.  If you say so..."

#gw2 fanfic #tyriaslibrary #the outliers #charr #gw2 human #kaleb and amalthia #gw2 writing

[defleurtradingco]

Epoch- Water

(Previous: Liar, Next: Immortality)

“That ain’t no ghoul.”

“Well, the pinchers and the tail coulda fooled me I won’t lie.”

“What is it then??”

The three of them stood relatively still behind a small pile of rocks close to the water. Up ahead was something relatively ghoul-sized, and ghoul sounding flailing around in the net that Monte had set up when he’d last come.

Osy scratched his head, giving a soft hmm after a moment of thinking. “So what do we do with it? Issit gonna attack us?? I mean...we should probably let it run off.” “Yer right, fine then but stay here. ‘Case it decides ta wallop me fer baggin’ it.”

Monte moved out of their hiding place slowly then, with the other two watching him.

“Now’en, calm down n’ I’ll letcha go.” The creature, for lack of better description rolled around and flailed, before hissing and moving away from the approaching deader. It sounded distressed to say the least, and its tail lashed around violently.

“C’mon ya look smart enough ta get outta this yerself, whatcha need me fer??” Monte leaned down slowly, pulling at the edge of the net so that it was free from the ground.

Solaina bit her lip as they watched.

Eventually, Monte worked the net off and tossed it aside into the stream with a loud splash. “Holy cow what th’ hell ARE you?”

It moved like a ghoul, it sounded like a ghoul, and it even borderline smelled like a ghoul, but it was in fact, not a ghoul.

The creature had no hair to speak of, and instead of skin, its body was covered with a chitinous hide, rough and rocky looking like the surrounding canyon. Rather than a set of claws, it had two awkward pincers that were different sizes from one another, a swishing tail with a huge stinger at the end. Its feet lacked toes, or, if it ever had any toes, they had started to fuse together long ago.

“HRRGRHHHGHH GO AWAY-”

“Oh- shit, ok then.” Monte held his hands up defensively and backed away.

“Wait-” Solaina came out from behind the rocks (Osy hissed at her as he tried to grab her, failing to do so and following after her.) “You can speak. Are you lost out here?? Or do you live here?” “Solaina-” Monte grimaced.

“Kinda looks like a scorpion huh?”

The ‘scorpion’ paused, turning its attention to the bird-man. Its tail began to lash around excitedly again like an excited dog. “….SquAwRK!!”

“...What??”

In a matter of seconds it came bounding over, knocking him down entirely. “BIRD MAN! BIRD. SQUAWRK!”

Monte put a hand to the side of his face as he and Solaina watched in confusion.

Osy held his arms over his face. “GET OFF-” “BIRD MAN BIRD MAN AAAAAAH-” Eventually, the scorpion jumped off of him and spun around in circles in even more excitement. “HERE. YOU’RE HERE!”

“Yeah, yeah I am. Fuck- they got you too huh??” “Do you know this…?” Solaina made a motion towards their new...friend.

Osy ran his hand down his face in exasperation as he sat up. “’S one’a those kids Gray’s been damn looking for. Honestly I thought they were all dead or abducted by aliens or something by THIS point-” “Now hol’ on- what ELSE d’ya-”

Solaina came over to the scorpion again. It seemed too large to be a child. But the big eyes and the cautious and scared chirping sort of gave it away. Along with the body language.

She knelt down. “We won’t hurt you. Do you have a name??” The scorpion made a breathy sound as it stared at her, unsure if it should answer or not. It did though, eventually. “YEAH!! Yeah. UH…”

They waited.

It thought. Aloud.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

Osy squinted. “...Wonder if they scrambled his brain while he was out there-” “LEDDY!!!!” “...Pardon?” Solaina asked.” “Yeah yeah. Leddy, that’s me. That’s me!”

“...Like uh,” Monte pursed his lips as much as one with only half a set could. “...Gosh who the hell named these kids.”

“Er- anyway… did someone make you this way?” Solaina continued. “Like this?” She held her hands up and made a pinching motion like a crab.

Leddy looked down at her hands before holding up his own and copying the motions. “Hmmm...”

“How th’ hell they turned a kid inta this is what I wanna know. He kinda looks like Ben, in th’ face. Ya know with those like tusk thingies… I didn’t think Were-bugs existed. … Think Ben is-” “No, he is not.” Solaina kept her focus on the matter at hand. Claw. “Listen, Leddy is it?” “Yes! That’s me!”

“Right… Do you know where the place is that made you this way?” “Yup!” Monte snorted. “Well that was easy.” “Do you think you might be able to show us the way? Is it far from here?” She knew they had seen it on the map, but they needed confirmation.

“I really don’t think you should go poking around there,” Osy began to protest, before being interrupted.

“Yeah! Yeah. I know the way. I do. It’s short ways away. BUT-” Leddy stopped dramatically. “Scary. Don’t like it there. Ran really far away and got away. Went hiding. BUT THEN I GOT STUCK!!! IN A NET!!” He glared at Monte angrily.

“Sorry already geez,”

“HMPH!!!” Leddy looked away, crossing his arms, but only for a few moments before he turned back to Solaina. “I’ll show you? I’ll show you. Yeah! C’mon!” At that he sprung ahead of them on all fours and crawled off, looking back and stopping every so often to make sure they were aware of which way he’d gone.

Solaina stood up and dusted herself off. “Well, you heard him. Not far. Come.”

Osy blinked several times, more than what was necessary. “Uh, is she serious?” Monte inhaled through his half-nose. “I’m afraid so. M’ in for a damn long night.” He pulled his hat further down onto his head. “Ya comin’?”

“Uh, no??? It’s pitch black out here and moonlight and cell phone lights don’t last forever you know. You’ll have a hard time finding your way back if something doesn’t decide t’ munch you first.”

“Just thought I’d ask… Buuut in th’ event that we are missing fer an entire twenty four hours without any word’r somethin’, call the cops.”

Osy frowned as they walked away, being led on by Leddy into the dark. “You’re making a MISTAKE you know!!” He called out.” Monte held up an arm and waved at him semi-dismissively without turning around. He snorted. “He’s right ya know, Solaina.” “Perhaps. But, if we will not do this, no one else will.”

“Can’t argue with’at.”

“LESS TALK MORE WALK!!!”

They spoke less and walked on.

#epoch #time for the uphillllll

[glowrioustrash]

New Rules 4

Summary: Elena struggles with her new feelings, Dean is in denial, and their friends start to piece it together. If they won’t sort themselves out, then a little push might set them on track.

Pairing: Eventual Dean Ambrose x OC

Word Count: 5000+

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: Holy cow this is long! It’s also about ½ of what I thought would be in this chapter, so there’s lots more to come. Enjoy part 4, which I have unofficially dubbed part “Team Rude Interlude.”

Tagging: @castielscamander / @therealfivefeetoffuckingfury / @alexahood21 / @kakakatey

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Elena, I’ve found the perfect guy for you!” Alexa sang as she skipped into the locker room and holding Elena’s shoulders from behind.

“No! I told you, no more!” She huffed, turning to look at Alexa. She then looked at the other girls in the locker room. “This means all of you, I’m done going on your blind dates.”

“I swear Elena, he’s way better than the last loser.” Alexa pled.

“Hey!” Sasha protested.

“He was a loser, otherwise Elena would have gone on another date with him.” Alexa argued.

“That’s a good point.” Nia had to agree.

“He’s also my cousin!” Sasha huffed, crossing her arms.

“Point is, this guy is perfect for you.” Alexa turned back to Elena.

“No guys, I’m done. I mean it this time. I don’t need your help anymore.” She waved them off, hoping they would drop the subject.

“We just want you to be happy, El.” Bayley added, the other girls agreeing.

“I know you do. I know all these dates came from a good place. I appreciate it.” Elena smiled at them all. “I just… I need a break from it.”

“A break? You’ve been out of the dating scene for years.” Nia argued.

“Even before Clint-“ Sasha started, but Alexa cut her off.

“Ah ah! We don’t say his name!” Alexa scolded, pointing a finger at Sasha.

“Guys, it’s okay.” Elena laughed. “Hearing his name won’t send me into a whirlpool of emotion.”

The girls all paused, looking at Elena and back and forth at each other. She watched them back with a confused expression.

“What? What’s going on here?” She finally asked.

“You’re over him.” Nia pointed out.

“Yeah.” Elena shrugged.

“Like, really over him.” Sasha added.

“Is that a bad thing?” Elena laughed.

“No, not at all… but…” Bayley trailed off.

“It’s sudden. Something’s different.” Alexa pitched in.

“Well I know it’s not my crazy friends.” Elena teased, rolling her eyes. “Would you guys rather I weep at the sound of his name or something?”

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” Alexa gasped, the other girls all making noises of agreement.

“What? No! There’s no one else.” Elena denied.

“There so is! That’s why you don’t want to go on anymore dates.” Sasha accused.

“Oh, that’s so exciting! Who is it?” Bayley asked, bouncing in place.

“There’s no one else.” Elena spoke slowly, trying to drive the point in.

“Bullshit.” Nia sang, making the other girls laugh.

“I’m serious, I’m not seeing anyone.” Elena huffed, getting annoyed.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want to.” Sasha smirked.

Elena opened her mouth to disagree again, but she couldn’t help but think of Dean. She didn’t want to risk their friendship or make him uncomfortable, but he had been on her mind since Miz’s party. She’d caught herself thinking about him once or twice, stupid things. What it would feel like to be his girl and hold his hand or wondering what his lips tasted like. They were already such tactile friends, she slept cuddled up to him before and has hugged him more times than she could count, but she wondered if it would feel any different now that her feelings had changed.

“Busted!” Alexa snapped her out of her thoughts, her cheeks burning as she realized what she had been thinking about.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elena emphatically denied, turning to her locker in an attempt to hide her blushing face.

“Sure you don’t.” Nia sassed.

“Who is it, El?” Bayley asked.

“No one.” She deflected.

“Just tell us.” Alexa poked her in the side making her jump.

“There’s nothing to tell.” Elena stuck to her guns. Normally she’d be fine letting the girls know she had a crush, but with it being such a good friend she was too embarrassed.

“We will figure it out. You know that right?” Nia pointed out.

“There’s nothing to figure out, now can we please get ready for the show?” Elena huffed. The girls, realizing how much time they had left to get ready, dropped it.

She had been hoping that was going to be the end of it but Elena soon saw that it was just the beginning. It felt like anytime she spoke to a man one of the girls was there to jump in and ask if that was who she liked.

After telling Finn he’d had a great match, Bayley popped up from seemingly nowhere. Chatting with Cesaro over the catering spread, Sasha had appeared. Spontaneous, pre-match warm-up dance party with the cruiserweights and there’s Nia wondering if the guy was Mustafa Ali, Rich Swann, Noam Dar or Drew Gulak. Sasha even accused her of liking a random production assistant who was just trying to let her know her match was coming up. It was getting tiring. It felt like she was always being watched.

“You’re without your usual entourage.” Seth commented as he found her sitting on a crate backstage.

“I managed to shake them. I feel like I’m jail breaking.” She joked.

“They seem a little more… hovery than usual. Everything good?” He asked.

“Yeah, they figure I’m in love with someone and they’re trying to put together who it is.” She shrugged.

“Oh. Well, are you?”

“Nah.” She shook her head. “Well… not in love, per say.”

“Aha, so they’re right.” He grinned.

“Don’t tell them. I’ll never hear the end of it.” She sighed. Seth made the motion of crossing his heart and zipping his lips, which made her laugh. “Thanks.”

“You wanna talk about it? I may not know girl shit, but that might be helpful. Get the man brain working on it.” He offered.

“Oh that’s cute. You think men have brains.” She teased.

“Ouch.” He held his chest, laughing.

“Sorry, you’re right. Men have brains, but you aimed a little high there.” She pointed at the hand resting on his chest.

“Ouch!” He repeated, taking a step back. “You’re mean. I take it back, I’m not helping you with shit.”

“Aw, I’m sorry Sethie.” She pouted.

“Hey!” Dean called, approaching them from only a few feet away. “You goin’ after my tag partner? I’ll fight a woman.” He threatened.

“Oh, I’m so scared.” She grinned.

As Dean reached the two of them, he pulled her off the crate and into a headlock. She flailed her arms as he pretended to punch her while Seth stood to the side, laughing at the two of them. Elena let Dean land a few more hits before she delivered an elbow to his side, making him drop his hold with a grunt. They wrestled back and forth until Dean scooped her up, lifting her easily into position for a fallaway slam.

“Okay, okay!” She shrieked, clinging to him. “You win!” She tapped out on his arm, not wanting him to actually throw her in the hallway onto the concrete floor. He laughed and set her back on the floor.

“That’s right. Better think twice before comin’ at The Shield.” Dean puffed out his chest and smacked Seth on the chest with the back of his hand. “Speakin’ of, we’re up next.”

“Have a good match, guys.” Elena smiled up at the two of them.

“Pfft, don’t we always.” Dean teased as he left.

“I’ll catch you later.” Seth turned to leave but stopped short. “I was serious if you want to talk. I know the girls are a bit much sometimes and maybe having a guy’s point of view could help. Think about it.” He shot her a grin before jogging down the hall after Dean. She smiled as she watched them turn the corner.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” Alexa drawled, making Elena jump.

“Jesus, where did you come from?” She gasped.

“So, is that who it is then?” Alexa asked, ignoring Elena’s question.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elena lied. She wished she was a better liar as she felt her face heat up and tried to remember how she normally held her hands.

“Bull!” Alexa laughed. “You like Seth.”

“W-what?” Elena gaped.

“No wonder you were nervous to tell us. He’s one of your closest guy friends.” Alexa hopped up onto the crate Elena had been sitting on moments before. “I won’t tell.”

“I don’t like Seth.” She shook her head.

“Please, I saw the look on your face as you watched him leaving. I’m not an idiot.” Alexa rolled her eyes. Short of telling the truth, she wasn’t sure how to convince Alexa she was wrong.

Meanwhile in gorilla…

“Hey, before you showed up I was talking to Elena.” Seth told Dean, who scoffed.

“Okay?”

“She was telling me the girls are getting on her case. Guess she likes someone.” Seth watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, noticing his friend and stablemate tense up.

“So?” Dean huffed.

“Just ask her out.”

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ bout.” Dean mumbled.

“Sure you don’t.” Seth chuckled and shook his head, patting Dean on the arm as his music hit.

Although Alexa had promised not to tell any of the other girls, Elena was pretty sure she had told Nia. Those two were worse than an old married couple sometimes: what one knew, the other did too. Suddenly the two of them were always trying to push Elena and Seth together. If they were in catering at the same time, they tried to get Seth and Elena to sit beside together. They made group plans only to back out at the last minute, Seth and Elena being the only two to carry through. They even left venues a few times without her when they had promised to give her a ride, asking Seth to make sure she got to the hotel.

“So, what’s going on here?” Seth asked after the third weekend of suddenly cancelled plans left him and Elena alone. Alexa and Nia had made a big group brunch plan but conveniently only made a reservation for two, forgot to invite anyone else and then cancelled themselves.

Elena sighed. “Well, remember when I told you they all thought I liked someone?”

“Mmhmm.” Seth nodded as he took a sip of his coffee. His eyes drew wide after a moment and he started choking.

“No! Oh my god, it’s not you!” She rushed as Seth sputtered. She watched helplessly as he caught his breath and took a drink of her water to clear his throat. “Sorry, that was my bad.”

“Now that I’m not dying, explain.” He prompted.

“Nia and ‘Lexa think you’re the guy I like, but I promise you’re just a friend.” She finished.

“Is there a reason why they think it’s me?”

“Well, I tried to tell them it wasn’t you but they don’t believe me.” She grimaced.

“Right… but you do like someone, and that someone isn’t me?” Seth clarified. Elena nodded. “And we work with him?” She nodded again. “As in he’s a wrestler?” Elena hesitated for a second, wondering if she was giving too much away, but nodded. “And you’re not speaking so I won’t be able to guess?” Another nod. “Why can’t you just tell him?”

“It’s complicated.” She winced.

“How is it complicated?” Seth asked, but Elena was silent. She wasn’t sure how to explain her hesitation without making it obvious who it was. “He’s not married, is he?”

“Oh god, no. I’m not that kind of girl.” She scoffed.

“I know but… the heart wants what it wants, right? You could have fallen for a married man without acting on it.” He defended.

“I guess, but that’s not it.”

“Is he single?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“So what’s so complicated? He’s single, you’re single. Is he gay?”

“No.” She laughed. “Fairly certain he isn’t.”

“Still not seeing a problem. He’s available and into women.”

“I told you, it’s complicated.” She shrugged.

“You know you can tell me, right? I won’t judge you for it.” He tried.

“I know you won’t.” She sighed. “I’m hardly ready to admit it to myself at this point. Plus he’s a friend. I don’t want to fuck that up. I need to get myself in check before I do anything about it and I just want to be able to do it in my own speed.”

“That’s fair.” Seth agreed. “Just keep in mind that whoever it is, he’s not gonna be waiting for you forever. He might fall in love with someone tomorrow. How are you going to feel if that happens?”

Elena felt her heart clench at the thought. After weeks of trying to sort out her feelings, she’d never considered the possibility that Dean would be off the market by the time she figured it out. She’d like to say she’d be happy for him, which she would be eventually, but at first she’d be heartbroken. In a few months to go from close friends, to falling for him, to having to watch him with someone else would be awful.

“That look on your face says you have your answer.” Seth interrupted her thoughts with a smug grin. “You should talk to him. Sooner rather than later.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.” She grumbled. Just because he was right doesn’t mean he had to be smug about it. Besides, talking to Dean was easier said than done.

She tried to talk to him that night at the show, she honestly did. First she caught him on his way into the building and figured she should at least let him get into the arena and put his stuff down. Next time she saw him, she was heading to gorilla for her match and didn’t have time. This wasn’t something she could just yell down the hall at him.

After her match, which had gone nearly perfectly, she was psyched up, full of adrenaline from the roaring crowd, and ready to tell him. She walked through the halls with purpose, heading for the men’s locker room. As she turned the last corner, she ran smack into someone.

“Woah!” Seth cautioned, steadying her by holding her shoulders. “You’re in a hurry.”

“Kinda. Sorta. Not really.” She waved him off, nervous energy kicking in now that she wasn’t storming down the hall with her mind set on the mission.

“Okay then.” Seth chuckled, confused until his eyes grew wide. “Oh. Were you…?”

“Was thinking about it.” She confessed, blushing.

“Let’s go Rollins!” Dean shouted as he walked passed the two of them towards Gorilla. Elena watched him, knowing that there was no time to talk to him if he was headed out for a match. “Oh, and good match, El.” He tossed over his shoulder, a smirk on his face.

“Thanks.” She called after him, half-assed. The nerve she’d built up to talk to him rapidly draining. At this point she’d have to wait until after the match at least, if not after he showered, packed up, headed back to the hotel. At that point he’d probably sleep so it would have to wait until tomorrow morning, but he usually works out in the morning so it would have to wait until at least afternoon…

The feeling of Seth’s warm hands leaving her shoulders brought her back to reality. She barely thought to wish him a good match before she turned dejectedly towards the women’s locker room.

She didn’t realize Seth had been watching her the whole time she’d been thinking, nor did she realize the smirk he had on his face as she left.

After the show, Seth was walking to the rental he was sharing with Dean and Roman when he saw Nia and Alexa. He told Dean and Roman he’d join them in a second and jogged over to where the women were loading their trunk.

“Hey Seth!” Alexa perked up when she saw him. “Elena already got a ride with Dana, said she wasn’t feeling great. You came looking for her, right? You should go check on her once we-”

“No, actually. I was looking for you two.” He grinned, seeing right through what Alexa was doing.

“Oh.” Alexa deflated.

“You two know she doesn’t like me, right?” He stated.

“What?” Alexa gaped.

“We have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nia tried to cover coolly.

“Yes you do.” He continued. “I know you two have been trying to set us up, but she doesn’t like me.”

“How do you know?” Nia asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Guys,” Seth laughed. “She likes Dean.”

“What?” They gasped in unison, making Seth laugh harder.

“How do you know?” Nia questioned.

“Oh my god…” Alexa breathed as she thought about it. “Oh my god, it’s been so obvious!”

“Easy to say that once you already know.” Nia scoffed. “You’re the one who said she liked Seth.”

“I thought she was making lovey eyes at him! She was making them at Dean the whole time!” She defended. “That’s why she didn’t want to tell us.”

Seth smirked, turning to join the men at the rental.

“Wait!” Alexa tried to stop him. “Does he like her? What else do you know?”

Seth didn’t stop walking but called back to them over his shoulder. “You were playing in the little leagues. Welcome to the majors, ladies. We start planning tomorrow.”

[Group Text: Lexa Bear, Sethie, Jaxxx] [From: Lexa Bear] Let’s do lunch [From: Jaxxx] Yes [From: Sethie] Sounds like a plan [From: Jaxxx] 1pm?

Elena groaned at her phone. Another lunch date that she was sure would end up being just her and Seth again. She enjoyed spending time with Seth, that wasn’t the bother at all, but her friends were being awfully meddlesome for people who claimed they weren’t butting into her love life anymore.

[From: Lexa Bear] You in El??? [To: Group] Yeah I’m in [From: Sethie] Great. Where? [From: Lexa Bear] Not Italian. Anymore pasta and I won’t fit my gear

Elena couldn’t help but scoff. It’s not like Alexa would actually be eating there.

[From: Nia] Something chill? [From: Sethie] Any good diners in the area? [From: Nia] I’ll check

There was a lull as the group waited on Nia to check on the diner situation. Elena didn’t mind a diner so she didn’t respond, instead she started getting ready. She needed to eat lunch, so what did it matter if she fought against the plans and ate alone or got together with Seth at a diner.

[From: Nia] This place looks good.

The text was paired with a screenshot of a diner’s google page. It was called Tina’s, had 4.7 stars, and was only a few blocks away from the hotel. The screenshot had the address so Elena saved it to her phone.

[To: Group] I’m down [From: Sethie] Coffee coffee coffee coffee ☕☕☕ [From: Lexa Bear] Works for me [From: Jaxxx] Maybe decaf for Seth [From: Seth] 😫 [From: Nia] Meet there at 12:45? [To: Group] Why don’t we walk there together?

There was a lull in the conversation, but Elena didn’t notice as she was brushing her teeth.

[From: Lexa Bear] Nia and I are out shopping [From: Sethie] At the gym, meet you there [To: Group] Thanks for inviting me, losers 😒

Nia, Alexa and Seth all breathed a sigh of relief from a few doors down.

“I thought we were screwed for a second.” Nia admitted.

“How have you two made it this far without me?” Seth joked.

“What about Dean? Has he gotten back to you yet?” Alexa asked.

“No, but he’s probably out for a run. If he doesn’t get back to me by noon I’ll hunt him down.” Seth answered.

“What are you going to tell him?” Nia asked.

“Hey!” Dean greeted once he saw Elena sitting in a booth alone. “Seth couldn’t make it so he asked me to keep you company instead. Didn’t want’cha to think he stood you up.”

“Oh.” Elena gasped. She had been expecting to get stood up by Nia and Alexa, another plot to get her and Seth closer again, but never could have guessed she would be having lunch with Dean instead. She was suddenly hyper aware of her outfit: yoga pants and a hoodie. Dean had seen her dressed down, but that was before… she really wished she would have picked something nicer, or at least a little more flattering.

“’Less you don’t want me here?” Dean quirked an eyebrow at her.

“No! No, stay.” She jumped, gesturing for him to sit down. “Sorry, you just caught me off guard.” Dean slid into the booth, picking up the menu and glancing through it.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the bench seat next to him.

“Did Seth say why he couldn’t make it?” She wondered.

“Said they needed him at the arena for somethin’. Dunno what. They don’t need me there so it can’t be that important.” He grinned.

“Yeah, I guess not.” Elena chuckled. “Unless they want him to turn on you again.”

“Too soon!” Dean groaned.

“It was 3 years ago.” Elena pointed out. “You might wanna try to move on.”

“Never.” He huffed. “What are we lookin’ at for eats?”

“Typical diner fare and an all-day breakfast. Soup of the day is…” She trailed off, trying to remember. “Hamburger macaroni, I think.”

“Been here a while?” He laughed.

“They said to meet at 12:45.” She rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure the waitress thought I was either waiting for my imaginary friends or got stood up.”

“Sorry.” Dean winced. “I was workin’ out when I got the message. Figured you’d appreciate if I took a shower.”

“I do. Totally worth the pity.”

“Oh wonderful!” The waitress, Debbie, sang as she approached the table. “Your friend is finally here. It’s awfully rude to make a lady wait like that you know.” She scolded Dean, propping her hand on her hip.

Elena bit her lip, trying not to laugh. The Lunatic Fringe getting a tear down from a plump diner waitress was too much. She wondered if Debbie would be so eager to go toe to toe with Dean if she’d ever seen him on TV.

“Yeah, that was my bad.” Dean sighed, scratching the back of his head. He looked somewhat apologetic, maybe even a little bashful. Elena never thought she’d use the word bashful to describe Dean, but it almost fit.

“Mmhmm.” Debbie hummed, glaring at him a moment longer before lifting up her pad and paper. “What can I getcha to drink?”

“Water, please.” He ordered. Debbie kept her glare trained on him for another moment, making him fidget in his seat. She finally turned to Elena.

“Another water, sweetie?” Debbie offered.

“Actually, can I get one of those lemonades you were telling me about earlier?” Elena asked.

“Of course. I think we even got some raspberry lemonade today.” She told her with a wink.

“Ooh, yes please.” Elena nodded. Debbie wrote it down on the pad and shot one more look Dean’s way before disappearing into the back. As soon as she was gone, Elena started laughing.

“Wow.” Dean breathed.

“She hates you!” Elena laughed.

“Who shit in her cornflakes?” He wondered, looking back at the door she’d gone through.

“Well, that’s what you get for making me wait here for you.” She teased.

“Seth should be the one gettin’ this, not me. It’s his fault.” He pointed out.

“Debbie doesn’t know that.” Elena shrugged. “Debbie doesn’t even know Seth.”

“Yeah well if I have to drag his ass down here myself after the show, I will.”

“Are you scared of her?” Elena smirked.

“M’not scared of no one.” Dean huffed.

“You’re scared of Debbie.” Elena sang.

“Bullshit.”

“You’re scared of me.” She smiled proudly.

“I’m not scared of you.” He laughed heartily.

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know you are.” She shrugged.

“Listen sweetheart,” Dean leaned forward and Elena could see the change in him immediately. The spark in his eyes and the subtle change in his manner, he was slipping into the Lunatic character. “I’ve been beat up by men five times your size. I’ve had tables, ladders and chairs thrown at me. Forks, barbed wire, saws. I had to sew my own nipple back on after a match. I’ve gone through shit you couldn’t even imagine.”

Elena bit her lip, focusing on keeping her breathing steady. The wild energy in his eyes was drawing her in.

“Why would I be scared of you? I could kick your ass any day of the week, little girl.” He growled.

“You could do what now?” A shriek from behind Dean broke the haze that had settled over the two of them. Elena looked up to see Debbie had retuned, holding their drinks.

“Uhh, I didn’t mean…” Dean paled, eyes widening as he realized how bad that must have sounded.

“He’s an actor.” Elena lied, trying to come up with a half decent cover story. “He’s preparing for an audition. I’m just helping.”

“An actor, huh?” Debbie asked, approaching the table and setting the drinks down.

“I know, he’s not very good yet but he’s learning.” Elena sighed. Dean glared at her, knowing that being a bad actor still sounded better than what Debbie had probably thought was going on. Debbie shot him a look and he just shrugged.

“Well, Mr. Actor,” Debbie drawled, “do you know what you’re having?”

“Yeah, the uh…” He paused, looking back at the menu. “I’ll have the shaggy burger, everything on it, and curly fries please.”

Debbie wrote it all down before turning to Elena. “And you, sweetie?” Dean rolled his eyes at the favoritism.

“Can I get the Buddah Bowl with grilled chicken added, please?”

“Sure thing.” Debbie wrote it down and made her way back to the kitchen again.

“Well that was smart.” Elena laughed. “Threatening me in public with a bunch of people who don’t know what we do for a living.”

“You provoked me, you little suck up.” Dean growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elena sang innocently, taking a sip of her lemonade.

Lunch continued the same way. Dean and Elena with their usual back and forth, even if Elena had to fight to not get too flustered a few times, and Debbie giving Dean dirty looks the whole time. The food was good and they both agreed they would eat there again next time they’re in the area. They easily lost track of time as they chatted but soon realized they had to leave or risk being late for the show.

“You know, honey,” Debbie spoke to Elena as she set the bill on the table. She glanced Dean’s way for a second. “An unemployed, scruffy looking actor who keeps you waiting? You can do a lot better.”

Dean and Elena both sputtered, caught completely off guard by Debbie’s statement.

“No, we’re not-“ Elena shook her head.

“It’s not like- Dean argued.

“We’re just-“

“Not together together-”

“This wasn’t a date-“

“Wait a minute, scruffy?”

“We’re just friends.”

Debbie watched the two of them flounder, Elena and Dean both getting flustered and avoiding eye contact with each other. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Mmhmm.” She hummed. “Well you two have a nice day, now. And keep in mind what I said, sweetie. You’ll need that advice sooner or later.” She simply said before walking away.

The two continued to avoid eye contact with each other as they gathered their things, silence passing between them. Dean grabbed his wallet, throwing some money on the table.

“Oh, you don’t have to.” Elena protested.

“I made you wait, it’s only fair.” Dean argued.

“No, I can pay for my own at the very least.” Elena opened her purse, putting some more money on the table.

“I said I got it.” Dean huffed, picking the money up and forcing it back into her hand.

“This wasn’t a-“

“I know.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to.”

“Just because she-“

“Just let me pay, dammit!” He grunted before storming away from the table. Elena tossed the money back into her purse and rushed after him.

Elena entered the locker room, hair a mess, bag open and overflowing, and rushing since she was running behind. Ever since she left the diner, her mind had been in a wild tailspin. She was overthinking everything, especially both of their reactions to when Debbie thought they were together. Was she that obvious? Dean seemed pretty put off by it, so maybe it’s better he didn’t know. She should just keep it to herself, unless he could already tell. If she was a better liar she wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“Hey, how was lunch?” Alexa asked, feigning innocence.

“Seth didn’t go.” Elena answered shortly, trying to focus on getting ready.

“Why not?” Alexa frowned.

“Got called to the arena early, I don’t know. Dean came instead.” She shrugged, digging through her bag for her gear.

“Dean? That’s interesting.” Nia jumped into the conversation.

“Yeah, I guess.” Elena huffed, distracted.

“Are you okay?” Nia reached over, resting a hand on Elena’s arm.

“I’m good. Just… frazzled I guess.” Elena shrugged, finally pulling her gear out of her bag. She wanted to talk about it, if even just to help her mind to stop buzzing, but now wasn’t the time or place. Even if she was ready to open up to the girls, she didn’t need any of this making its way through the locker room rumor mill.

“You sure you’re okay? I’ve never seen you this… out of it.” Alexa pointed out.

“I’m good, I promise. I… I gotta go, I’m late for make-up.” She shook the two of them off, bolting from the locker room.

“Well, that clearly didn’t go as well as we hoped.” Nia drawled, leaning against the lockers.

“This would be a lot easier if they weren’t so stubborn.” Alexa huffed.

“Don’t worry, between the three of us we’ll figure this out.” Nia told her.

“Unless it implodes right in front of us before we can.” Alexa worried.

“Anything from Seth yet?” Nia asked.

“No.” Alexa shook her head, checking her phone again to make sure. “Maybe things went better on his side?”

“Look, I’m not above locking those two in a closet until they agree to talk about it.” Nia threatened.

Alexa couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, as much as I think that would work, let’s not jump right to it, okay? We’ve got a few more things we can before resorting to that.”

Part 5

#dean ambrose imagine #dean ambrose fic #dean ambrose fan fic #dean ambrose fan fiction #dean ambrose x oc #glowrious writings #Glow: New Rules

[chrismerle]

Action Romp part SEVEN

@nicxan

holy cow, two chapters in less than 24 hours, and I more or less know how the next one will go. I’m on a rollllllll~!

anyway, I love these two. I especially love using these two to torture my best friend. it fills my soul with light.

the rest of the fic is in my ‘ACTION ROMP’ tag, if you’re interested. I would link, but tumblr is tumblr.

i’m not even done with the fluff yet, i’m hopeless

Shai is in motion in an instant, only to come to a halt after just a few steps. The ground just gave way; they watched it happen. Charging forward is probably not their best bet.

So they creep forward carefully, testing each step to be sure the ground beneath their boots is stable. When they reach the edge of the hole, they drop to their knees beside it, but it's too dark to see anything. All they know is that there's water and that the hole isn't too deep.

They hold a hand up, and almost immediately one of the bugs is investigating the glim. They snatch it and crush it in their palm, only to mutter a quiet, "Fuck me," when it stops glowing once it’s been crushed. Granted, more are quick to arrive, so instead they simply lean forward, sticking their arm down to get a look at what's going on.

"Go see if there's a bottle or something in that pile over there." They aren't even sure who they're instructing, but that's not really the important part. They hear paws scuttling away a second later.

They still need to squint, but the light of the handful of bugs is just bright enough for them to have some idea of what's going on.

Danny is standing in the water, his arms lax at his sides. It's barely up to his mid-chest, and he's just staring straight ahead at the opposite side of the small cavern.

The water should still be rippling from Danny's fall, but the surface is as smooth as glass, as black as soot, and free of any reflection. They really don’t want to have to touch it.

There's a clatter as Diego sets a bottle nearly his own size down at Shai's knee and peers into the hole. They cut a glance in his direction to see him fidgeting with his hands as he asks, "How're you gettin' 'im outta there?"

"Awkwardly," they decide after a second as they sit back up, to instead start dropping the bugs crawling over their claws into the bottle. With nothing to stopper it, they instead plant one palm over the mouth and use the bottom of it to smash one of their claws off against the ground. The bugs cluster on top of the shards of glim as Shai drops them into the bottle as incentive not to fly away. "Go grab the blanket from the bed in the corner."

Diego lopes away again, and Shai turns their attention to the mirrored tunnel. By the time Diego is dragging the blanket back, Turritopsis is back, a mechanical rat dangling from one tentacle. Shai's eyes narrow slowly, before they wave it off and take the blanket. They twist it into a hasty rope and tie a loop into it, and tug it over their legs until it's looped around their thighs. "Turritopsis. Lower me down."

They take the bottle in one hand, curling that elbow around the trailing end of the blanket. They wobble as Turritopsis lifts the blanket before they catch their balance, like sitting on a swing.

Even with a light, the hole seems too dark, and they can still only just make out Danny's outline by the time they've been lowered enough to reach him. One hand lands on his shoulder, and then they drop the bottle to get as tight a grip on the impromptu rope as they can, before they dip back and, with a triumphant little, "Got you," cinch their free arm around Danny's chest.

"Up!" they snap, and they grit their teeth and hook their claws into Danny's jacket as they wobble precariously and surge upwards. As soon as Danny's completely out of the water, he sucks in a breath and starts coughing like a drowning man. They both go sprawling over the ground as they clear the top of the hole, and Danny scrambles up onto all fours to dry heave over the stone.

Shai levers themself up onto their hip, one hand landing between Danny's shoulders, rubbing his back with their knuckles. It's a long minute before the coughing fit finishes, and he sags back to sit. When Shai slides their hand from Danny's back to his shoulder and tugs, he moves easily, slumping bonelessly against their chest.

"Drownies," he offers after a moment, his voice rough. "And--so goddamn dark."

Shai's hold on him tightens slightly, and they dip their head enough to press their chin against Danny's hair for a second. "I've got you."

They're both quiet after that...at least until the mechanical rat still dangling from one of Turritopsis's tentacles squeaks. Slowly, Shai looks up at it, and they finally straighten up, extending one expectant hand.

"May I have that?" they ask, cooing sugar sweet. The blemmigan hands it over without complaint, and they hold it in both hands under its front legs while it squirms and squeaks. Diego squints at it from the ground, folding his arms. The mechanical beast is only half his size, but for a rat that's still rather impressive.

"Rat work?" Shai inquires blandly, lowering it for the bandit to get a better look.

Diego scoffs. "Not even close. Not even worth much."

"Oh, good," they muse placidly, before they grab it by its head and drop it down the hole. It hits the black water with a near silent splish!, and makes no further noise.

Danny turns enough that his back is to Shai's chest so he can look up towards their face, but he doesn't bother to actually sit up. "Spying?" he wonders, head thumping back against their shoulder.

"Most likely," they reply, watching the hole for a moment longer. "What now?"

"...Sleep?" Danny suggests, almost cautiously, like he thinks the idea is sort of silly.

Shai comes up short at that, as pondering the suggestion makes them realize that they're fucking exhausted. "It...has been a bit of a day," they agree haltingly. It's good sense, probably, and as Danny reluctantly starts to get to his feet, Shai disentangles their legs from the blanket.

---

The pair of them put only the briefest thought towards the bed and the blanket before deciding against it. They don't know where it's been, and Shai can't get the knot in the blanket untied anyway. The group winds up in the as-of-yet unexplored tunnel, away from anything mechanical that might watch them. It is, thankfully, free of mirrors and just seems to be a simple tunnel.

Turritopsis is patrolling for the time being, while Victus and Diego sleep curled up in a knot. Eventually, they'll take their turn to patrol. It means Danny and Shai get to sleep without worrying about shifts. Both their boots and Shai's prosthetics wind up piled off to the side, and Danny has just enough time to sprawl on his back before Shai shuffles over on their knees and flops down on top of him. The air leaves his lungs with an oomph that's only partially genuine, and Shai grins crookedly. They fold their forearms on his chest and rest their chin on them as they remark, "Have to keep warm somehow without the blanket."

Danny rolls his eyes, and Shai very nearly goes cross-eyed when he flicks the end of their nose.

They don't really mean to fall asleep like that. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but nor is it precisely comfortable. But given the day they've all had, Shai's not really surprised to find they've lost at least a few minutes, jolting back to the present only when Danny asks, "What did you see when you...?" He trails off, and Shai cracks one eye open as he gestures halfheartedly back in the direction they came from. Back towards the mirrored tunnel.

"Was surrounded by mirrors," they mumble in reply.

"Well, yeah, clearly," Danny returns blandly.

"Other t'an the tunnel," Shai tacks on quickly.

"It was more than that," he argues, lifting his head finally.

Shai focuses off past his ear, eyes only sliding to Danny's face when they point out, "You still have my goggles."

There's a pause for a moment, before he heaves a slow sigh and lowers his head again. "I'll give them back later," he sighs, letting it drop. His tone is...complicated.

"No one was comin' to help me," they spit out in a rush, and Danny stiffens in surprise, though they aren't looking towards his face. "No one was comin', because am impossible, and I was very keenly aware've it while I was t'ere. Jus' me an' the Fingerkings."

Danny is still rigid as a plank, and they get the impression he's very quickly trying to think of what to say, and failing even faster. They can't quite help themself when they drawl, "Am not gonna start cryin' again, Danny. You can relax."

"Stop that," he snaps, and Shai supposes they're both too tired to help it. "Just--don't tell me this isn't the time or place, either. This only ever comes up when it's 'not the time or place.' But--you know I'm not going anywhere, right?"

"I do weigh more'n you," they reason pleasantly.

"Shaicarus."

Ah, feckin' hell, there's the Very Careful Enunciation.

"Most'a the time," they concede sullenly.

Danny is still fretting, but neither of them are really great with feelings. And they at least feel...better? Sort of? They nestle their chin down towards his chest, eyes sliding closed again. It's as much of a sign as they're going to offer that they're done talking.

"Give it a rest, zailor," they murmur, cracking one eye open again just enough to look at him. "It's time to sleep."

He doesn't argue, and they're glad for it. It's been a hell of a day.

#fallen london #fallen london fanfic #ACTION ROMP

[singingintothevoid]

Memory Prompts:  Siren (Pt. 1)

🌈- A memory about when they first fell in love

“The first time?  Must have been about fifteen, I think?”  She scratched her head.  “Was about two years before the ravagers came through, yeah.  There was this Fili’ion, a beautiful bright orange, who Gram saved from the sale block.  I think it was the two mouth thing that caught my interest first, ‘cause they would sing my favorite songs, in harmony, or mushed all together.  They said it was ‘cause it made me smile, and no one had really tried to do that since I had been dropped off.  Gram wasn’t mean, but she had other things to do than try to keep a buncha orphans smilin’.  But anyway, their name was Rouched, and they were damn sweet.  Best friend I had in there, couldn’t help but love ‘em.  Don’t think they loved me like that, but it’s alright.  I was happy to take anything I could get.  Besides,” a grin crossed her face, and she elbowed the man next to her.  “Made it so I was used to waitin’, eh?”

🌋- A memory about their first heartbreak

“Heartbreak?”  She laughed, hollowly.  “Had to be when my parents told me they didn’t want me, and dumped me in an orphanage, because I was an abomination, wouldn’t it?  That was fun...”  A swirl of ink left her mouth as she whistled, whisking the bottle of booze that was making its way around the circle.  A few chugs to protests later, she passed it on, and continued.  “You know that feeling yo get, when you’ve done something exciting, and want to show your parents, ‘cause you just wanted them to be proud of you?  Yeah, it didn’t go too well.  I found I could make these little critters, and they could pick things up, and I thought it was so cool, ‘cause I had never seen anyone else do it, yeah?  Like I had seen dancers, they made wisps ‘n shit.  But hey, on my home planet, making touchable stuff obviously meant I was gonna kill everyone, and needed to be disposed of.  All that excitement got turned into bein’ locked in a room, and hustled off to be left cryin’ in an empty room, nameless, with the damn orphans feeling sorry for me.  You know your shit’s fucked when the people with dead parents look at ya an’ think ‘at least I’m not her’!”  She stomped to her feet, grabbing her own bottle from the cooler.  “Fuckin’ A man, why would you make me think of this shit again.”  She took a long pull before adding, rather morosely, “The irony is I would never have killed anyone if they hadn’t left me there, yeah?  Them leavin’ me there made it so I wound up here.”

🏠- A memory about their childhood home/where they used to live

“Oh man, if I could go back to my home planet?  Ah, it was beautiful.  You know how people say, ‘ah, I’m gonna retire to a tropical resort planet’?  They’d go to Esorta.  At least where I was born, it was just...  Warm water, so much life.  Beaches that went forever down the coast, tall trees with their green branches sproutin’ up from the water, so it was all in shade, which was good, yeah.  We burn easily, too light skinned for most places.”  She flapped her arm, the skin on it quite pale indeed.  “But you’d get this glorious ripple pattern of light comin’ through, which would catch the algae growin’ in there and turn th’ water this lilacy color...”  Her smile was wistful.  “We lived on the beaches, in these, like, cave systems.  Ya could reach most others just by walking through ‘em.  Felt like the spaceships do, honestly.  Everything connected, which was good, yeah, ‘cause we got storms a lot, and ya couldn’t get outside when there’s hurricane goin’.  I mean you could, I guess, but it was a dumb idea, man.  But the trees...  They never budged.  Maybe the storms just felt stronger when I was so teeny...  I always would wanna go play in ‘em.  Bet my parents wish they had let me, when it came out what I could do...”  Her face fell, fingers tangling in her hair.  “Woulda saved them the shame.”

📷- A memory that comes with a picture they have

“This one was great, yeah.”  She waved the long strip, smiling slightly.  “We had found this thing in a junkyard, don’t remember what we were doin’ there, but Peter called it a “photobooth”, and it apparently still worked. We crammed in there, him ‘n me, and this button made it all flashy, and we got this string of pictures, just some goofy shit.  Apparently you’re supposed to make dumb faces, he said he and ‘is momma did it before.  Look, this last one here, where Yondu stuck his head in, is my favorite.  Look at our faces!”  She giggled, her hand pressed against her lips.  “We look so startled, he managed to sneak up on us real good.  He popped his head in, yelling about how we had to leave ‘n shit, and we were so not expecting it.  Man, it was an easier time...”  Her smile turned sad.  “Now Peter’s this big hotshot an’ all, got so little time for his old family.  Proud of him, of course.  But I miss him...”

💡- A memory that comes with an object or keepsake they have

There was a snort.  “We ain’t got space on this ship for keepsakes, not with all the damn animals people keep bringin’ on!  You know we got a cow in the ship dock?  Like, there wasn’t any space left, but it was blind so Theoric felt sorry for the stupid thing.  You know what don’t move outta the way of space ships?  Blind cows, that’s what.  You gotta be so careful parkin’ in here, like it isn’t even deaf!  Just blind!  You’d THINK it would move, but apparently its goddamn self preservation was linked to it’s fuckin’ eyesight!  ...What?  Shut up, maybe the cow’s a keepsake, dickhead.”

🔪- A memory about a dangerous situation

“Kiddo, I’ve been a mercenary for almost forty years.  There’s a lot to pull from.”  She tapped her chin with her nails, thoughtfully.  “One of the jobs would be boring, honestly.  Like, there’s only so many ways it can go.  You go shoot at people, so ya get shot at, or ya try to keep others from gettin’ shot at, so people shoot at you instead, or ya break in the steal their shit, and they shoot at you.  Sometimes we try to keep things from being stolen by people who will come on in shootin’ at ya.  I’ve been shot at a lot, it doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, ya know?  Hmmm...  Oh!”  Siren’s face brightened.  “How ‘bout this?  Spackle wanted to go to this safari thing, yeah?  Like a zoo, but like, everything runs ‘round like it’s hot shit and owns the place.” “Oh boss, no, please!”  Spackle groaned, falling backward with her hands over her eyes.  Siren laughed. “Nope, shut up!  I’m telling this one.  Anyway,”  her grin got wider as she continued.  “So we go, yeah?  And they take our weapons, because there’s been an issue with poaching, ‘cause some of these fuckers are rare and some shit, and we, well.  We don’t look like high society, right?  Yeah, so we go in, and there’s all these wild things struttin’ around, and since we’re in this buggie, it’s all cool.  Well, turns out this glaxi had managed to break perimeter, and smelled Spackle.  What’s a glaxi?  It’s this giant ass dog-type thing, with a few extra legs, a mouth on it’s belly, and four tails that it grabs shit with.  Also, they’re ‘bout thirty feet tall too, so it can be some scary ass shit.  Anyway, they hate Ykonases, which is what Spackle is.  Kinda a long time competitor sorta thing, Ykonases are smarter and faster, but glaxi are giant dumb animals that eat everything they come across.  So this buggie we’re in, it’s like, maybe up to its knees?  The first ones anyway.  Holy shit, I almost pissed myself to see this thing come blasting over the hills.  Spackle is screaming, Lash is laughing, I’m just angry as fuck that we left the damn weaponry back at the ranger station.  So we turn, and just fucking floor it.  This stupid little thing, it gets maybe fifty miles an hour?  Nothin compared to the glaxi.  And it’s not that damn stable, so we hit this bump, right?  We hit it far faster than this thing is meant to, and it flips.  We all go tumbling, spilled out of the car, and Spackle just takes off.  She’s running before I get my hair out of my eyes, and the big ol’ thing just goes right after her.  Me ‘n Lash are stuck sittin’ there like “what the fuck is goin on?”  Though, Spack is our friend ‘n all, and we can’t just leave her to get eaten-” “Love you too Boss Lady.” “So we go on after.  And Spackle, I have no idea how she managed it, but she got so far up this damn giant tree near the station that it can’t reach her.  She’s up there, hissing and spitting at it, fur all on end, and it’s paying no attention to all the rangers tryin’ to shoot it down, cause it’s not supposed to fuckin’ be there.  We hurry on over, Lash pulls out one of the guns he had kept hidden, and I get my dragons goin’, and we eventually get this thing down for the count.  But the whole time, it didn’t seem to give a shit about anyone but tryin’ to eat Spackle, who has forgotten she had some of Dave’s grenades in the pockets she had for once!  All it would have taken was a good one tossed down it’s throat to kill it.” “I hate this story.”  Spackle muttered, her tail drooped over her eyes.

🎈- A memory about a time they were safe and relaxed

“Never happened.”  It was muttered around a mouthful of food.  “Seriously, what part of ‘merc for forty years’ did you not get the first time?” “Any real answer isn’t going to be PG-13 for you, kid.”  Shine had an even worse stage whisper than Lash, and Siren chucked a roll at her.  Shine dodged, grinning, as Siren sighed.   “Even in a safe place, these nerves don’t fuckin’ relax.  Closest might have been right after I left the ravagers, when I switched ships so I knew there was no chance of them findin’ me.  I went lookin’ for an ocean planet, just to see what it would be like.  Spent almost a month just bumin’ around, no jobs, no fightin’, no nothin’.  I did have to hunt for my food, but that involved a lotta fishin in this gorgeous lagoon type place...  Gods above, I need to go back there.  Now that I don’t have the fear of a giant ass ship crashin’ into my head.” “Wouldn’t have been as much to worry about if you hadn’t stolen part of it, girl.”   

📔- A memory from a journal/diary entry

“Yeah, never kept one.”  An eyeroll.  “Where would I have kept it that it wouldn’t have been found?  No one I’ve ever been around has a respect for privacy.  I can’t even shower without some asshole walkin’ into the bathroom to take a piss, there’s no way I’m putting my inner most thoughts anywhere anyone but me can get to them.”

📝- A memory of them getting to know/meeting my muse

“What do I remember?  Jeez, I remember fishing your dumbass out of the engine, that’s what I remember.  Your poor dad was freakin out, and you could tell that wasn’t something he was used to fuckin’ doing.  More blood than I like seein’ on kids, so it was a bit uncomfortable, but not nearly as much as I was used to seein’, so it evened out a bit.  What?  Kid, you might technically be older than me, but you look like twelve, and that’s all I give a fuck about.”

🔗- A memory about their proposal/wedding

“Kinda personal, ain’tcha.  I ain’t married, and I’ve never been proposed to.  The fuck would the point be?  I live on a space ship.  In space.  Who’s gonna acknowledge it?  Who’s gonna care?  It doesn’t mean anything anyway.  I don’t hold assets that government would be able to hold for a spouse anyway.  Everyone knows he takes control of the ship if I die anyway.  ...Well, if he asked, I’d say yes, ‘cause that means it meant something to the old fuck, but it’s not like it would change shit. ...Kid shut the fuck up, I am not blushing.  I don’t blush.  You’re an asshole, goodbye.”

#ask memes #Siren #sonofthefrosthearted