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right-brain-of-froggy2 · 2 years

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Halloween Ch3: Almost As Good As The Milan Fashion Show

I hope I don’t disappoint with my final decisions over the Halloween costume of our favorite blonds! I actually got the ideas from one of my very favorite animators ;) Enjoy y’all!

AO3 link here!

They find out what Gordon and Alan have picked out for their costumes two days before the rush of trick-or-treating starts. Jeff is due to leave in the morning for another three month long expedition for moon base repairs. That night is also the elementary school’s Halloween dance where all the kids dress up, get some snacks and candy, and parents get a free babysitting night from the school. Scott remembers it faintly through pictures of him and John on their own.

And it’s all Alan has been talking about. The school event has been hyped extensively by Gordon- no doubt ready for all the free candy and carnival games they get to play on top of trick-or-treating. Being in kindergarten, this is the first year Alan gets to go. At the same time, it’s Virgil’s last. Scott refuses to think about his middle brother growing out of the trick-or-treating age. At least he and John stopped around the same time.

After Scott gets home from school, he dumps his backpack on one of the breakfast table chairs and toes off his tennis shoes. It looks like everyone’s home before him tonight, even John. His robotics club must have gotten done before his meeting.

Virgil dashes out of the living room where Alan is playing. Gordon suspiciously can’t be heard from the general vicinity. He tugs on Scott’s wrist to pull him out of earshot from younger brothers. Scott scrunches his nose in confusion when they wind up on the stairs between the first floor and the basement.

“Virgil?”

“We should get our costumes on early. Like now!”

“Why?” Scott checks the clock on his phone. “It’s only five. Doesn’t the whole thing start at seven?”

“Yeah but… I figured you’d be the one driving us.”

“John might tag along, but yeah I’m driving. So?”

“So Dad won’t see our costumes at all! Everyone’s always tired and half the costumes have been ripped off by the end of the party. And he’s leaving tomorrow morning before trick or treating.”

“So you want a costume fashion show?”

Virgil blushes. He kicks Scott in the back of the knee. “When you put it that way, it sounds stupid.”

Scott laughs, leaning on the stair railing. “No, no. It's a good idea! Why don’t you pull him out of the office and I round up Thing One and Thing Two?”

After a quick whoop that Scott agreed to his idea, Virgil rushes all the way downstairs to Jeff’s office. Their Dad has been MIA for days as he prepares for the mission. Between packing and calling the base with even more calls out to the agency, Virgil isn’t sure his idea will fly. But a little voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Scott tells him that doesn’t matter. Jeff shouldn’t miss this Halloween like the last few.

Virgil knocks for posterity’s sake. Without getting an immediate answer, Virgil barges in. Or rather, he peeks his head in through a crack in the door. His Dad is flipping through documents (not on the phone, write that down in the record books). The middlest Tracy sucks in a breath and grabs his father by the wrist without a word.

“Virgil? Wha-”

A little concerning to Jeff, but Virgil is in too high of spirits for someone to have gotten hurt. Virgil has to physically drag him out of the office to get him out to the living room. The sight that greets Jeff is his four other children sprawled about the living room couches and chairs, and the floor in Scott’s case. It’s a little ominous having all the boys sitting around in one room when it’s not mealtime. Their eyes all look to him and Virgil. Jeff’s not pleased about being dragged away from his work, but if something is wrong with his boys…

“What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Virgil shakes his head before breaking out into a smile. He flops belly first onto the largest unoccupied couch cushion. “We’re going to show you our costumes!”

“You dragged me out to show me costumes?”

“We all think it’ll be a fun thing to do before you miss Halloween,” Scott grits out. “Again.”

Maybe he should be a bit more cordial with his father. But for God’s sake, he has five sons and is leaving again for the Moon of all places! A two-week notice would have been nice. Damn. Just the sight of Jeff makes Scott realize that he’s been out of sight, out of mind for too long during his home visit after the first few days. He stamps down the frustration.

Jeff grumbles. John doesn’t seem too pleased about being dragged out of his room either, but that can be chalked up to teenager anti-social tendencies. It is John after all.

Virgil volunteers to go first. No arguments arise- it was Virgil’s idea so it’s only fair he goes first. He bounds up the stairs two at a time to get up to his room. They hear Virgil pacing about from down below- a sound soon drowned out by Alan and Gordon’s chatterings. Jeff is distracted, pulling out his phone to check statuses. It’s not hard to tell even by Jeff’s normal tendencies. Their dad doesn’t look away from his phone even as Alan clamors into his lap.

“What candy do you want most, Daddy?”

Jeff breaks his stare away from the reflecting screen. “Hmm?”

“I want Sour Patch Kids. Or those sour sucking candies,” Gordon supplies.

“Warheads.”

Gordon nods at Scott’s correction. “Warheads! They hurt and it’s funny to see Alan try and eat them.”

It figures Gordon wouldn’t even like eating them as much as he does seeing his brothers react to the citric acid. Scott rolls his eyes. He kicks his legs out in front of him, his back to the recliner’s base. Alan pouts at Gordon with crocodile-tear eyes. Unlike the older brothers, he doesn’t totally understand why it’s funny to see him eat Warheads. He can’t even remember the taste of the candy, but Gordon’s tone is the one he uses when mocking him.

“No it’s not! It’s not even good candy!”

“Is to!”

“Is not!”

“Is to!”

Alan starts kicking his legs, trying to get away from Jeff’s now tightening grip. Alan stretches his arms past Jeff’s arm to get a hit in on his brother. Scott rubs at his eyes as he leans head back. Time to try and intervene. “Hey Alan, what candy do you like then?”

“None!”

“It can be any flavor?”

“Not Gordon’s flavor!”

Scott sends a helpless look to Jeff. At least he’s not the one holding back the tiny terror. A saving voice floats across from the lone recliner.

“I remember you liked chocolate last year. Was it Snickers or something without peanuts you traded all your Twizzlers for?”

“… no nuts, but I like the crispy chocolate. And not Twizzlers.”

“Oh, Crackle? That one’s pretty yummy. I bet Scott will trade you his if he gets any this year.”

God bless John and his knack for calming the tinies down. If Scott tried any further, he wouldn’t even get into one of Alan’s ears. Middle of meltdowns he can handle. But diffusing meltdowns before they even happen? That’s all John and his quiet, no nonsense voice.

Scott tackles the task of scooting over the carpet next to Gordon. He throws a mock headlock over Gordon’s neck and earns a round of devious giggles. Keeping him pinned on the floor, there’s no way for him and Alan to start a physical fight now. John starts slapping the arm of the couch while counting down in a WWE announcer’s voice.

There’s a flash of movement from the couch and, oh yeah, their dad is here. Scott can’t very easily prod him to join in on the conversation more from down here.

The littlest brother is pacified once again. When he turns to Scott with hopeful eyes that he’ll be getting Scott’s loot on top of his own, the eldest can only shrug. He’s not the one doing the trick-or-treating, that’s all the little three. He’s just the chaperone. Gordon cranes his neck back against Scott’s arm to look at John. “What candy do you want this year?”

“He’s not coming, ‘member?” Alan pouts a little too harshly.

“Why?”

“He’s handing out candy.”

“More like gonna leave it in a bowl and turn off all the lights and be sad in his room alone.”

John kicks Gorgon's head with his foot. Oof. That’s why you don’t mess with John and his ridiculously long legs. “Don’t tell them my master plan, Fish. Scott won’t let me do it next year if he finds out.” Like Scott wasn’t banking on that already happening. “I don’t know what kind I like though. All of it.”

“Scotty? Sour Patch Kids?”

“Eh. I’m not big on sour.”

“Airheads?”

“Sure, those are pretty good.”

Before Alan or Gordon has a chance to move on, Virgil loudly trumps down the stairs. He’s definitely wearing some kind of boot that he wasn’t before. Gordon screeches in Scott’s ear before they see Virgil, “Virge! Favorite candy?”

“Candy corn.”

“God, it’s like you’re an old man already,” John quips.

Virgil huffs like he’s mad at the statement, but at the end of the trick-or-treating night, he’s the only one not duking it out over candy trades. Everyone gives him the candy corn and he gives everyone else free range of his bucket. Win-win. Anything that’s leftover he’ll gladly eat, but the candy corn is his top-tier, one true, candy love.

Virgil rounds the corner of the stairs. He coughs a little to grab the attention of the room.

“Pard’ner.”

“Oh my God Virge..”

“Is that… my old Stetson?”

And it is. The hat fits atop Virgil’s head a little too loosely, covering his eyes more than he intended. But it matches the rest of the cowboy ensemble that Virgil picked out at the Halloween store. He has a long faux leather jacket reaching down past his knees over a button down shirt and chaps. A green bandana is tied around his neck for easy access as a mask. On his feet are the clunky cowboy boots Grandma Tracy bought him last Christmas. All that’s missing is a bit of paint on stubble and a bottle of Jack.

Jeff nods in his approval. “A cowboy, classic.”

Virgil hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his chaps. The twelve-year-old poses a bit more for the ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’s’ of his brothers. After deeming the praise to be sufficient, Virgil takes his place on the couch next to Alan and Jeff.

John decides he’s next. “To get it over with.” His excuse fools everyone but Jeff and Scott who know he’s just as excited about getting to dress up for Halloween as the younger boys. John’s always loved Halloween and the festivities, just not the crowds of people that go along with the orchard or trick-or-treating.

He makes record time and is back down before anyone can blink. In about five seconds, he’s fully dressed and… in the same jeans and a ‘NPH Track & Field 2051’ pullover. The only thing different is the bloodstained mask to finish it off. He does no sort of show other than a dramatic hand flourish before flopping back down in the recliner, legs over one armrest.

“Clown, another classic.”

“That’s all you’re doing?”

“Nah, I have a fake machete from a few years back somewhere downstairs and Virgil’s lock to his paints is broken,” John smirks. “I’m thinking I need a bit more blood splatters to really set the mood.”

So long as he doesn’t traumatize any little kids stopping by, Jeff won’t intervene.

Gordon starts squirming until Scott lets him loose like a wind-up car. Looks like Alan’s going last after Gordon gets whatever amalgamation of costumes he’s found himself at the Halloween store. With the fish upstairs getting himself ready, the living room falls to a hush. Alan is telling Jeff what all has been going on at school leading up to the Halloween dance, and Virgil is messing with his cowboy boots.

Welp, the party certainly goes with Gordon.

It’s only around an hour before they have to leave to get the kids to the school on time. John pulls off his clown mask to breathe easier. It’s too bulky to keep on for long periods of time. That, and he can’t read his tablet with the eye holes cut so small. He flicks through a few recipes he’s found that would be easy enough to make tonight. Normal John cooking was pretty simple and familiar with a new recipe thrown in on occasion. But since their dad is home, he wants to try out something a bit more adventurous. Maybe some type of fried rice if they have the ingredients…

Scott looks half asleep on the floor. John whispers to try and get his attention with no luck. He had to wake up early to get an FFA meeting in and stayed late. And now he has to drive the littles to and from school when he should be doing homework or relaxing. John changes his supper idea to Shepard’s Pie. Scott deserves one of his favorites.

Announcing his presence makes Gordon hard to ignore. He blares a sound like a grand trumpet on the royal court. He switches off the lights from the landing switch, and turns to flickering it on like a horror movie. John lets his tablet drop onto his chest. And Scott says he never pays attention to these things. As his little brother trumps down the stairs one by painstaking one, the rest of the family cranes their necks. The first showing brings more questions than answers.

“And you are…”

Gordon untangles a thin electrical cord running from his mask, through his sleeve, and down to his hand. The world’s most horrifying recorded screech fills the air. “An Eldritch blood God named Daniel. Obviously.”

A rarity crosses over the Tracy household like a blanket.

Pure silence.

“…another classic.”

Even John loses it at that one. It’s just like their dad- their old dad- to take Gordon’s wackiness in stride with no more than a nod and simple acceptance. John’s laughter sparks back the noise of others laughing, and the endless questions shoot Gordon’s way. How the kid even came up with the idea is beyond any of them.

To be fair, Gordon’s costume is pretty amazing. He must have spent all that time in the costume shop gathering little pieces to put together. A tattered black coat covers most of his costume, but when he shifts, they can see the complete costume underneath. It’s a long robe that trails across the floor (certainly an adult size rather than a child’s). It has intricate cross stitching that shimmers gold under the living room light, along with extra stitched arms that hang down from Gordon’s armpits. Scott can only guess they came from a spider costume of some sort. Homemade blood stains and black paint are strewn about the fabric to make it all the more horrifying.

Combine that costume with a demonic mask that looks as if it’s spouting roots straight from the skin, and Gordon’s made himself an award-winning spook.

Gordon pulls his mask off for a gulp of fresh air. “I think I need some hair dye and extra makeup and a staff or something.”

“Tonight? No way.”

“Maybe for actual trick-or-treating?”

Virgil lets out a sigh. He’s always relegated to the Halloween makeup and hair dye expert. The rest of the brothers are useless when it comes to artistic anything and that’s not even being mean. That’s just stating the truth. If Gordon wanted extra makeup and hair dye tonight, well then, he simply wouldn’t. “Fine.”

Jeff nudges Alan up and out of his lap. “Come on, squirt. Yours is the last one for the night.”

Alan makes it halfway up the stairs before turning on heel and shouting back. “John! Come help!”

Virgil itches at where the leather of his coat is rubbing at his neck. “What, he gets to know first?”

“I’ve already known what Allie’s got up his sleeve,” John reveals. He follows Alan up the stairs to help him get in costume.

“Scott, do you know?”

The eldest shakes his head. He’s just as surprised as the rest of them. “I really don’t know… It’s not like John would willingly go out anywhere, even if Alan asked him. Maybe they ordered a costume?”

“Some of John’s old ones are still in storage that we never got rid of,” Jeff reminds Scott. “I bet they pulled out an old astronaut one.”

Alan’s taken to liking space like a fish to water. John’s just happy to have a little mini-me following his every venture into space tangents even if his clone is ten years younger and can’t divide. As they wait for Alan’s grand entrance, Gordon points out every detail of his own costume up close.

There’s certainly more to it than meets the eye. Virgil runs his fingers over the golden Celtic style stitching. He prays that those symbols don’t make his little brother cursed for eternity.

Gordon’s boots are two sizes too big and shoot up past his skinny knees when they should stop right below. Scott tries to place what costume they originally were supposed to go with. The closest answer he can think of is some type of pirate or buccaneer. Gordon shrugged off his mask to talk clearer. The eldest Tracy brother snags it and looks at the thick red liquid behind a plastic shield that’s controlled by the pump on Gordon’s hand. Virgil peers over his shoulder.

And here Virgil was thinking he put a lot of thought into his costume.

“Okay, close your eyes!”

Alan’s shrieking voice has Virgil dropping the mask in surprise. Beside him, Gordon jumps as well. It wakes Scott up from his dozing with a snort and vehemently denying he ever fell asleep.

“Do we have to?”

“Close ‘em!”

Scott half closes them, peaking just enough to see what Alan’s got on before the rest of them. Also so he doesn’t fall back asleep. But John knows him too well and comes down first. He covers Scott’s eyes with his own hand.

“He wants everyone to know he picked it out and made it himself with only a little help from me.”

“Sounds quite exciting, kid,” Jeff says.

John clears his throat. “Come on down Alan.”

There’s the rustling of some familiar material that Scott can’t place. His face scrunches up underneath John’s hand. His mind flips through Alan’s interests lately. Astronauts and space- that’s a given- but it doesn’t sound like ‘spacesuit’ material. Hot wheels, any cartoon with fast cars, ninjas, nothing out of the ordinary for a five-year-old boy.

“You can open them.”

They follow the orders. Scott opens his mouth, makes a sound before stopping it in his throat. He closes his mouth then opens it again. John is desperately trying to hold off a smile.

“It’s…”

“Umm…?”

Virgil finally squeaks out the answer. “A box?”

“Yes!”

Scott tilts his head. Maybe Alan didn’t catch his ever confused and questioning tone the first time. “A… box?”

“It's such a good costume, right?” John asks, putting a hand on top of Alan’s head. “Right? A cardboard box.”

Scott looks to Virgil who looks to Jeff who looks to John who looks down at Scott with a bit of a lip trying not to explode in amusement. John nudges Alan forward into the living room where he does a twirl to show all sides of the costume. And yup, that is a cardboard box with arm holes and a head hole cut into it.

“You get to take a box trick-or-treating, Scott. I don’t think many other high school seniors get to brag about that.”

Honestly, Scott wants to take a picture to make sure Alan remembers this year’s costume. Maybe they can hang it up at his graduation party in the future. Everyone at school knows he has little brothers so it’s not like this is a new thing.

“We’ve got the school party first, remember?” Virgil throws in.

At the reminder, both Alan and Gordon squeal in excitement. A check of the clock, and it is about time to eat supper before leaving. Jeff stands and corrals the younger ones to the kitchen to start setting the table. John and Scott share a look.

“This wasn’t our idea only to embarrass him… was it?”

John snorts. “I wish. I already had a whole photoshoot with him, at his insistence.” John wags his phone in front of Scott’s face. “Blackmail material the minute he turns old enough to be embarrassed.”

“Hell yes.”

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #Jeff Tracy #pre international rescue #wee tracy’s #halloween

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sabraeal · 3 years

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2020 Creator’s Self-Love Extravaganza

Boy howdy, but it has been a year. So much so that I felt the need to dig up this meme so I can lavish myself with a little TLC, ‘cause you know what? I deserve it! And so do you. This year has been tough, and even in the best of times it can be a real struggle to remember that, instead of being your own worst enemy, you should strive to be your best cheerleader. Remember to be kind instead of cruel, to forgive rather than condemn yourself. Creativity is hard, and it is always a journey, never a final destination, so let’s take a moment and sight-see where we’ve been this year, yeah???

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2020. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love! <3

I was tagged by @bubblesthemonsterartist!

1.) With Ribs Laid Open - As many of you know, way, WAY back in 2018, when I was heavily pregnant with my second child, I hit 500 followers and decided to make a raffle for requesting fics which were supposed to be posted during my February-May hiatus after giving birth. This was a great idea pretty much right up until after the raffle winners was announced, since only a week or two later, my grandfather got massively ill, I got EVEN MORE heavily pregnant, and the great complex of shitty 2019/2020 occurred. I’d managed to finish Tender Concessions right at the turn of the new year due to Winter Challenge, which handled two of the promised fics, and this one ended up being the very first raffle fic I promised without a challenge helping me along. I’d been working on it off and on since the request was made, never quite getting it to sit right up until I started working on it at the end of 2019. It was not only a great personal accomplishment, but the daemon AU is really one of my favorite ones I’ve done, and getting to write Obi and Od Ana’s backstory was something I’d been dying to do since I posted Creatures of a Brief Season.

2) Sic Semper Monstrum - I started this fic in 2018, and it’d actually been an idea I’d had way back in 2016 when I first watched Pac Rim. It’s an AU I’ve always really enjoyed, and I really love how it’s turned into this ensemble piece, rather than strictly a ship fic (and I’m sure anyone who has read Seven Suitors knows how much I really love getting to do ensemble elements). But this year it had sort of an added meaning to me-- I’d promised vfordii I’d write this fic for her birthday at the end of December, but December is my MOST PACKED month, so she’s used to getting her present late...and then it got later. And later. And suddenly I was in the hospital because OH YEAH, I’d just been actively dying for about a year. It was actually when I was in the hospital recuperating that I realized my issue with the chapter I was working on-- I’d been trying to make it Zen POV, when it was very, very obviously meant to be Kiki’s. And when I got out, this ended up being the first fic I posted post-recovery. And then I added another chapter to it only a few weeks later! And it’ll be one of the first fics posted in 2021 (sorry, v). So this one really holds a big place in my heart right now, if only because it really came with me on my whole medical journey.

3) Seven Swipes for Shirayuki - As I’m sure plenty of you are aware, Seven Suitors was the fic I was known for for about...forever. It’s actually only within the last year or two that people have read something else of mine first, and the sequel tends to be the first thing most people ask about. But it was also my first posted fic EVER, and the first long form story I’ve completed in years, and so it holds a very special place in my heart. So trying to tell the modern version of it was utterly nerve-wracking. After all, a lot of Zen’s shenanigans wear a lot better on a prince than an American billionaire. It’s been slow to start, but I have to say...I’ve impressed myself with how the adaptation is going. I have a LOT of funs plan for it, but the biggest hump was really getting through the break up scene since it was always going to be...intense. And then I did it, in a way I really liked! And going forward, I’ll get to do a lot more tinder shenanigans, and a lot less heartbreak (mostly >:3c).

4) The Daisy Chain - I have...an embarrassing amount of fics that are sitting, untouched, with only one chapter left to go. Or at least, I pretend they do. But it was ACTUALLY true for Daisy Chain, so getting the opportunity to wrap up one fic I’d been working on since 2017 was...amazing. It was a lot of blood sweat and tears to get this finished, but I’m so happy to have completed something I started so long ago.

5) The Lone Wolf Survives - This is the fic I did not want to write. I’m not a fan of A/B/O; in fact I’m generally annoyed by it because it uses WRONG WOLF DYNAMICS and like, BAD SCIENCE, and though when it’s done good it’s GREAT, it’s usually done terrible and UGHHHH. So when I realized I needed to do it for bingo I...complained. A lot. The most. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. But I eventually settled on the plot of this fic, letting it be canon-but-not, and it just...worked. And I’m ultimately proud that I pushed myself out of my comfort zone, and now may torture you with the smut that has not yet happened, ah ha ha ha >:3c

For tagging, I choose... @claudeng80, @infinitelystrangemachinex, @aeroplaneblues, and @k-itsmaywriting

#meme #writing meme #Man it was hard to cut down this list #i had so much fun stuff I wrote this year #Documented for Posterity and Knock Three Times #The Sword Between...#so many fun WFB pieces #SIGH

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diamond-coral · 3 years

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The Heist- Part One

dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

You were just supposed to rob a government official’s apartment. Not Captain America’s. Right?

Series Warnings: Dark, Rape/Non-Con, kidnapping, strip club stuff, swearing

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of a strip club, swearing, committing crime ig, nothing much really.

You sure as hell weren’t a criminal. Well- your record would say otherwise, but it’s not like this was your dream profession. You wouldn’t call yourself a criminal. More of a Walmart Robin Hood; stealing from the rich and giving too...well...yourself. Fine. You were a criminal. But a girl had to pay the bills. At least you got to stick it to the man, right?

You let out a sigh while evaluating your life choices. It wasn’t every little girl’s dream to be breaking into houses and apartments for some cash or valuable possessions. Technically, you were an artist by day, going to art school in New York, living the aesthetically pleasing dream of student loans and a sky-high rent that your shifts at the strip club were hardly making a dent in. But hey, at least one time you got to dance for Captain America, even if he was reluctant and a bit shy. You were certain very few women could say the same.

And that’s how you found yourself in the elevator of a cozy apartment complex, traveling upward toward your new objective. Bella, your roommate, literal partner in crime, and the only good thing that came out of socializing with your coworkers at the club, had given you a new lead of a man who was supposedly loaded and yet lived in an accessible and modest living space. He was single, and worked some sort of political job that left his apartment constantly vacant, specifically on the day you planned for your heist. A perfect target. Some corrupt government worker who wanted to live a ‘low profile life’ yet was dumb enough to settle down in a complex who’s only security was a couple cameras and guards. Bella would easily be able to freeze the frames on the cameras for an hour, giving security the false pretense that the hallways were empty and giving you the perfect window to snatch some fancy watches and some cash.

The elevator doors opened right as you received a text message from Bella.

Cameras taken care of. Now go pay our rent ;)

You exited the elevator only to collide with a blonde woman carrying a laundry basket.

“Oh god, I’m so clumsy I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed while bending down to pick up the clothes that had fallen out of the basket.

You bent down to help her collect her clothing. “No, I’m so sorry! That was completely my fault!” You offered a smile as you stood back up, but was met with a calculating gaze as she studied you.

“I’m sorry, are you new around here?” She seemed to catch herself and her demeanor changed. “It’s just, I’ve never seen you around here before.” She gave a small smile.

“Oh ,I’m just a girlfriend!” you replied. “Just stopping by.”

“Are you Steve’s girlfriend?” she asked while gesturing to the door at the end of the hallway with her head. It was your target’s door. So the political scumbag’s name was Steve. Lovely. “I don’t think he’s home right now.”

Your brain churned out a fast response. “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately for me, he’s always working. I just left my purse, and he gave me his keys to stop by and pick it up.”

“Well I’m just glad he’s found someone with all his work. I know it’s been hard for him.”

The two of you exchanged one last goodbye smile before she stepped into the elevator.

“I’m Sharon by the way. And you are...?”

“Olivia,” you replied, the fake name came out as a second nature as the elevator doors closed.

You let out the breath you’d been holding.

“Well that could’ve gone worse,” you mutter to yourself as you approach the door at the end of the hallway.

You slipped the lock picker out of your sleeve before checking your surroundings cautiously. A minute after proceeding to insert the pick into the lock, a soft click resounded from the wooden door, and it easily swung open with a turn of the knob.

As you entered through the doorway, you took into account the little bits of vintage decoration that was dispersed amongst more modern furniture. A small Uncle Sam poster, a couple of war antiques, and some old photos with figures that remained unrecognizable in the distance. This government official seemed to have fought either in World War II or Vietnam, probably making him old. You shuddered at the fact you’d called yourself his girlfriend, but Sharon hadn’t seemed to bat an eye. Either way, you didn’t care for antiques, as much as they would have sold for a hefty price. They were probably personal to him and as you walked around, you realized there were quite a few personal items that were no use for you. As you walked into the bedroom a glint from the dresser caught your eyes, and your chest filled with giddiness and excitement as you neared. Three beautiful watches were on display under the mirror that sat atop the dresser. A Cartier that would probably sell for 8,000, a Rolex that would go for 10,000 easily, and then a beautiful older Rolex. With careful hands you snatched up the two newer watches and placed them into the small knapsack you’d been carrying. After consideration, you decided to leave the older one as it probably held a sentimental value and wouldn’t give you as much money as the other two.

You walked around some more, occasionally picking up valuables like solid gold tie clips and little pieces of Stark technology, which you were surprised he had. You had to be filthy rich to support, much less afford, anything made by that war profiteer. You picked up stashes of cash lying around, which seemed to be a lot. This man definitely seemed to use cash more than credit card which wasn’t as common around people your age. As you were rummaging around his study for any pieces of fine art (which you had already gotten two of) or government documents you could sell on the black market, you knocked over a picture frame which had landed on a file that read CLASSIFIED in red letters...right under the six letters that spelled S.H.I.E.L.D. This fucker was a S.H.I.E.L.D official. You were gonna kill Bella for the vague intel.

“Shit I need to get out of here,” you mumbled. Senators and representatives were fine targets, all usually too old and skeevy for you to care about, but a S.H.I.E.L.D. official was dangerous and could get you somewhere worse than jail. Hell, you could’ve accidentally broken into Nick Fury’s place. You were screwed. So screwed. And you needed to get the hell out of this apartment. As you went to put the picture back, you glanced at it, before doing a double take and squinting at it in the dark room. Oh. This was much worse than accidentally breaking into Nick Fury’s place.

The two men laughing with an arm around each other in war uniforms with an arm around one another was innocent enough until you could finally make out their faces. Steve Rogers an easy enough one to make out, especially considering you were on his lap a couple weeks ago, and James Buchanan Barnes looked practically unrecognizable without a murderous glare on his face.

“No,” you muttered before quickly placing the picture back down.

You once again assessed your surroundings. It all made sense. The subtle 1940’s vibe, the war antiques. Bella had said he did work for the government and that wasn’t a lie. In the corner of the room you spotted a large circular leather case that was partially unzipped. Through the slight opening of the brown leather, the red, blue, and glinting bright silver was unmistakable.

“No, no, no, fuck,” you muttered frantically as you checked your watch. You still had 38 minutes before the security cameras in the hall unfroze. That was enough time to put everything you stole back. You’d much rather work open to close shifts at the club every day for three months straight than get fucked over by Captain Fucking America.

You scrambled out of the study, moving to the living room first to put back the authentic paintings. You grabbed a stool from the high bar counter in the kitchen so you could rehang the medium sized work of art. Your mind was racing. This had to be karma for all the horrible shit you’d done in the past. God decided he had enough of your delinquent shenanigans and set you marching straight into the arms of America’s righteous hero. As you finished hanging the painting you spun around on your heel, completely forgetting you were on a wobbly wooden stool. Your heart stopped for a moment before you regained your footing. Carefully climbing down the stool, you almost missed the subtle turn of a lock coming from the door.

Oh you were so done for. Your limbs flew everywhere as you scrambled to the bedroom, sliding under the bed right as you heard the door open. The rumble of Steve Roger’s voice was clear as he talked on the phone and it cut through the walls from the living room.

“Well yea Buck, obviously Tony’s gonna be a little cold toward you. Not that I blame him. I’m just thankful he didn’t start an entire civil war over it. I guess it’s just a good thing we’re not war criminals.” He let out a chuckle before pausing. “Hey Buck? Yeah. I’m gonna have to call you back.” Another pause and you heard some rummaging around. “Why? I think my apartment was just broken into. I gotta go down to security. Yeah, thanks bud.”

Steve hung up and you heard some angry muttering as he walked into his room. From under the bed you saw his tennis shoes and dark jeans as he paced at the foot of the bed. You covered your mouth to stop your anxious breathing, afraid he’d hear you from your hiding spot.

The few minutes he spent in his room felt like eternity before he stomped out and you heard the opening and closing of another door as he exited the apartment. You crawl out from under the bed, your head spinning as you attempted to think of a way out of your predicament.

The window.

Quickly and quietly, you stood up and made your way to his bedroom window, looking out for a fire escape and letting out an annoyed huff when you saw none.

‘Maybe there’s one for the living room window,’ your brain chimed.

You rushed to the living room, scooping up the two watches and your empty knapsack on your way, and almost screamed with joy at the sight of the fire escape next to the window. Your fingers curled around the bottom of it and give it a sharp tug up, opening it just enough for you to squeeze through.

Just as you were about to lift your leg over the ledge and climb down the stairs to sweet sweet freedom, being able to forget about everything that ever happened tonight, a large hand wrapped around the back of your neck and wrenched you back with such force that you tumbled backwards and landed on your butt.

He was massive. Six feet of pure muscle towered over you as you trembled from your position on the floor. He squatted down, resting his elbows on his knees as he took you in, blue eyes practically cutting through the darkness, and you let out a small whimper.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you stealing is wrong?”

#dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #steve rogers x reader

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walshnikki · 3 years

Text

Pitch: Jack & Nikki

Sitting in the cab of the beat-up pick-up that had clearly seen better days, Nikki allowed herself a few minutes to compose herself. It wasn’t like the thirty-year-old to be nervous; on a good day, the brunette was rational and self-assured, but this was a small town. The smallest fucking town. Though she’d been living in Duffy for a few months now, she’d only set foot off her aunt’s property on a handful of occasions and of those, she’d only spoken with like three people at most. It was a bit daunting: trying to find a place in a town so… tight knit, but that didn’t mean she could let herself hide away in her aunt’s home.

She was a firm believer in the saying, ‘people need people,’ and Nikki needed people, or she was going to go insane. (The gothic-style manor got awfully quiet when it was just her and her aunt.) How to go about getting people, though, that was a question that she’d needed to ponder. How does a new girl make in-roads as an adult? An answer to that very question arrived in the mail, forwarded to her curtesy of her mother: her bachelor’s degree had finally arrived. A job. That was the perfect way to establish root and make connections.

With the document finally in her hands, Nikki had felt she had to try and make use of her degree; to not do so would make the four-year degree a gigantic waste of money & time. Research about the job market in Duffy, and all the surrounding towns, put a bit of damper on her initial excitement. Public relations gigs in the area were non-existent as it turned out. She’d never planned for small-town life, her post-college plans had been to move to New York and work her way up the corporate ladder at a medium-sized public relations firm. Georgia had no public relations companies at all. None, zip, zilch. But then she realized: if the job you want doesn’t exist, create it.

Double-checking that the flash drive bearing her business-specific proposal was tucked safely into her portfolio, Nikki pulled the keys from the ignition, hid them beneath the floor mat under the driver’s seat, and tugged her black plastic portfolio into her lap before elbowing open the driver’s door.

Once out of the truck’s cab, she put the item onto the driver’s seat, straightened up her burgundy satin bow-tie blouse from Bella’s Wardrobe and ran her hands down her charcoal grey slacks. She wasn’t just selling her public relations abilities; she was selling herself… and that started by making a good first appearance. She went for business casual, and, this was just her opinion, but she thought she’d done just that.

Tucking her portfolio under her left arm, Nikki locked up the borrowed beater, took a deep breath, and headed for the warehouse. With its chipping painting, fading signage, and forgotten posters drooping from black-painted doors, the DWL didn’t have the best exterior, but the thirty-year-old wasn’t fooled. The DWL was a powerhouse, not only in Duffy, but throughout the wrestling world. It just needed some help to boost its audience reach; that was where she planned to come in. First thing was first, though, entering the building and finding the man in charge. He was the one she’d need to convince.

Nikki followed the soft sound of voices deeper into the building, assuming whoever she came upon in the end would be able to point her in the direction of one, Jack Spade. The Heel, the myth, the legend. Or at least that was what her research had indicated.

Nikki thought the man himself was worthy of note all on his own. It wasn’t every day that a man made such an impression upon her… and in a lawn care store of all places! He had such a warm demeanor, such charm, she’d almost felt like a naïve schoolgirl under his attention. Thank God, she’d managed to get through her purchase without embarrassing herself. She was even more glad of that fact when, in scouting potential clients with public relations needs, the DWL came out on top of that list.

Coming up behind a gathered group of well-muscled men chortling and roughhousing with a couple of females milling about on the edges of the ruckus, Nikki mentally identified some of them (thanks to the background she’d gathered on the people working for the DWL): Rooster, Crystal, Bobby Pin, Diego, Apocalypse & last, but not least, Ace Spade. Ace was the most identifiable with his long blonde hair and pompous air, though that was to be expected with him being the ‘face’ of the DWL.

Finding no break in the ruckus to cut in, Nikki raised her fingers to her lips and gave a loud, piercing whistle. The whole group turned almost immediately, “Yeah, hi. Can someone point me in the boss’ direction?”

“I’m Ace Spade, sweetness,” Ace replied with a tone of voice that undoubtedly dropped a lot of panties in his time, “what do you need?”

Looking her up and down, he tacked on, “if you’re here for the valet gig, you’re way over dressed.” He sauntered closer to her, the others snickering and murmuring, taking in a show that Ace excelled putting on, “don’t worry, though, I’m sure I could help you get underdressed.”

Over his shoulder Nikki spied Apocalypse giving Diego an underhanded high-five. What exactly motivated that exchange, the young woman didn’t know, but she was willing to bet that it was some juvenile male thing. For some people high school never ended.

“If I wanted to get underdressed,” Nikki said, giving the cocky-blonde wrestler a withering look, “I wouldn’t need your help.” After beat she tacked on a demeaning, but sharply cheerful, “Thanks though.”

The rebuke seemed to throw the younger Spade off, the man just blinking at her like a confused owl. Poor thing. He probably wasn’t used to the sting of female rejection.

Looking past him, she inquired of the others in the room, “So, Jack?”

“Down the hall,” Bobby offered in answer after a moment of awkward silence.

“Thank you.” Tossing him a genuine smile, Nikki walked off in the direction that the DWL’s sweetheart had indicated. The muffled sound of a raised voice guided her until she was just steps away from the partial opened office door. Raising her right hand, she knocked lightly, but the sound went seemingly unnoticed by the man in charge.

Nudging the door with her foot, Nikki spied a man (presumably Jack) facing away from the door, a phone held tight to his ear as he spoke to someone on the other end of the line. She felt a little awkward just standing in the hallway, like a delinquent waiting to be called into the Principal’s office, and made a decision to step inside the office to await the conclusion of his phone call. That wasn’t overstepping, was it?

#t: pitch

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sooibian · 4 years

Text

Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol @j-pping @kyungseokie @exosmuttytalk @his-mochi-cheeks @littleflowercrown13 pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs.

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think.

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt.

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz…

“Late again?”

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner.

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall.

But you know better than to argue.

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself.

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you.

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo.

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope.

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor.

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business.

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now.

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service.

Customer service.

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine.

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example.

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough.

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document.

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you.

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen.

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.”

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….”

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents.

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him.

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.”

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with.

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time.

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized.

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up.

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon.

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning.

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right.

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!”

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time.

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink.

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands.

11 P.M., two hours past closing time.

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too.

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you.

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?”

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market.

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -”

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini.

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain.

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ��social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence.

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

At first you thought you were imagining this.

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.”

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality.

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?”

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.”

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders.

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy.

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face.

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out.

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time.

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?”

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm.

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash.

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound.

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol.

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault.

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him.

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him.

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for.

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.”

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life.

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?”

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day.

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you.

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice.

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning.

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently.

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation.

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?”

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension.

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck."

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door.

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time.

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all.

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable.

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe.

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing.

Someone beneath him.

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you.

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book.

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him.

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same.

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say.

You’ve been so stupid.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed.

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday.

But, you used to.

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths.

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music.

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings.

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks.

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles.

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim).

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile.

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

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dykeninthdoctor · 4 years

Note

love you (to the moon and to saturn)

oh this got out of hand but have 2.2k of tony and kids

No one ever said Tony Stark wasn’t impulsive, and Tony himself has never disagreed, because he knows he’s impulsive, but he thinks things through, more often than not, and he calculates the answers to problems before the problems even arise.

So, when he meets five-year-old Harley Keener in a Malibu home for boys and immediately decides to adopt him, it’s safe to say he’s thought it through, but it’s also safe to say it’s the most impulsive decision Tony’s ever made.

It goes like this.

“Tony. You need to do something. Being locked up in your workshop for hours on end to build different models of a suit you’ve already perfected isn’t healthy and I know your therapist has told you the exact same thing. So pick something, or I’ll choose for you, and I know you don’t want that.”

“The suit’s not perfected,” Tony mutters, avoiding Pepper’s eyes.

“Maybe not, but you need something else to do, because you’re ignoring the work the board needs from you.”

“I’m not ignoring it!”

“Oh, because having JARVIS flag it as priority twelve isn’t ignoring it?”

“It was a mistake letting you know my organizational system.”

“I created your organizational system, asshole.”

“Ooh, call me asshole again,” Tony teases, because he hates the way he knows she’s looking at him and it’d be so much better to see a blush or a smile. Instead, he gets her hand under his chin tipping his gaze up to meet hers and a kiss on the forehead.

“You know you can’t deflect around me. Maybe it’ll work with Jim–“

“It doesn’t.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t, he just humors you, but Jim’s not here, so you’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you? Oh, my dearest Pepper-pie, I could never be stuck with you.”

That gets him a laugh.

“Find a different nickname,” she tells him, and Tony almost thinks he’s gotten away with that deflection–almost–but then she gives him a look, and he knows he hasn’t.

“I’ll pick something.”

“I know you will. Ask JARVIS for the options.”

It goes like this.

Tony spends a few hours–yes, hours, because he knows his therapist and Pepper are right, even if he doesn’t want to admit it–going through the selection of different “charitable” distractions Pepper’s curated for him.

There’s a few that catch his eye, more than a few, because despite what people think, Tony wants to help even when it’s not possible, and Pepper knows that too, so of course everything she and JARVIS picked are things he wants to do.

The home for boys, though, is the one that jumps out the most.

JARVIS makes a knowing noise when Tony tells him, and his coding abilities hurt sometimes, because damn if it doesn’t sting that it sounds just like his namesake, and damn if that isn’t the exact reason Tony chose what he chose.

It goes like this.

Tony starts going to the home every other day, Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule, spending hours with children who don’t care what his name is or what his weapons did, who only care about the fact that he gives them all nicknames and actually listens when they talk about LEGOs or butterflies or the monster in the closet.

When the kids look at him with awe in their eyes, awe that has nothing to do with who he is, it makes working on the suit easier. It makes everything easier.

There’s seven-year-old Alex, who knows the name of every type of flower out there, and beams when Tony brings him a different flower from the local shop every day.

There’s five-year-old Robbie, with his quiet love of dinosaurs, who screams loud enough to burst eardrums when Tony brings him a shirt with the different eras of dinosaurs on it and a book about the Paleolithic era.

There’s nine-year-old Carter, whose memorization skills almost rival Tony’s when it comes to any cartoon, and when Tony finds the complete collection of the Calvin and Hobbes comic strips for him, he doesn’t stop talking about it for days.

And there’s so many more, who call him “Tony” and make it sound like they actually care, because they actually do, who help him forget about scorching desert heat and freezing water filling his mouth, who let him be just Tony without anything else.

And then there’s Harley.

It goes like this.

The door is open when he gets there on Friday for him to drop into a crouch in the doorway, ready for the rush of boys who fling themselves into his arms. After they’ve all gotten their hugs, and Tony’s given Alex his new flower–snapdragon, today, a purple one since it’s his favorite color–Carter whispers in his ear, “There’s a new boy, he came yesterday. Mam said his name is Harley, but he won’t talk to us. He’s really little, like–“

The distance between Carter’s hand and the floor is less than a foot, but no one ever said kids were good at measurements. Tony just nods, though, and lets Carter grab his shirtsleeve to lead him inside.

“What time did he come in?”

“Before dinner, but like, he didn’t eat, so maybe he already ate dinner–Alex tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t say anything, so I don’t know. He looks really sad, Tony, but he won’t answer our questions. Oh!” Carter says suddenly, stopping in the middle of the hallway; Tony stops with him and trips over a collection of spare…engine parts? “He didn’t let Alex touch him either.”

There’s a rush of emotions in Tony’s chest at that, and when Carter’s hand slips off his shirt and into his, he takes it gratefully; children are better at reading emotions than any adult Tony’s ever met, and there’s no point in lying to him.

“It reminded me of you,” Carter whispers. “Of the story you told me about your dad.”

And that’s the kicker.

Every boy in the home has a piece of Tony in the way they move, or the way they speak, or the way they don’t speak.

“Okay,” Tony says, and crouches down again to be at Carter’s eye-level, ignoring the way his knees protest at the movement. “I’ll see if he’ll talk to me, okay?”

Carter hugs him, and Tony hugs him back.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“You’re good at taking care of your friends,” Tony tells him firmly. “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Carter repeats, softer.

Tony ruffles his hair. “Course, kiddo. You wanna take me to see Harley?”

Carter nods his head towards the door Tony hadn’t realized they stopped outside of. “He’s in there.”

It goes like this.

Carter lets go of Tony’s hand after Tony forks over the candy he promised to bring last time and runs off to–fairly and equally–distribute it to the other kids. Tony watches him go with fondness swelling in his chest before turning back to the door and knocking a pattern lightly against the old wood.

There’s no response, but Tony wasn’t expecting one, and he opens the door quietly, pushing the engine parts in the doorway into the room with his foot.

It’s empty at first glance, the three bunkbeds in various states of disarray and LEGOs scattered on the floor, a Star Trek poster half-taped to the wall–Tony makes a mental note to bring more tape next time, and more posters, and a DVD of Star Trek seasons one through three–and clothes overflowing from the hamper shoved in the corner like an afterthought.

Then he hears a tiny sniff and the sound of fabric against skin from behind the clothes, and it’s like he’s five again and hiding from Howard in his closet.

“Harley?” he calls out softly.

Again, no response, but when he shifts down to his knees again and the floorboard underneath him wobbles, the noises stop.

“My name’s Tony, I’m here to say hi.” He pauses, then adds, “Your friend Carter sent me.”

There’s another sniff and a quiet exhale, and then the clothes move, and Tony’s face-to-face with liquid blue eyes and a freckled nose surrounded by a tiny mop of blond hair.

The kid–Harley–freezes. Tony freezes.

“‘m sorry,” Harley mumbles, and it sounds wrong, not just the words–because Tony hates when an unneeded apology falls from a kid’s lips, rotting fruit from the purest of trees–but the way he says them, like they’re clunky on his tongue. “Didn’ realize you were s’ill ’n here, ‘m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tony starts, but Harley keeps talking like he didn’t hear him, hands–tiny hands–shaking at his sides and eyes–scared eyes–focused on the floor.

“‘m sorry, Mis’er S’ark, I didn’ mean to–“

Then it clicks.

Tony raises his hands, slowly slowly slowly, to sign, “You don’t have to apologize.”

The rambling stops, and Harley’s eyes finally lift to meet his.

“You know how to talk to me?” he signs, hands moving almost too fast for Tony’s rusty knowledge of ASL to pick up, but the gist is clear, and Tony’s heart breaks.

“Yes. I do,” Tony tells him.

Harley beams.

It goes like this.

Through silent conversation, Tony learns about Harley, learns about a car crash that sounds all too familiar, learns about Harley’s affinity for engines, learns about this child, this child who shines as bright as the arc reactor in his chest, and the thought that maybe, maybe, this is what Jarvis felt, creeps across his mind.

Even if it isn’t, Tony looks at Harley, and understands, for the first time in his lifetime, why Jarvis was always there for him.

He adopts Harley on the spot.

It goes like this.

There’s paperwork to fill out, and questionnaires to answer, and pamphlet after pamphlet, but a two-month process gets condensed down to two hours, because he’s Tony Fucking Stark, and Harley’s eyes filled with tears when he realized what was happening.

With Harley’s tiny hand clasped firmly in his, he finishes signing the last document.

“All done, bud,” he finger spells.

“Thank you,” Harley signs, “Thank you thank you thank you–“

When he picks Harley up and settles him on his hip, it feels right.

“Time to go home, kiddo.”

It goes like this.

Pepper drops everything she’s holding, including the One Tree Hill mug that Tony bought her despite her protests that she didn’t like the show, when she sees Harley sleeping–and most likely drooling–against his shoulder.

Tony winces. “Hey, Pep.”

“Hi, Tony. Why are you holding a kid?”

“His name’s Harley.” “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Well, I–“

“The real answer, Tony,” she says, before he can even think of an excuse.

“He’s like me,” he says suddenly, without meaning to, but despite that, he does mean it, because Harley’s like him in every movement he makes, every word he speaks, and after all, that’s why Tony brought him home.

The crease between her eyebrows smooths out momentarily, before reappearing with force.

“How much like you, Tony?”

“I had Happy throw out every bottle before we came home,” Tony answers with, and it’s enough for Pepper.

“You can’t do this on your own.”

Harley snuffles against his shoulder. Tony’s gaze immediately shifts to him.

“No, but I can try.”

“No, you self-sacrificial idiot, I’m calling Jim and Roberta.”

It goes like this.

When Momma Robbie sees Harley–who’s curled up on his chest watching a cartoon with subtitles on while Tony “rests his eyes” on the couch–she just gives Tony a Look, kisses both their cheeks, and tells him that she wishes he’d waited until Jimmy was home, which. Is something Tony doesn’t need to unpack while Harley’s there.

Harley falls in love with everything about her, including, but not limited to: her cooking, her hugs, the way she signs, how she tucks him into bed, her kisses…the list is so endless Tony almost gets jealous, because that’s his kid.

Then again, Harley sits by his side in the workshop for hours on end, content to build his own miniature robot–a companion for Dum-E and U–and it’s him Harley comes to after a nightmare.

The nightmares are hard, for both of them. Most nights, Harley will crawl into his bed, face stained with tears, and fall asleep to the light of the arc reactor.

“’s a star. Our nightlight,” Harley mumbles, half-asleep, one night and for once in his life, Tony doesn’t hate the arc reactor.

The nightmares get easier when Rhodey comes home, three weeks and a day after Harley’s first day in the mansion. When he gets his first look at Harley–in the lab, playing around with his new bot while Tony builds his hearing aids–his face goes eerily blank, before he comes to hug Tony tightly. “He’s you, genius,” he murmurs, and Tony almost cries, because of course Rhodey doesn’t have to ask.

Again, something to unpack later.

Harley adjusts to Rhodey’s presence like he was there from the first day, like he was there when Harley didn’t want to talk at all, like he was there when Harley didn’t stray from Tony’s side, like he was there when fear was the primary emotion in Harley’s big eyes, not joy and comfort and safety.

Harley lets Rhodey in just as easily as he let Tony in.

That Tony cannot fault him for, and maybe the fact that Harley’s like him isn’t a bad thing.

Maybe Tony can guard him from the worst parts of it all.

After all, that's what Jarvis did for him.

#look i. did not mean to write this much. but i don't hate it #i will perhaps expand on this and make it like 15k and post it on my ao3 but who knows....i'm just thinkin about it #tony stark #harley keener #edwin jarvis #anyway rhodey and tony raise him together and fall in love even more than they already are it just takes harley for them to realize it #james rhodey rhodes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #ironhusbands drabble #tony stark drabble #irondad #ironson #i don't know how to tag this at aLL #aven.writing #ask game #peachy tag

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just-a-random-cipher · 3 years

Text

!Theories about Gravity Falls!

Enjoy Reading:)👁

I recently came to the understanding that some people in the Gravity Falls fandom are slightly confused as to what little the fandom knows about Bill Cipher’s past. Everyone who watches the show knows he comes from another dimension known as the Nightmare Realm, which is decaying and fated to be destroyed by its very own mechanisms. However, given the release of Journal 3 by Alex Hirsch and Disney, and a rather interesting and hidden page on the Disney XD site (found here), Bill’s background is obviously not as simple as him being a megalomaniacal, dimension hopping villain.

Let’s start with the Axolotl.

Most people know this amphibious being from the last few seconds Bill is alive. He says something close to, “Axolotl, my time has come to burn. I invoke the ancient power that I may return.” If you want to hear it yourself, check out any of the YouTube videos on the subject. However, this seems to point out that Bill knows of, or somehow personally knows, the Axolotl. This is where the hidden link comes into play. Below is a picture of where the link leads to.

Take note of the first highlighted section. Dipper is asking what the Axolotl knows about Bill Cipher. Now, seeing as the Axolotl resides in the “time and space between time and space,” it could have the ability to see and know all of what happens in other places of time and space. This would give the Axolotl a distanced, somewhat unbiased view of what happened in Bill’s original dimension.

The riddle that is boxed gives some insight into Bill’s past from what the Axolotl knows. The first two lines refer to Bill - proof of him being an equilateral triangle due to the three sixty degree angles the Axolotl describes.

The third and fourth lines explain what happened to Bill’s dimension. The dimension burned, and he misses it. The “can’t return” at the end of the fourth line seems to hint that he is trying to get back to his dimension, or is trying to undo its destruction. Also note that Bill watched his dimension burn, meaning he was likely already outside of his dimension. Say this was his first time dimension hopping, and his first time leaving his dimension had some kind of effect like Weirdmageddon did on Earth - only, instead of there being weirdness waves that changed the environment, it was something much worse which basically rendered the entire dimension uninhabitable or entirely wiped it from existence.

Moving on, the Axolotl implies that Bill is lying to himself about being happy, and possibly other things. “Blame the arson for the fire” could have several meanings at this point. Was there someone else who actually destroyed Bill’s universe? Should we be blaming Bill because he is the arson? Does Bill blame someone else who is the true arson? Seeing as the word “Blame” is a mere imperative verb that is ordering a person or thing to do something, and there is no other person or personal pronouns given in the sentence, it is hard to say who the Axolotl is ordering. If it was “blames,” then it could be derived that it means “Bill blames” since “You blames,” referring to Dipper and likely the only other person the Axolotl could be thinking of in this context, doesn’t make grammatical sense.

The seventh line seems fairly obvious, and the only questions left are: who is Bill shirking the blame to, and what blame precisely? He has supposedly committed hundreds of atrocities and probably broken all the laws in every universe just to say he did, so is he putting the blame for all of his actions on someone else, or just a singular time where he was to blame?

The eighth line likely connects to Bill’s last moments in Stan’s mind. As stated before, Bill says “Axolotl, my time has come to burn. I invoke the ancient power that I may return.” Notice how Bill uses Axolotl’s name, and later says invoke. Kinda obvious connection there. But also note how Bill says “my time has come to burn.” Now, we do see literal fire taking over Stan’s mind, but we never see him actually burn. Of course, this could also point toward a more metaphorical description or that he just needed to rhyme, just as the Axolotl did in answering Dipper’s question, in order to truly invoke the Axolotl.He could also be referencing that he is dying, and that he probably should have died ages ago with the rest of his dimension which burned, but hey. I look for double meanings everywhere. Especially with Bill Cipher.

As for the last two lines… The fandom can only speculate on it. Bill can only liberate himself by doing one singular thing. And apparently a different form and different time are involved. That could have many different meanings. “Different form” could be physically or mentally - Bill could be a different shape, could be reborn as another species somehow, could reaffirm himself and admit the truth, or he could simply get some kind of interdimensional cold and be “out of shape.” The other half seems pretty obvious: “a different time.” It could be the future, the past, the present, the in between times, or even the second or third or hundredth time he tries to make amends.

A different form and time could also refer to a different universe, which holds a different form and different times, or himself entering Gravity Falls’ dimension and gaining a physical body (new form) and trying to start a new reign in another dimension that (this time) won’t just collapse someday without warning.

Basically, the Axolotl states that (in my own opinion) Bill possibly had a hand in the destruction of his home dimension, but likely tried to stop said destruction and failed. He misses his home and can’t return, but is still trying to find a way back to it. He’s lying to himself and someone is definitely to be blamed for the destruction of his universe, but he won’t admit to it. Bill needs the Axolotl in order to put the blame on someone else, and there is only one way, in another time and another form, that he can free himself from the blame.

Alright. Onto The Oracle. Finally.

In the Third Journal, Ford explains what exactly what happened for those 30 years he was missing. After getting attacked in a 2-D Dimension, he met The Oracle in Dimension 52. She knew all about him and his “mission” to defeat Bill. She was the one who helped Ford get a metal plate in his head. She also was the one who told Ford about Bill’s past.

The first few things I want to go over is the page in which Ford depicts The Oracle. She stands, staring with crossed arms partially obscuring an amulet, in front of what seem to be tapestries of the Axolotl. Bubbles and/or orbs seem to be hanging from the ceiling and rising from the floor in front of the tapestries.

The Third Journal does show that some people in the multiverse know of the Axolotl and the Oracle seems to have some kind of psychic power, evidence when she knew Stanford’s name, his purpose, and what he was destined to do. So perhaps that isn’t as interesting as it first appears. The amulet is also rather intriguing… Could it be in the shape of an eye?

But what about the bubbles and orbs?

I kinda feel like I’m looking too deeply into this, but the only other time when bubbles seem to be important is during Weirdmageddon when Bill uses a bubble to trap Mabel and unleashes weirdness bubbles on the town. It seems somewhat weird that the person who gives Ford all the answers seems to have some kind of connection to Bill - albeit a stretched connection with just these pieces of information in hand. It just seems too much like he’s being used again, which I’ll get into later.

Ford, on some level, seems to notice the connection between the Oracle and Bill. The symbols underlined above the circled Axolotl can be decrypted to read, “The opposite of Bill.” This seems to make sense with what little we know of her. She seems to know all, but never tells Ford that she is indeed psychic or omniscient - notice how Ford states, “Whether she was psychic or had just read my wanted poster is hard to say,” implying that he doesn’t know how she knew about him. She is also noted to be “calm” when talking about her desire to end Bill’s reign. However, Bill seems to believe himself to be omniscient due to his ability to peer into all realms from his Nightmare Realm. But he constantly doesn’t foresee issues - Mabel knocking the safe’s code out of his hands in Dreamscaperers and outsmarting him in Sock Opera, the Weirdness Containment Bubble around Gravity Falls, the dino-arm pulling his eye out, the Stans swapping clothes. He also is known to be rather hotheaded and, as many people in the fandom point out, likely to be insane.

Now, you might be wondering where all this comes into play, right? Well, if you look at the second page, where Ford details their encounter a bit more, he says that the Oracle told him that Bill was power hungry, which caused him to burn his dimension and everything and everyone in it.

That doesn’t sound like what the Axolotl said, right? Which is why people are conflicted on what, or rather who, to believe.

But why would she shape her words into something that Ford could easily misinterpret? Well, first things first: she’s an oracle and prophecies can be easily misinterpreted. But that seemed to fit a bit too easily, so I looked a little harder at the wording of the document and came to one conclusion:

She wants Bill dead and out of the picture.

My reasoning? 1) Look at the line “She spoke of him without anger, but with a calm, steely, clinical resolve to see his reign end.” Pretty straight forward. Ford can tell that she doesn’t like Bill’s reign and will not stop until he is stopped. 2) “She… said I had the face of the man who was destined to destroy Bill.” She said destroy Bill, not Ford’s constant “defeat” that he mentions throughout the series. Destroy means to utterly annihilate, reduce to nothing, ruin emotionally and spiritually, to kill. If this is what she said to him, then she obviously wasn’t just messing around. 3) Ford and her spent the entire night partying after she revealed this. They were partying about someone’s death. Kinda harsh

There is one other point that really hammers it into me that the Oracle was manipulating her own words: her own name. The first paragraph reveals her name to be Jheselbraum the Unswerving. The Unswerving. Which means that once she’s dedicated to something - like destroying a dimension hopping demon by the name of Bill - she will not stop until she succeeds.

Seeing as Ford mysteriously found himself in another dimension after he and the Oracle partied together, it’s pretty obvious that she didn’t tell Ford about him being destined to defeat Bill until that last day. You’d expect someone whom could pull someone out of another dimension into their own, whom knew who Ford was way before they met, whom already had a difficult surgery in mind to aid Ford, and whom was obviously invested in taking Bill down to simply tell Ford that he was the multiverse’s savior, right?

She instead kept it all a secret until the last day, at which point Ford was even more resolute to kill Bill instead of just defeating him and keeping him out of his dimension.

So who do you trust more? Or do you trust no one? On one hand you have a mysterious being that answered Dipper’s question with a riddle instead of a straight answer, and said riddle could be seen in a variety of lights. On the other, you have an equally mysterious Oracle who might have manipulated her words to ensure Ford’s resolve against Bill.

It's just my opinion! So you don't have to say anything about it! :)))

#gravity falls #gravity falls theory #gravity falls bill #axolotl #dipper pines #mabel pines #digital art #drawing #bill cipher

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swampofiniquity · 4 years

Text

Warning Signs (Leon Kennedy x Reader

Part Two of Point / Counterpoint

Rated: Teen and Up

Word Count: 2,088

Cross-posted from AO3

Summary: Leon calls you for a favor and your night devolves from there.

Part One

You hated driving through D.C.

It was always a nightmare of clueless tourists, reckless locals that had lost their regard for personal safety, and insane taxi driver’s that you swore must have all been taught by the same drunk asshole of a driver’s ed instructor. The lights never went your way, half the time a block or whole street would be closed for a parade or movie shoot or some other inconvenience. A couple of years of living in the city had taught you two things.

One - America needed to invest more in public transportation. And two - never try to drive anywhere in rush hour traffic.

The last of which meant Leon Kennedy owed you big time.

If any other human being had asked you to pick them up between the hours three and seven pm, you’d have laughed and given them directions to the nearest Metro station. People who you would otherwise not think twice about taking a bullet for either needed to wait until a more reasonable traffic hour, or find alternate transportation. But Leon was different.

While technically your superior at the DSO, he was also your best friend and a man that so rarely asked for help that his phone call asking you to come pick him up from the White House was practically the equivalent of spotting a unicorn running through the National Mall.

He had just gotten back from nearly two weeks of grueling back-to-back international peace summits with the president and apparently the pair had decided to celebrate their success by cracking open a bottle of executive bourbon. Now Leon needed someone with a high enough security clearance to come pick his exhausted, drunk ass up and take it the fuck home. You had the lucky distinction of being the first person he called.

And yeah, you kinda also owed him for watching your cat last time you had an out of country assignment. So, you hopped in the car, fully prepared to curse and rage your way through an infuriating hour or so of whiteknuckle fun.

Mercifully, Leon was waiting for you outside when you finally made it through the security gate. He was wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses you had never seen before, despite the sun having gone down at least an hour ago, and was leaning crookedly up against a wall like he was fighting gravity on a sinking ship. It was somehow both alarming and utterly hilarious. You couldn’t remember the last time you'd ever seen him so out of sorts and had to fight the urge to document the moment for posterity. Or blackmail.

You rolled the window down as you pulled up beside him. "Hey sailor," you sang, as he struggled to push himself upright. "Need a ride?"

"Why am I already regretting this?" Leon grumbled, his scratchy voice about a whole octave lower than normal. Despite clearly being wasted he managed to shove himself and his duffel bag into your car without incident.

"Oh please, you missed me and you know it." You flashed him a cheeky grin, that he subtly returned.

"That’s presumptuous." He fumbled with the seat-belt for a moment before finally managing to get the latch to click.

You leaned across the console and pinched the meat of his arm through his jacket in retaliation, before pulling him into the closest approximation of a hug you could manage with the seat-belt pulling you back. It had been more than a month since you'd been this close to the man and seeing him again, alive and whole, made your chest clench unexpectedly.

Leon hummed and returned the embrace, burying his face in your hair. He was so warm, but a shiver still went up your spine as you felt his breath on your neck. "Good to see you too, gorgeous."

It was something he had always called you, a leftover from the early days of your relationship when Leon tried relentlessly and futilely to seduce you into bed with him. Something you had heard more than enough times to render it practically meaningless. And normally, it wouldn't affect you in the slightest, but the fact that you were in his arms and could feel his words as clearly as you could hear them, made the pet name seem so much more intimate.

You cleared your throat and pulled back, praying you didn't come off as awkward as you suddenly felt. "Yeah, well uh good… let's get you home then."

_________________________________________________________

A dark, humid night had long since set in by the time you pulled up to Leon’s building just outside of the main metropolitan area and only about a ten minute walk from your own apartment. After a very graceful and coordinated trek up the three flights of stairs to his door, you used your key and let yourself in, stepping aside for Leon and his duffel bag to slink past.

“You want me to order you some food or something? That new pizza place down the street finally opened up while you were gone.” You flipped on his living room light just in time to see Leon go limp and flop face down on his couch.

He let out a dramatic groan and went still.

“You dead?” You asked, fighting back a smile. He hadn’t even bothered to kick his boots off, opting instead to rest them on a throw pillow like an animal. “After all that effort to pick you up across town and bring you back here...”

“Mmmmphm,” he grumbled into the cushion before turning his head so you could actually understand him. “Yeah, very dead, sorry.”

“What am I going to tell your boyfriend, the president?” You bent down and removed his shoes, tossing them vaguely towards the door before lifting his legs and taking a seat beneath them.

There was a lot of very dignified flailing and wriggling as Leon turned himself over onto his back to level a glare up at you. “Not boyfriends.”

This was one of the reasons why you loved drunk Leon. Normally, he’d barely acknowledge your stupid jokes and attempts at teasing, but give the man a few too many drinks and he became the perfect target for a little friendly ribbing. You couldn’t help yourself. “You’re right, I forgot he’s married. So that’d make you his side piece.”

A pillow grazed the top of your head as it soared past you. “Rude.”

“Sorry, work wife?”

Another pillow, this one aimed a little better, hit you in the shoulder and bounced off onto the floor. You laughed. “Hey, just because he is never going to leave her for you doesn’t mean you can just throw things at me!”

“I’m out of pillows anyway,” Leon responded. Then he raised one of the socked feet on your lap up, nearly touching your nose. You squealed and grabbed his ankle, trying to save your face, but despite your efforts you still caught a whiff of the not-so-pleasant aroma of a foot that had spent most of the day stuck in a boot during international travel.

“That is so gross.” You glared at his smirking face.

While you were distracted, Leon snuck his other foot up and managed to gently caress your cheek. Squealing again, you jerked away. “Oh I’m going to make you for real dead, Kennedy!”

He laughed as you slipped out from under his legs and snatched one the pillows he had thrown at you off the floor. You stood over him, just out of his reach. “Apologize,” you demanded, pillow raised threateningly.

“Ha, you first.” Leon sat up, folding his arms across his chest.

You cocked your arm back and brought the pillow down hard, aiming to hit him in the stomach, but even drunk Leon was too fast. He caught the pillow and jerked it back, bringing you toppling down onto his lap. At the last second, you managed to brace your hand on the back of the couch to avoid knocking foreheads.

“Careful now.” Two strong hands latched onto your hips to still your squirming as you tried to right yourself. “Watch your knees down there.”

Your skin felt flushed as you caught his meaning. “Sorry,” you muttered, feeling embarrassed around him in a way you hadn’t in years. You gingerly adjusted your knees that were dangerously close to his crotch and moved so they were on either side of his thighs.

And boy was that position just so much worse. You resisted the urge to hide your hot face in his neck. Your brain was working overtime, rationalizing that the only reason you were this affected by straddling your best friend had to be the current dry spell plaguing your love life. That was the only plausible explanation for the sudden awareness of all the places Leon’s body was in contact with your own.

“That’s better,” he said quietly, warm hands still firm on your hips.

The air suddenly felt heavy, thick like you were trapped under a woolen blanket in the summertime. You could practically hear the alarm bells going off. This was dangerous territory.

Fighting back panic, you lifted your head up to face him, fully intending to crack another stupid joke or make fun of him, anything to ease the tension that had fallen. But the look in his eyes made the words stick to your tongue like a carpet tack.

Leon slowly gathered a lock of your hair that had fallen into your face and tucked it behind your ear. His hand lingered on your neck. “Hey there.”

“Hi” you breathed, heart beating double time in your chest. You were frozen, completely unable to move even if you had wanted to.

“You’re so soft,” Leon’s voice rumbled out, as he ever so gently ran his hand across your neck and under your chin, the calluses on his fingers catching on your skin like fine grain sandpaper. Goosebumps erupted at his touch and you bit back a contented sigh.

“T-thanks,” you muttered, closing your eyes and tilting your head back as you let him explore your skin. It felt so good being touched so tenderly, so affectionately, that it didn’t matter who was behind it.

A gentle yet firm hand on the back of your neck brought you closer, the fingers tightening as Leon pressed his lips against yours. You shuddered, your body wound so tightly that you were afraid you’d snap at any moment. This was a bad idea for more reasons than you could count, but you were finding it impossible to care in the moment.

It wasn’t until the kiss deepened, when you parted your lips and tasted the bourbon on Leon’s tongue that you came to your senses. He was drunk and you were sober. What the hell was wrong with you?

You scrambled off his lap, feeling your stomach churn with shame and embarrassment. “Oh god.”

Your sudden movement must have jolted Leon back to some semblance of normal as well because he cleared his throat, looking sheepish. “I’m a drunken asshole. I am so sorry. ”

“No, I shouldn’t have-”

“But it was clearly my-”

You both started and trailed off, stewing for a long moment in your collective chagrin. Neither of you had a protocol for accidentally making out with your best friend. The only sound in the room was the distant droning of cicadas in the humid night outside before you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Um maybe we forget this happened?” Your voice sounded so small to your own ears.

Leon perked up. “Yes, good. Nothing to talk about because it never happened.”

You nodded enthusiastically, trying not to let how quickly he latched onto the idea sting. You recommended it for fuck’s sake. “Exactly.”

Leon let out a huge breath and slumped back into the couch. “I either need another drink or to sleep for ten years. Or both.”

“Well, best of luck with that. I’m going to head out.” You made a show of patting your pockets for your car keys, still feeling horribly awkward.

Leon frowned, but otherwise didn’t move from his prone position. “Okay. Wanna catch lunch tomorrow?” He asked, finishing the question around a yawn.

“Yeah, call me.” Normally you would have hugged him or kissed his cheek, but the thought of getting in his personal space again made your skin feel too tight, so you settled on a halfhearted wave. “Goodnight, Leon.”

“Night gorgeous.”

You spent the whole ride home fighting the stupid grin that kept trying to creep onto your face.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy fanfiction #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfic

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meliakim · 3 years

Text

Christmas Manito

Min and Mun join the boys for the Korean version of secret Santa.

“Wowww, Mun-ah!! I can’t believe you were able to cook this much food in one day!” Hobi said to Mun as he entered the dorm kitchen and looked all around at the baked goodies and snacks. “Well, it wasn’t just me though, I had help,” she said, eyeing Seokjin who was taking out his puff pastries from the oven… one of the things that she taught him to bake during one of their many cooking sessions. “Mun-ah!!! They’re perfectly baked this time!” he said excitedly, tilting the pan over towards Mun to show her. “See? I knew you’d get them mastered,” she said reassuringly with a huge smile on her face.

“Aish, they’re too cute,” Hobi said under his breath as he turned to leave the kitchen, though it was just loud enough for Mun to hear. A few seconds later, Taehyung roamed into the kitchen to have a look as well. “Tae! Come help me finish decorating the cookies,” she said to her fellow artsy friend. He went over to her and peered over her shoulder, seeing sugar cookies shaped like stockings, Christmas trees, and snowmen. “They’re so festive!” he said, taking the green icing that was being handed to him by Mun. “Are Min and Jimin back yet?” she asked him. He nodded and said, “they just got back with the pizza a bit ago.”

“The whole dorm smells so sweet!!” Jimin said as he placed the pizzas on the side table set up in the living room table. Min nodded in agreement and said, “they must be baking up a storm in there!” “I hope they’re almost done though, I’m so hungry!!” Jungkook said, laying on the couch. Namjoon and Yoongi both appeared from their rooms and put their gifts under the Christmas tree just as the three chefs came out of the kitchen with all the baked goodies. They put them on the table next to the pizza, causing Hobi to say “WoW!” and pull out his phone to take pictures.

All seven members and their two friends fixed their plates and began eating, sitting on the couches and on the floor… wherever they could find space. “Ok, so who is going to start the manito game?” Jimin asked, eagerly, wanting to know who his manito was. “Let’s use rock, paper, scissors to decide!” Namjoon said. They proceeded to do so, and Mun won, making her the first to give her gift to the person whose name she drew. She got up from her seat in between Seokjin and Tae on the couch and pulled her colorfully wrapped gift from under the tree.

She walked over towards Jimin and acted like she was going to give it to him before turning around last-second and giving it to Jungkook. Jimin pouted and the whole room was full of laughter. “Merry Christmas, Jungkookie!” Mun said before sitting back down. He bowed his head in gratitude and opened his present. It was a small travel art kit with a sketchbook, pens, and pencils. “Since you’re about to travel the world, I thought sketching would be a good way for you to document your trip!” Mun said as Jungkook looked at his gift admiringly. “JK JK it’s your turn!!” Jimin said.

Jungkook got up from his seat and pulled out his gift from the tree. Like Mun, he acted like he was going to give it to Jimin before handing it to Min who was sitting right next to him. Min smiled and said, “thank you, JK!” She opened up the perfectly wrapped gift and tried not to freak out of excitement. It was a nice pair of Bluetooth headphones that she had talked to him about a while ago when doing his makeup. “You’re always listening to music during our makeup sessions… and your old headphones were falling apart,” he said with a chuckle.

Min was next, and she followed suit by getting up and pulling her gift from under the tree. Of course, she couldn’t help but tease Jimin, causing him to pout and fall out of his chair while everyone else laughed. She handed her gift to Namjoon, saying “Merry Christmas, Joon!!” as she did so. It was rather heavy, so he sat it on his lap and ripped the paper off it. Min had been telling Namjoon to read the Lord of the Rings for months now, since he enjoyed the movies… so that’s exactly what she got him, knowing how much he loved reading. “Wow, Min!!! This is too much!! Thank you, manito!!” he said, bowing gratefully with a big smile as she sat back down.

After pretending to give Jimin the gift, Namjoon proceeded to give his gift to Yoongi, who was sitting next to Seokjin. He pulled the tissue paper out of the bag and broke down laughing, along with Seokjin, who had peered into his bag too. “Oh?? What is it?” Hobi asked curiously. “It’s underwear, I’m not pulling it out,” he said with a pink face, knowing that there were two ladies present. “Namjoon-ah! How did you even know his size?” Seokjin asked, still dying from laughter. “We wear the same size!” he said, causing everyone to laugh even louder. “So practical!” Hobi commented.

Yoongi got up to get his gift, causing Jimin to sit up taller in his seat… only for Yoongi to go back straight to his seat, handing the bag to Seokjin beside him. “Aish!! Yoongi-ah!! What kind of gift is this?!” Seokjin whined, pulling out a large stand-up photo of Suga, a Suga fan, a pair of Shooky socks, and other forms of Suga merch. “I thought you could put my photo on your desk so you can see me while you game,” Yoongi said with a smirk. “Aish!! Yoongi-ah!! So conceited!” Seokjin said, dramatically, causing everyone to laugh.

He got up and brought his gift straight to Taehyung, causing Jimin to roll his eyes restlessly, wondering if he would ever get a gift. Tae took the tissue paper out of the bag and first pulled out an iPhone case with RJ on it, then a Jin photocard, RJ keychain, and a Jin poster. “Hyung!! This is as bad as Yoongi-hyung!!” Tae laughed as he pulled out each item and showed everyone. Seokjin’s windshield wiper laugh filled the room as Yoongi playfully slapped his roommate’s arm. “So conceited, huh??” he playfully whined. “Wait, no it’s worse!” Tae said, taking a closer look at the RJ phone case. “I don’t even have an iPhone!” he said.

Through his tears of laughter, Hobi looked at the phone case and said, “oh!! Mun-ah has an iPhone XR, right? This would fit her phone!!” Everyone looked at Seokjin as his laughter shifted from windshield wiper to a nervous laughter, his ears turning bright red. Tae’s boxy smile got even wider as he shook his head and put everything back in the gift bag, passing it over to Mun sitting next to him, as the gift was obviously geared towards her.

Tae’s turn started with him getting his present, and… finally, giving it to Jimin, who was still eagerly waiting. “Ahhh, finally!!” he said, opening the gift. It was a small dumpling-shaped plushie with Tae and Jimin’s initials stitched onto it. “I thought it would be a good reminder for us to not fight,” Tae said with a smile. Jimin jumped out of his seat and hugged his friend before he could sit back down. “Let’s not fight again!!” he vowed, going over to the tree and getting his gift while he was up, handing it to Hobi. “Jimin-ssi!!! This is too cool,” Hobi said, pulling a polaroid camera, film, and photo book out of the bag excitedly.

“Ok, ok, last but not least!” Hobi said in a sing-song voice, taking the last present under the tree and handing it to Mun. She received it gratefully and opened the package to reveal a purple apron with a subtle BTS logo on the front. She stood up and put it on immediately, then recognized that there was handwriting all over the inside. She took it back off and read the notes, seeing that each of the members had written something to her. “Hobi!! This is so great,” she said, trying not to get caught up and take the time to read all the notes just yet.

“It’s for you to wear at work!! Even though we’ll be on tour, you can always have us with you and think about us during the day!” he said, smiling at Mun. She dropped to her knees to meet Hobi on the floor and pulled him into a tight hug, nearly knocking him over. “It’s so perfect… thank you,” she said, still holding onto him. Seokjin joined them on the floor, wrapping his arms around Mun, then was followed by Tae, Jungkook, Min, and all the others, so that everyone was piled on top of each other in a group hug on the floor. “Merry Christmas, everyone!!” everyone said to each other, just so happy to be together.

#seokmun #seokjin x oc #manito #bts #bts fanfic #bts cute #Seokjin #ot7

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beardycarrot · 3 years

Text

I, lying awake in bed because that’s how it always is the day before you have something important to do... am going to try to guess what the plot of Bioshock Infinite is, based on what I’ve seen in the first few hours and with knowledge of the other two (and a half?) games. Spoilers for the entire Bioshock series, except maybe Infinite, but I intend to knock it out of the park.

So. The first Bioshock is set in a futuristic (by 1950’s standards) city at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, created by a hardcore libertarian named Andrew Ryan as a way to once and for all live in a society free of government regulation. I won’t get into all the “sea slugs that produce a gene-altering wonder drug” and “child slaves brainwashed to drink corpse blood” stuff; very interesting, very important to the plot, but if I tried to explain the world of Bioshock I’d be lying here typing on my phone until the sun comes up. That stuff aside, the major plot points are that you’re not actually a guy who just happened to crash-land near the entrance to the city but are, in fact, Andrew Ryan’s son, and the guy who’s been guiding you through the city was actually using a Manchurian Candidate-style activation phrase to manipulate you into doing whatever he wanted. It’s a big, mind-blowing reveal (as is the realization that your character is actually about four years old... science fiction, man).

Bioshock 2 didn’t really have any big plot twists... or plot, for that matter ...but it was developed by an entirely different team, while the original’s team also did Infinite, so I’m expecting a return to form. Just as an aside, Bioshock 2 had a short DLC campaign called Minerva’s Den, which had a fantastic story, and a twist that the player can figure out on their own if they’re paying attention. Your goal is to get a very smart computer (for 1968) out of the underwater city and back to the surface so you can use it to cure all the victims of the slug-borne gene manipulation, and you’re guided over radio by the computer’s creator. At the end, you learn that the one guiding you was actually the computer itself, and that you’re its creator, slowly recovering from brainwashing. For the record, the endings to all three of these have made me cry.

So! With those kinds of twists in mind, what am I expecting from Bioshock Infinite? Well, I went into the game only knowing the names of the protagonists, that rather than underwater it was set in a floating sky city, and that there was some kind of religious theming but also a lot of old-timey Americana. As it turns out, the people of this city worship— no, have DEIFIED the founding fathers, and are lead by a man called Father Comstock. I’m pretty sure that name is a reference to the Comstock Act, similar to Andrew Ryan being named after Ayn Rand... but he could actually be called Father Cornstalk and I just haven’t been paying attention.

Anyway. Just a few minutes into the game, I noticed that a statue of Comstock looked suspiciously similar to my character... before deciding that I didn’t actually have that clear of a mental image of my character, they wouldn’t pull the “secret son” thing twice, and as much as I love it there probably isn’t going to be any time travel. Le sigh.

UNTIL!

So, your goal is to get a girl named Elizabeth out of the city, and there is some legitimately weird stuff going on with her prison. Like, they have some of her personal possessions from various points in her life in containment: a teddy bear, a diary, and a bloody cloth labeled “menarche”. Gross. Why would you keep that. Well, when an electric current (or something visually similar) is applied, the bear and diary change color, and the blood disappears from the cloth. The reason I’m not sure if it’s electricity is that there’s some kind of siphon system set up, it looks like a bunch of subwoofers, and it’s absorbing... something? When she sings, maybe? Is the energy being siphoned what changed the quantum states of those objects, or whatever was happening? There was also a chart showing that when she hit puberty... something, really spiked, which is what forced them to build the siphon. I can’t claim to know what’s happening here, but when I finally saw her she was day dreaming about Paris, and.. I guess opened some kind of portal, TO Paris? But then a bus or something barreled towards her, so she quickly closed it. In the couple seconds that the portal was open, I saw the marquee on a movie theater that... well, was in French, but I’M PRETTY SURE said “Return of the Jedi”. I should probably mention that this game is set in 1912. That smells like time travel to me, baby!

So, this is where it gets interesting, and confusing, and complicated. I think Elizabeth is Comstock’s daughter, from various signs and posters about Comstock’s seed being their salvation, and The Lamb of God being locked in the tower, and such... and signs about a “false shepherd” who would try to take her away (again, lots of weird divergent Christian sect stuff). One sign showered the false shepherd’s hand as having the initials AD branded on the back, which the protagonist Booker does indeed have. Before rescuing Elizabeth, Comstock confronts you, and seems to know all about Booker’s past, including his wife Anna (who died in childbirth), and claims to know his future as well. Being a prophet and such. Thing is, the way it’s presented, that whole thing could’ve all been in Booker’s head...? Shortly after rescuing Elizabeth, you run into someone who mistakes her for someone named Annabelle. Hmm HMMM. I’ve also run into a diary by someone named Rosalind Lutece (I think she’s one of the creepy twins who keep popping up everywhere) talking about physics and what sounded like the concept of quantum superpositioning, as well as a little informational kiosk in which she claims quantum mechanics are what enable the city to float. There were also a couple diaries that seemed to imply Elizabeth came from... somewhere else, and a part of her might still be there, or something?

SO. Finally, we get to the part where I theorize on what’s going on. In short... iunno.

Okay, well, I feel like my idea should be obvious by now. I think Comstock might be a future, or ALTERNATE REALITY FUTURE, version of Booker, and Elizabeth is... either a past version of his wife, before she went back in time and married him, or an alternate-reality version of his daughter? But then who is the Annabelle that the girl thought Elizabeth was? Did Booker’s child not die along with his wife, and was secretly wisked away to skytown? Comstock’s wife is consistently referred to as Lady Comstock, but what if her name is Annabelle too? Maybe it’s the same concept as the Heinlein story By His Bootstraps, with the protagonist only realizing that he IS now the old man from the beginning, and has to get his younger self into this weird time loop in order to live the life he’s lead?

I might be going a little off the rails; I mean, I’m pretty sure that the statue of Comstock I saw earlier actually reminded me of Handsome Jack, a character from another game I haven’t played who happens to wear an outfit similar to Booker’s. That said, there’s DEFINITELY some kind of time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans going on here. There are good writers on this game, and I refuse to believe the Annabelle/Anna thing is a Batman v Superman-level coincidence.

The weird part is that in the tower where they were keeping Elizabeth, they have documentation of her dating back to one year old, so she was clearly exhibiting... something, unusual, even as a baby. The game also has yet to explain Vigors, its versions of the Plasmids from the first two Bioshock games, which were basically superpowers granted by the substance produced by those sea slugs. If I had to guess, Vigors are... a result of some kind of quantum something-or-other, which they made from whatever it is they were siphoning off of Elizabeth? Maybe it’s a Scarlet Witch kind of thing... you don’t actually change yourself, you just find yourself in an alternate reality where everything else is 100% the same, except you’re a version of yourself who can shoot crows out of your hands.

Right, so. My... official theory is... that... I have no idea what’s going on. Yeah, sorry, something in that mess up there is bound to be close, but when you get into time travel and/or dimension-hopping, all bets are off the table. Or all bets, a literally infinite number of bets, are on the table. Which is a lot to try to comprehend.

#bioshock #bioshock infinite #bioshock spoilers

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trying-my-best · 4 years

Text

Scp 035 x reader part 7

"Hey kid! Get up, your training starts soon." The rude guard from site-17 yelled as he shook you awake.

"I didn't know they got you from site-17 and brought you here." You tiredly said.

You remember Dr. Yapp calling the guard Bach. Bach pulled you up from your bed, threw some new clothes at you, and left the room. The excitment finally hit you as you rushed to get changed. The new clothes consisted of a lab coat, a simple t-shirt, and pants. You grabbed the clipboard Dr. Yapp had given you and ran out the door, accidentally knocking Bach to the ground.

"Bloodly hell woman! The hell was that" he angrily yelled as you helped him to his feet.

"Sorry Bach, I didn't see you there." You apologized

He shrugged you off and started walking towards Dr. Yapp's new office. Since they relocated you to site-19, they relocated your new supervisor as well. He opened the door and almost slammed it behind you.

"Ah! (Y/N), please take a seat. I'll go over your objective for the day. Now even though we are counting you as staff, you still will be used for testing. The testing will way safer for you now than it was when you were a D-class." Dr. Yapp said as you sat down in a chair.

Dr. Yapp's office was a simple one. Normal desk covered in papers, bookshelf to the left of you and a couple of those classic inspirational posters to the right. Dr. Yapp then handed you a file, more specifically scp 173's file.

"Today we will be testing on 173, you are to accompany Dr. Beckett. You and a few other researchers will watch and document anything that happens." When Dr. Yapp finished, you looked down at the file and began to read.

Special Containment Procedures: Item SCP-173 is to be kept in a locked container at all times. When personnel must enter SCP-173's container, no fewer than 3 may enter at any time and the door is to be relocked behind them. At all times, two persons must maintain direct eye contact with SCP-173 until all personnel have vacated and relocked the container.

Befor you could finish reading there was a knock on the door.

"Come in" Dr. Yapp said.

A short female researcher stepped in. The ends of her hair were dyed dark purple, the rest of her hair was a dark brown that was tied back in a simple ponytail. She looked about 4'11, maybe 5ft.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Beckett. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please follow me, I'll show you the way to 173's containment cell." She said happily.

You followed her down the hall to where scp 173 was. On the way, you over heard some researchers talking about a female scientist that recently went missing. Three D-classes stood in front of a large door. You followed her up some stairs to an observation room. Two other scientis were standing there as well, one was checking her phone while the other had a piercing stare towards the D-classes.

"So what exactly are we testing?" You asked.

"We have too many D-classes so we decided to throw a couple in 173's cell and call it testing" the researcher staring at the D-classes responded.

You flinched at his response. How could someone just throw away lives like that. Sure D-class literally means disposable class but at least have some respect. He returned his attention to the now frightened class-Ds, they must have heard what he said.

A pang of guilt ran through you as the guards opened the large door and ordered the D-classes to enter. You were once like them, sent to your death in the name of science. At least when it was you it served a purpose.

"There seems to be a problem with the door control system, the door isn't responding to any of our attempts to close it, so, please maintain direct eye contact with scp 173 and-"

A loud piercing noise was heard before you saw 173 snap the neck of a guard in front of you. You ran around it maintaining eye contact until you blinked. You heard the screaming of the scientis as you were grasped. Someone started dragging you along side them as they ran.

Soon you two were far enough away to slow down and catch your breath. Looking up you saw that a D-class had grabbed you.

"Thank you" you didn't know if you would have died if he didn't grab you.

"I'm D-9341, weren't you D-3567. The one that ended up getting a job here?." He asked

"Yep that's me. I'd prefer if you just called me (Y/N). We should probably try to get to light containment where it will be safer." You respond

He nodded his head in understandment and you started moving. You hoped that he wouldn't be like Quinn and leave you to die.

The two of you walked for two hours, occasionally having to deal with 173. Sense there was two of you it wasn't that bad to do, terrifying but not that bad.

"So, how long ya been here?" D-9341 asked you, clearly bored of the silence.

"About 3 or 4 months." You respond casually.

"So if I stick around for 3 months I'll get a job." He joked.

"Oh no, they'll kill you. I just go really, I mean really lucky. Scp 035 and a couple others took a liking to me. I was given an actual chance to leave and start a new, but I felt like 035 would hunt me down. Turns out I was right. A couple weeks ago they moved me to site-17 and 035 broke out of here and started looking for me." Your response seemed to shock and/or frighten him.

"Did they get them back yet?" His tone shaken.

"No, they brought me back early to try and lure them back. I don't even know if they know I'm here and not site-17." You calmly responded.

"So how many beaches have you gone through?" D-9341 asked.

"This is my fourth breach, the second one that I've actually been out of a cell." You respond.

You continued walking with D-9341 at your side. When you hit light containment, D-9341 asked if you wanted to fully escape with him. You explained that you still wanted to stick around, but you would accompany him to the surface where you felt like you would be completely safe.

It took about another hour to get almost to the surface. You heard a couple MTF guards coming your way. You told D-9341 to leave without you and that you would distract the guards so he could be free. He thanked you as you quickly got the attention of the MTF guards.

They brought you to a secluded cell like room and told you to stay put. Sitting down in a chair you felt tiredness consume you. You rested you arm on a desk and fell asleep.

You awoke to a dark chuckle. You looked up and fell out of your chair in fear. Black ooze molded the wall as scp 106 stepped out. He was too close to the door for you to run out. 106 had you cornered with no means of escape. He got close to you. Your breath became harsh and ragged and you closed your eyes as you anticipated 106 pulling you into his pocket dimension.

"106 step away from (Y/N), there's a group of MTFs down the hall you could grab." 035's familiar voice echoed the walls.

Their tone of voice was possessive.

You were sure that if 106 did grab you 035 would rain hell down upon him. Opening your eyes you saw 106 exiting the room through his portal.

Scp 035 walked towards you, they cupped your face gently. You relaxed into their touch as you calmed down from 106's attack. You reached your hand up to cup the hand cupping your face and leaned into it. Your harsh breath slows as you felt your emotional walls fall down. You could tell the action brought down a few of 035's walls as they wrapped their other arm around your waist to pull you into a hug.

Eventually they pulled away and left the room. You were confused until they returned holding a small stuffed animal. The stuffy was about 5 inches tall, a munchkin cat, and had cute yellow eyes.

"It's for you, when I was looking for you I stumbled upon a shop with this little guy inside. Dont worry, I didn't steal it." 035 explained as they handed you the plush cat.

A large smile crept across your face as you held the cat. It was the softest thing you ever held. You blushed as you held it close to your chest.

"I love it" you whispered hardly audible.

035 stood proud at your reaction. You let out a small yawn, tired from the excitment. Noticing this 035 picked you up and held you in their arms. You didn't struggle as 035 carried you off.

-------------------------------------------------------

Sorry that part 7 took a bit longer than usual but I got it done! Have a fluffy ending to part 7 for ya troubles.❤❤❤❤

#scp 035 #scp x reader #scp 035 x reader #scp fandom #scp #scp fanfiction

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concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Twelve

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains a brief scene of attempted sexual assault. Stay safe!]

Mark twenty-eight nuclear warheads .

Backhand squinted down at the paper, up at Ingram and then back at the paper. "Oh, is that all?" She asked sarcastically. "What, you don't want me to grab milk and eggs while I'm out?"

" Easy , smartass." Proctor Ingram laughed. "We know the general location. All we need is for you to sweep the area, get rid of hostiles and secure the payload. Simple!"

"Yeah? Where's the general location then?" Backhand challenged.

Ingram spread the map out on the desk, tapping the area circled in the lower left hand corner. "It's a military site, Prescott I think? One of our scribes was able to triangulate it using the documents you and Danse scooped from that veteran housing development."

"In the Glowing Sea." Backhand groaned. "I had kind of hoped to never need to go back out there." I'd better start getting some damn perks for all the legwork I'm doing , she thought uncharitably.

" Theirs not to make reply, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die ." Ingram quoted at her, laughing again when Vega grumbled under her breath. "C'mon Vega, you're like the Brotherhood's poster child for Commonwealth recruitment. Where's your Ad Victoriam spirit? You have to spearhead this, if only for the eventual publicity."

"Ah, the press ." Backhand retorted. "Who's my backup, then?"

"Your sponsor, obviously! Though I'm guessing after this you'll be welcomed into the fold for real." Ingram mused, her expression thoughtful. "Danse seemed better when I saw him last. I think the time off the Prydwen has really done him some good."

Vega tried to hide her flush of pride, quickly asking, "Other than the lack of big boomers, how is Prime looking?"

"Pretty good, I'd say! It was a real stroke of luck that you got us Madison back, even if working with her makes me want to set my pubes on fire." Ingram answered frankly. "We're both too stubborn to function well together, but sometimes we can shut up and actually get shit done. Those are the times I believe we might have a shot here."

"Your confidence is overwhelming." Backhand said dryly.

The other woman gave her a lopsided grin. "I've seen too many ops go south to put all my eggs in one scientist's basket, Vega. At least we'll have the numbers of the Minutemen on our side in case Prime can't get off the ground."

"Has Quinlan had any luck getting that information unscrambled? My buddy hit a dead end pretty early on with the encryption, and he's dying to know whether he actually helped or whether it's all junk data."

Truthfully Sturges had gotten much further than either of them had expected (the fact that he knew there was data on the tape at all was a miracle), but Ingram didn't exactly have to know that. The older woman's sigh didn't sound overly promising though.

"Nothing yet. He and his scribes have been working as close to around the clock as they can get without disrupting Cade across the way. It's always a process in close quarters." The proctor hummed. "With any luck, maybe a few more days?"

"I'll keep my fingers crossed." Backhand promised. "I know it'll probably all be considered confidential information, but still."

…

"No."

" Excuse me, Paladin?" Arthur snarled.

Danse stood by the door to the elder's quarters, his posture perfect. "I said no, Elder Maxson." He repeated. "I will not be engaging with you any longer."

"Dare I ask what has brought about this insubordination? " The younger man queried.

Danse stood firm. "This is not insubordination, Elder Maxson. You have exploited me long enough and I refuse to let you continue."

"I'll have you exiled, Paladin." Maxson threatened. "One word from me and your status goes up in smoke. We are on the brink of war with the Institute and you wish to weaken our ranks? You're a good soldier, Danse. Don't make me send you away."

Danse shook his head. His hands, clasped at the small of his back, trembled nervously until he clenched them into fists. "I'm sorry, Elder Maxson, but I refuse to allow you to manipulate or abuse me any further."

"Are you disobeying a direct order from your elder, Danse?"

"I am simply-"

A knock on the door to Maxson's quarters interrupted whatever Danse had intended to say, and a split second later Knight Vega poked her head around the door. "Apologies, Elder Maxson." The woman said with a salute. "I was unaware that you two were having a discussion. Paladin, we are departing in ten minutes."

Arthur jerked his head to the side to indicate that Elizabeth should leave. " Get out , Vega." He barked.

She hesitated and Danse closed his eyes in defeat, knowing that he was screwed the second she departed.

He heard the door close and Arthur was abruptly on him, one hand gripping the paladin's throat to force Danse's head against the wall as he tore at the zipper of the other man's jumpsuit. "You are going to fuck me, Danse, so I suggest you warm up to the idea." Maxson hissed against his ear.

Danse felt nauseous, dirty as Arthur pawed at him. Say no, damn it! What's wrong with you?

The only warning either man got was a barely-audible knock on the door before Paladin Brandis barged in. Arthur whirled on the older man, murder in his eyes for the barest second. " Brandis! " Maxson roared. "How many-"

"I have sixteen new aspirants seeking to rise to knight or scribe, Elder Maxson!" Brandis waved a sheaf of papers at the younger man. "I also have seven squires who believe they are ready for evaluation to ascend to aspirant. Oh, was I interrupting something?" He remarked, blinking in a befuddled manner at the clearly-furious elder.

Maxson stared back at the older paladin, his chest heaving. "Don't think for one goddamn second that I don't know exactly what you're up to, you old fool!" Arthur's blue eyes were fairly crackling with rage.

"Me? The only thing I'm up to is trying to get this paperwork taken care of." Brandis protested blandly. "You're so suspicious , Maxson. It won't do you any favors." Brandis seemed to finally notice Danse standing there slackjawed and the older paladin began to scold, "zip up your uniform, Danse! We're a military , not a frathouse!" His eyebrows raised, all but begging Danse to take the opening and flee.

Danse gulped and floundered to apologize, zipping up his suit. He caught the barest glimpse of Maxson's thunderous glare before he turned tail and bolted. The cowardice burned at him, but really, what else could he do?

He shouldered past Vega lurking just outside the door, and stormed down the catwalk to the grease pit without a word.

Their aerial approach to the Glowing Sea was silent and riddled with turbulence. Danse could identify the territory of the area from a fair distance away, the way the radiation tinged the sky to a sinister yellowed bruise a sure indication.

Waypoint Echo was precariously positioned on the very edge of the Glowing Sea. Danse felt a fair amount of trepidation as he and Knight Vega approached the area after they disembarked the vertibird. He had never ventured into the Glowing Sea, but he supposed there was no time like the present.

He was glad to at least find a familiar face, although Haylen didn't appear happy to see him and Vega. The scribe looked tense, wary. Danse supposed he could understand that; the post was much less than favorably placed. They were only just outside the heavy haze of radiation, and the radstorms weren't inclined to remain stationary for too long. To say nothing of the deadly creatures that tended to emerge from the area and wander north. Waypoint Echo was not a hospitable assignment by any stretch of the imagination.

His scribe had never searched for the easy jobs. Danse felt a wave of pride for the woman he had sponsored back when she was nothing but an initiate. Haylen had rolled with the punches and become an admirable scribe, a loyal friend and an incredible asset to any team she joined. "Scribe Haylen!" He greeted her warmly with a salute. "Ad Victoriam. Another day, another assignment."

"Paladin Danse," Haylen addressed him through gritted teeth, oddly not returning his salute. "Can I get a word with you before you depart? It's urgent." She was already grabbing his arm before he even nodded, the scribe leading him away from the camp. Knight Vega was listening intently while the other field scribe briefed her on their current situation and any observations they might have made.

"Scribe Haylen, is something amiss?" The paladin asked, a little concerned once Haylen had moved him out of earshot of the encampment.

The petite woman whirled on him, looking more furious than Danse had ever seen her. " How could you not tell me?" She hissed.

Danse stared at her, bewildered. "I...what do you mean, Haylen?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Danse! Quinlan got the list decoded. He knows . Maxson knows. Hell, maybe even Vega knows! Maybe she's leading you into a trap right now." Haylen took hold of his gauntlet once more. "Danse, you have to run ."

"Haylen, I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about." Danse replied, thoroughly puzzled. What would Quinlan decoding the Institute information have to do with him?

Haylen's fingernails scraped at the worn red-orange paint denoting his rank as she gripped down even tighter. "Danse, you...do you really not…" she appeared to be trying to ask something, but couldn't seem to amass the words.

"Take your time. Get your mind straight." Danse said kindly. "Whatever it is, I'll hear you out."

She sobbed suddenly, her small frame rattled by the outburst. "Oh Danse , I'm so sorry." She whispered.

…

Backhand lingered on the edge of the camp, half-watching Haylen appear to argue with the paladin about something. Trouble in paradise? she wondered, turning the distress pulser for their endeavor over in her hands before she tucked it away in her satchel.

"Man, I guess whatever Rhys passed along to her earlier really has her in a twist." One of the other scribes commented. "I dunno' if I've ever seen her this heated."

Danse thundered back towards the camp, leaving Haylen to call his name plaintively. "Ready to continue our mission, soldier?" He gritted the words out at Backhand.

Backhand raised an eyebrow at his sudden change of mood, but then recalled what she had interrupted earlier that morning and reasoned that he had more than every right to be a little testy. The woman simply nodded and fell into step behind him. "See you guys soon!" She said to the soldiers occupying Echo, waving in farewell. Haylen didn't wave back, the scribe looking wholly dejected.

Was she crying?

"Hey Danse, is Haylen alright? She seemed upset." Backhand inquired after they had been walking for several minutes.

"We had a discussion." was all Danse said in reply. His tone didn't exactly encourage further questioning, so Backhand decided that she should probably, maybe , just this once, not attempt to converse.

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry." She mumbled.

"I'm certain you didn't. But we can't afford to be distracted on this mission." Danse instructed firmly. "There's too much at stake, Knight Vega."

"Oh, absolutely!" Backhand agreed.

"I need you to take point during this engagement, as you're the one who knows where we're going." Danse paused, letting her come up alongside him. "We can't lose sight of what's important. If we do, the Institute has already won."

The paladin, in spite of his words, seemed out of sorts. Spacey , even. His grip on his rifle was uncharacteristically slack, especially considering how hostile their environment was.

Backhand was reminded of his behavior during their search for Brandis and she said as much, prodding the paladin to respond. "I'm fine. Just...thinking," he muttered. "I apologize, I'm not very good at following my own orders. I lecture you on distraction while also being distracted."

"After this campaign is over, I vote for a little R and R. The proverbial run ashore. Sound good to you?" Backhand asked, tilting her head.

Danse cleared his throat. "I wish I had your optimism." He said plainly. "Once the Institute hears we have these munitions, assuming the bombs are even here in the first place, it will be all-out war. I'm not so foolish to think they'll surrender or melt back into the shadows under the threat of our superior firepower. They will demand a live test." The paladin gestured vaguely around him at the blasted landscape. "I know for a fact that Maxson won't stop until the Institute is nothing but a fractured husk. The idea that there are innocent people down there, good people who will be slaughtered with the bad…" He shook his head.

"It's sobering." Backhand murmured in agreement, not sure why she was surprised by the paladin's display of humanity. She had been in and out of the Institute over the last few weeks, building a rapport with the various scientists and synths and also passing along pertinent information to the Brotherhood. All the while Shaun pressured her to take over his position, " before I am gone, Mother. " She hadn't known that Danse was actually listening to her field reports.

"It's grotesque entrapment. People who wanted a better life, people who wanted to help the world, people who thought they were helping." Danse sounded disgusted and strangely upset. "Bodies snatched in the middle of the night, or lured in by the lie of bettering mankind!" He had turned to her as he ranted, his pauldrons rising and falling rapidly from the force of his body against the frame of his armor. "He's your son , Vega, how could he--"

"He's not my son anymore." Backhand cut him off, stung by his heated words. "The man who leads the Institute may be related to me through biology, but he is not my son, Paladin Danse." She heaved a sigh, looking away. "I guess he really never was, in a way. His father...his father told me he wanted children. Once I got pregnant, though, it was like the reality of it became too much for him." Her laugh was a sad noise, mirthless and hollow. "And if he thought it was too much, imagine how I felt. I didn't really have a lot of agency in the matter, I just wanted to make him happy and when I realized that not even that could make him happy, I kind of lost it. Hence the divorce and stuff. I loved that baby more than anything in the world, but I know that I wasn't a great mom. I was in way over my head. Scared. Terrified . Alone. And then...then he was taken from me. Just like that."

"Knight Vega, I...forgive my outburst, please. I didn't mean to imply that any of this is your fault." Danse mumbled. "I simply...I-I mean, I see you, the way you interact with the people of the Commonwealth, and I can't wrap my head around the fact that someone even tangentially related to you could be capable of such...heinous machinations."

"I'm a byproduct of the Great War, Paladin Danse." Backhand smiled thinly. "A relic from times of pretend plenty. The Institute raised Shaun, shaped him into their perfect leader. He doesn't understand the struggles of the real world. He can't understand the ugliness of war, not like how someone who lived through it can."

"You would think the perfect leader would want what's best for his troops." Danse remarked.

"He's dying , Danse. The only reason he thawed me out again is because he's dying, and the Institute wanted me to take over." Backhand confided, scoffing a little. "Can you even believe that shit? His board of directors really thought my altruistic, bleeding-heart ass would take over their body-snatching extravaganza. Hell, they seem confused every time I tell them to fuck off."

"You turned them down?"

The bewilderment in his tone caught Backhand by surprise. " Yeah , Danse. Obviously."

"The promise of returning the Commonwealth to its former glory wasn't enough to sway you?" The paladin queried, his voice laden with that rare sarcasm he employed.

Backhand chuckled wryly. "Did you forget the part where I've seen the Commonwealth at the peak of that former glory? It wasn't better. It was just a little less irradiated." She thumped her pauldron against his own after a moment. "Hey, I'm with you, okay? No matter what happens, we'll get through this and enjoy that sweet off-time." She promised. "I know you can't see, but I'm definitely smiling under here."

"I can tell." Danse lapsed into contemplative silence, and Backhand wished she could see his expression. Something, anything to clue her in as to what he was thinking about.

They passed a crashed plane, the trail of wreckage from it extending well past Backhand's limited field of view. Danse tuned into its distress signal like a reflex, and Backhand half-listened to the mayday broadcast of Skylanes one-six-six-five.

"... left engine failure, we're out fifteen three at this time …"

The plane had been coming in the day the bombs dropped. Due to its location in the Glowing Sea, Backhand could only assume no one had survived. She almost wanted to ask Danse to turn off the broadcast, but the signal quickly petered back out into static as they carefully descended the ridge past the plane.

The shattered remains of sparse buildings jutted from the caustic ground like the incisors of a gargantuan beast, offering a semblance of shelter only to roving feral ghouls or ambitious mole rats.

It was a man-made hellscape, awe inspiring in its grim misery, and Backhand felt like she understood Danse's taciturn mood a bit better now.

Abruptly, a towering monolith was brought into sharp contrast against the green sky by a sullen flash of lightning. Backhand swallowed, unnerved by the stark stone structure that loomed up out of the wan light like a dark pyramid to a forgotten, terrible deity.

She tried to shake off her fanciful thoughts, scolding herself for being so easily influenced. This wasn't some silly story, some maniac rumination on the subject of doomed expeditions and places where man shouldn't go. This was just one more thing that humanity had built.

"And here we are." She announced needlessly. "You ready?"

"My power armor is within nominal parameters, so I would say I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Danse replied simply.

Working together, they muscled the double doors open and cautiously made their way into the pyramid-like structure. Backhand grimaced at the bank vault-esque door that greeted them, raising an eyebrow and cocking her helmet at Danse. "I'll bet...fifty caps that I can just give this a spin and it'll bust wide open." She said confidently, resting a gauntlet on the handle.

"Nice try, Vega." The paladin replied, his tone dry and humorless. "Don't forget we have a job to do."

Vega grumbled to herself and spun the handle, watching the ancient tumblers creak and separate before the door slowly swung inwards. "Bingo." She breathed, stepping gingerly out onto the old catwalk. "Shit, it looks like ArcJet in here."

"Remarkably similar." Danse agreed. "Be very cautious about what you shoot in here, we don't know what will explode. And remember to check your corners. I don't want to lose you to something we don't see."

Backhand swallowed hard, saluting while inclining her head to indicate that she received and returned the order. "Ad Victoriam, Paladin Danse."

"Ad Victoriam, Knight Vega."

Silence hanging heavy in the air, Vega plodded down the rickety stairs of the catwalk. She briefly debated just hopping the railing and taking the plunge, but ultimately decided against it. The stiff gusts of wind from the door had stirred the centuries of dust into a thick haze, and warning lights still spiraled in amber circles, casting disorienting shadows over everything.

"It would appear that this facility was converted into a launching silo as well." Danse commented, gesturing at the large gantry-like structure that took up the majority of space in the middle of the pyramid.

Down, down, down they went, past multiple security doors. Feral ghouls rose to greet them, some still clad in the tattered remains of army fatigues.

�� "I've had nightmares like this." Backhand admitted during a brief moment of reprieve while she painstakingly tapped away at the keys of a terminal. "Sergeant Cathan and the rest of my squadron turn into ferals and I have to put them down." Danse's heavy gauntlet landed on her pauldron, squeezed once, and then departed. "I know it's dumb to be worried about. They've been dead for…" Vega trailed off, finally getting the double blast doors open and turning off the weakly buzzing alarm in the same stroke. " That's it." She said in relief.

Danse took point during this secondary half of the expedition, the paladin staying unusually quiet. Backhand chalked it up to him focusing more on his targets, lest a stray laser hit one of the caged warheads.

Down into the bowels of Prescott they trudged, soldiering onwards through tunnels made tight by the bulk of their power armor. The headlamp on Danse's new helmet illuminated the cramped, half-collapsed areas as he scanned from three to nine and back again.

"Left up here." Backhand broke the silence, directing him through a hole in the wall to circumvent a rubble-filled dead end and then overtaking him when he paused to check his rifle. "We should still be able to pick up the tunnel around this junk."

"Affirmative." Danse replied shortly. "I would advise that we not attempt to clear any debris. We don't know what will collapse on us."

Vega grimaced, "good point. That's why you're the paladin." Oddly, he made a scoffing sound, but she dismissed it as him being sarcastic again.

When the tunnel finally opened up into an enormous room, Vega breathed a little easier. Ahead of them loomed a massive set of red double doors, tarnished with age but still holding strong. What appeared to be a control room was situated over the doors, and Backhand quickly spotted the stairs that would lead her upwards.

The body sprawled across the top of the stairs gave her pause, however. It wasn't a feral ghoul, but a Child Of Atom. Backhand glanced up to the door to the control room, then back down at the body.

Up. Down. Up again.

And she continued over the body, one massive gauntlet knocking comically gentle on the door.

"Enter." Intoned a voice from inside the room. Behind her, she heard Danse's rifle hum as he primed it.

" Easy , cowboy. Let me see if I can get this settled peacefully." Backhand whispered. She had no idea whether Danse had heard her or not, but she prayed he had as she set sabaton into the room.

The Children Of Atom had always been a ragged-looking bunch, their lives dedicated to the pursuit of " the Glow " and worship of what they called " the Great Divide ". This man was no exception, though the room was also occupied by a turret and assaultron. Two things no one wanted to deal with in close quarters.

"Halt, stranger. You stand upon Atom's sacred ground." The religious fanatic announced grandly. "Speak your business or be divided where you stand."

Backhand mused over her reply for a moment, finally stating, "we seek the Glow of Atom, my uh, brother ."

" You? " The man scoffed, "you, who slaughtered Atom's most faithful as you stormed this compound?"

"We sought to release them to Atom's embrace. Return them to the universe to be...divided anew. After all, matter cannot be created or destroyed, only repurposed," Vega replied smoothly, "as dictated by the Law of Conservation of Mass, writ by his most holy eminence Antoine Lavoisier."

"Ah, I see you are a scholar of the sacred texts as well!" The man remarked, a smile crossing his stern features. "Forgive my ignorance, sister. When I saw your armor, I feared that you came to destroy this holy ground." Backhand blinked behind her helmet. That had been strictly high school science bullshit, but she would take the victory. "I assume you wish to bask in Atom's Glow then, as one of his faithful?"

"We seek to spread Atom's glory via the use of these munitions." Backhand explained. "Our organization requires these vehicles to distribute Atom's might. Please, permit us to utilize them."

"You will put them to good use? That is all we can ask for!" The Child Of Atom's eyes filled with tears of what Vega could only assume was gratitude. "I had thought we would stand guard over this holy ground for all of time. Please, take this and prepare to enter His inner sanctum." He took her gauntlet and pressed a scrap of paper into it, gesturing at the worn-looking terminal on the table beside the sputtering turret. "Follow the brilliance of the Glow, and it shall lead you to the relics. May Atom's radiance warm your soul." He breathed, those teary blue eyes focused on the visor of her helm.

Vega inclined her head respectfully, praying that Danse would stand aside and let the man depart without a fight. Clearly she needn't have worried; the paladin obligingly shifted the bulk of his armor out of the way so the religious zealot could leave the room peacefully.

"' His most holy eminence' ?" Danse repeated, his tone wry. "You certainly have a gift, Knight Vega."

Backhand grinned under her helmet, reading the password off the scrap of paper and then carefully punching it into the terminal. "What can I say? A little diplomacy and a healthy sprinkling of mumbo-jumbo goes a long way." With a simple keystroke, the massive doors creaked open. The woman bowed as best as she could in her armor. "Shall we?"

Danse appeared to have returned to his silence, simply nodding and walking back out of the room.

What's gotten into him? Backhand wondered.

Part Thirteen

#fallout 4 #fallout four #paladin danse #fallout fanfic #fallout fandom #paladin danse x sole survivor #paladin danse x f!sole #Eventual romance #slow burn #spoilers #brotherhood of steel #fo4 companions imagine #fo4 companions #fo4 paladin danse #paladin danse imagine #canon-typical violence

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sooibian · 4 years

Text

Flambé (Preview)

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 2.8k

🍜 a/n: a little preview of a chef kyungsoo story that i've been working on. while i have the plot fleshed out it'll honestly be a while before the long one/two-shot comes out since a lot of research goes into the details. and....i write at a snail's pace. thank you for your patience and lmk if you'd like a tag in the updates!

this story is inspired by a lot of random yt videos and netflix's shows - street food and chef's table.

tagging *deep breath* @j-pping and @changshapatrol (the real rotten banana is here!)

___________________________________________

Water bobbed in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot that was perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rose from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lifted the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lowered it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodged its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation - seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberated through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with the flick of a bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, a wave of unconsciousness swept over you. You felt your skin singe as boiling water started to fill up your lungs.

You were alone - at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you staggered up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, who was now free and hovering over you, roared at your defenseless form.

Maybe your spell didn't land, you thought.

“Please, Chef!” you whimpered.

In one swift motion, it swooshed down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprouted on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then came the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarled at you.

zzzz...

“Late again?” It drawled in a jarring tenor.

zzzz...

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinked.

In a sleep befuddled state, your hand reached out for the wailing device. ‘Late again’, Chef’s cold, deep voice sounded in your consciousness as you wiped the droplets of sweat off your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you'd defiantly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called a chef. You'd seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner. Your aunt.

"Aegiya, he has something that you don't."

"A dick?"

"YAH! He has a degree in culinary arts. It's only befitting that we give him the respect his degree deserves!"

"Imo, haven't you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well get a job at Four Seasons like Hyun Jin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

"Chef. You're calling him Chef."

Every time the egotistical madman opened that darned mouth of his, it made you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, with a deep breath, you always resisted the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you floundered out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt...and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ahh 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he said to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing had drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, your aunt had a tie up with some of the local vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim...economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi. You had to do the dirty work.

And tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he greeted you with an accusatory ‘you’ve killed my cat’ expression.

You groaned, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases had long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urged him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glared at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo had a tendency to overbuy but never would he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ was his excuse. Which was pretty ridiculous considering he spent over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan. But you knew better than to argue. Because as much as you loathed every fibre of his existence, he terrified you a little. The man possessed the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he was in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he was quite the sweet talker. And you could bet your life on the fact that every woman - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman cooed at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ended your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you said to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paced ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continued, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turned around to look you in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!”

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst a cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and your aunt’s relentless vocalization inviting customers to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you heavily relied on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another gratifying day, you left a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceeded to tend to the dirty dishes.

“Yahh!” Imo called out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cried, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you washed your hands and wiped them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt and flattening unruly flyaways, you rushed toward the table but she was already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a chat with the both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupted, wagging a finger in your direction, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spread across your face and his jaw tightened in response.

“Aish….you two...I’m leaving now”, she sighed, shaking her head, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, pajeon, tteokbokki, jajangmyeon, some leftover bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. She clearly had something important to talk about.

But the vibe at the dinner table just didn’t sit right with you.

The reason could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that was seated besides you in all black clothing but there was something off about Imo.

She was being a little too...nice.

Fear gradually started to settle in your bones. Was she finally closing down? Was this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. One of them was a banker and the other even went to culinary school and was working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only made sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she said coolly.

It was like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aga”, she said resting her chin on her hand, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of pride...a sense of independence. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons...but the Market gave me an identity.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drowned out your aunt’s voice. Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that’d never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d barely even let you whip up the hand-cut noodles.

You realized that you weren’t the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s eyes were scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His seemingly miserable state gave you a fleeting sense of relief and it was right in that moment that he chose to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

All the stall-owners in the Market have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s. Whereas, you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes your aunt hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

"Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughed, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically, leaving you dumbfounded.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run marinated crabs restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighed, “put in the deposit...and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO!”, you yelled, “why did you scare me like that! I thought I was laid off!”

“Well, it’s a big move, I’m not sure the two of you are ready to make...requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open! It’ll take us two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford you a pay raise. I could help you get a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo stands a chance at even managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane was the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner had managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved aunt believed that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you said firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Mom will gladly pitch in, if need be...”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he was but his expression was stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl. It filled you with insane hope.

He was going to jump the ship...finally!

“Chef...”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us...I’m more than enough for Imo. You may...”

He shot you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But you wanted to rile him just a little more. So you excused yourself to bring a bottle of ketchup and squeezed it generously atop the stack of pajeon while eyeing him maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment was the sole reason Kyungsoo despised you. As this dinner marked the end of his torturous regime, you celebrated with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirled in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickled your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a customer was a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in a life as a vendor.

A proper send-off was essential lest Kyungsoo decided to stay, even if it burned a hole in your pocket. You planned on giving him a final tour of the Market where he (and you) could say his goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

A whole lot of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, said Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in his hand.

You shook your head in response. You wanted to start with the best and mung bean pancakes weren’t it. This was going to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step you took, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grew stronger. You started your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which set you back considerably. But you were too elated to care. You refused Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman set the scallops on fire with a blow torch.

“Do you know what that technique’s called?” Kyungsoo gave a little nod in the direction of the aflame food.

Another teachable moment.

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you replied, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé. But minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma came to your rescue and you jumped to collect the order. You could’ve sworn that you caught the corner of his mouth twitch slightly.

***

The Market supposedly looked the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoyed eating your way through it. The tour made your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s personality was akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year with Choi Yoonsun, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeezed you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others gave you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you paid in smiles and love.

After a gastronomic fiesta that entailed tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you ended the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wished you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Kyungsoo noticed.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not...erm”

The dam of your tears burst.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of you. You were even going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers which had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffled, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile more often, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” He gleamed.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He mused.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

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op-law · 3 years

Text

One Piece {Warlord Imagines} When You're A Marine

*Warlord's Pov*

~~~~~~~~

Trafalgar Law

Now becoming a Warlord would never have crossed my mind before since being a Government dog wasn't ideal but it needed to be done as part of my plan. Though right now some young Marine decided it would be a good idea to approach me. "Hello! You must be Trafalgar Law, right? I recognize you from your wanted poster. You're here for the Warlord meeting, aren't you?" They were cute that much was clear but they weren't anything more than my enemy.

"Yes, that's why I'm here. Who are you Marine-ya?" I didn't see a problem in finding out this Marine's name since I'd most likely forget about it after the meeting concluded. "Oh, you want to know who I am? I'm Captain (Y/n)... The meetings about to start come on I'll take you there personally!" When the Marine grabbed my hand, I was a little surprised but allowed them to lead the way until we reached a set of double doors. "All the other Warlords are already here. It's a very strange occurrence when they all gather like this. Come on"

As they pushed the large set of doors open, I was taken back by the Marine's strength though when I noticed my hand was still held by theirs, I tried to pull it away but it wasn't working. "I found the missing Warlord!" When everyone's eyes shifted to us, I felt like burying myself in a hole but kept a straight face as the Fleet Admiral began stared daggers at me. "(Y/n) get your hand off of that Pirate right this second and you better have finished all your paperwork for the day!"

"Alright, Dad... See you later Law" Even almost an hour after the young Marine had left the room, I couldn't help but think of them. They were Sakazuki's kid and somehow, they were the complete opposite of him. "Maybe I'll have to come back here just to see them" It was said under my breath though Sakazuki had managed to hear it. "Did you have something to add Trafalgar?"

"No"

Dracule Mihawk

"Who's the pipsqueak?" As Doflamingo spoke up from across the room I tilted my head back to catch a glimpse of the Marine he was referring to. "That is Captain (Y/n) and they are not to be bothered by the likes of you Donquixote" I could care less if my statement angered the other Warlord since that man was not at the top of my list of people I cared for. "Are any more Warlords coming to the meeting?" There were only two members currently present although that never bothered the young Marine since they weren't particularly fond of having more than three in the same room as them.

"It would appear that will only be the three of us (Y/n)-chan" As the sound of rustling papers reached my ears I turned towards the door and saw another Marine was standing there. "Captain (Y/n) your father has requested that you discuss the following topics with the Warlords. Where should I put these documents?" I wasn't sure why (Y/n) was left alone for this meeting but I knew they were quite strong and if Doflamingo stepped out of line I would simply put him down.

"Why are you staring at me Mihawk?" I knew (Y/n) often hated when people gave them a lot of attention but I couldn't help it. They were one of the only reasons I attended these meetings although I highly doubted the Marine was aware of that fact. "Okay let's get this meeting over with so I can go have my afternoon nap. Although Doflamingo please sit in a chair like a normal person and Mihawk remove your feet from the table"

I respected (Y/n) enough to remove my feet from the table but Donquixote clearly didn't and as he replied I felt my eyes start to narrow. "Fufufu. You got guts kid but keep it up and I'll have to rip them out~ Fufufu" Donquixote would often threaten Marines or anyone that ticked him off though I drew a line when it came to (Y/n). "That Marine is off-limits Donquixote. If you threaten them again, I will kill you"

"Hm, I changed my mind I'm leaving... Say Little Marine do you know if Snow is on the base? I didn't see her earlier but I have some business to discuss with that one" Was Donquixote still trying to win over that girl's heart? I thought he had long given up that hopeless endeavor after Captain Ember had made it clear that he wasn't to go anywhere near her sister. "Vice Admiral Snow? I believe she is conducting training exercises in the northern courtyard. Hey, you can't leave! I'm not done with you yet!"

It was better if Donquixote didn't sit in on this meeting any longer so I did nothing to stop the man from leaving. "Fufufu. Your barks much worse than your bite Little Marine~ Now if you'll excuse me, I have a girl to find" That look on (Y/n)'s face caused me to question what they were thinking but if I had to take a guess it was probably that of disappointment. "Are you going to leave as well Mihawk?"

"No, I wish to hear what you have to say (Y/n)-chan. May we begin?"

"Hehehe. Alright, my Swordsmen let's begin~"

Bartholomew Kuma

As I walked through the Marine base, I eventually came across the quarters of the Marine that I desired to see. They were normally in charge of writing notes on the Warlords meetings but when they didn't arrive on time, I was requested to bring them up. Without knocking on the door, I entered though that might have been my first mistake. "Good afternoon (Y/n)-san"

The Marine was still changing into their uniform but I caught a glimpse of a new scar just below their shoulder blade. It definitely wasn't there the last time I seen them exposed like this though the chances of them telling me who was responsible were slim. "What do you want?" Our relationship could never see the light of day but this level of hostility was not the norm for the Marine. "You're late for the meeting. I was asked by the Fleet Admiral to retrieve you"

"Hm, is it that time already? Alright, I'll be there shortly" Their shirt was quickly pulled into place followed by that cape but as I closed the door, they turned to face me. "Is something wrong (Y/n)-san? That scar is new" There were numerous scars that littered their skin though I made it a point to memorize all of them. I cared greatly for them after all. "Don't worry about it Mew"

I respected them but this life was only going to end their life if I allowed it to continue any longer. (Y/n) deserved better than this so as I removed a single glove, I asked them a question. "If you could take a vacation, where would you like to go?" They knew what was going to happen next and the fear within their eyes was ignored as my palm connected with them. "Wait Kuma! What the hell are y-"

"I'll see you shortly (Y/n)-san"

Sir Crocodile

There they were giving out orders to the rest of the crew as the ship sailed towards Marineford and I couldn't turn my attention away from them. Pirates and Marines were much like water and oil but that didn't deter me from developing feelings for them. "Croco-man why are you staring at that Marine?" Of course, Doflamingo didn't have anything better to do than bother me throughout the trip although killing him wasn't an option. "It's none of your damn business Doflamingo"

"Hm, it that so? Oi Captain (Y/n)! Crocodile thinks you're fucking hot!" Thankfully the young Marine could be as clueless as a little kid but it didn't help that the other Marines acted in a way to protect them. "I'm not hot it's quite cold today Pirate... Wait Snow is that what Doflamingo meant?" That Vice-Admiral was equally as childish though she knew the games that Doflamingo played. "Yeah, that's what he meant (Y/n). Come on let's go eat lunch"

"Oh, lunch sounds great. I've been dealing with the Warlords all day and they're annoying as hell. Smoker, watch the prisoners for me I'll be back in a few hours" They could call me a prisoner as much as they wanted to but the other Warlords didn't appreciate the insult. Well, it was mainly Doflamingo who had the problem though. "Who the hell are they calling prisoners?"

"Doffy, can you help me reach something on the top shelf in my bedroom? I can't reach it and really want it" Those two were rather odd but Doflamingo made it very clear that Snow was his. I wasn't sure why he liked that Marine though the same could be said about my feelings towards (Y/n). "Coming Snow! We'll discuss this later Croco-man~"

"Great who's going to eat lunch with me now... Crocodile, make yourself useless and follow me" As my eyes trailed after their retreating form, I didn't follow right now since that would only make me seem weak to the Marines on board the ship. "Why?" Their face remained the same as it always did but I noticed a few others were staring right at them. "You're going to eat lunch with me. Hurry up before it gets cold"

"Fine" Standing up from the crate I began to walk towards the Marine but something they said caused me to pause. "And just so you know I'll be eating and you'll just be watching me... Oh, I'm also going to call you Croco-chan from now on since I think it's quite cute. Don't you agree Croco-chan?" Were they really teasing me in front of the entire Marine fleet? "You're walking into dangerous territory (Y/n)"

"My Mama always told me not to smile at a crocodile but you're cute so I think that warning can be ignored this one time" That was definitely teasing although when I got a look at the rest of the fleet, they didn't seem to be bothered by their follow Marine flirting with a Pirate. "Right... Whatever happened to hurrying to the mess hall?" Keeping them on task would be difficult but now that we're walking towards our original destination I relaxed. "Shit! Come on Croco-chan and don't slow me down!"

I really should figure out why I like this Marine as much as I do since I couldn't remember what first caught my attention about them. "At least they're cute" It wasn't meant for (Y/n) to hear but when their head turned back, I knew they picked up on it. "I thought I was hot? Although I'll take it~ Hehehe"

Donquixote Doflamingo

For someone so small (Y/n) always seemed to be able to keep a fair amount of distance between us. I could have used my strings to make them slow down but that would only lead to me getting attacked by the Marine. "Stop following me Doflamingo!" They were known to be quite hostile towards me though I found that to be a wonderful trait since not many were that brave. "Fufufufu. I'm not following you on purpose (Y/n) we're just both heading for the dining room"

It was the truth I didn't purposely seek them out during this trip but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to follow behind them when I noticed they were walking by. Many of the other Marines just ignored my fondness of (Y/n) but for whatever reason, I'm sure (Y/n) didn't want anything to do with me. "Fine, I'll just eat later then! Move your feathered ass out of my way!" Something must have set them off since they would only grinded their teeth together like that on special occasions. "You're rather feisty today (Y/n)~ Did someone upset you?"

"Yeah, you did!" At this point, I just accepted that being difficult was just in (Y/n)'s nature but it was a little discouraging that they weren't telling me the information I wanted to know. "I haven't even been near you for more than five minutes. How about you tell me who upset you and I'll take care of them?" They seemed to be less mad than a few seconds ago but I knew that wouldn't last forever. "Oh, so you'll off yourself if I say you're the person who upset me?"

"No, but I know someone in this base other than myself has hurt my tiny Marine and for that, I'll kill them~ Give me their name (Y/n)~ Please"

"Vice Admiral Vergo"

Boa Hancock

"Alright, these will be your quarters for the next week. I'm sorry that they suck but blame Admiral Sakazuki for that since he doesn't think the Warlords deserve anything nice. Well, enjoy your stay and if you need anything don't ask me" I liked this Marine but something about them seemed different. Hopefully, the brutes weren't pushing my love past their limit. "Thank you (Y/n)-san! These accommodations will be more than enough!"

"O-Oh, you're welcome Hancock! Excuse me I need to be somewhere else!" (Y/n) was about halfway down the hallway but a certain male decided he had the privilege to speak to my love. "Fufufufu. Look at the ass on that one~" It was true that (Y/n) had a nice figure though this man didn't have the right to make such comments about it. "Don't you dare talk about my love in such a disrespectful way you beast!"

"Ah, now I see why you two shouldn't be kept in the same space together. How about you stay in my room Hancock? You'd need to sleep on the floor but at least you and Doflamingo won't be at each other's throats" They were being more than kind and I wasn't going to pass up such an opportunity. "S-Stay in your room with you!? Of course, my love!"

"Yeah, I'll come to get you later but right now I have drills to conduct with my little fleet. See ya later Hancock"

"Don't work too hard my love!"

Jinbei

That Marine must have been quite exhausted since they fell asleep almost immediately after the meeting had begun. I would never disturb the young one's slumber but their fellow Marines didn't seem to have the same mindset. "Captain (Y/n) wake up! It is not professional to fall asleep during meetings!"

"I'm up!" The poor thing looked like their heart was about to give out but after the Marine was awoken the meeting continued as normal. It didn't take long to conclude though I had noticed the same Marine had fallen asleep. "Can't this brat stay awake for more than five minutes?" This was a pitiful display and, in a way, I felt sorry for the young one. "Hahaha. Just leave them be I'm sure if they miss training again Sakazuki will take care of them permanently"

"Big talk for such a little man~ Hehehe. Why don't you go and run a few laps around the base? I'll escort (Y/n) back to their room shortly" So, the Vice-Admiral was friends with them? That must offer them some protection but clearly, that didn't stop the others from waking them up earlier. "Y-Yes, Vice Admiral Snow we'll do that right away!"

"Fufufufu. You're getting better at intimidating the other Marines my dear. Shall we head down for lunch now? I need to leave the base shortly but I have a few hours" Doflamingo did make a good point I should really head back to the sea before the tides picked up too much. As I was heading for the door Snow had called over to me. "Yeah... Jinbei do you mind taking (Y/n) back to their quarters? It's just down the hall with the others look for the one that says Admiral Sakazuki"

That was concerning but I didn't ask about it until after (Y/n) was safely within my grip. "Admiral Sakazuki?" I didn't attend these meetings often enough to know much about the Marines here but Sakazuki wasn't someone I could see tolerating this young Marine for long. "Yup they're his kid. He's most likely not even in there"

"Very well. Goodbye Snow"

~~~~~~~~~

'Knock' 'Knock' 'Knock'

I didn't want to face Sakazuki today but as a voice called out from the room, I realized there wasn't much of a choice on my part. "Who is it?" There was some hesitation with my response though after I had finished, I heard some movement from inside. "Jinbei... I was asked to bring (Y/n) back to their quarters" When Sakazuki threw the door open the loud bang caused the sleeping Marine to awaken from their slumber. "Ahhh!"

"Put them down now... (Y/n) go take your medication" With the Marine on the ground I watched them stare up at their father but they didn't appear to be bothered by the man's murderous mood. "Didn't I already take it?" Hmm, I wonder what illness they had? "No, it's still on the table" The emotion on their face changed into understanding though I could see they were staring at me but it only lasted for a few seconds. "Oh, that's why I'm so tired. Thanks, Pops"

At least I did my job and escorted them safely back to their quarters. Although Sakazuki looked to be holding back his anger towards me. "You can leave now Pirate Scum"

'Slam'

"What an interesting Marine... Hopefully, I'll see them again someday"

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