#sending love and strength to the people of our community who has to face any form of discrimination on regular basis.

[sweetest-devotion]

trigger warnings.

(x)

#. #watched MP today for the second time with couple of friends at my place and it was truly the most horrible experience ever — #i always find being in the cinema with a group of people watching and experiencing the same human stories quite an intimate experience but #oftentimes people are awful and they laugh and they talk over and you come to eventually realise that not everyone is as sentimental as #you think they are or ought to be — #so you can imagine what went down. not to mention being interrogated and lectured after it — through and through — #on how i even have the stomach to watch *insert homophobic slur* going at it #and how 'Marion did the right thing because Tom is a cheater and destroyed her and Patrick is an asrsehole' #i hate how they even mentioned how good it is that homosexuality in our country is still heavily outlawed and that penalties of 'debauchery #are up to ten years of imprisonment even (during patrick's prison scene w Marion) #like i don't wanna even go through more deets of this day in my head anymore 'cause i don't want to remember it #because I'll anyway remember how it made me feel. #anyway... #sending love and strength to the people of our community who has to face any form of discrimination on regular basis. #i don't often let myself feel sorry for myself because i fear it'd make it real but sometimes i do when it's too much #but i don't have safe irl friends i can sincerely talk to and even on the internet i oftentimes delete #what i'd have to say in a post when i realise its too uncomfortable for strangers to just read that and feel in some way obligated to reply #.... #anyway back to my policeman.. here are (linked) some initial reactions after my first viewing yesterday!! #excuse the grammatical errors and typos ugh #when will tumblr ever grant us the bless of editing tags

[matan4il]

Hi again!

So like you, I've been seeing a steep rise in people being openly antisemitic and just hateful in general to people, both in Israel and anyone who so much as shows compassion for people on that side of the conflict (even to Palestinians and Israelis showing solidarity for each other! Which is maddening to think anyone would condemn such a thing). And I know it must be hard, to be living through such horrible things, and then to be hated as if you're somehow part of the cause of such atrocities.

I know it isn't much, I'm only one voice out here in the void, but I felt like you deserved some positivity today, and to be reminded that what you're doing is good and important. You've always brought a smile to my face, back in the day for silly fandom things (Buddie metas, my beloved), but seeing what you do now... I don't think I have the words to exress how much I admire your bravery and relentlessness in the face of such adversity.

So to you, and to all those trying to survive and stay sane, my thoughts and prayers are with you. There will be a light on the other side of all this. Stay strong, my friend. And remember too that when your strength alone fails, it's okay to lean on someone for support. *hugs* ♡

My darling Jesse! *hugs you so tight*

I'm so sorry it took me a while to reply, but I swear I'm doing my best, and I appreciate you so much. I will never forget that time on that discrod server, I won't go on too much about it, but you were the only one with a humane reaction, and that is invaluable. Please know that I see you for the strong, brave, compassionate human that you are, and I am sending you all the love! <333

even to Palestinians and Israelis showing solidarity for each other

Which says it all, doesn't it? Those people aren't pro-Palestinian, they're not pro-peace, they're just anti-Israel, which is actually anti-Jewish (they're indifferent to the well being of Israeli Arabs, just as they are to that of Palestinians. It's Israel, as a Jewish state and the world's biggest Jewish community, which triggers them).

It is hard to live through these atrocities, and then realize the world will absolutely kick you when you're down for being Jewish, even though it's veiled in (and sold to others through) all sorts of excuses.

In our Holocaust museum, we have a short movie of testimonies from survivors who had lived through Kristallnacht, but managed to make it to Israel after that and before the outbreak of WWII, so they lived. It has an unofficial title, "The blow came from within." For all other European and Middle Eastern Jews who were there, the Holocaust happened due to another nation, the Germans. With help from local collaborators for sure, but the initial blow came from the outside. German Jews experienced this blow as coming from within, from the innermost part of their identity as both Jews and Germans, when they didn't know how to separate these two parts.

Because they so believed in the idea that they're now a part of the German nation, they had lots of German friends. And they were sure that these friends saw them as them, as people, rather than through the lense of antisemitism. When Kristallnacht happened, German Jews experienced a devastating betrayal. We have a much higher number of suicides among German Jews at the start of the Holocaust, than in any other Jewish community, because they really did feel like this blow, of discovering they're not people to their own friends and countrymen, destroyed a part of who they thought they are, and how they're seen and accepted by their society.

This week, when I came across even more people I used to be friends with, who have engaged in de-humanizing me, it dawned on me that this is now my experience, too. This blow comes from within, from people who I thought knew me as a person, knew that I'm kind, knew that I'm humane, knew that through my grandparents' experiences as Holocaust survivors, I care deeply about the issue of genocide, and yet apparently none of that matters, and they went straight ahead with vilifying me personally, in addition to vilifying my people, and engaging actively in spreading the narrative that harms us. It's truly startling to realize that it's been over 85 years, and this is still how we're treated by too many.

But for every mob full of hate and ignorance (and that's what online echo chambers have become), a single voice that does listen and does care means that much more. So please know how much you matter to me, and that you make a difference, too. Thank you SO MUCH for the kind words, you brought tears to my eyes, in a really good way, and I cherish you so very much. It's my honor that we're friends (and I'm extra happy that you enjoyed my fandom stuff).

I hope you're doing well, lovely! Gonna keep sending love your way, always. xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #ask #raiphend #fandom love #kindness #thank you! #<33333 #and i'm sure i'm not the only one appreciating you

[itsstillrealtomerpg]

Hey everybody! Admins here to wish you a Happy late 4th of July and we hope you all enjoyed your holiday especially if any of you were off from work! Getting to the point of the post, we’ve been keeping a close eye on you all the last month or two and we’ve been noticing a few trends that we feel like are ignoring some of the key values here at ISRTM. So, let’s get into some things.

Connections. We would never discourage y’all from making friends here on dash, however we’ve noticed some of them actively ignore television and the nature of their relationships as a whole. Two wrestlers who are currently feuding or were feuding at some point in the past CANNOT be good friends now/again with no explanation. No, you can’t just point to them being friends IRL and call it kayfabe. For example, if Britt and Jamie began feuding tomorrow, does it make sense to still have them the best of friends? No, it wouldn’t. Now when the feud is done whatever the nature of their friendship is entirely up to the muns, BUT—there needs to be an explanation. You can do this via paras, text messages, private posts, public posts, etc. Again, it does not make sense to have 2 people who were in a blood feud be friends at random without any sort of WHY. This leads into our second point: feuding.

We noticed a lot of y’all are apprehensive when it comes to feuds/arguments and while we completely understand, we’re all adults here. None of us have gone through life without fights and your muses are no different. Shying away from fake conflict leads to some of y’all outright ignoring the feuds on TV and that defeats the purpose of a kayfabe RP. Y’all’s muses should be fighting & arguing during feuds, not ignoring each other. Keep in mind boundaries & communication with each other, because remember: IC =/= OOC.

Heel & face alignments do not dictate who is friends with who. We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again: anyone can be friends here, but there needs to be an explanation behind it. Also, you cannot expect everyone to be friendly with your muse no matter whether they’re heels or babyfaces. Not every heel needs to be friends just because they’re both evil and not every face needs to be friends because they’re nice. Not every character is gonna agree with the other and if you play a character that has done really bad things, expect them to not be well liked. If that’s not something you can handle, you don’t need to play that character.

Characterization. Guys, we love y’all but we really need to study our muses. We understand a lot of y’all crave connections but please do not sacrifice the muse’s personality and history for the sake of ships and connections. Play the character as you truly feel they’d be in kayfabe, not how you want them to be or a specific kind of character you’ve always wanted to play. We allow OCs if that’s what y’all wanna do.

Be HONEST with yourselves. Not every muse is a badass. Not every muse can beat up the other. There is nothing wrong with your muse losing or being a total geek. Everybody is different. For example, GUNTHER is a monster heel that could more than likely destroy majority of the characters here. It makes sense to portray him that way. IT IS HOW HE IS PORTRAYED ON TV. Like this post and message us with “yes, chef”. This is how we will know if you’re actually reading. If you don’t send the message, we will consider kicking you. The Miz is a chickenshit heel who runs from confrontation most of the time and acts smug about it. No he cannot act like a badass and beat up everybody just because you want him to. Again, if that’s not a muse you wanna play then do not pick them up.

When physical altercations DO happen, the outcome is to be somewhere in the middle unless one mun offers to have theirs lose entirely or it doesn’t make sense in any way. For example, Fuego Del Sol cannot hold his own against Roman Reigns. That’s obvious. Any other matchup should acknowledge the current booking of the characters and their strength on television. Also, COMMUNICATE.

We need some more effort from y’all. We’re tired of logging on after a full work day and seeing that the dash has barely moved or nothing interesting happened. We’re tired of not seeing paras, we’re tired of the same topics, we’re tired of no plots. We’re tired of doing events for you guys and hardly anyone participates. Yes, we know everyone has their own lives but at this point y’all either need to make time or leave. All of the admins have full-time jobs and we make the time. Roleplay IS a hobby, but nobody half-asses a hobby. If I like to paint in my spare time, I put effort into my craft. It’s the same for creative writing, which is what RP is at its core, especially KAYFABE RP. We’re not interested in their everyday lives, we’re interested in their storylines. Now if you don’t wanna put in that much effort, you don’t feel you like can, if you disagree with what’s being said here, that’s fine. But you don’t need to be here. There are plenty of non-AU groups out there and no, our feelings wouldn’t be hurt if you left. We’re not holding you hostage. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns feel free to hit the DMs.

Happy RPing

#;;updates

[thehopefuljournalist]

thank you so much for running this blog, this sort of thing is really important to me to have around so i don't lose my mind. i wonder if you might have some advice on this topic. i'm burdened with constant anxiety about climate change and i want to get involved to help fight it, but i don't know how to do so except by applying to join the handful of climate activist organizations i know of, and i don't want to join those organizations because their promotional material is always saying things like "the world is going to freaking end and it's going to be awful if we don't act soon! and we have to act soon or it'll be too late!" and it makes me want to run and hide under the covers and shake in fear, so i think it would be bad for my mental health to always be around that sort of rhetoric. and i'm always seeing advice for how to get involved around your community in smaller ways that don't require joining a big organization, but those tend to require 1) initiative and planning and project execution skills that i don't have due to my severe executive dysfunction 2) going-out-and-talking-to-people skills (either for getting a group together or to gather information) that i don't have due to my autism. so i feel really stuck. i want to make a difference but i don't know how. do you have any advice, or could you direct me to someone who would? i may not be able to lead or organize or do large projects, but i can sign up for something and show up at a scheduled time and do what i'm told there. are there maybe any climate orgs that take a more hopeful tone, or other ways i could get involved?

Hi there, thank you so much for messaging me :)

I get where you're coming from, that's also a struggle I face personally because even the larger orgs that actually make a difference tend to make their progress by scaring each other into action, which for me, at least, isn't helpful.

As you've mentioned, there are ways to help locally, within your community, but I don't think that necessarily means that you're the one who has to take the initiative. As I don't know where you're from, I can't give you specific examples, but most places and communities already have these kinds of initiatives taken by smaller groups that you could join.

I know in my area there are many groups working to help conserve our beaches, our nature (they do work with orgs like Greenpeace, but that doesn't mean that you have to join the org itself).

Nature cleanups are a great way to help locally as well, because they're not political, if you're not into that sort of thing, and are also usually organized by smaller groups that might be connected to larger ones that you can learn about that way. The way people talk and act in these sort of things as well isn't usually "climate-doom talk", so it might stress you out less.

I don't know what your situation is personally (and would love if you want to message me privately or send another ask, so I could help you with research etc), but if you have the option to donate, that is also a good "hands-off" way to help. Of course that isn't possible for many people (including myself until a year ago), but organization like Greenpeace, Ecosia and many local ones are relying on donations.

Of course there are smaller ways you can help in your everyday life that I'm sure you know of (less plastic, less animal products, involvement in conversations about the topic, etc). These are mostly lifestyle changes you can make, and make me feel better about my personal shame on the subject, but they of course don't make a big change in the big picture.

Look, I know this is scary and climate anxiety is very real and terrifying. Sometimes it seems like there's nothing you can do. But we have to remember that we're not alone. There are so many others who feel the way we do, who want to help in the same ways. We all have our boundaries, the things we aren't willing or capable of doing, and that's fine. That's human. We also all have our strength, and finding yours and using it for good is so important.

I'm so glad you want to help and are reaching out to find ways you can. That's the very best thing that you can do for yourself and for out planet. Because I don't know where you live, I couldn't find you specific initiatives that could be right for you, but I would love to know so I could be able to help more.

I love you and and am so proud of you for trying to take action in any way you can. Please message or Ask me again so I can help in more specific ways :)

#climate #good news #hope #climate justice #hopeful #positivity #more to come #positive news #news #ask #always here for you

[sophieinwonderland]

About the plural artists conversation:

For those who have worries about being at a normal job with a singlet boss, there's a great video about this in the archives of the Plural Positivity World Conference, "2022 Working while Plural Accommodations, Automations, and Disclosure in the workplace"

It's possible to get free/pay-what-you-can tickets for each year's PPWC conference and then afterwards they send an email with a link to give you access to recording from previous years. Highly recommend

But also, yeah. The thing is, I have a LOT of experience with enduring sustained ostracism/harassment/abuse, and grew up thinking that I might as well put my resilience in that area "to good use" in some way (eg I grew up witnessing women politicians getting hounded by the press, and it looked pretty similar to what I was already tolerating in school, so I thought, I could endure that treatment in a job and maybe get some improvements underway). But also, at the actual time that you're busy Enduring, it's really hard to tell just how much it's affecting you, and in retrospect, I did develop good survival skills for that type of scenario, but I also developed CPTSD. If I faced the risk of publicity and hatred again, could it be "finding meaning" in my experiences and reinforcing my strengths as part of healing? Or would it turn into reliving past bad experiences and exacerbating things, making it harder to heal? There's no way of predicting how it would affect me.

So it's a question that I don't have an answer to, either. We should push for a world where succeeding in view of the public eye does not carry an implicit threat, and that project of social change requires a certain amount of openness. Like you don't get a queer civil rights movement if barely anyone comes out.

But also, one thing that I've been contemplating recently is the idea that our choices of how to behave depend on the social context that we're in. And there's a big difference between social spaces where people are trying to live genuinely and with equality and compassion, and social spaces where there's an inherent power imbalance that never really goes away no matter how nicely/ethically the specific people are. And in this capitalist society, with no universal basic income or meaningful safety net, any situation where you're trying to get paid is a situation where you are underneath someone in a power hierarchy, whether you're dealing with a boss or a customer or both. The consequences of poverty create power imbalance. Starhawk writes about this more coherently than I am right now, but you know what I mean.

It's one thing to love having plurality as part of your online identity, where you've got some degree of control over who you engage with, and whether you engage with them at all, because the social context is building a nice community online. But yeah, loving that experience is one thing, but the second money and dependence come into it, you're dealing with a different social context so the decision to be openly plural has a different meaning.

When it comes to surviving under capitalism, you definitely just gotta do what you gotta do. "Branding" is a matter of surviving under capitalism, and so is "controversy-as-promotion" - like, they're both just hollow strategies and I feel like in a way it's completely interchangeable - if you're not free to be genuine, and you have to pick a strategy for survival, then they're all equally bad options in way, because your hand is forced. It's hard to feel good about a decision when that decision was made in awareness of the threat of hatred and/or poverty, for me at least, I feel like no matter what way I end up going, the power and implicit threats set up by society mean that it's a coerced choice and not one made freely.

I feel like I'm sort of rambling, but this is something I think about a lot. My current life plan (and we'll see how that goes, lol) is to write under a penname, because my writing is an area where I want to be genuine and break away from self-censorship; but also, my Plan A is to have other jobs as my main income, so I'm not dependent on writing. For me, that feels important, I think I'll do much better and more meaningful, truthful work as a writer if I can distance that work from the fears and threats and coercion that are impossible to remove from paid work under capitalism. I don't know if I'm explaining this well. I feel like, when it's an unbalanced power situation, you can retain greater dignity and greater freedom to make choices without coercion if you lean heavily on having privacy. So in situations where I need to think about "making money" it becomes necessary to think about professionalism, branding, etc and so there's more self-censorship, and less genuine freedom of choice.

I already sort of have a split between "fandom creative work that can't be monetised" and "other creative work that is safe to mention to colleagues without weird reactions" so it feels natural to me to have multiple avenues for presenting things. I'm planning to publish things under my legal name that I wouldn't mind being seen if I was googled by a boss or landlord. Then the penname(s) can allow for more freedom and authenticity and creativity, for the "meaningful" work that I want to do as a writer or artist, where it would be nice to get money but it's not intended to be commercial.

Of course, I don't know how this will work in reality, since it requires both having time and having time-management skills to be doing multiple avenues of work at once - a lot of people end up finding that the pressure for commercial creation leaves them with no time to make their important art. I hope I won't get too stuck in that type of rut. But I feel pretty good about the idea of being a writer/artist who also has a day job part-time, and then going full "professionalism and privacy and strategically negotiating power imbalances" in the day job, so I've got room to go "full authenticity" in the creative stuff, without those psychological effects of being totally shackled to public opinion of my personal art for food and housing. I'm speaking as someone who has not yet really got an actual career off the ground, but anyway these are my thoughts about how I'm going to go about it in the future, and I feel pretty okay about this as a plan.

That sounds like a solid plan to me! And this is just an excellent post all around!

If anyone is interested in the video, I think I found it here.

#plurality #plural #endogenic #multiplicity #syscourse #actually plural #systems #system #plural system #tulpa #endogenic system #pro endo #pro endogenic #pro tulpa #system stuff #capitalism #anti capitalism #pluralgang #endo safe #actually a system

[coochiequeens]

Two men who had a baby through exploiting a woman want to talk about equality in parenting.

When Paul Morgan-Bentley and his husband welcomed their son, Solly, they were struck by how little is expected of men when it comes to raising kids.

Solly was born in 2020, just as lockdown began, via a surrogate. So far, Paul and Robin’s parenting journey has been beautiful and life-affirming, without any of the homophobia they feared they might encounter. 

But it’s also been an incredible lesson on how gendered society remains.

“Lots of people were lovely or didn’t bat an eyelid which was lovely, but what we did find repeatedly just how little was expected of men at all when it comes to being a parent – being a fully engaged parent with primary responsibility,” Paul tells PinkNews.

Paul, who is head of investigations at The Times, wants parenthood to be equalised, and believes that can only be achieved by doing away with gender norms and encouraging all parents to pull their weight equally.

“In a non-traditional family, you just get the job done and you can feel really liberated from expectations,” he says.

“Lots of women face years and years of cultural expectation about what it means to be a woman and how that means you should be caring. 

“We write it on the slogans of young girls’ t-shirts that are sold in supermarkets – it’s all about caring and nurturing and boys are ‘cheeky little monkeys’ and are not expected to be nurturing. It’s nonsense.” 

Before and since becoming fathers, Paul and his husband were surprised by just how gendered things still are.

“To our faces we haven’t faced much direct hostility – often it’s embarrassment,” he continues.

“In the IVF clinic, even going through that process, all the paperwork is mum and dad – we had to cross off mum all the time. 

“We’re not massively sensitive about it but society has changed in lots of ways and actually what we found is that often the institutions haven’t kept up.

“Often with hospital births, most hospitals in the UK kick dads out – or any partner out – and you can only come back in visiting hours. What message does that send to the mother?

“It’s all geared towards a heterosexual couple and there’s this idea that there is a mother who will be looking after the baby.” 

Those attitudes also extend into the way parental leave and childcare work.

“If you look at how childcare is organised in the UK, you have some help – very little help, actually – financially from the state during that first year of parental leave, and then nothing for most families until your child is three. 

“Either the government doesn’t believe one or two year olds exist, or there is still fundamentally this subconscious belief that a wife is at home looking after the baby.” 

These realisations inspired Paul to write The Equal Parent. Released in March, the book interrogates societal attitudes towards parenting and looks in-depth at the mistakes we’re making when it comes to raising children.

Paul believes it’s time society moved into the 21st century and accepted that parenthood doesn’t look the same as it did in the 1960s.

“We should be playing to our strengths and communicating as parents and couples in relationships and working out what’s best for everyone – not just doing things because it feels like the normal thing to do because of our gender,” he adds.

#Pinknews #anti surrogacy #Babies are not commodities #No one is entitled to bio offspring #Did they try adoption first? #They crossed out mother on the birth certificate #The surrogate is the mother #Hospitals can kick out the father or anyone else the woman who is giving birth doesn’t want there for any reason #Birth isn’t just about the baby it’s also about the mother going through a medical experience #The Equal Parent #The mother needs time to rest and heal in peace #If men want to be equal parents to could take that time after visiting hours to make sure everything is in order at home

[kimium]

Bar AU Power Couple Hall Of Fame

(as of June 23, 2023)

Who do you think should be inducted from the following options and why:

-Aizawa/Present Mic from My Hero Academia

-Obi/Hinawa from Fire Force

-Gojo/Geto/Nanami

Please choose One (1). 😈

*remaining couples can be selected in upcoming years. More couples to be added as we expand the Bar AU. Because maybe, just maybe, I plan on making this an annual ask hehe.*

Hello friend! Sorry I'm a day late. I had to think about this. Love the ask, so let's get started.

First, let's set my criteria. See, while people see the term "Power Couple" and immediately think "Okay, so both have to be strong" with strength = strong. I disagree. If we were to go on power level alone, Gojo/Geto/Nanami would sweep the competition. All three of them are powerhouses with Gojo one of the main Powerhouses in JJK. What I'm looking for is the couple that isn't necessarily the most "powerful" in their respective series, but the one that works well together. Their powers have to compliment one another.

Next, they also need to be able to communicate with one another like any functioning adult. Being powerful is one thing, but if you can't talk to one another when you're stressed then Bad Things (TM) will happen. All of these characters are, after all, from shonen series. Case in point: canonical Satosugu. No, we need characters who know their hard limits and talk to one another when they need a shoulder to lean on.

There needs to be a little bit of bitchy energy because let's face it, sometimes we need someone to lean over to and whisper our minor grievances/judgements upon annoying people in public. If this turns into an inside joke between the couple, so much the better.

The couple also needs to know what the other likes and sometimes gets side tracked in their work/daily life to purchase or send a message to their significant other saying "This reminded me of you". It's that instant love and "I'm thinking of you" quality that brings their personal connection deeper.

Finally, the couple has to clean up well/look presentable. Of course, the high bar is the couple that always looks fashionable, but we can't have everything. (Unless you're Vil/Rook, then you have it all but I digress.) Whether it's for a fancy party or daily life, I believe power couples need to dress well.

So, in my humble opinion, the one couple that should be inducted to the Power Couple Hall of Fame is...

Aizawa/Present Mic from BNHA.

Aizawa is the easy one to pin for the first criteria of "strength". We see continually in the series how valuable his Erasure quirk is and how he "evens the playing field". He also is a master at hand-to-hand and with his signature capture weapon to make the fight end quicker, he's a force to be reckoned with. It's even to the point that during the Raid Arc, Shigaraki goes after Aizawa before Deku or Endeavour.

While Present Mic doesn't have the desire to be the strongest hero, preferring to DJ on the side of being a teacher, I think he has one of the strongest quirks in BNHA. Sound is in our daily lives to the point we don't think about it. However, when our sound is disrupted that's when things go bad. High frequencies over a short time can do damage but over long time? Yeah, that's deadly. When their abilities are working together, Aizawa and Present Mic are a neutralize and capture team all on their own.

Next, I talked about communication. While it would seem Present Mic is the one more open with his "feelings", I don't think we should be caught in Aizawa's "grumpy" personality. Half of that personality is due to being exhausted from patrol and dealing with teenagers learning their quirks + hormones daily. Yeah, I understand your pain, Aizawa. I think your grumpiness is deserved. Anyways, I think Aizawa may be more quiet about voicing his feelings, but he's not afraid to talk to Mic privately. Plus, they're both heroes and they know their jobs can be dangerous. They have to be open with one another or risk taking their baggage into the classroom/job.

Bitchy energy is next and if you don't think Aizawa and Present Mic have given each other The Look after someone annoying as heck has pestered them, you're wrong. I bet they have inside jokes about people who pissed them off, complete with Mic attempting to mimic their voices rather successfully. I also think with all the students they've taught, they've had entitled students/parents who become a work place "Remember when" sort of story to laugh about years later.

As for knowing what one another likes, while I believe Present Mic is more prone to finding a gift and bringing it to Aizawa, I think Aizawa returns the favour frequently! It's super cute and I think sometimes after missions/DJ work the two bring something back for one another. Even if it's something small.

Finally, always looking presentable. While Present Mic always pulls this off as a DJ with a notable public presence, Aizawa daily... yeah that's not happening. However, I thought back to when Aizawa had to wear the suit when they publicly apologized for the summer camp fiasco with Bakugo kidnapped. He was sporting a nice suit and looked decently cleaned up. I'm certain if Mic asked him, Aizawa would put in the effort.

So, there we have it! My criteria and reasons why I think Aizawa/Present Mic should be, as this moment, the Power Couple of the Bar AU.

#personal #replies #bar au

[mariacallous]

Meduza has finally been banned in Russia:

Today, the Russian Prosecutor General’s Office designated Meduza as an illegal, “undesirable organization.” Officials claimed in a public statement that Meduza’s activities “pose a threat to the foundations of the Russian Federation’s constitutional order and national security.” Anyone who “participates or cooperates” with such groups can face felony prosecution — an especially serious limitation for journalists who must speak to sources to report the news.

Rest assured that Meduza will find ways to operate in these new conditions. We will continue to report events to our readers, millions of whom are still in Russia. We will not submit to Russian censorship. Meduza in English will continue its work too. Our international edition is stronger now than ever before. Every day, our journalists cover what is happening in and around Russia, delivering the news through our flagship website, podcast, social media, and newsletters (this one and our weekly missive, The Beet).

Meduza has been declared an “undesirable” organization in Russia. In other words, our newsroom’s work is now completely banned in the country our founders call home. 

If Meduza doesn’t now dissolve itself, Russian criminal prosecution threatens not only our senior staff and team of journalists but also anyone who simply distributes our materials (including acts as innocuous as sharing a link on Facebook to one of our articles), anyone who tries to donate money to support our journalism, and even anyone who grants our reporters an interview or so much as a comment.

Back in 2021, Russia’s Justice Ministry designated Meduza as a “foreign agent.” After Moscow launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, the Russian authorities started blocking Meduza’s website. Despite the Kremlin’s efforts, we have continued our work, maintaining an audience of several million people inside Russia, and becoming the largest uncensored Russian-language news outlet in the world. 

We’d like to tell you that our new “undesirable” status doesn’t worry us — that it means nothing. But that would be untrue. We are afraid. We fear for our readers and for those who have collaborated with Meduza for many years. We fear for our loved ones and our friends.

But we believe in what we do. We believe in free speech. And we believe in a democratic Russia. The greater the pressure against us and our values, the harder we will resist.

We also believe in solidarity, and we’re inspired by the journalists at other “undesirable” publications who never stopped their work. We find strength in the support we’ve received from colleagues in the media and at NGOs committed to resisting the Russian authorities. Working alongside such determined, brave, and principled people is a joy and the privilege of a lifetime. In these difficult moments, we’ve also received invaluable help and advice from our colleagues around the world. This support and this community are what keep us going; they’re how we know we haven’t the right to give up and go silent. 

We will find ways to operate in these new conditions. We will continue to report events to our readers, millions of whom are still in Russia. We will not submit to Russia’s Internet censorship.

Meduza in English will continue its work too. Our international edition is stronger now than ever before. Every day, our journalists cover what is happening in and around Russia, delivering the news through our flagship website, podcast, social media, and daily and weekly newsletters.

Our need for support from people across the globe has never been more urgent. In 2022, our contributors living inside Russia lost the technical means to send donations to Meduza. Now, any Russian national who pledges so much as a kopeck to our newsroom risks felony prosecution. We cannot put our readers at risk. 

We believe that free speech and access to information are not gifts but hard-won achievements that must be protected. Much else, from free elections and free expression to an active civil society, simply cannot function without this basic foundation. And we are ready to fight for it.

If you represent a media outlet and wish to help, the easiest way is simply to tell your readers about Meduza. If you are from an I.T. company with tools that could assist with cyber-security or circumventing Internet censorship, or if you’d like to propose additional support with our crowdfunding campaign, please contact us at [email protected].

[flowershoop]

Flowers Erskineville - Fresh Blooms

If you want a great gift of flowers to send to someone you can enjoy the beauty of the best Erskineville flowers. Urban Flowers Erskineville flower arrangements and bouquets will awaken your mind artistically and with love. The arrangement of each flower will create softness with love. 

Erskineville has long been a popular community for those who want to escape Sydney's noisy district for a quiet, family environment. Strange and romantic, this area attracts people with wonderful flowering. You can order its flowers online and you will not be able to take your eyes off the flowers once you get them.

You can have a sweet bouquet as a birthday present for any occasion, a bouquet of passion for a new baby, a bouquet to express love on Valentine's Day, or a bouquet to add love to the person you love on the occasion of the anniversary. Erskineville can offer.

If your love life is a problem, you can give some of our romance flowers to the people you love. This will ensure that you get your old love fire. Even if you are a 50-year-old couple, you can still give your wife a bouquet of anniversary flowers as your wedding anniversary.

Type of flowers Erskineville:

You can give a different type of Erskineville flowers to your special one.

The bouquet, paired with delicate white puffs, features a soft pink color, seasonal, and a bouquet of roses, chrysanthemum disbuds, and gypsophila, depending on market availability.

The subtle appearance of this beautiful layout negates its inherent strength. Built subject to seasonal and market availability, this bouquet contains carnations, gypsophila, chrysanthemum disbud, anthurium, stock, rose and caladium leaves that will give you a touch of different colors.

Bright and colorful pink and apricot pastel colored flowers blooming in the middle of the Portuguese seaside town which, depending on market availability, includes carnation flowers with stock, lisianthus, and Monstera leaves.

Mora bright and colorful flowers with a gorgeous design with gray pink, sunny yellow, and warm, earthy brown colors are bound to captivate your mind including magnolia leaves, Lancia, lisianthus, carnations, yellow pom disbuds, and local chrysanthemums.

White flowers can be used as a memorial wreath to symbolize the death of your loved one which sends love and sympathy on your behalf. These include White Chrysanthemum, Fragrant Stock Flower, Lisianthus, and Complimentary Leaf.

A bouquet decorated with epic yellow sunflowers is sure to spread joy in your mind. Decorated with six beautiful yellow sunflowers, this bouquet is surrounded by the freshest sunflower light possible. You can gift it for any of your personal needs.

Inspired by Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, adorned with pink and red floral designs, this bouquet is the perfect way to give a gift to the person you love, with flowers, minimal leaves, and classic deep red roses.

Fresh flowers can bring a smile to any person's face. flowers Erskineville All flowers are fresh and long-lasting. Erskineville is an inner-city with a variety of colorful flowers that can make you fit for a variety of occasions. Premium, contemporary bouquets are perfect for all your entertainment.

#flowers Erskineville

[bukojuiice]

this is how you fall in love ━ levi ackerman

ೃ pairing: (levi ackerman x  gn! reader)

ೃ  the entire division of the survey corps are not convinced that you and levi are absolutely actually together. however, it took a small expedition outside of the walls and an abnormal titan incident for everyone to coo adoringly at the soft and loving demeanor that levi holds around you and only you.

ೃ genre and warnings: canonverse, fluff, and strong language.

ೃ  my nav  →  my aot masterlist  →   sign up for my taglist

ೃ 1.6k words

ೃ dedicated to one of my first uni friends, @ryscenery because if the two of us didn’t yell (affectionately) at each other for our love for levi, this fic may have never been birthed. i hope you enjoy! 🥺

Love certainly makes you do the wacky. But in a world where chaos is imminent, war is always looming, and people die to giant man-eating humanoid monsters, how can one possibly make their life akin to that of a romance novel?

Well, unfortunately, you can't.

It's a Live and Let Die world, after all.

But... to the remaining few of humanity who are strong and lucky enough to be still wandering the faces of the unknown world, love is a treasure. A gift only a few can find.

And somehow, and someway, you were lucky enough to find comfort in someone you never thought you'd expect to find.

Levi Ackerman.

The stoic and blunt smart-ass captain of the Survey Corps? Yes, him.

Honestly, it's quite a surprise. No one would have ever thought that someone could shake the world of Humanity's Strongest Soldier. It almost felt like a dream, honestly. Your subordinates and co-captains can't even get their heads wrapped around the fact that there's something between the two of you. Well, it's not like either you and Levi were bold enough to rub it in other people's faces.

Even Hanji, who made it seems as if they were utterly convinced over the fact that the two of you are together by teasing the two of you every time that you were within a few feet of each other, has their doubts.

It didn't take long until a minor expedition outside the walls made everyone in the division finally realize how much you and Levi were pining lovestruck dorks when hidden from the eyes of prying and spying soldiers.

An attempted attack from an abnormal titan had forced you to stray away from the rest of your squad's formation. Baiting the abomination away from your subordinates led you to get lost in the outskirts of an abandoned town. With a terribly injured leg, none of your essential equipment with you, and with no means of communication, you had no choice but to wait for the rest of the scouts on patrol to find you.

However, you were afraid of one person.

Levi knows how strong and how much you can hold up in a fight (Your Titan kill count is one of the highest in the Corps), but he hates how reckless you can get. How stubborn. How irrational your decisions can be at times and how much you hate the fact that he reprimands you for the littlest mistakes. Even if those mistakes could ultimately be the cost of your own life.

Catching sight of a shadowy figure and the sound of the clopping of horses from beyond a steep hill, you brace yourself for another long and agonizing lecture from Levi as he continues to approach.

"Captain (Y/N)!" Armin, a rookie soldier from your fleet, calls out. A look of relief forming on his face. "We brought Captain Levi! He's just behind us!"

"Oh, great." You whisper, grimacing to yourself. "Just great." Your wounded leg fails you as you try to prop yourself up onto your horse, falling back down on a mound of rubble.

You only wish you could know what Levi is feeling right now once he sees the predicament you've brought upon yourself once again.

"Captain (Y/N) has strayed away from our formation!" Jean reports sternly, a tinge of worry straining his voice. "They have diverted an abnormal titan from ruining our formation! As of now, none of us in the fleet know of their whereabouts! Neither do they have a flare gun nor any kits in case of an emergency, as they have left them with Krista before the expedition!"

Erwin clears his throat, shaking his head to try and keep his calm facade. "We'll send some soldiers to scout the-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, the distinct cry of a nearby horse could be heard. As the rest of the surviving soldiers turn their heads to where the sound came from, they could do nothing but stare agape at Levi's fleeting figure cross through the safe area and again into dangerous territory. No one could dare to stop him, after all. There was no way.

All they could do was stare in awe at the dramatic yet sweet gesture of the stone-hearted captain that happened right before their tired eyes.

Maybe now they're finally convinced that the two of you are actually together.

(Levi's POV)

I sprinted through the vast fields with all the remaining strength I could muster. After a long exhibition, I didn't expect I'd have to drag my ass around to find (Y/N). Yet, I could not recall the last time I found myself so short of breath.

Dammit. Please be safe.

I am only vaguely surprised to feel an icy trickle of sweat on the back of my neck and my wringing hands as I hold onto the saddle.

Hurry... I must hurry.

There was not a moment to waste. If there were a titan to cross through these shitty grasslands ever again, I'd have to kill these fuckers as fast as I can. Whatever it took to reach them.

....How unlike me.

I hated this feeling. I knew it was inevitable and could happen anytime, but my body launched forward before Erwin could even give his command. Duty decreed that I should have informed him, but the thought came far too late.

I have no doubt Erwin will conjure some excuse for me. After all, this is what everyone wanted, right? Didn't they want to see more proof of my undying love for them? Just because I don't make goo-goo eyes at them doesn't mean I wouldn't defy everything just to keep them safe.

Perhaps I am being irresponsible... but I have no choice but to put my trust in him.

For now, I have someone more important than anything else, someone I cannot fail. Someone I must save.

At the end of the maddeningly long field of nothingness and stark skies, my destination hoves into view.

As (Y/N)'s weakened figure appears closer and closer to me, I abruptly halt my steed and dismount from it. With all my strength once again, I rush to their side.

Moments later, you hear Levi's voice, whom you had seen off just this morning. Wincing in pain due to your injuries, you mentally prepare yourself for another scolding.

"Keep safe" were the words he'd never fail to whisper every time the both of you are forced to depart from each other. It wasn't the most romantic saying out there, but it meant a lot. Especially coming from Levi. He was not the most physically affectionate beau out there, but these little sweet nothings were enough to make your heart flutter.

Observing his looks as he approaches, Levi almost seems panicked. Out of breath, even breaking a sweat... you can't even remember the last time you saw him like this.

His piercing gaze bore into yours, and you felt as though you might fall into it.

Levi takes one step towards you and then another.

"I-I'm fine... okay?" You puff your chest and tug at his hand reassuringly. "Don't worry. I kicked that titan's ass before it could even get a hand of me. How about you? Are you alright? You're breathing so heavily."

He doesn't answer your question but instead drops his gaze into your shaking hands.

"(Y/N)..." His voice was barely audible, a whisper. There's this exasperated look in his eyes that you can't quite describe. And yet, through that faintest movement of his lips, you knew what he meant to say.

"Levi, listen. I'm-"

---And yet... he did not allow you to finish.

Soft warmth pressed against your lips. And his embrace... so intense yet so gentle.

He didn't have to say it with words; This is the first time Levi has shown such love through his touch. Kind, yet powerful. His kiss felt like the wings of butterflies, beating softly upon lips of crushed petals.

You remain in his arms, held tight to the Captain's chest.

The suddenness of his actions came as a surprise, of course... but even so.

The heat radiating from your bodies brought such a wellspring of happiness to you. You were so happy. So very, very happy.

It was so profound that you wished that it might never end.

"Tch. I thought I was going to lose you..." He trails off, squeezing your arm in slight annoyance. "W-why do you always have to be so damn reckless? Why can't you just stick to the plan?"

"Reckless is my middle name after all." You giggle, the kiss ever so deepening.

You're suddenly brought back into reality when a flustered cough echoes from behind you.

You and Levi took it as your cue to finally let go, releasing one another.

"I hope we're not interrupting something..." You turn to see Armin Arlert, a rookie from your fleet, approach the two of you awkwardly. "I'll be tending to Captain (Y/N)'s wounds... if you'd allow me." He clears his throat, clearly intimidated by the cold and striking facade emanating from Levi.

"Captain Erwin sent us." Mikasa added stoically. Ah yes, the ever so tactful commander.

"Were you brats watching?"

"No! Of course not!" Jean, Sasha, and Connie who were lagging from behind, dismiss Levi's claims with a dramatic wave of their hands. "We totally weren't-"

Levi sighs, "Look. Even if you were, I wouldn't get mad." There's a slight blush that slowly creeps on his face yet quickly fades away. "Just... don't get into details once Hanji or Erwin tries to bug you about it, alright?"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Thank you for coming to pick us up." You smile weakly as you let Armin kneel to tend to your wounds. "Who knows what could have happened if we were left here alone?" You nudge Levi's shoulder suggestively."

He smirks, chuckling to himself. "If we were, then they'll finally have more proof that the two of us are actually together, won't they?"

taglist: @crapimahuman @hu-tao-main @smg-valeria​ @moonless-abyss @midnightangelfox @dukina @chibishae34 @arvinrusselisbae @kenmakeii  @eissaaaa @yummyyumi​ @the-one-that-lurks @prxttyguardian

#snk x reader #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #attack on titan #levi ackerman fluff #levi x gn!reader #attack on titan x reader

[mearpsdyke]

josefintaljegard When I went to the icerink yesterday I got emotional. Why the tears, you might ask?

Because I was, and still am, so damn proud of being one of the very few that gets to have this experience. One of the few to skate on the Olympic ice and, for a few minutes, have the possibility to inspire a generation of figure skaters. I hope I did just that.

Did I want to skate my Joker-program here as well? Absolutely. But that disappointment doesn’t take away from all that was achieved yesterday. I try not to think about the scores, honestly I have been in this sport for too long to put too much value into them... All I can do is to be 100% prepared and then just skate my ass off and put my heart and soul into my performance, and that’s what I did.

So how do I feel now?

Still very very proud. Of myself and of my team.

Thank you Nikolai Morozov for making me believe in myself and helping me find my passion for skating again.

Thank you Kim Zandvoort for always challenging me and teaching me at an early age that there are so many different sides to skating.

And thank you Sassa for staying by our side when very few people did.

There are of course a lot of friends in the sport and outside of skating who have had an impact on my career and helped me achieve this goal, too many to mention here, but you know who you are and I love and thank you.

But the greatest thank you of all is the one to Familjen Taljegård. Sometimes it feels like my parents had to move mountains to give me the opportunity to develop into the skater, and woman, I am today.

In a small country like Sweden you can’t take any support for granted and even if it has gotten better the last year or so, we have had to face a lot of obstacles on our own throughout the years. But as one unit, my family overcame everything thrown in our direction and got stronger from it. And I am so grateful. Without my parents and my sisters (and coaches) Maria and Malin, I probably would have stopped skating at the age of twelve. So if I can say anything to all of you supporting skating parents out there; you mean the world to your kids, your love and support are crucial.

I’ve asked myself many times “Why do I do this? Is it really worth it?”. Being on the Olympic team and competing in Beijing has been a very special experience and I’m so glad that SOK and SKATESWEDEN made the decision to send me here, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. This has been one way for me to prove to myself once and for all that I am a really hard working, strong and determined woman, or else this wouldn’t have been possible.

However, to me the overwhelming support from the skating community all around the world is what brings me the most joy, again here comes the waterworks 🥲.

You might never understand how much it means to me to hear that you like my programs and choreography, that you find my skating powerful, energetic, entertaining and original and that my journey can inspire other skaters to stay in this wonderful sport longer.

Because this IS a wonderful sport that has a lot to offer. It has given me physical and mental strength, endurance, resilience, coordination, flexibility and maybe most important of all; a way to be creative and express my emotions. I have so much to be thankful for in my life, and a lot of it comes from skating.

Now I’m looking forward to the World Championships in France in March 🇫🇷 .

Hope to see you then 😍⛸❤️.

#josefin taljegard #figure skating #beijing 2022 #im posting this a day late cause it makes me tear up #god. i love you and in my heart you'll always be the ogm

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Hey Vaunna, if you ever want to try and write something to make me cry, hit me up. Imma start making a list of things I’ve almost and actually cried over in fics-

Make me suffer, I dare you.

welp here we go! good luck everyone LOL

summary: Team ZIT face a blast from Zedaph's past

...

“I dunno about you but I think having only a set of coordinates sent to our communicators with no explanation is never a good thing,” says Tango, gazing around the clearing.

Impulse nods. “Agreed. Especially considering it’s been five minutes and… nobody’s here.”

As if on cue, someone walks out through the trees. The two jerk in surprise but relax when they register who it is.

“Oh, Zed, it’s you,” breathes Tango. “Why did you send us these coords?”

Zedaph doesn’t reply as he walks over to a tree on the edge of the clearing and pulls a lever.

Immediately, a glass box springs up from the ground and closes around the two.

“Hey!” Tango snaps, hitting the glass with his first. “What the hell are you doing, Zed?!”

“Tango?!” comes Zedaph’s voice from the opposite side of the clearing.

Tango and Impulse turn sharply to find… Zedaph running into the clearing.

After a stunned moment, they turn back. Zedaph is standing by the lever he just pulled, but he doesn’t look EXACTLY like Zedaph anymore. His eyes flash red, his hair more tousled and a slightly darker shade of blond.

“What’s happening here?!” Tango demands. “Why are there two of you? Who’s the real Zed?!”

“I am,” says the newcomer Zedaph immediately. “He’s…”

His face pales as he properly registers who’s standing on the other side of the clearing.

“I’m Helsaph,” the first Zedaph says. “Your dear Zedaph’s hels counterpart.”

“What’s going on?” asks Impulse nervously. “Why have you locked us in a glass box?”

“Oh, cuz I thought you might want to hear about what Zedaph did to me,” Helsaph responds aggressively.

Zedaph slowly moves forward towards Helsaph, but stops several blocks away. “I…”

“What the hell could Zed have possibly done to YOU?” Tango growls.

Helsaph jabs his finger at his counterpart. “You wanna tell them what you did or shall I?”

Zedaph’s mouth opens and closes uselessly for a few seconds, before he squeezes his eyes shut and looks away.

Helsaph turns to the two in the box. “Let me see if this jogs your memory of anything.”

He pulls out a pink item from his pocket and holds it up to his eyes.

Tango and Impulse freeze in horror.

“Look familiar?” says Helsaph challengingly. “Huh?”

Impulse stares helplessly at the helsmit. “I don’t… understand.”

Helsaph barks a laugh. “What, you don’t really think it was the real Zedaph under that mask, do you? Surely you don’t really think the mastermind behind the PR stunt that was Wormman would be out there risking his OWN neck?”

“Zed, what is he saying?” Tango demands.

“I recruited Helsaph to be Wormman and then I abandoned him in Season 5 when we moved on to the next world!” Zedaph bursts out suddenly.

Silence falls. Tango and Impulse exchange a look of horror.

“You didn’t know that, huh?” Helsaph taunts. “Guess your precious little best friend never told you that he’s not the moral angel you think he is.”

“Zed…” Impulse gazes at his friend in disappointment. “Why?”

Zedaph doesn’t answer. Instead, he murmurs, “There. I said it. Is that what you wanted, Helsaph?”

Helsaph grabs Zedaph by the collar and yanks him off the ground. “Is that it?! “Is that what you wanted?”?! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A GHOST WORLD FOR THREE YEARS!”

He tosses Zedaph away as if Zedaph weighed nothing. No sooner has Zedaph landed on the ground than he looks up to find Helsaph charging at him. He can’t react in time to stop Helsaph from slamming his boot into his stomach, yanking all the air from his lungs and causing him to dissolve into a fit of coughing.

“ZED!” Tango screeches, hitting the glass wall with all his strength. It starts to crack under his blows.

“You made me play the hero!” Helsaph yells at his counterpart. “You trained me and spent time with me and made me CARE about you and then you just tossed me aside like I was NOTHING to you! Do you have any idea how much it hurts to learn that the person you thought loved you actually didn’t give a DAMN about you?!”

“I…!” Zedaph’s voice fails and he hangs his head. “I’m… I’m sorry...”

“Oh, you’re SORRY?”

Helsaph grabs Zedaph by the throat and slams him against a tree, the pressure on Zedaph’s windpipe abruptly cutting off his breathing.

“You think SORRY is going to make up for what you did?!”

“Get off him!” screams Tango’s voice.

A second later, Tango himself barrels into Helsaph, knocking him to the ground and releasing his grip on Zedaph, who drops to his knees, gasping for breath.

Impulse appears at Zedaph’s side and envelopes him in a hug. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Zed.”

A little way off, Tango is kneeling on Helsaph’s back, keeping him pressed to the ground. As Helsaph struggles against Tango’s grip on his arms, he screams, “All I wanted was to be loved! ALL I WANTED WAS TO BE ACCEPTED!”

“Shut up!” Tango snarls at him.

“Tango, don’t hurt him!” pleads Zedaph hoarsely, his vision blurred. Weakly pushing Impulse away, he stumbles blindly towards the hazy figures of Helsaph and Tango. “Let him go!”

“Let him go?!” Tango echoes in disbelief. “HE TRIED TO KILL YOU!”

“Please, Tango! Let him go!”

Tango stares at Zedaph in disbelief for a moment, before huffing and releasing Helsaph, though he keeps a firm eye on the helsmit. “Fine.”

Helsaph slowly pushes himself to his knees, his eyes fixed on Zedaph. All his anger seems to have vanished, replaced by despair. “Why did you not want me anymore?” he cries. “W-Was I not good enough…? Did I do something wrong…?”

“No…! I never intended to hurt you.” Zedaph’s voice cracks with emotion. “This is all my fault. I should never have abandoned you, I… I was just so scared of what you might become that I never considered I could help you not become it. And instead… my worst fears came true, and it’s all my fault. Helsaph, I’m so sorry.”

Zedaph slowly moves forward and, kneeling down in front of Helsaph, brings him into a hug.

And after a few seconds, the dam breaks.

Tango and Impulse stand together a safe distance away, watching their best friend hug his crying Hels counterpart.

“All he ever wanted was a family,” says Impulse quietly. “People to care about him the way we care about Zed.”

Tango hesitates for a moment, then makes a decision. He joins Zedaph and Helsaph on the ground and wraps his arms around both of them. Impulse does the same on the other side, both he and Tango holding their Zedaphs tightly.

“I wanna be a hero again, Zedaph,” croaks Helsaph. “Have I messed it up?”

“No no, you haven’t messed anything up,” Zedaph says reassuringly. “If anything, I’M the one who messed everything up. Can you forgive me, Hels…?”

Helsaph sits back on his heels, regarding Zedaph with wary eyes. “But… But how do I know you won’t abandon me again if I stop being useful?”

Zedaph anxiously clasps his hands together. “I know you won’t trust me again for a long time, and that’s… that’s completely valid. But I… I refuse to judge your worth based on how “useful” you are again. From now on, you’re my brother and I’ll stick by you, no matter what.”

“B… Brother…?” repeats Helsaph shakily. “You mean…?”

“You’re part of the ZIT family now,” Impulse chuckles, tousling Helsaph’s hair. “Double Zedaph.”

Helsaph stares at Impulse with wide eyes. “I… Why would you want me here after everything I did…?”

“Because Zed made some mistakes and he’s my friend so I want to help him fix them,” Impulse replies kindly. “Right, Tango?”

Tango nods back. “Absolutely. Plus, I mean, you can never have too much Zedaph, know what I mean?”

Sensing that Helsaph is about to cry again, Zedaph quickly steps in and says, “You know, Hels, you actually arrived at a great time. We could do with a hero right now. You remember Evil X?”

Helsaph nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Very well.”

“They’re back on the server causing a bit of mischief, running a scheme that’s definitely a scam. The server could use a hero to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t do anything evil.” Zedaph grins. “What do you think? You up to the challenge?”

“I…” Helsaph hesitates. “I’m out of practise.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” says Tango. “We’ll help ya.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna train you back up into the best superhero on the server,” Impulse adds happily.

Zedaph hands Helsaph the pink mask the latter dropped earlier. “Welcome back, Wormman,” he says softly.

After a moment, Helsaph takes the mask and puts it on.

And with this action, Helsaph’s road to recovery, surrounded by his brand new family, begins.

#team zit #impulsesv #tangotek #zedaph #helsmits #vaunna’s requests

[jimlingss]

Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU

➜ Summary: After your grandfather's passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It's a struggle to be in the countryside when you've always been a city girl. But there's someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who's constantly trying to pick a fight with you.

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

Home — you left it all behind for this.    The tractor chugs and wheezes. Its wheels roll over the craggy and unpaved road, making you feel every bump and pebble through constant jolts and bounces. The sweltering heat of the scorching sun was already making you break into a sweat and you sigh, listening to the buzzing of cicadas and the sputtering engine.   But otherwise, it was quiet. More than what you were used to. There isn’t any traffic, honking, construction or the noise of motorcycle engines or sirens of ambulances. There’s just the rustle of leaves and the swaying of grass strands.   “I can’t believe Old Man Seok had such a pretty granddaughter.”    A laugh bubbles out of you. “It’s all in the genes. Did you know my grandfather?”   “Everyone knew Old Man Seok. Everyone knows everyone here. But it sure helps that our farms are next door to each other. Just down yonder.” The middle-aged farmer grips the steering wheel. A good-natured aura in spite of his intimidating disposition, he feels like a strict but caring father figure. “He was very kind even to the end of his life. Offered my family a lot of jam throughout the years. A good man through and through. My condolences.”   Your smile softens. “Thank you.”   “I gotta say, it’s nice to have a new face around these neck of the woods. Doesn’t happen often.” The corner of the man’s mouth pulls and the wrinkles by his eyes crease. “You should come meet my son sometime.”   “I wouldn’t mind.” The tractor pulls up to the worn house you’ve seen in your mother’s childhood pictures. “I always love making new friends.”   You hop off the tractor the moment it comes to a stop and the man wishes you luck before you thank him again and he’s on his merry way.   With only one packed suitcase in hand, you walk up to the house and push your Gucci sunglasses to the top of your head to get a better look. The fence, door and roof are made with a cherry wood that compliments the forest green walls. The patio, on the other hand, is out of oak that matches the rocking chair in the corner. There’s white trim lining the rectangular windows, giving you a peek at the purple, paisley curtains inside.   The house looks tattered through time, but cozy.   “You’re leaving?!” — “Do you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?” — “Do you even know what you’re going to do there?”   The voices of the friends you left behind echo in the recesses of your mind while you fiddle with the hem of your dress in the shade of classical blue — 2020’s pantone colour and a fantastic fashion statement. It’s not farm-appropriate, but better than most of the things in your closet.   You went shopping for the last time before you packed your one pink suitcase, but you’re starting to realize those tight, denim overalls might not work like they do in the movies.   “You think you can run a farm?!” — “I didn’t raise you so you could go back to the countryside!” — “You don’t even know what you’re doing, Y/N! Grow up already and stop being ridiculous.”   An exhale squeezes out of you as you dispel away your family’s discouragement and you grip your grandfather’s letter as you finally muster the courage to approach the house.   When your grandfather passed away, you inherited ten thousand dollars and his five acre farm. It’s small. Nothing worthy of bragging about and one of the hundred of reasons everyone thought you would sell it. They even urged you to, so they could get a split of the money. But they never thought you would refuse. That you would leave everything behind and come all the way here.   It’s a mess.   Thick layers of dust coat the antique furniture and peering out from the kitchen window, the field is littered in leaves and twigs, wooden planks and debris. A sense of guilt overwhelms you.    You can’t believe your family let it become this way.    You set down your belongings and almost immediately, you begin to look around. Pacing the backyard, the field, the barn, trying to figure out what is what. And it’s not long before a dark-haired man with doe eyes and a permanent dear-in-headlights expression finds you.   He nearly startles you to death with his timid greeting. “H-Hi...”    “Holy shit!” You press your hand to your chest, spinning around and he boyishly grins. “You scared me!”   “S-Sorry…my bad...” Boots, jeans and a white shirt, he looks like a newly graduated high school student who stumbled into the wrong place. “Are you Y/N?”   “That’s me.” You wonder if he’s here to kill you. The farm setting was the perfect location after all and serial killers these days have the potential of looking as cute as he does. “You’re...?”   “I’m Jungkook. I used to work with Old Man Seok. My mom told me you’d be comin’ today and that I should show you around, so….” He scratches the back of his neck, oddly endearing for how awkward he is.    You let him guide you despite having already gotten the chance to peek at almost everything — a detail you leave out to spare him from being disheartened. But with Jungkook here, he has the strength to widen the doors of the old shed out back and you get a better look at the storage and old equipment.   “God.” You cough and bat your hand from the dust piles arising. “It’s so dirty.”   “Yeah. The tractor needs a bit of fixin’ up which I can help you with, if you need.”   It’s clear that towards the end of your grandfather’s life, he was too weak to properly take care of his property. You can tell by the way the field is in tatters, all his crops long dead and his machinery is in desperate need of repair. But as you gander at the space, you discover that there’s everything you need right here. Shovels. Wheelbarrows. Sickles and spades.   “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”   Jungkook nods, wearing a small smile. “Your grandpa used to help me out a lot, so it’s the least I can do. If you ever need any help, I’m down a few acres West by the market. Just give a holler.”   Your cheeks warm, realizing he’s not as young as he appears to be. “I will.”   After a while longer, Jungkook leaves you to get settled down and you bid him farewell. You know it’s going to take a bit of time for you to get used to this change, but with a sigh, you try your best to familiarize yourself with the land and surrounding climate.   //   Back in LA, you were a fashion design marketer.   Originally, you set out to fulfill your childhood dream of being a top designer for a big brand like Chanel or Dior, but along the way, you ended up in the marketing sector. It wasn’t as bad as what people thought. A kind of niche you actually quite enjoyed and while you might've left it all behind for the farm life, you know the first step to starting anything is doing market research.   So at nine in the morning sharp, you enter the farmers’ market.   Open every Sunday, there’s a certain bustle and liveliness in the atmosphere. People from surrounding communities and even far away cities have come to get their fresh produce and dairy products. The market place is held in an open building with doors and massive garages wide open, practically held outdoors itself, and as you walk along the stands, you notice goat milk to beeswax lip balm being sold. There’s everything someone could ask for, bath salts and herbal soaps, baked goods and handmade aprons and quilts. You didn’t know farmers’ markets had so much to offer.   “Would you like to try some raspberry jam, darlin’?” A plump lady offers you a spatula.    “Sure. Thank you.” The sweet taste ends up bursting on your palette and you hum at the taste, considering buying a jar for breakfast. But she interrupts with a curious stare and a bigger smile.   “I haven’t seen you around before, dear. Did you come from somewhere far?”   “Oh no, I just moved in. My grandpa was Seokjin….”   “You mean Old Man Seok?” Her entire spine straightens, face lighting up. “I never knew he had a granddaughter!”   You warm, proud that your grandfather’s made such a lasting impression. “I just moved in a few acres away.”   “Taking care of your grandpa’s farm?” she asks and when you nod, the woman practically swoons. “Why, what a gracious thing you’re doin’! Old Man Seok would be proud to have a granddaughter like you! Keepin’ his legacy alive like that. Heaven knows I can’t even get my boy up to milk the cows!”   You laugh and she ends up handing you a small jar of raspberry jam for free, wishing you the best of luck.    Apparently word spreads fast in this place. After ten minutes of exploring the market, kind and overfamiliar strangers approach from behind their stands, greeting you and taking your hands. Some muse how similar you are to your grandfather while others happily send you some cheese and bread. By the time you’re at the end, it looks like you went grocery shopping.   But in the midst of it all, you get the chance to talk to some customers. Making conversation with a pregnant woman, an elderly man, and a little kid overly excited to use his allowance for some candy. People are receptive and friendly, more than what you’re used to back in the city. But you study what they purchase, their spending habits, what people seem to be interested in.   Then, your attention is caught at a cute honey stand — jars of honey sealed being sold with beeswax candles tied with pastel yellow ribbon. More importantly, you recognize the doe-eyed boy at the cash register.    “Jungkook!”   He greets you with a big smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N! I didn’t expect you’d be here.”   With your previous lifestyle, the attention of a cute boy like Jungkook isn’t enough to make you bashful — a few years too late on that — but you can still appreciate how endearing he is. “I’m just taking a look around. Thought I should get to know the place since I might be here soon.”   “How’re things going? Did you settle in yet?”   “I did actually.” It wasn’t in the realm of your expectations to make friends so quickly out here, but to have such pleasant small talk with Jungkook proves your anticipations were wrong. “It took a lot of time to clean the house, but totally worth it! I strung polaroids above the mantle and I found a vintage armchair that’s really in style, so I’d say things are going pretty well.”   The boy grins from your enthusiasm. “It sounds like you’re adapting better than I would.”   “I’m trying.” Your smile becomes sheepish. “I’m still figuring out the fields and the land. I haven’t even gotten started in clearing out the shed yet.”    He nods, lips parting to respond. But then there’s a call of his name behind him and he sighs before sending an apologetic expression. “Sorry. My ma has more honey to unload from the truck. I gotta skedaddle before she yells, but I’m glad things are working out for you!”   Jungkook’s undoubtedly cute, even when he says goodbye and promises to catch up with you soon. You don’t dwell either, continuing to parade through the market by yourself and discover all the places you missed on your first walk that was overwhelmed with others intercepting.   What piques your curiosity this time is a wooden stall with a soft green cloth draped over the flat surface and a sign that reads ‘Romaine with Me’. What’s offered in the crates are lettuce. Lots and lots of different heads of lettuce lined in rows like plush animal prizes on display at carnival games.   You don’t pay much mind to the man behind the stall that’s sleepily blinking and leaning his head in his hand, elbow propped up and figure slumped over. He looks like he’s dozed off but somehow kept his lids peeled back.   You approach and read the labels underneath. Red. Green. Romaine. Boston. Bibb. Arugula. Batavia. Radicchio. Iceberg.   “I didn’t know there were so many types of lettuce,” you mutter to yourself.   “It’s two dollars for each bundle or head,” the man suddenly pipes up in a raspy tone, nearly startling you to death. You realize his pupils have darted right on you and that’s he’s not in fact sleeping with his eyes open. “Romain is three. And there’s a sale on the radicchio.”   The man has an oddly intimidating disposition for looking so tired. He has tender features and seemingly soft skin that makes you wonder about his skin care routine. Yet, his hair is as dark as his cat-like eyes that have narrowed in on you. You suddenly feel pressure to make a purchase lest you waste more of his time.   “What are the differences?” you ask, studying the lettuces in front of you.   “Iceberg, romaine and radicchio are crispy. But iceberg has a clean and fresh taste. Romaine is more bitter and radicchio is a bit bitter and spicy. Boston and bibb are butter lettuces which are softer and have a sweet taste. Boston's leaves are wider and lighter green than bibb's. Arugula is peppery. Batavia is your usual with more crinkled leaves. Red and green are your standard.”    The man breathes the explanation out with only one lazy inhale in between and when he’s done, he gives you a look as if asking if you’re satisfied. But you’re more than that. You’re genuinely impressed.   He spat facts at you and you’re not sure what to do with the information.   “You know a lot about lettuce.”   “I’m a lettuce farmer,” he deadpans.   “Really?” The corners of your lips pull, even more intrigued than before. You didn’t take him for much of a farmer. The man has a kind of bad-boy vibe that you’re accustomed to and without much thought, the clumsy words stumble out of your mouth— “I thought farmers were dirtier.”   “What?”   “Like sunburnt, straw hats, overalls.” You nod, studying the produce and missing his offended expression. “Like that’s totally the farmer’s aesthetic.”   “Aesthetic?”   “Yeah,” you hum, not realizing the man was glaring holes into you. “I’ll take a bundle of the romaine, please.”   You end up going home shortly after, trekking underneath the sun with recyclable bags full of food that fills your fridge, sure to be enough for a whole week. You’re not sure what to exactly do after that — there’s plenty of tasks and jobs to be done, but you’re not certain where to start.   So you decide to take a break — partly to relax and partly to procrastinate. With your sweat wiped away and a fan whirring in the corner, you plop down into the vintage armchair and grab one of the magazines you brought with you. But it isn’t a good read, not when you had already looked at most of the pages on the plane ride over here….   Your mind ends up wandering, considering what you should do with grandfather’s land, if there was anything new you could offer at all. And at the same time as you’re flipping through the magazine, you stumble on a particular page. A recipe for an avocado kale poke bowl.   You skim it and your eyes stop at a single word. Kale.   Kale. It sticks to you like glue and you squint at the text, the four letters in print. Your mind searches and it hits you that kale was never sold at the farmers’ market. There was everything, every fruit, every vegetable. But not kale.    A smile stretches across your face, determination blooming in your chest. Organic kale was a total new fad. Good for you. Healthy. Sought after in the city, but yet to be prevalent in the countryside. It was a perfect opportunity, one that was sitting right in front of you this entire time.   Relief overwhelms you as you make a decision on your niche: kale.   //   It starts off with books.    Gathering as much information as you possibly can, you also learn through guides and internet articles on your chosen crop. You find out that kale becomes bitter over the summer, sweetest in the Fall after being touched by a light frost. It bolts in Spring, so sowing seeds is most appropriate around April to May while they can still be planted throughout the seasons. It provides a yield between late September to early May, direct seeds maturing in fifty to seventy days while transplants take a bit less than half the time.   You learn how to protect seedlings from pests, purchasing lightweight fabric to cover rows, and you begin to plow the fields.    It takes time to clean up, to get your grandfather’s equipment fixed, to become financed. But you start right away and soon, you’re sewing the seeds eighteen to twenty four inches apart. Getting transplants. Watering them appropriately. Working day and night.   You’re not exactly sure if you’re doing this right. Especially on hot days when you’re sweating buckets, dirt has marred your skin and your lower back screams. But you know that even if you fail and have to pack your bags, the effort of trying would be enough for you to feel satisfied.   So, you persist.    And day by day, the seeds begin to sprout. The dirt is littered with tiny green specks and you feel thrilled that it’s actually growing. Slowly, but surely, you would return this farm to its former glory by your own hands.   //   It’s another Sunday when you take a trip to the farmers’ market.   In spite of having only been here for a short amount of time, you’ve become acquainted with the market. You don’t get lost anymore in the bustle and many like to stop you to ask about your day. It’s a hospitable place, never making you feel uncomfortable or awkward, and you feel relieved that your grandfather was surrounded by such warmth till the end of his life.   You’re also starting to become familiar with one particular wooden stall and the sleepy man behind it.   No matter what week it is, he’s always there, wearing the same loose flannels but in different colours, flipping through a pamphlet or dozing off. He only looks up when someone comes to buy lettuce.   But today, he’s joined by an older man that recognizes you all too easily. “I almost didn’t see you there without being so gussied up in those city clothes. Looks like you’ve gotten yourself comfortable with farm life. Almost reminds me of Old Man Seok back in his heyday.”   Immediately, the younger lifts his head up, brow cocked. “You know her?”   “She’s Old Man Seok’s granddaughter. I gave her a ride to his farm when she first came,” Mr. Min introduces and his son gives you a better look, one that’s ridden with a modest amount of distaste. “Y/N, this is my boy, Yoongi, that I was talking about.”   It never occured to you how similar they are. Their husky voices and quiet yet intimidating dispositions are unparalleled. But the older seems more open and friendly than the younger who has a blank expression and his eyes narrowed in at you. Although you don’t get much time to dwell, ask him that the issue might be or if that’s simply who he is.   Some people naturally have a resting bitch face and Yoongi might be one of them.   “How’s the countryside life doing for you so far?” his father asks and you smile, attention redirected.   “It’s not too bad. But the sun’s hot and I didn’t know farming could be so hard!” Your head quirks to the side, still awed that this was the lifestyle of so many. “I always thought it would be easy cause the organic edamame plant back at my apartment wasn’t so bad to take care of.”   Yoongi scoffs.   “Yep, it’s difficult alright.” Mr. Min’s engrossed and asks, “What’re you growing?”   Enthusiasm and a sense of pride makes you exclaim the answer— “Kale!”    Yoongi winces at the volume of your voice while his father is made even more curious.    “Kale?”   “I was thinking about what wasn’t being sold at the farmers’ market and I found that kale was underrepresented,” you rant, “Kale’s totally the new wave. It’s a trendy, super food and packed with antioxidants. Did you know that kale is among the most nutrient-dense foods on the planet?”   “Can’t say I knew that.” Mr. Min has his mouth upturned into an amused smile. Yoongi, on the other hand, sighs. “I’d love to hear more about it. My wife’s quite passionate about these kinds of things too. She practically runs the entire farm! You should come over for dinner sometime, Y/N.”   “She should?” — “I’d love to!”   Both you and Yoongi talk over another, but you don’t hear him. You’ve never been invited to this kind of thing before and your family rarely ate together. So, the aesthetic of sitting down for a countryside meal with a farming family, like it’s Thanksgiving, is a fantasy you’re eager to fulfill.    //   Unfortunately, dinner at the Min household has to be held off when your first harvest comes.    Finally after a month of waiting, there’s actual kale out in the fields that are ready to be collected. The leaves are small, a little bitter and it’s not a large yield — but it isn’t bad for the first time. You’re happy enough that you’ve grown something, so you don’t nick pick for now.   Instead, you focus on wrapping up the bundles, on preparing a stall, on organizing a spot at the market to sell. And when the days of busy work and high pressure accumulate into the first Sunday of the month, you’ve arranged crates of freshly washed, organic kale ready for purchase.   It’s exciting. One week you’re walking around as a customer and the next, you’re on the other side of the stand as a vendor. You get to witness the behind the scenes of other farmers, the doors opening at nine sharp, the increasing bustle of the market.   But for some reason, you only have a few people who stop by and only one who buys a bundle.   “Don’t be worried,” Jungkook comforts, having stopped by once he noticed you. “People tend to buy what they’re used to, so just wait a while. You’ll eventually get your own set of customers!”   You can only hope he’s right.   By five in the evening, it’s over and you hold in your sigh. You wonder what you should do with the abundance of kale you have left, but you try not to linger as you close shop and the market shuts its doors.   Everyone seems to disassemble their stalls with ease, carrying crates to their cars, collecting their earnings. Most are gone within ten minutes but you struggle, unable to keep up when it’s all too new to you and before you know it, you’re the last one left in the space that’s still cleaning up after yourself.   The only person you catch is Yoongi who’s walking off, passing you with a crate of two lettuce heads, having already sold most of it. You notice he’s in one of his open flannels again, this time it’s yellow and gray, and you send a friendly smile. But he doesn’t say anything or make a change from his indifferent expression.   But then he stops. Five meters away.   “You should stop treating this like a joke,” Yoongi deadpans, swiveling around on his heel.   You freeze, halfway from grabbing the mason tip jar that you decorated with washi tape the night before. You blink, not sure if Min Yoongi is actually and willingly uttering words to you or if it’s your imagination. “What?”   But it isn’t. He is very much talking to you. “The market isn’t here for someone like you to play games.”   Now, you’re just confused. “But…...I’m not playing games...?”   “It’s obvious you’re not serious about this.”   You scoff. You’ve had your fair share of running into mean girls in the fashion industry and in High School, the ones who are snarky and make passive aggressive insults that are disguised as compliments. You just never expected to run into something like that here.   And in such a straightforward way too.   Usually people are more subtle when they show that they don’t like you.   “You can’t accuse me. You don’t know anything about me!”   Yoongi stares at you boredly. “You’re making a mockery out of people’s livelihood.”   “I’m trying to learn.” You cross your arms, standing your ground.    You suppose from his perspective it might be off-putting that you’ve come from nowhere and you’re trying your hand at the farm life. But you swear you haven’t been condescending nor have you ever looked down on anyone. At least you hope it hasn’t come across that way.   “I don’t know what I’m doing, but if it seems like I’ve been mocking you then I’m sorry.” This isn’t just a hobby to you nor is it a spectacle for your amusement. You’re serious. Even if you might come across as ditzy, insincere and inexperienced. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to insult me. I already know I was stupid for coming here. Why do you think I came alone? This is a whole new world for me and I’m trying, so I’d appreciate some empathy.”   Yoongi stares at you. You stare at him.   The two of you have your eyes locked in one another’s, and you want to throw hands, but then he suddenly walks away as if he didn’t hear a word you said.   You glare at his backside, huffing out in frustration.    As if your day wasn’t bad enough, he had to make it worse.   //   “Stop being ridiculous, Y/N!”   Your mom’s voice is jarring on the other end of the line. It’s grating to your ears. There’s a strong urge to hang up, but you’re not sure if she’ll call again. You’re surprised she called you in the first place — the likelihood of a second time is slim.   “I’m actually doing well, thank you very much.”   She ignores you. “Sell the land and come home. Do you really think you can do this?!”   Tears sting your eyes against your will. You inhale to keep your voice even and steady. “I do actually. I’m learning while I’m out here and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”   “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. You had a high paying job. An apartment. Clean water to drink. Lots of food to eat. You were comfortable! And you gave it all up, why?!”   “The air’s fresher here,” you quip much to your mom’s chagrin and frustration. “I’m a grown woman, mom. I can make my own decisions.”   “Until you make others pick up after you!”    You wince, hand tightening on your duvet. You try your best not to cry. She doesn’t need to know that you’re running out of money, that your kitchen is filled with leafy greens you couldn’t sell, that your back aches from working out on the fields. “Don’t come running to me when you finally get bored or you’re halfway to starving to death.”   You know they think sooner or later, you’ll show up back home with your packed bag. But you refuse to give in. You’ll prove your friends and family wrong — you’ll follow through with this.   If there was one thing you were good at, it was being stupid. Being stupid made you at the bottom of the class, it made you have friends who used you, it made you struggle. And it made you resilient. It made you know what working hard to get to where you want meant. It made you determined.   And you’re gonna fucking give it your best! Even if the smarter route would be to give up!   So with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, you brace yourself and enter your kitchen full of kale. If you can’t sell it raw, then there are other things that you can try.   //   “Get your kale kombucha! Your kale smoothie! Full of vitamins and nutrients!”   You’re holding a tray of paper cup samples, voice loud with a wide smile. A woman who’s looking at your stand curiously passes by and you steal the chance, smoothly intercepting her way. “Would you like to try one, ma’am?”   “Sure.”   She takes a sample and once she sips, her eyes light up and her expression becomes inquisitive. The woman approaches your stand, looking over the products you have. “It’s really delicious. How much is it for a smoothie?”   “The three sizes are here.” You gesture to the display and she hums. “Two dollars for a small, two fifty for a medium and three for a large. We also have salted kale chips, kale guacamole and kale pesto.”   “Is this all homemade?”   “It is!” Your enormous smile is proud. “I grew the kale organically and made these with fresh ingredients.”   “I’ll take a large smoothie, this guacamole and a bundle of just regular kale then.”   “Coming right up!”   You’re no stranger to the art of advertising — it’s one of your strengths with your marketing background. You’re pretty sure the chalkboard signs are doing a good job of directing attention to your stall and the samples are certainly going a long way too.   “Can I try one, miss?” A little kid tugs on your green apron and you lower yourself down to their eye-level, happily handing them two.   “Of course you can!”   Sunday after Sunday, you do better and better.   Of course, it’s not without constant trial and error, honing in recipes and packaging, learning how to keep products as fresh as possible. But the improvements make the labour all worth it.    You notice how Yoongi watches you across the floor and when you smile, he immediately looks away. But there's little time to pay attention to him when the lineup at your stall gradually becomes longer and longer. Jungkook helps you out when he can, whether that’s manning the register beside you or handing out samples to draw in curious customers.   “You’re gonna run me out of business soon, Y/N.” Jungkook says in the midst of a slow down when you’re finally able to catch your breaths.   “Please,” you giggle. “I’m sure you’re the one drawing in the business. Weren’t those last two customers trying to get your number for the past ten minutes? Last time they kept on asking me about you too.”   The boy laughs shyly and it’s all too endearing. “They’re just bein’ nice. If anything, you’re the one drawing in the customers since you’re so pretty and all.”   More giggles bubble out of your throat and you lean closer to him. “So you think I’m pretty?”   Jungkook realizes what he said and his face reddens. He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I mean...isn’t that a fact?”   “You’re too sweet, Kook,” you sigh wistfully. “Thank you for helping me.”   “Anytime, really.” Jungkook’s smiles softly and his lips part, but before he can say anything, his peripheral vision finally catches the weight of a third party’s stare. His eyes travel across the market floor to the wooden stall of lettuce — right on the man behind it who’s rolling his eyes.    You follow his line of sight and a knowing smile appears on your features. “Jungkook, can you hand me the sample tray?”   You might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but you’re not that big of an idiot. For the past two weeks, you’ve noticed how Yoongi keeps staring at you. You don’t suspect it to be sudden infatuation either. Most likely, it’s surprise that you’ve proven him wrong or reluctant admission that you’re on your way to success, or perhaps passive aggression too.   Whatever the case is, you approach him and witness him visibly stiffen as you come closer.   Your smile remains bright when you ask, “Is everything okay, Yoongi?”   “I’m fine,” the man deadpans. “You should move. You’re blocking my customers.”   “You have no customers.”   “I would if you weren’t standing there.”   You scoff. “You are not cute.”   Yoongi’s brow lifts, amused at your comment. “Excuse me?”   “I want to make peace,” you outright declare, having no shame with confronting him. “I’ve had my fair share of drama back home and I’m not looking forward to picking fights here, so I forgive you.” Yoongi snorts as you raise your sample tray as a peace offering. “I know you’re curious, so you try one. My kale kombucha is my most popular item. It’s a fermented tea that has lots of healthy yeast and bacteria.”   “No.” The dark-haired man rejects without needing to blink. “Kale is disgusting. There’s a reason no one sells it here.”   You’re shocked, not knowing where to start. But there’s no point in arguing with him and spewing nutrition facts. Your pride is much too high to insist too, so you merely lift your chin. “Fine. Suit yourself. But one of these days, you’re going to fall in love with kale, Min Yoongi.”   It’s a challenge — but a one-sided one. Yoongi simply sighs as you strut away, feeling more tired than he did before.    //   The engines of the moving truck rumbles and coughs as it rolls down the dirt road.   It’s drawn the attention of several, including his dad and mom. They’re peering out the front window, curtains tugged with their noses pressed to the glass. Usually, Yoongi doesn’t care much for what the neighbours are up to or keeping up with community gossip, but for some reason, his curiosity is piqued enough that he glances out as well.   “What’s going on?”   “There are trucks coming back and forth from Old Man Seok’s land.”   Yoongi wonders if you’ve given up and you’re moving out. He wouldn’t be surprised.   But suddenly, before he can walk off and mind his own business, his mother whirls around. “Yoonie, go check up on our new neighbour.”   He exhales exhaustingly. “Why?”   “Well, you’re friends, aren’t you?”    “We’re not.” It’s a firm fact, but his mother doesn’t hear him. She’s already moving into the kitchen and making him follow her. He knows arguing is futile — once she’s set on her mind on something, no one can change it.   “Go on and deliver some cheese too.” She hands him a paper bag. “We haven’t welcomed her properly yet and it’s customary to at least give a greeting and gift.”   Yoongi begrudgingly obliges and minutes later, he finds himself making the trek across the acres to the cottage that always reminded him of Christmas with its cherry red roof and forest green walls. The polluting trucks drive away in the meanwhile, wheels turning against the gravel fading, and the countryside returns to its quaint atmosphere. As he comes closer, Yoongi notices the wooden spools on your lawn and some barber chairs littered around, akin to a dumpster yard, but he avoids them and walks up the porch, knocking twice on the door.   He can imagine thrusting the bag in your hand, muttering a greeting and question or two before getting back to the farm. Yet, what he doesn’t anticipate is silence and then noises farther away.   The man sighs and decides to follow the sounds lest he spends the rest of the afternoon waiting at your front door.   He rounds the house to the backyard.    “What are you doing?”   Yoongi discovers mason jars, picnic blankets, wooden crates sprawled all over on the grass — things he guesses the trucks brought over — and he finds you on a ladder with fairy lights tangled around your limbs.   You jolt. In horror, Yoongi watches the ladder dangerously wobble back and forth, but luckily, it steadies and you twist yourself around. “Holy shit! You almost scared me half to death!”   “What are you doing?” he repeats, more urgently and concerned than before.   “I’m setting up fairy lights obviously.” Your smile is big, cheeks swelling with it. “I’m gonna decorate part of the land with hipster furniture and channel the farm aesthetic. It’s going to become an Insta spot. Hashtag kale-in-farm.”   Yoongi doesn’t understand half of what you just said and he’s not sure if he should even ask.   “What’s a hashtag?”   “You don’t know what a hashtag is?” Your eyes are perfectly rounded, looking at him like he’s an alien and he chuckles. The irony isn’t lost on him. He isn’t the weird one — you are.   “Should I know what it is?”   You don’t answer, merely climbing off the ladder and his breath hitches at how you don’t watch your step.    Yoongi doesn’t get stressed easily, but he swears he’s going to get a heart attack looking at you.   You pull out your phone suddenly from your back pocket and after some tapping, you thrust the screen in his face. “This is Instagram, see? It’s an app where you can follow people and see the pictures that they post. An Insta spot is a place where you can take good Instagram pictures. Hashtags is a way to label the posts, so others can see and search it up. Or at least that’s what I think it is. It’s kind of hard to explain, it’s one of those things that just catches on and you get after using it. This is my page, see?”   You’ve given your phone to him and Yoongi eyes your bikini photos before handing it back.    “Uh-huh.”   “I can’t believe you don’t have an Instagram. You should make one and add me!”   “No thanks.”   You huff, pouting at him and Yoongi’s mouth twitches as he resists the small smile. There’s something in the way you react to him being mean to you that makes it all too entertaining.   “My mom wanted to give you some cheese.” He hands the paper bag over and you excitedly peer inside. “It’s just goat cheese. Usually she makes a cherry pie as a housewarming gift, but today….was a bit last minute.”   Yet in spite of the measly present, Yoongi’s taken aback at how happy you seem. “This is so sweet! Tell your mom I said thank you! I should probably give her some kale—”   He lifts his palm, stopping you in the middle of your sentence. “There’s no need.”   “Well, tell her I said thank you.” You put it down on the wooden patio steps and move towards the ladder. Then something by his foot catches your eye. “Oh, can you do me a favour and put that typewriter on the wooden crate?”   Yoongi doesn’t know why you have a broken typewriter, but he follows your instructions. His eyes travel to several worn bikes you have leaning against the railing. It’s strange considering you don’t seem like the type to bike.   As if reading his mind, you laugh. “They don’t work. It’s just for the aesthetics.”   “Uh-huh.” He turns back, about to bid goodbye and leave this mess behind him. But as he turns away, he witnesses you step on the highest prong of the ladder. The part you’re not allowed to step on. With the danger warning signs plastered on it that says ‘STOP’ in big, red letters.   Yoongi’s breath hitches and he lurches over, grabbing the ladder to steady it as it wobbles.   “Woah!” You regain your balance and turn to grin at him. “Thanks for that. You saved my life!”   “Get off.”   “What?”   “Get off the ladder before you die.” His stern command has you obeying and you come down to the ground again. Yoongi sighs and takes the lights from you. “I’ll do it. Tell me where you want them and hold the bottom rung for me.”   You’re bewildered, but you don’t reject his offer of help. Yoongi follows your instructions too, working quickly and more efficiently than when you were, and you can’t help but giggle as you watch him string the fairy lights.    He glares at you. “What?”   You look up at him, beaming a grin. “For being such a mean, old grump, you’re actually pretty reliable and considerate, Yoongi.”   He diverts his vision elsewhere. “Whatever.”   But it’s all too true.    In many ways, Yoongi reminds you of peppermint candy. Hard on the outside but with just a bit of melting, all too sweet and sugary on the inside.   //   It starts off with you.   A post, a cute caption, the hashtag. You manage to get Jungkook to follow suit and then it’s a group. A person who shows up with their friends, stopping by to enjoy your kale farm and haphazardly filming their adventure to put onto their social media. Then it’s three or four, more and more of the hashtag being used, of pictures being taken, of others catching wind of the trendy new place to take photos, of fresh kale being harvested and kale kombucha being sold.   It’s an exponential growth and before you know it, there’s a bustle at your farm.   Strangers that park in the designated area, families enjoying the picnic spots, young adults posing for photographs underneath the strung fairy lights after dark. Your kale chips and smoothie sales skyrocket and after constructing a website, you know you’ve made a name for yourself.   You hire Jimin, Jungkook’s cousin, to help you out. Recently turned eighteen, he’s gentle and luckily attentive. He excels in customer service and in between selling your products and doing measly tasks to upkeep the farm, you know you’ve finally found a sustainable income aside from the farmers’ market alone.   “This ‘s what I call innovation,” Yoongi’s dad muses as the two of them stand near the tractor, looking over the field to the figures prancing on your land and listening to the laughter that leaks over. “It ain’t often a smart woman suddenly shows,” he says, glancing at him. “You should take advantage of it.”   “It’s not smart.” Yoongi turns away. “It’s dumb luck. There’s nothing impressive about it.”   His dad sighs at him, but as they retreat home, Yoongi can’t help glancing over his shoulder.   //   Yoongi has accepted that you’re a complete wild card — when he thought you were making a spectacle of this rural life for your own amusement, you make a whole declaration about how serious you are. When he expects you to move out, you instead bring bits and bobs to your farm. When he expects you to completely and utterly fail, you thrive.   Yoongi always thought that he was the enigma — hard to understand, hard to get to know, one of the many reasons he isn’t particularly close to anyone. But in reality, you are. At surface level, it looks like you’re simple-minded, overly enthused, optimistic. Yet you continuously defy his expectations.   And he has to applaud you for it.    But of all things, Yoongi most certainly did not expect to see you on his porch one afternoon.   “I got invited by your mom for dinner,” you explain with another infamously bright smile and your arm lifts with a bag. “I brought kale!”   “You did.” He holds in his sigh.   “I don’t know how you want to eat it, so it’s raw….unless…..do you not have electricity? I can go back to prepare it.”   “What?”   “You know, electricity.” When he stares at you, you begin explaining to be helpful. “The stuff that gives you light and power and you can turn on the stove—”   “I know what electricity is!” Yoongi shouts. He’s almost always calm, but you have a talent for being condescending without even realizing.   “What’s with all the noise?” His mom emerges and her face immediately lights up, lips forming into a warm smile. She wipes her hands on her apron and comes to embrace you. “Y/N! I thought I heard your voice! Come in, come in! Oh my word, what’s this? Kale? Thank you! Was the walk here long?”   “Not at all.” You smile, being ushered in the kitchen. It still amazes you how much Yoongi looks like his mom. They both have tender, soft features. Albeit, the male took on his father’s personality and characteristics, his physical appearance compared to his mom is nearly a carbon copy. “It’s only a few acres away. I love your home, by the way. It has a good energy to it.”   Yoongi wonders when you got so comfortable with his parents.   “I’m preparing dinner right now. Should be done fairly soon, but Yoonie! Why don’t you show dear Y/N around the farm?”   Yoongi knows he doesn’t have a choice and you hold in your giggle at his dejected expression. It’s not often you can witness him being obedient and when he takes you through his backyard, you can’t help poking fun at him. “Yoonie?”    “It’s a childhood nickname,” he grumbles.   There’s an urge to squish his cheeks together. They’ve always reminded you of jello or bread loafs, but for the sake of not being slapped, you control the desire.   The Min property is vast.    Chicken coops and several sheds are close to the house, but in the distance, cows and goats graze in the open pastures. The lush fields seem to stretch to the horizon, only broken up by the occasional tree left to grow in peace. It’s a tranquil landscape and there’s an urge to sit back in a rocking chair and knit. Even though you don’t know how to knit.   “How big is the farm?”   “It’s a hundred acres.”   Yoongi says it like it’s nothing impressive, but it’s still fifty times the size of your own farm.   “Is that all lettuce?” You look over the plowed fields filled with green.   “Some of it is asparagus and carrots, but it’s mostly different kinds of lettuce,” he explains, “We don’t sell all of it at the market. We got a few contracts from grocery stores and those get shipped out, so we’re always busy year round.”   You’re amazed. His family manages to do a lot more than you and you already feel swamped half the time. But you suppose you still have a long way to go before you can call yourself a real farmer.   The pair of you approach the fence and you watch the goats chewing on their grass, bleating at you. You grin and mimic their noises, oblivious to the way Yoongi steals a glance at you. “What do you do with all the animals?” you ask.   “They’re for personal usage. We eat chicken eggs and my mom makes cheese a lot.” Yoongi diverts his vision at your intense stare and clears his throat. He didn’t know all of this was so interesting to you. “Have you ever milked a cow before?”   “No!”   “Do you want to learn how?”   “Yes!”   This time, Yoongi can’t hold back his chuckle at your childlike enthusiasm.    He leads a smaller cow into the stall, introducing her as August, and you help him brush her down. Yoongi shows you how to wash August with warm, soapy water, how to clean her utters and let the milk down by relaxing her. He demonstrates as well, clamping the top of the utter between his thumb and first finger before squeezing.   You follow his instructions, mimic his movements and milk squirts into the silver pale successfully. “It feels kind of weird.”   The corner of his thin lips pull. “Is it supposed to feel nice?”   When your hands get tired, Yoongi leans over to help you out, explaining how often someone can milk cows for, where August came from and how long she’s been around. You never expected how awfully endearing it would be to listen to a farm boy talk about his precious cow, but it is. Or maybe that’s just Yoongi being Yoongi. Everything that comes out of his mouth is interesting to you.   “—months ago and…..are you even listening?”   “Of course I am!” You totally weren’t and he doesn’t seem to believe your assertion either, so to divert his attention, you turn the direction of the utter and squeeze. The line of milk squirts directly at Yoongi’s kneecap, dampening his jeans and you laugh at his scandalized expression.   “What the fuc—!”   “Stop! Stop!” You stand, giggling incessantly while blocking your arms up when Yoongi lunges down and squeezes two utters at you. The milk is warm and sticky against your skin. “I’m sorry!”   “Too late!” His cheeks are swollen with a gummy smile, happily taking his revenge.   Before any of you have realized, the sun has gone down and there’s a lingering scent of milk on your clothes. But no one other than you and Yoongi notices or at least his parents don’t say anything.   “How are things going, dear?” his mom asks you with a satisfied smile as she watches you devour her dessert apple pie. Dinner at the Min’s was all too cozy and welcoming. Food had filled the rounded table and the family, albeit only three members in total, had gathered together.    For the past few months, you’ve been eating by yourself with a magazine by your side or in front of the old television with some obscure show on. You missed having conversations over delicious meals and part of you wonders how you’ll return to your regular routine after tonight.   After a taste of the forbidden fruit, you’ll wish every night was like this.   “Better than expected actually. It’s a learning process, so it goes up and down, but everyone’s been so helpful to me that it hasn’t been bad.”   Yoongi’s father nods solemnly. “All on your own too.”   You become shy under their praise. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to preserve the memory of my grandfather and all I have is his land, so....”    Sometimes you lay awake thinking about how much your life has changed. A year ago, you were still in LA in a high rise apartment working, and in an effort to connect with your family roots again, you left it all behind. But you don’t regret your decision whatsoever.   From the moment you came here, no matter what challenges you faced, it all became worth it in the end. It’s a hard life, but a peaceful one. A simple and serene way of living that you always needed.   “Bless your heart,” his mother swoons and you realize Yoongi’s gazing at you too — with an odd sense of gentleness that you aren’t used to. Or maybe that’s merely the dim lighting of the small dining room. “You are the hardest working, gosh darn smartest young lady I have ever met.”   You look away from Yoongi, face warming at the compliments. “No, I just try my hardest.”   “And try hard you do!” His mom leans across the table, eyes bright. “Don’t you think so, Yoonie? Isn’t Y/N marvelous?”   You turn to him expectedly, but Yoongi’s eyes are suddenly down at his empty plate. “Well, there’s nothing else to do out here but work, so isn’t that the default?”   You scoff and it takes his attention. “You aren’t cute at all.”   The corner of his mouth tugs. “Excuse me?”   “Don’t pay any attention to him, Y/N.” His mom bats at your arm. “He’s too much like his dad.”   “You mean, he took after my best traits?” The older man at the table has his brow cocked and you smile at the banter, but the woman beside you doesn’t entertain it.   “He took after your temper and grumbling.”   “Which is why no one ever bullied him.” Yoongi’s father slaps him on his back and he sighs.   His mom turns her head to continue, “Never mind them. I swear, Yoonie used to be the cutest kid in the whole country. I don’t know when he changed. Do you want to see his baby pictures?”   Your spine straightens and your eyes widen. “I would love to—”   Suddenly, there’s the ear-piercing noise of the chair leg scraping against the wooden floorboards. Yoongi has stood up and tosses his napkin down. “It’s getting pretty late. Probably time to go home, right?”   You laugh, but oblige only because it gives you reason to come over again. Yoongi’s mother at least assures as much, promising that next time you’ll be able to see all the albums and photographs of that time he cried while being chased by a goose — something you’re looking forward to, much to Yoongi’s dismay.   He’s just too much fun to tease.   The more and more you get to know Yoongi and the people in his life, the better you’re coming to realize that he’s not that much of a grump at all. It’s a facade, really. A thin curtain that hides how soft and pouty he actually is. Less like the bad boy you initially thought. More like a farm sheep.   “You didn’t need to walk me home, you know.” You turn to him, glancing at his profile. “It’s only a few acres away.”   “Yeah, but then I would never hear the end of it from my mom. It’s dark out anyway and it’s not like I mind.”   You nod and the pair of you fall into a comfortable lull. There’s a lot from tonight that you have to think about and it’s not just about Yoongi and his family. After seeing how they run their farm and how much they’ve expanded, you wonder if you’ll ever get to that size too.   “What do you think if I started growing quinoa and soy?”   He gives you an incredulous look, still visible in spite of the darkness, and it makes you laugh.   “What would you do with quinoa and soy?”   “I don’t know. Make different smoothies or flavours of kombucha? I would have to look into it. But it’s just a thought for no—” The pitch of your voice raises as you lose your footing, about to plunge. But then Yoongi yanks your arm back, steadying you before you trip in the ditch. “Oh my god! I almost died!”   “Watch where you’re going, woman,” he scolds and his hand boldly wraps around yours, palms clasping together firmly. You glance down, foreign to the feeling of his affection and Yoongi notices. He looks straight ahead, but quickly explains, “If you die and haunt the farm, that’ll bring down the value of the land nearby.”   You scoff. “You’re lucky you have a cute face, Min Yoongi.”   His lips curl. “I thought you said I wasn’t cute.”   “Your personality isn’t, but your face is alright.” If anything, you’re downplaying it, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Out here, you’re a good eight, but where I’m from, maybe you’re a six and a half.”   His laugh is mellifluous, and it infects a smile on your own features. “What about you?”   You look down to where you’re joined at the hands and muse how much larger his palm and fingers are to you, how his skin is calloused from working the fields, how warm and secure it feels.   “Clearly, I’m a ten wherever I go,” you quip. “Can’t you see?”   Yoongi apologizes, “I’m sorry, I might be blind then ‘cause I can’t see you as attractive at all.”   Another scoff tears from you, a lighthearted one that makes his grin widen. “You know what? I take it back. You aren’t cute at all. Not even your face can make up for your sour personality.”   Yoongi chuckles, squeezing your hand, and it’s awfully unfair how your face heats more.   //   Despite how busy you get managing the Insta spot, planting and harvesting kale, and cooking and packaging products, you never fail to find time to be at the market every Sunday. While your other sources of income are slowly increasing more than what you get from the farmers’ market, the atmosphere and sense of community is enough for you to scrape up time out of your week to set up your stall.   And it’s often the time that you get to have your conversations with Jungkook too.   “So….did you try it out?” Your eyes glisten, locked into his. “What did you think? Did it work?”   The boy scratches the back of his neck. “I...don’t think kale shampoo is it, Y/N.”   You deflate, keeping your sulking to a minimum. It didn’t work for you either, but you were trying to see if it was just your hair that was the strange one. “Really? But it looks soft.” You reach over and plant your hand in his black bed of hair. To your surprise, it’s even silkier than it appears.   “Woah! It’s soft!”   Jungkook ducks his head, colour blooming on his cheeks. He doesn’t bat your hand away nor does he lean into your touch when you pet him incessantly. “It isn’t that soft…”   “What shampoo and conditioner do you usually use? It feels so nice, Kook.”   The both of you are oblivious to the flannel-wearing man from across the market who’s glaring above the heads of lettuce. He bores his gaze into you, wondering what the hell you’re doing in the middle of the farmers’ market and putting on a show for all the older ladies to watch. Don’t you know how gossip and rumours start at this place? Merely chatting is enough to grab attention, but to be outright flirting like this was downright reckless.   His jaw ticks, nostrils flaring. He’s uncomfortable. It isn’t any of his business, but Yoongi feels an urge to do something. It’s utterly irrational. Completely out of the norm of his usual behaviour.   But somehow, he finds himself abandoning his stall and crossing the floor.   “What the hell are you two doing?”   “Yoongi!” You turn, greeting him with a big smile and suddenly that irrational emotion is replaced with something else that sits at his chest. To have your attention, he feels…..satisfied. Even if it’s childish. “I was just talking about the kale shampoo I made, but I think it’s an idea I’m going to have to scrap.”   “Shampoo?”   “It left a sticky mess on my head and took me ten minutes to wash it off,” Jungkook tells and his smile softens at your sigh. “Sorry, Y/N.”   “Maybe kale conditioner would work better....”   At the same time, Jungkook’s name is called by his grandma nearby, so he bids goodbye and a see you later to the both of you. It’s a slow down period right after lunch, so there’s fewer people around and with Yoongi here, you take the opportunity. “Can you watch my stall for me?”    “What?”   “I need to go to the bathroom.” You clasp your hands together and bat your lashes, trying to appeal to him. “Pretty please, Yoongi? I would really, really appreciate it.”   He exhales and waves his hand boredly, not sparing you a glance. But you already know he’s relinquished before he says it. “Fine.”   You jump up with a smile. “Thanks! You’re the best!”   In the next three seconds, you’ve jogged away and Yoongi’s left standing at the market, watching your stall and his stall from across the floor that he abandoned. He wonders how he got into this predicament, but doesn’t dwell when his eyes stray to your bottles of fancy kombucha on display.   He picks up a bottle, curious as to how you made these fancy labels, and he snorts when he notices in tiny text it says, ‘don’t kale me’. You’re such a dork, it’s impossible to believe. Then again, his mom decided to make a pun for the lettuce stall too, so he’s not one to talk.   For a moment, Yoongi ponders what the hell this kale kombucha tastes like.   He got a chance to try it before when you waltz up to him all those weeks ago with a tray of samples, but he denied you out of pride and stubbornness. He knows it must taste somewhat decent if you’re making all those sales. He’s seen people drinking it as they walk around too, but he’ll be damned if he actually went up to you and bought one. He’s sure you’d throw a celebration and do the whole ‘I told you so’ dance if it was actually delicious.   Relinquishing, he places the bottle back on the display.   But then the awful happens. Time slows — there’s a noise and the entire dainty shelf is collapsing. Yoongi is helpless to the way the bottles collide against the ground deafeningly, how the dark green liquid splatters on the concrete, to the way the glass shards spray. He cusses and manages to catch one bottle before turning around.   There are people staring at him — customers alarmed and vendors sympathizing.   But more importantly, you’re standing meters away, returned from the bathroom.   He catches your shock, your confusion, and then the heartbreak — even if it only lasts for a blink before you’re smiling again.   You come over, looking down at the mess. “I didn’t know you hated me this much to sabotage my stuff like this,” you quip jokingly. But there’s no banter or excuses being made. There’s silence. And you lift your eyes to meet Yoongi’s, realizing how mortified he is. “Hey, it’s alright. I knew the shelf had a few loose screws, but I didn’t know it would fall like that. I should’ve fixed it sooner.”   “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”   “You don’t really need to do th……”   “I’ll make it up to you,” Yoongi states more firmly than before, eyes darkened and you swallow hard. He knows you’re trying to cover up how hurt you are, how you’re trying to save face and not only is he embarrassed, he’s guilty. “You were supposed to sell all this, weren’t you?”   You give in and Yoongi grabs a broom, aiding you in cleaning up the mess. You’ve never seen him so serious and solemn before, but it makes you glad that he’s the one here to help.   //   At six in the morning, you wake up and less than ten minutes later, you hear the wheezing engine of a truck out front.   The sun was barely on the horizon, but when you walk out to the porch, you discover Yoongi shutting the door of his vehicle and coming up to you. He’s dressed in an oversized purple and black plaid flannel and gray shirt underneath, black hair flopping to the side, features softer than usual. He’s yawning and rubbing his eyes, all too endearing that you have to admit it.   “Mornin’,” you greet with a grin and he merely grunts, gesturing inside your house. A laugh draws out of you and you open the door for him. “You didn’t need to do this, you know. I told you I was totally fine.”   “Just accept my help, lady,” he sighs and looks around your living space, glancing at the polaroids strung above the brick mantle, the recycled jar of flowers on the kitchen counter, and the couch cushions made from flour sacks you reused. You grow warm under his scrutiny, realizing that no one has ever entered your home before. But while you expect to get criticism, Yoongi instead says, “I like what you did with the place. It’s cozy.”   You smile, still a bit self-conscious. “Thanks. Do you want tea? Coffee? Kale juice?”   “I’m fine.” He follows after you, stepping into the kitchen. The space is crowded or maybe it’s just you feeling small with him so close. “I’m here to help. What do you usually do at this time?”   “Well, I usually start by harvesting whatever kale I can. The weather seems good today too and there are some fields that need to be plowed, so I should do that and then plant some seeds…”   “Okay.” He’s already tugging his sleeves up. “Let’s get to it.”   It’s unusual to have someone join you during your morning chores, but it isn’t unwarranted. Granted, you have to teach him a little on the way you do things, but he already knows a lot from working on his own farm and you find Yoongi is a great listener. He might have a blank expression and be exceptionally quiet, but his occasional questions are insightful and he’s attentive when he mimics you.   It’s peaceful — the sun not yet sweltering in the sky or giving an unbearable heat that makes it hard to work, the animals in the far distance not awoken, the breeze curling through your hair. When you look up from your spot, you see Yoongi working as hard as you are and it tickles the corners of your lips into a subtle smile.   Things finish twice as fast and then you’re taking a break, making breakfast for Yoongi.   His company is nice at the table, even when he complains that your sunny side up eggs are too overcooked and you threaten to throw him out. It’s a kind of banter that doesn’t so much irritate you — rather, it keeps you on your toes, making you giggle at witty remarks while he rolls his eyes.   After breakfast, Yoongi insists on washing the dishes and succeeds when he whines and feigns annoyance on how you don’t trust him to clean your plates. He ends up fixing a light fixture in your kitchen too after you mention that it sometimes flickers off and startles you.   He’s helpful and handy, more than you thought he would be, but you try not to get used to it.   “This is where you keep your kombucha?” he asks as you show off the pantry that you’ve practically changed into a cellar.   “Yep.” You tap one of the large jars on the shelf. “It takes five to seven days for it to ferment after I make it. Then, I have to add in the kale and let it ferment for another three days. These babies will be ready for tomorrow. But I have to make a new batch today.”   “That’s a lot of work,” he comments.   “Oh. You haven’t seen it yet.” You brush past him, smirking.   Yoongi looks all too cute in the pink apron. It’s a comical sight and albeit, isn’t actually a part of your usual routine to wear one, you made it up on the fly just to see him wear it and he’s too cute.    “What?” His head whips up, brow cocked at the way you’re grinning.   “Nothing. Hand me that bowl.”   It’s a bit of an irony that Yoongi hasn’t tried any of your kombucha, but is first to learn the recipe from you. You show him how to brew the gallon of black tea, how to add the cup of sugar in and allow it to cool before pouring it into the jar.    “What’s that?” he asks when you’re sticking a rubbery flab into the jar.   “It’s a scoby. It has a bunch of yeast and bacteria that helps with fermentation. It’s made from kombucha, sugar, black tea.” You seal off the jar and Yoongi goes quiet. You look up at him, discovering a thoughtful expression on his face as if he’s impressed you know what you’re doing. “I’m not completely stupid, you know. I know I come across as—”   “I never thought you were dumb,” Yoongi suddenly states without missing a single beat. Your eyes become rounded and the corner of his mouth pulls. “Maybe insensitive and ignorant, but not stupid per se.”   “Hey!”   “There’s a difference,” Yoongi laughs and insists, “Being ignorant means you just haven’t learnt yet, but being stupid means you can’t learn at all.” He ducks when you half-heartedly swing and more chuckles fill the home, including your own. But Yoongi’s right. You had no clue what you were getting yourself into when you first arrived. Everything’s been a learning process, but it finally feels like things are falling into place.   Yoongi helps you wash the kale out back and stays by your side, peering over your shoulder, as you make the kale chips, guacamole and pesto. He stirs and gets ingredients when he can, and you find he has quite a knack for packaging things neatly. He’s somehow careful yet efficient.   “I didn’t know you did so much.”   “Yeah.” You wipe your sweat with the back of your hand. “I try to space everything out, but sometimes everything falls on the same day and I’ve been running low on products, so I can’t put it off.”   He hums, sealing the jar of pesto shut and then working on smoothing the label on the surface.   It’s mid-afternoon already. You didn’t realize how quickly time was going. The golden sun is already coming through the windows of the kitchen as you and Yoongi work across from one another, falling into a lull. You turned the staticky radio on, but it often acts as background noise when either of you start another conversation.   You giggle and he tilts his head up at the noise. “What? Did I put the label on upside down again?”   “No.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “It just kind of feels like we’re a married couple, that’s all.”   Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi freezes. But then he eases, the corner of his own mouth tugging.   “You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?”   “Seduce you?!” You scoff, looking up to see him focused on tying the ribbon around the jar. “I have higher standards than that, Min Yoongi.”   “Says the one who’s been flirting with me all morning.”   “I’m not flirting with you.”   “Uh-huh. Don’t tempt me with the suggestion of marriage then. I might actually do it.”   You’re baffled, made speechless with how he twists his words and how sweet he can talk. Your face heats and you know that if you open your mouth, you’ll blubber and make a fool out of yourself. So you opt for a huff and silence which only spurs on his chuckles and inadvertently makes you sulk harder.   If anything Yoongi was the flirt. But you’re not about to declare it in case he asks if that means you’re affected by it. Because you are.   The rest of the afternoon is spent finishing on packaging and storing away the products to sell tomorrow when the Insta spot opens and the following day at the farmers’ market. But as you dust off your hands, you feel the gurgle of your empty stomach and you offer to make him an early dinner.   “Is there anything you want to eat? My cooking skills aren’t that great—”   “Clearly.”   You glare at him. “—but I can look up any recipe you want.”   Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise and he leans over to open your fridge. You peep over his shoulder and at once, blood drains from your face.   “There’s nothing in your fridge, Y/N.” He turns around with puzzlement on his visage. “How did you make breakfast this morning?”   “I….used the last of my eggs to make breakfast. I didn’t think you would actually stick around long enough for dinner.”   “And what would you have eaten tonight if I did leave?” With one foot keeping the fridge open, he starts taking out several things like a maid cleaning out your kitchen. “The strawberries have gone bad...and there’s….mold on the bread. How do you live?”   “My budget was a bit low for this week and I underestimated how much groceries I would need.” When he pulls out the drawer with bundled kale, you stop him. “That’s for me to sell.”    “You don’t eat what you grow?”   “Not really,” you admit. “I don’t actually eat much kale….I brought lots of instant noodles from the city, but I ran out two weeks ago….”   He shuts the fridge. “I’ll talk to my mom and bring more eggs and milk to you more often.”   “You don’t need to do that.”   “No, but I want to.” Looking at you, Yoongi realizes that you’re really just a girl who came from nowhere to start a whole farm. Partly hopeless and causing an urge in him to take care of you, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind as much as he thought he would. “Move. I’ll make dinner. You have some iceberg lettuce and kale that I can work with.”   He starts rolling up his sleeves again and you don’t let your eyes linger on his exposed veiny forearms for long.   You feel a bit embarrassed that you didn’t prepare more and that he caught you at a struggling week. But more than that, guests are supposed to be treated better. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   “Don’t be.” As he passes, he plops a hand on your head and you look up at him, surprised at the unusually affectionate gesture. “I’m quite the chef, you know. I make better breakfast than you do.”   Yoongi probably does, but your pride won’t let you admit it. “Psh. You haven’t started yet. Don’t get so cocky.”   You help by setting the table and then pulling a stool to watch him cook. Maybe it’s a bit lame, but you’re impressed at his knife skills and how fast he chops the lettuce and kale into thin strips, keeping a constant rhythm and never once stopping. You scoff when he glances at you with a smirk, but there’s little you can say, especially when he sautes it in a pan with oil and half an onion you have left.   The house is filled with a mouthwatering scent and it’s even more delicious than expected once the plate is plopped down in front of you and you get a taste.   “Oh my god….how did you make this?”   Yoongi smugly shrugs. “I made it up on the fly. Can’t help that my talent is inborn.”   You’re too busy eating to retort with a snarky comment. “Maybe I should marry you.”   He laughs and quickly eats before you steal his own portion.   The sun eventually goes down and it’s hard to say goodbye after one of the best days you’ve had since coming here, but you know you’ll see Yoongi tomorrow and the next day — whether that’s across the acres and through a giant wave or arguing as you do at the market.   He’s always been around, an addition to the farm life itself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Yoongi returns home, he announces that he’s back. There are storming steps, his mom enthusiastic and racing down the stairs to ask him how it went. His dad looks around the living room corner as well, and he sighs at their intrusiveness.   “It was fine.” Yoongi tosses the keys aside, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s actually a lot more hard-working than I expected.”   He walks off before they can bombard him with any more inquiries, but they understand their son well enough and they exchange knowing smiles.

You never expect to see Yoongi awkwardly lingering on your porch like a car salesman, especially considering you were once doing the same thing at his house not long ago. But while he’s here just to deliver some apple pie his mom made, you eagerly pull him inside.   “Why? Why?” he whines childishly, but stumbles after you anyway.   “I need you to try something for me.”   It was an Insta spot day, cars filled in the lot you designated, people from the city out in the back and the chatter loud enough to leak inside the kitchen. Families were strolling about, children picking kale, young adults posing for countless pictures by the picnic blankets and decorations. Yoongi can’t quite understand what their fixation and fascination is to drive all the way out here for such frivolous things, but if it works then it works, he supposes.   You set the apple pie on the table and notice Yoongi peering out of the window, primarily watching the brunette boy fussing about and working the register behind the cute stall you made.   “Oh, that’s Jungkook’s cousin, Jimin,” you tell him, even though he probably already knows. Everyone knew everyone around here. “I hired him to help out.”   “Doing well enough to hire people?” he asks, brow lifted and a smile raising on his cheeks.   “I guess you could say so.” Your pride is supported by the bustle outside the window. “I need all the help I can get.”   “Are you trying to get me to help out too? Because I don’t work for free, lady.”   “Pft. No. I thought you might want to try out the kale kombucha you made with me last week. You came right in time actually. I just got it packaged and everything. Wait here. I’ll go grab a bottle.”   Without another word, you pull the door open and Yoongi sighs with a softened smile, watching you march across the land to chat with Jimin. But within seconds, his attention is taken away by the squeak of the door and a middle aged woman sticking her head through.    “Excuse me,” her voice is shrill, “is there a bathroom in here?”   “Uh…” He’s fairly certain you don’t let anyone inside your house and that he caught sight of fancy porta potties you set up on the side. “No. If you turn the corner, there’re some bathrooms you can use.” Yet, she blinks blankly at him and Yoongi holds his long exhale in his nose. Whatever your intentions are, it seems like he’s working for you anyhow. “I can show you.”   Yoongi hopes he’s not wrong or it’ll be terribly awkward, but luckily for him, there’s indeed bright blue stalls and the woman thanks him as she waddles off. But he can’t take refuge inside your home when he’s interrupted by someone again.   “Excuse me!” This time it’s a group of girls around his age giggling with caked makeup and dressed in short rompers. They thrust their phones forward before he can utter a word. “Can you please take some pictures for us?”   “Uh, sure.”   Yoongi feels out of his depth. Embarrassed. While you knew nothing about farm life, he knows nothing about city life. You might’ve disproved a lot of prejudices and stereotypes he held, but he still feels awkward and out of place in their scrutiny. Like he’s part of a completely different world, and he’s not sure what to say or how to act.   But he still tries and crouches down, trying to frame the photo and catch the trees in the back with the stringed fairy lights above. “One. Two. Three. Smile.”   “Thanks!” The girl comes forward to look, but before he can ask if it’s good enough, her friend comes up to him with another phone.   “Can you take another one?”   “Alright.” He gets back into place and times it. “One. Two. Three.”   Yoongi hands back the device and is about to duck his head and seek refuge no matter who calls out to him, but the girl stops in front of him with a brightened smile. “Is it alright if you take a photo with me? I’ve never had a picture with a farmer before!”   Yoongi sputters, speechless. For one, he hasn’t taken a photo in years, much less for a stranger’s personal collection. And secondly, he’s not some spectacle to be gawked at. He’s not some dancing monkey or clown. Not a poster boy or a cardboard cutout. This is his life—   “I’m sorry.” A voice calmly cuts through his annoyance and Yoongi feels a hand against his shoulder. You’re beside him with a polite smile. “Staff aren’t allowed to be photographed.”   “Oh. Okay.”   They walk off and resume their activities. You take Yoongi’s hand and tilt your head towards the door. “C’mon. Let’s go back inside.”   He feels safe inside your house again when he can remain an observer and not a participant.   “Sorry about that. Some people can be a bit insensitive, but most of them have good intentions.”   “It’s fine.”   You pour out the bottle of amber liquid into a tall glass. “They probably just wanted a photo since you’re good-looking.”   “What?” Yoongi snorts and turns around with a grin. “So you think I’m good-looking?”   “Isn’t that a fact? That’s why people were staring at you. The whole rugged look works well for you.” You plop down the glass in front of him before you can think twice about the honesty that just unabashedly spilled from your mouth. “Try it. You had a part in making it, so it’s only right, right? And if you like it, I’ll even let you bring some home.”   He rolls his eyes at your mischievous smile and lifts the glass to his lips. It’s fizzy, and the taste is both tart and slightly sweet. It reminds Yoongi of sparkling cider, but with a herbal hint that he assumes is the kale. He doesn’t utter a word, even when you’re watching him intently. But after Yoongi smacks his lips together, he goes for a second sip.   And you take that as a positive sign. “You like it?!”   He’s startled at your overly excited voice. “It’s not bad.”   “See?! I knew it! All you needed to do was to try my amazing kombucha recipe and your mind would be changed. Didn’t I say that? I totally told you I would get you to like kale!”   “Hold on, hold on.” Yoongi stops you in your ramble. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I only said it was decent.”   You laugh. “Sure. Whatever you say.”   He sighs, but ruffles your hair as he walks past, already bidding goodbye. “Get back to work.”   “Yes, sir.” You dramatically salute him and he leaves through the front door. But then it hits you a moment later. “Wait a minute….”    This is your farm. Not his.   //   You’re thriving in more ways than one. Aside from your personal projects on the farm, you’ve gotten yourself established at the market, like one of the decade long vendors who’ve spent their whole lives here. After a few months of setting up your stall, now everyone knows you by first name basis. A few older ladies even gave you the nickname of Sunshine and it only makes you love them more.   “You’re staring at her a lot, Yoonie.” His mother nudges him and he tears his eyes away from you across the market floor.   “No, I’m not.” He’s not sure why he bothers. Yoongi feels like a child trying to deny the obvious.   “Go talk to her. Lookin’ is not gonna do you any favours, young man. You have to talk.”   Yoongi already knows — he doesn’t need his mother to tell him.   “She’s busy,” he grumbles, “I’ll talk to her later.”    Fortunately, a customer comes up and Yoongi takes the opportunity to escape the conversation, immediately moving to ring them up and leaving his mom with a hopeless sigh.   At the same time, someone approaches you. After taking a sample from the tray, she decides to purchase a whole case of pesto much to your delight. “I actually bought smoothie and kombucha from you last week,” the lady mentions as you’re packing it up for her and you nod.   “I know. You bought two large smoothies and half a case of kombucha, right?”   Pleasant surprise takes hold of her expression. “How do you remember? Don’t you get a lot of customers?”   “I remember most of them, but I especially remember your Chanel classic handbag,” you point out with a smile. “The medium pink is a rarer one, plus it’s not the kind of thing lots of people wear in this sort of place.”   “You have a good eye,” the lady notes and you take the compliment. “It’s the only flashy thing I own and I have no other place to wear it aside from running errands.”   “Oh trust me, I’m like that too.” You grin, finishing up and passing the machine card for her to tap and pay. “I find that as long as you have confidence, you can pull anything off and it makes running errands a lot more fun.”   The lady laughs and easily agrees. She takes the box you offer her, but lingers. “Your kombucha and your smoothies are delicious by the way, and the pesto seems pretty good too.”   “Thank you. It took me a while to narrow down the recipe, but I think I nailed it.”    “You did.” She affirms and then out of the blue, asks, “Would you be willing to sell your products at the supermart? It’s a local grocery store I run with my husband, five miles from here, just down Imlings road.”   You’re speechless, blinking twice at her as your mouth opens and closes. The older woman waits patiently with a smile and you muster a half-coherent answer. “I-I would definitely consider it!”   “Great.” She smiles and then reaches over to her pocket. The woman hands you a business card. “Some folks around here have contracts with me too, and I’d love to add your products on the shelf. Give me a call some time tomorrow and we can chat about the details.”   You’re stunned and only broken out of your trance when a customer comes up and clears their throat.   It’s a triumphant day. You feel like you’re floating, walking on clouds — and Jungkook notices how you’re humming to yourself too and boyishly grins. “Something good happen, Y/N?”   The pair of you are walking out, Jungkook carrying your boxes as you lug your totes with you while waving goodbye to the other vendors that were leaving for the evening. “Just everything. I feel like things are going right for me, you know? And that’s kind of rare for me.”   “No, I get you. Pop always says there are rainbows after the storm. Then again, he always says how the Kim’s are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”   That makes you laugh, but then the two of you interrupted by a sharp cry of your name. “Y/N!”   You witness Yoongi running up to you, completely out of breath.    “Hey. Are you okay? Where did you even come from?”   “Never mind that.” He straightens out. “Let me drive you back.”   “Oh, Jungkook was just going to….”   “Nah.” He insists and takes the boxes from the younger boy. “Our houses are closer together anyway. I don’t mind.”   “What about your mom?”   “She’s already left since she’s having dinner with a friend.”   You look at Jungkook who’s wholly confused, a deer in headlights and you decide to spare him from the trouble. “Well, alright. Thanks then.”   It feels a bit odd, but you take him on the offer and bid Jungkook a goodbye. The rest of your kale and belongings are packed into the back of Yoongi’s truck before you’re getting in. It’s old and worn, but the vehicle feels like it’s full of memories. You buckle yourself in and then he’s driving off with the fuzzy radio playing in the background as the golden sun sets over the horizon.   “Jungkook ain’t shit,” Yoongi suddenly pipes up after a moment. You glance over to discover him looking straight out the windshield, hands gripped on the steering wheel. And you burst out laughing.   “What?”   “He was seeing Aria for a while and then left her for the hills, so he’s got a reputation around here. I thought I should let you know.”   You see him peek at you in the corner of your eye, but you can’t repress your grin. “You sound like a boyfriend.”   “Yeah, well, I’m actually a good one.”   “Oh yeah?”   Yoongi’s knuckles are white and with the way his tongue peeks out to lick the seam of his lips, you wonder if he’s nervous. “I could show you.”   A giddy giggle that belongs to the sixteen-year-old you bubbles out. “And what would dating Min Yoongi look like?”   Yoongi plays off of your playful tone. “For one, I haven’t gotten to show you around properly yet and you still haven’t gone to one of Taehyung’s bonfire parties. He’s the guy with the strawberry farm. And I have access to his exclusive parties cause we went to school together, so you could use me to get in.”   “Hmmm….you drive a hard bargain, Min Yoongi.”   “I know how to cook a mean dinner if you give me real ingredients too.”   You laugh again, leaning your head back against the seat. “You’re too good at sweet-talking. Does your mother know you chat up girls like this?”   “Maybe. But I only really sweet talk you.”   He’s bold tonight and it’s not doing good things to you.   Your face is heating and you’re incessantly tapping your fingers against your leg. Beneath the lighthearted flirtation was a sort of simmering nervousness that’s filled with questions of if the line is going to be crossed and when that would be, and who would be the first to make the move.   Yoongi parks the car in front of your house and pulls the keys out of the ignition.   The pair of you naturally shift and look at one another. Your gazes lock together and there are three seconds of tense silence — neither wanting to get out, to break the rather intimate moment. Where you muse how brown his eyes are and Yoongi, himself, hitches his breath.   And then you’re lurching over for a kiss.   It’s all mouths and noses bumping together, obscene and sloppy, but a long time coming. His lips are softer than expected, only chapped at the corners, but you don’t get to think about it for too long or deepen the kiss. Not when you’re too busy giggling and laughing against him.   You pull apart, hands grasping onto the collar of his loose flannel. “You’re so eager.”   It’s a bit unusual to see Yoongi be anything other than annoyed or composed, but you soak it up as much as you can. The sunset is painting his skin golden and the car smells like him too. It seems like you’re surrounded in Min Yoongi and it’s fully welcomed.   “You are too,” he retorts on an exhale, hand skimming down to the dips of your waist. But then Yoongi swallows hard and retracts. He leans his arm on the steering wheel and looks out the window in disappointment. You wonder if you did something wron— “I can’t stain the truck. My mom has hawk eyes and she’s gonna know if we do something, and I’d rather she not.”   You scoff and lean forward, swift enough to plant a kiss on his cheek and pull away. “For such a good talker, you sure are stupid, Yoongi. There’s a whole house behind you and no one in it.”   A gummy smile spreads into his face and you feign a tired huff, lifting your chin and sticking your nose in the air. You add, “But for your information, I only give people the time of day when they make it worth it for me.”   He’s already opening the door and accepting the challenge before you can finish.    “Oh, I’ll make it worth it alright.”   You find out that Yoongi has a dirty mouth and an even nastier tongue. Part of you always wondered if he hated your guts, but you couldn’t be any more wrong.    You’re tugging on the strands of his hair, chest rising and falling as you pant. “W-Where did you learn how to do that?”    The bastard shrugs with a smug smile. “I might be unlikable, but I’ve had plenty of practice before.”   “Oh yeah?” The corner of your own mouth tugs. “With who?”   Yoongi grins and lifts himself up to plant a sweet kiss against your lips. “You wouldn’t know them. But they’re not as important as you are.”   “I’m going to choke over your greasiness, Min Yoongi.”   “Good. Choke.”   “You’re gonna have to stuff me with your cock first.”   Yoongi laughs at how you’re desperately tugging him closer to you, but he easily agrees with one condition— “Only if you’re good for me.”   The pair of you are sweaty when you finish. You thought the old bed frame was going to give up mid-way. Luckily, it held up even with all its loud squeaks and creaks. But you wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a dent where the headboard slammed against the wall.    But you’ll count your losses later. You’re just relieved that there was no one in the house.   While Yoongi might’ve been all soft groans and rapid exhales, he made you absent-minded to your own noises that somehow leaves your throat sore. You’re sure anyone who would’ve stood by your porch would’ve heard and been scandalized for the rest of their life.   “You know.” You turn to Yoongi, having stared at the ceiling. His eyes meet yours. “You’re pretty good for a farm boy.”   The playful quip ticks him off enough that he does it again. Yoongi pins you underneath him and is merciless. Your bubbling giggles turn to tears leaking down the side of your face from overstimulation, but you climax again through a moaning apology.   When you’re spent, Yoongi collapses next to you.    You’re surprised at how cuddly he is, how he naturally reaches for you, torso molding against yours and arms wrapped around your waist. In spite of feeling hot and sweaty, Yoongi holds you against him and you relish in it. “How is it possible that no one’s snatched you up yet?”   “Maybe it’s because I’m known to be standoffish.” He smiles against your temple, soothed by the way you run your fingers through the strands of his hair. “And what about you? Do you have a boyfriend or a husband I don’t know about that’s waiting in the city?”   “No. No one’s drawn me in quite like you have.”   Yoongi’s smile pulls into a grin, and the pair of you are lulled by each other’s inhales and exhales, unintentionally falling asleep in one another’s embraces like lovers underneath tree canopies on a Summer afternoon.   It’s some of the most peaceful sleep you’ve had, but then you’re shaken awake by a rattle and an ‘ow’. Your eyes open to find the other side of the bed empty and Yoongi nursing his hip after presumably bumping into your nightstand. You sit up, disoriented as he’s hopping up and down, barely getting his pants on.   “I need to get home before my parents find out I was gone the entire night and start asking questions.” His voice is thick and husky, hair in a disarray, eyes bleary and barely awake.   His panic makes you giggle and you watch him struggle to put on his clothes. Peeking outside, the sun isn’t up yet and the clock reads that it’s five in the morning. “Are they even awake this early, Yoongi?”   “I don’t know. Sometimes.” He fiddles with his flannel, putting his arms through the wrong holes, and even when he figures it out, he doesn’t realize it’s inside out. “I’ll...see you later?”   “Wait. Yoongi.” You stop him for a second and he turns around. It feels awfully juvenile, like you’ve reverted back into your sixteen-year-old self that giggles over crushes, but Yoongi always seems to make you feel that way. “Are we….dating now?”   “If I didn’t make it any more clear last night and by sleeping over, then I don’t know what else to do.”   It takes a beat for the words to sink in, but once it does, a bright and overexcited smile overcomes your features. Yoongi snorts before the corners of his own mouth tickles.   When he’s gone, you discover that you miss him already.

The morning alarm rings at six. But by then, you’re already up.   You’ve fallen into a natural schedule, a cycle that your body has picked up on and has awoken before anything needs to call you. And after brushing your teeth and running a comb through your hair, you’re taking care of your farm. Plowing fields. Harvesting kale. Having breakfast.   You also package the last of the pesto and guacamole, pouring the kombucha into the bottles with the proper labels. Some of which are prepared for the grocery store to pick up while others are packed for tomorrow. Afterwards, you come to the farmers’ market and meet Hoseok, a boy you’ve hired to help you take over. He helps you man the stall and the cash register, giving you the freedom to chat with customers and other vendors or complete other tasks with Jungkook.   By afternoon, you come back to the farm to check out the Insta spot and aid Jimin in running things smoothly.   “This is beautiful, Y/N.” Today, you’re graced by a few friends from the city. They drove out here after you reached out to them again and you couldn’t be more pleased from their genuine reactions. “When you said you were coming out to start a farm...I didn’t imagine this.”    “It took a lot of work, but it’s not half bad, right?”   Mina leans in, eyes flickering around. “Where’s this infamous Yoongi?”   A laugh spills from you. “He’s busy. You’ll see him next time.”   “I keep hearing about him, but I haven’t even seen him or his picture once,” Tiffany huffs. “I’m beginning to think he’s fake.”   You grin and insist, “I promise you he’s real.”   “Oh my god!” Yeri startles the group by the sheer urgency in her voice, but when you all swivel to her, she has her phone held in the air, screen directed to her face. “This is the perfect lighting! Guys, come here and take selfies up before the sun moves!”    You can’t help smiling as you watch them, matching their footsteps as they approach the fields. You can tell that they’re still surprised, that they love what you did — and you couldn’t be prouder.   At ten at night, the last people have filtered out and you bid them goodbye.   “Great job, Jimin. Thanks for the help as usual. It didn’t get too busy when I was gone, right?”   “Not at all.” The brunette with the polite smile shakes his head. “Oh, but the customer feedback box was full. I put it in the living room for you.”   “I saw that. Thank you. I’ll take a look tomorrow.” Looking ready to go, you walk him to the door. “Rest up then! I’ll see you tomorrow.”   “Goodnight, Y/N.”   But as one man leaves, you catch another down the road. The familiar truck is chugging, head beams piercing through the darkness settling across the horizon. Jimin recognizes it too after months of the same routine and smiles at you before he’s on his way.   The truck is parked on your lawn and the dark-haired man in the flannel is already smiling when he catches you through the front windshield. He opens the door and slams it shut as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed and the screen door held behind you.   “Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.”   Yoongi chuckles and grabs a crate from the back of his truck. “It’s groceries from my parents.”   He meets you at the porch and plants a chaste kiss on your lips as a greeting. You follow him into the kitchen as he beelines to it. It’s almost like this is his home — an idea that tempts you greatly.   “Aw, she packed me more pie.” There’s goat’s milk too and you store it in the fridge as Yoongi organizes your cabinet, making sure there’s enough sustenance to keep you healthy for the week. You’ve already told him that you could take care of yourself, but he’s stood firm and you didn’t argue. It was a guilty pleasure to be pampered by Yoongi after all, and you weren’t about to refuse it.   “My parents want you to come over soon. They keep asking me about you.”   You nod. “I’m happy to come over whenever they want. But I should probably bake something. Your mom always makes me food.”   “Nah. She does it cause she likes to. How about Tuesday?”   “That works for me.”   “Have you eaten yet?”   One shake of your head leads to him cooking and then the pair of you sitting at the table across from one another and sharing a warm meal. You ask Yoongi about his day and he tells you about bailing Namjoon and Taehyung out of jail. Apparently, they landed themselves into trouble after they lost their cow and went looking for it. Yet somehow, they ended up miles away on an orchard farm where they had a confrontation with an old grump and got arrested for trespassing.   But as exasperated as Yoongi likes to act, the irony isn’t lost on you how he drove that far out to bail them out and keep the secret from their parents. He’s the kind of man that conveys his feelings through his actions instead of his words and you’ve come to endear that quirk about him.   After dinner and cleaning up, you turn on the twinkling fairy lights strung along the backyard and stand on your patio, leaning against the banister. The land and rows of kale are strangely bare without people and the ruckus of crowds, yet there’s a certain peacefulness of the uncertain horizon.   “What’re you thinking about?” A husky voice sounds beside you as Yoongi meets your side.   “Nothing.” You shake your head. “All day I’ve been feeling proud of myself, that’s all. I think...my grandfather would be proud of me too.”   “Of course he would be.” Yoongi drapes his arm around your shoulder. “I’m proud of you too.”   As calm and detached as Yoongi may be at times, he still has the effect of catching you off guard when he sweet talks. And it’s a kind of duality that makes you adore him even more.   You wrap your arm around his slim waist, grinning and he plants a wet kiss at your forehead.   “Hey, Yoongi. Since you love me….does that mean you love kale too?”   “Those things are mutually exclusive.”   “But kale is my lifeblood.” You look up at him. “You can’t love me without loving kale.”   He scoffs at your ridiculous argument, but it’s pointless back and forths like this that you enjoy the most. Especially when Yoongi gives in. “Fine. I love kale. But for the record, I love you a lot more.”   You laugh and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I came here.”   You’re glad you never gave up or gave in to the discouragement of your family, the apprehension of your friends or the voice inside your own mind.    You’ve finally found your place.   “I’m glad too.”   There’s no need to go home when home is right here.

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

[jjmjjktth]

Chapter 3: Firsts Lead to Seconds

Lady Papilion sent a butterfly to the Eiffel Tower at the arranged time. She could sense the apprihensiveness and destruction of the Black Cat hero. Guiding her butterly to land on Chat’s baton, she felt the weak mindlink for between the two of them. “Hello, Chat Noir, I am Lady Papillion, your partner.” Chat started at the sudden voice in his head.

“Lady Papilion? What miraculous do you hold, how did you get it, and why are you able to be in my head?” Chat questioned.

“I am the weilder of the Butterfly Miraculous of Metamorphosis and Encouragement; the miraculous was put in my bag; and, the miraculous makes a mindlink for me to speak to you directly and give you power if we both agree.” She responded,”What miraculous do you hold and how did you receive it? I assume it has something to do with cats.” She decided to keep the fact that she knew so much about the miraculous a secret for now, she didnt trust him…. Yet.

“I am the wielder of the Black Cat Miraculous of Bad Luck and Destruction; the miraculous appeared on my coffeetable; and I can destroy anything with a touch.” Chat stated with the same amount of formality.

“We must discuss a plan for dealing with Paeon; maybe patrols of something like that. We will also need to speek with athoraties abou setting up an alert or something.”

“I agree, they need a way to contact us as well. For all we know it won’t always be obvious when there’s a…. what did you call it…. an amok?” at her nod, he continued. “Maybe we could talk to our kwamiis about communication devices and give the local government our numbers?”

“I could talk to Nooroo about that. What’s your kwamii’s name?”

“Plagg”

“Give me a few minutes I’ll detransform since I’m not in a public place.” Lady Papillion transformed without recalling her butterfly. She immediately gave Nooroo a flower petal.

“Thank You Miss Marinette.” Nooroo tiredly said.

“Nooroo is it possible for you to notify me of messages while detransformed?”

“Yes, I’ll know if a message is left while you’re not LP!” Nooroo chirped.

“Thank you Nooroo, let’s rest a bit. I told Chat we’ll be a few minutes.”

After a minute or two Marinette transformed to reconnect with her butterfly in Chat’s weapon.

“It is possible for us to communicate with the miraculous, our kwamii are able to notify us of any messages and relay responses even when we aren’t transformed.”

“Well, its settled then. Will you usually be contacting me from off-site?” The cat questioned.

“Yes, my miraculous is made to be used from outside the battles; therefore, I am not as wellprotected as you while transformed. I do have a place I can use as a base, though.”

“Ok. Can you recall your power so we can test our communicators effectively?” As soon as she heard his request, She called out her butterfly and released it from her service.

A few seconds later, her staff buzzed and beeped. Opening the top, she requested the message be read to her.

“One message from Chat Noir…. ‘How can I be of surrrvice, Lady Papillon.’”

“Respond to Chat Noir with, ‘Since this seems to be working, could you bring the contact information to the law enforcement?’”

“Responce sent…. New message from Chat Noir.”

“Read it please”

“‘On my way’” Smiling, she detransformed and retrieved a flower petal for Nooroo.

“Thank you!”

“No problem, lets make our way back to school though.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful compared to the morning; and people were flocking to Ivan to hear about how he beceme a superhero.

“I don’t have any power, guys, there was this lady in my head who gave me power and guided me through the battle!” He explained for the hundredth time. He sounded exasperated.

“This so-called ‘lady’ must be rediculous if she chose you. I would have ended it the moment it began. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.” Chloé, it’s always Chloé. I could hear Ivan shaking in his seat.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Ivan roared, “MY LADY IS A WISE AND RESPONSABLE WOMAN AND YOU CALL HER ‘RIDICULOUS!’”

“Ivan.” I state, drawing on my calming aura. “Can you calm down? Paeon is still out there and, from what I observed, he gives strong emotions physical form.” I was too late.

Rose shreeked, “The feather! It’s back!” The blood drains from my face and I get up to leave the room. As I enter the hallway, I hear a faint “Yes, Paeon” followed by a stampede.

I ended up using a fire escape to get out of the building since no one semed to think of that. From there it was a simple affair to arrive at my greenhouse as it was somewhat out of the danger zone.

“Nooroo, did the amok take the same form?”

“Yes, it has also taken Chloé Borgeois and Mylené Harple captive.”

“Ok, Nooroo, wings rise!” The familiar warmth washed over her, leaving Lady Papillion in its wake. Feeling the rush of emotions, LP sought out Ivan once again. Bonding with a photo he had on him, she spoke, “Ivan, we meet again.”

“I am so sorry! I was just so angry at Chloé, she insulted you!”

“While I am honored you decided to defend me, Paris has changed. As much as I hate to admit it, it is no longer safe to feel negative emotions. That’s what makes Paeon so cruel.”

“I understand, My Lady.”

“Ivan, are you willing to become Ironheart once again to defeat the amok?”

“Yes, My Lady.” She smiled at his agreement and allowed her power to enter Ivan fully. Transforming him into Ironheart in a wake of lavender bubbles, she began to guide him towards the battle.

Chat Noir was already on the scene, arguing with the police.

“This isn’t a failure on our part! This is an entirely separate situation!”

“Then why is the same monster as earlier climbing the Eiffel Tower with the mayor’s daughter!”

“I don’t have all the information yet!”

“Ironheart, can you please open your palm?” I asked. When Ivan opened his palm, an image was projected into the air. Lady Papillion was siting on her throne of metal vines, her sceptre resting on her lap. One of her hands remained on the handle of the sceptre while the other was draped casually over the vines of the armrest. Around her thousands of butterflies, many different kinds, flew around her.  Giving her the image of a Lady in her keep.

“What seems to be the issue, officer….”

“Raincomprix, Leutenant Raincomprix.” the leutenant seemed to be a bit intimidated by the aura of power she gave off. At a nod of her head, he continued, “As a police department, we were concerned about the resurfacing of this morning’s villain despite you two supposedly defeating him.”

“I assure you, the resurfacing of the amok has nothing to do with Chat Noir and I. The man behind the attack, Paeon, posesses an ability to physically manifest any strong emotions into beings for him to control. The victim of this morning mearly got upset enough for Paeon to exploit them again. This will most likely become a common occurrence untill we track down Paeon and strip him of his power.” The leutenant’s face fell at her words.

“We have already left our contact information with the police department,” Chat chimed in.

“We must hurry, the amok has already caused enough damage as is.”

There is a sudden rustling of feathers as the amok put it’s chest towards the sky releasing millions of feathers from inside. The feathers, moving against the wind, rose into the air taking ther form of a man in a mask.

“I am Paeon, the man who controls this sentinel.” Paeon gestures toward the amok. “I have come to rescue you from the villains Chat Noir and the Butterfly. I must retrieve their miraculous to strip them of their power. Look around you, look at all the destruction they caused.”

“Ironheart, put your palms into the air please.” When Ironheart follower her instruction, a much larger projection than earlier filled the space above him.

“Paeon, how lovely to meet you.” Lady Papillion greeted with a sickly sweet tone. “I was wondering when I would have the pleasure of your acquaintance.” She relaxed onto her throne as Paeon scowled. “I am Lady Papillion, weilder of the Butterly Miraculous of Metamorphisis and Encouragement. Chat Noir and I have not caused the damage to uor beloved city, but Paeon tore through the city using a creature formed with the hurt and rage of an innocent teen. Doesn’t that sound more like the actions of a villain?” With that Ironheart lowers his hands and lept up the tower catching the feathers in his shield. A blinding light shone from the shield and the feathers were gone.

Sensing it was time to act, Chat Noir bounded after Ironheart. The battle was short after that. A well times cataclysm and two graceful catches ended the majority of the afternoons excitement.

As soon as the heroes reached the ground, they were surrounded by the press with their questions and flashing lights. It was definitely a new experience for the three.

“Lady Papillion! Ironheart, do you plan on working together for the time being?”

“Chat Noir! What do you think of Paeon painting a picture of you as a villain?”

“Chat Noir! How long do you plan on being a superhero, and how will it effect your daily life?”

“Lady Papillion! Why dont you show your face in person?” There were so many questions and so little space that Ironheart had to send out a little shockwave to get them to back off so the small image of Lady Papillion could speak.

“Ironheart and I will each take one question.” She stated with no room for argument. “I will not appear in person as, like Paeon, my miraculous is meant for distance and leaves me more vulnerable than the average miraculous weilder.”

“I dont know if I will be selected by my Lady again, but if I am, I will gladly accept it.” Ironheart stated and then left.

“Well done, Ironheart. Remember, your protectiveness is both your strength and your weakness. Be careful.” And with that she withdrew her butterfly and released it from her service. Before she could detransform, her septre buzzed.

“One new message from Chat Noir.”

“Read it.”

“‘Purrhaps you could send one of your butterflies to Arc de Triomphe, I would like to speak with mew, winky face.’” She sighed and sent out another butterfly with a kiss.

The butterfly made its journey to the Arc de Triomphe rather quickly and promptly joined with Chat’s golden bell. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes, I would like to see this base of yours so we can work together purrroperly.” Chat demanded.

“No, It would give away my identity or at least narrow it down for you. That is against what my kwamii told me.”

“Would knowing our identities not improve our teamwork, My Lady?”

“It also may hinder it Chat; so, I must say no.” she could feel his disappointment and anger rising.

“How can I trust you if I don’t know who you are?!”

“You will have to. I am goind to send a champion to heal the city. Good bye, Chat.” and she recalled the butterfly; but not before she felt his anger spike.

Feeling around, Lady Papillion searched for someone with the desire to fix everything. She sent her butterfly into a foreman’s clipboard.

“Hello, sir. I am Lady Papillion, what is your name?”

“Lady Papillion! Um…. I’m Rich Bordétte. It’s an honor to meet you My Lady.”

“Thank you Rich. I would like to offer you the ability to fix all the damage from today’s battles, even death.”

“Ok, call me….  The Worker!”

“Rich Bordétte, do you accept my offer to become The Worker”

“Yes, Lady Papillion.”  The lavender bubbles covered Rich; in the same way as Ivan, the bubbles gave him a sunflower-colored hardhat, a safety vest, and a toolbelt with only a drill on it.

The Worker rose into the air and raised his dril and without ceremony pressed the button. From the tip of the drill, various butterflies and moths streamed out to the city covering everything that was damaged and anyone who was hurt or worse. As soon as the last moth landed, The Worker cried out and all the bugs rose at once flying to the sky. Below, the city looked just as it did the day before. The rubble was gone, the people were healed and all evidence of Paeon was gone.

Masterlist - First - Previous - Next

Taglist: @novemberandmay @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @slytherinhquinn @blackroserelina  @buginetye @basenikon @moon5608 

Hello, Jjmjjktth here. welcome to my extremely irregular upload schedule filed by a mix of procrastination and The FeelsTM.

 WARNING!!! It may be one day to two or three months when i upload next!

please be patient :) 

Love y'all!

#marinette dupain cheng #blind!marinette #butterfly!marinette #maribat #maybe? #idk #felinette #master fu #is a supportive mentor #the question au

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Ep. 4 Takeaway

Uh. No. No, I was not in any way, shape, or form prepared for that heart-wrenching opening. That raw emotion. The gut-punching fear. The devastation. The soul massive relief from under all that fear and pain. No, I was not ready.

“She’s just a kid.” This is why Sam should be Captain America. Look, no one can replace Steve Rogers. There will never be another Steve Rogers. But that’s not the point. Sam isn’t meant to replace anyone. He’s meant to be his own Captain America. A man who has the heart and soul of a person who doesn’t go looking for a fight. A man who will fight when it needs to be done. A man who reaches out with compassion first and fists second. Sam is the Captain America this world needs in these modern times and tbh it doesn’t deserve him.

“Those are our friends you’re talking about.” “The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Thank you for your contribution, Bucky. 😂 No, but, I really liked the our friends. Not just my friends, but our friends and Bucky concurring with that by pointing out who Sam means. 

Sam sharing the story about his TT. His family means so much to him as does community and I think that’s why he can relate to Karli and what she wants to do but also cannot condone how she’s going about it. 

Yes, if anyone wondered, Baron Zemo would sell out his family to the White Witch for some Turkish Delight. 

I do like Zemo stepping back into the more villainous role. While I enjoyed the humor from last episode, it never really sat right with me that they gave Zemo a “tragic” backstory. He was Hydra in the comics and it feels weird to me to change it in such a way. He was a supremacist so his new anti-supremacist ideals is...off-putting to me.  

“It wasn’t just one community coming together. It was the entire world.” Hence why Sam can understand Karli’s goals.

Sam assuming the leadership role so much in the episode. So much foreshadowing to what’s (hopefully) to come. 

When Bucky loses it with Zemo and Sam is like “Don’t engage. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.” Not only is this more leadership from Sam it’s also showing how much he pays attention. He knows all their social cues. He knew Zemo was gonna do that probably before Zemo even did. In other words, Sam Wilson is remarkable. 

Sam calling Sharon for help. I wasn’t expecting her again so soon. Yay!!

As soon as John Walker steps on screen I want to punch something. 

“He’s dealt with worth. And he’s not my partner.” Look at Bucky backing Sam up while trying to play it cool. We all know you love him, Buck.

Sam talking to Karli. Coming to her from a place of understanding and genuinely trying to earn her trust because he does understand her pain. He’s filled with so much compassion and so much empathy and he knows how to employ both of them to better a situation and the world at large instead of coming in guns blazing. He gets it. And he wants Karli to know that he gets it. His approach to getting her to see that she’s going about it in the wrong way. But while she’s okay with acceptable loss, she in fact expects it, Sam is not. “No, it’s not a better place if you’re killing people. It’s just different.” Again, this is what makes him a good Captain America. 

“He knows what he’s doing.” Bucky’s faith and trust in Sam when Walker is literally itching for a fight. That...cold, obsessed look in Walker’s eyes was chilling. (I’ve given kudos to Mackie and Seb for their acting but I should also acknowledge Wyatt Russel’s chilling performance)) 

Thank you, John Walker, for coming in and making things better oh wait, no. Just come in a fuck things up. Super of you. 

Sam’s immediate “no” when Zemo asked if he’d take the serum if he was offered it and asking about Bucky being included in the “super soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.” “Blood isn’t always the solution.” Sam is just. I’m running out of words.

I’m now walking a thin line of patience with Bucky criticizing Sam over not taking the Shield. Like, yes, he’s right in that Steve’s wishes were not honored, but Sam is living the consequences wanting to do the right thing by giving the Shield to a museum. He did not and would not have ever handed it over to anyone to use, especially not a man like John Walker. Sam didn’t give it to him. The government did. The same way they’d’ve given the serum to a man like Gilmore Hodge. The same way they forced it upon Isiah Bradley and then experimented on him and locked him away. The same way they “agreed” that Sam was doing the right thing by turning the Shield over and then handing it to John Walker. This is not Sam’s fault.  

I could take hours of Ayo and the Dora Milaje kicking John Walker’s ass.

Ayo and the Dora Milaje. 

Did I mention Ayo and the Dora Milaje? 

I really want to know what Ayo said to Bucky there**. After everything the Wakandans did for him, I can understand why she did what she did. She helped give his freedom and his mind back to him. I know Bucky only intercepted in that particular fight because Sam asked him to and he didn’t (not totally) want them to hurt Walker but. They gave him this place of freedom and his actions (breaking Zemo out, getting involved in their fight) did disrespect them. 

The Dora stepping on and catching the Shield. SWOON.

“They weren’t even super soldiers.” Oh, boo freaking hoo. You don’t need the serum to be a superhero, dude. And the fact that you’re basing so much of this on that plus your obesssion to gt it just proves you’re not worthy of it. 

“Power just makes a person more of themselves, right?” Vs. “Because a strong man, who has known power all his life, will lose respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows compassion."

Seriously, the expressions John Walker makes sends chills down my spine.

Karli calling Sarah. I actually thought she’d show up in person. Sarah’s comments about “Captain America” and her assurances that Sam is not working for Walker. 

Sam’s immediate protectiveness when Sarah calls him and Bucky’s worry on his behalf. Sam’s anger with Karli when they meet again and the fact that he didn’t argue with Bucky for him wanting to come rather than Sam going in alone. 

Sam and Bucky working together (anyone notice a lot less bickering??) is so amazing. I love them as a team. 

Sam’s face when he realizes that Walker took the serum. 

Quite honestly, if Bucky Barnes wanted to stab me with knives all night long, I’d let him. 

Not happy with them killing Lemar for white man pain. I’m sure there were other ways they could have had Walker rage out. 

That amazing parallel between Steve slamming the Shield down in Civil War to defend himself and Bucky and Walker killing a person who was just with Karli. 

Speaking of parallels, there was SO many in this episode. The serum vials being shattered. The bursting through the doors Shield first. The jumping out of the window with the Shield. Just wow. 

“The Whole World is Watching”. A quote from Black Panther when T’Challa did not kill Klaue, an actual terrorist. The title of this episode when John Walker kills a man who didn’t even incite his rage. 

And, of course, that final image. I’m still shaking over it. If there’s a better image for what America represents to the rest of the world, idk what is. I just want to cry after seeing what this man is doing with it. This is why he’s U.S. Agent who represents the “power” and “strength” and “might” of the United States. Not Captain America who represents the ideals and hopes of what any country can be. 

The acting in this is utterly incredible. The story has me reeling. My mind has been blown by each and every episode and I can’t believe there are only two left. 

**Edit: Got it now! Thanks to those who messaged/replied!! 

#Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #John Walker #Falcon and the winter soldier #Lemar Hoskins #Baron Zemo #marvel #Sharon Carter #mcu shows #fws spoilers #mcu #long post #my stuff #thoughts

[oksana-moods]

Supernova

Summary: As the seasons passes you by, it is inevitable for you to watch the fall.

A/N: This is an AU requested by the darling @multi-muse-transect and you might find it in here. This request filled me with joy and worries at the same time, because it was hard to create a visible story in my head before trying to write it down. But I really enjoyed all the research about Nova Corps, hence it took me a little more than intended.

Warnings: Language, marvel’s canon violence… if there is any other that I should mention, please, let me know.

“You take my breath away. You're a supernova and I'm a space bound rocket ship and your heart's the moon.”

#not my pic

Carol is at a window looking at the sculptures and other buildings of Hala, she’s just arrived from a mission against Kree insurgents. ‘They're like weeds’, she thinks. No matter how hard she fights or fights back, they always come back and never learn that against the Empress they will never succeed.

The lights are beautiful in Hala, but they will never compare to the lights of the Old Earth. She takes a look at the latest reports of her home planet's reconstruction on the table beside her and sighs, knowing that New Earth will soon be ready.

Years ago, Ronan attacked Earth with the intention of destroying Carol and he did, in fact, destroy her heart. Even though she could absorb and redirect energy, she failed to destroy all the missiles before they hit the ground and then it was over. And the beginning at the same time.

Completely possessed by the grief of losing her home and loved ones, Carol went hunting for the Kree and, more importantly, for the Supreme Intelligence and, one by one, Carol brought down her tormentors until she became the Empress of Kree, residing in Hala.

Her patrols to different galaxies have been reduced as she monitors the Kree group responsible for rebuilding the Earth, chases mutineers and still rules the Empire. Her Empire. There's not even time for karaoke, she thinks, as her eyes follows a shooting star across the night sky of her capital.

Her eyes narrow when said shooting star seems to take a route, rather than a random path, because it is a celestial body without navigation. This shooting star is, in fact, very different, she observes. And, almost a second late, she notices that someone is heading right for her.

Taking her by surprise, you hit the balcony glass as if it were nothing and saw Carol's body hurl against the wall with the impact of your body. Not even spending a breath, it's your turn to be hurled against the wall when Carol fights back even harder than you.

You fight, exchange punches and blows. You notice that she's slightly surprised to find a worthy opponent, something that's still unheard of. Until today. Until you.

And that intrigues her, how could someone be so powerful without her knowing?

"Did the Kree insurgents send you?" She asks after you collide on Hala’s sky, the noise and vibrations being felt even in buildings far away from the fight.

"No." You answer. “I was sent by Nova Prime to deal with you” You barely finish your sentence, and you attack Carol again, but she's confused. She had heard of Nova Prime when she was still a Kree soldier. When she fought for the wrong side.

She then looks at you once more. She takes in the clothes you're wearing and your helmet, which covers your eyes with a blueish light but leaves your chin bare. The symbol that resembles a star painted in red on your golden helmet indicated what you are. Nova Corp. You are a corpsman.

A bright, gold insignia in a form of three circles linked in your chest shines even in the dark, showing her that you’re not an ordinary corpsman, but a Centurion. You are Nova Corps’ Commander. Okay, that explain why you’re so powerful.

"What do you want with me?" She asks without the slightest pretension to continue fighting and for the first time you don't attack, you stop and look at her. Wow, the reports of her strength and agility were consistent with what you see, but there was nothing about her beauty. Shaking your head, you answer it.

"Justice." Seeing the confused expression on Carol's perfect face, you continue. "You are crushing the democracy that existed for the inhabitants of this planet, the countless reports of an empress overthrowing entire communities have crossed galaxies."

"Justice, you say." You see her eyes flash with anger and hatred. "And what justice does Nova Prime intend to give Earth?" She approaches dangerously and you have to remind yourself to not cower under her glare.

"The Kree have destroyed my home, so I won't give them one until the New Earth is rebuilt and populated." The threat in her gaze, in her posture, was tangible. "And nothing and no one in the universe will make me concede freedom to this barbaric species."

"Being a barbarian yourself?" You turn your head to the side in a questioning tone, but she takes it as irony. Maybe it was. “An eye for an eye, as earthlings are fond of saying. Or should I say, used to like?” A kind of roar was the only warning before her fist collided with your face.

"Wash your mouth before you talk about Earth, soldier." She patched up a string of blows you couldn't get out of. "Nova Empire has always fought the Kree, why they want to protect them now?"

She was strong; you've already figured that out, but like many other very powerful beings in the universe, they tend to think they're the only ones with powers. Absorbing most of the blows and directing the energy against the empress, you use your power blast and with that, once again, Carol is hurled against the wall of her palace.

As an automatic response, Carol uses the powers of her fist and you feel the force of a thousand cannons throwing you backwards into space, grunting right after with the impact of Carol's body, engaging the fight once more.

You could tell that she was angry and, according to your studies, humans tended to be guided by such frivolous feelings. And that was something you intended to use to your advantage.

Being two beings bestowed with stamina, the fight would go on for hours until someone got tired, but if she uses her powers erratically and drenched in rage, she will be drained quicklier.

“I am the Empress of the Kree Empire! Answer me!" The tone of voice in which she addresses you makes it clear that your goal of getting under her skin is working. With a smirk, you respond.

“Nova Empire takes care of the galaxy and has balance as its main goal, your highness. To overpower other species is not our intention.” Your response seems to enrage her even more and the only reaction you got from her was more blows and more blasts in your direction.

You dodge, you block, and you realize she's getting careless then letting her guard down. And that's where you come in with quick jabs almost powerless, only to enrage her more and more. Just to remind her that even an Empress has weaknesses.

You hit the ground and certainly the people throughout the city felt like it was an earthquake. Something was off and before you could react, Carol hits you with a blast right in the middle of the chest, throwing you meters and meters into a random building.

This time, you start feeling the impact on every wall you hit. You feel dizzy, your hand is shaking, and you find yourself bleeding. ‘What's going on?’ You think as you watch Carol's figure to grow in your field of vision.

The smirk on her face is ridiculously sexy, but you barely have time to make any comments before her voice reaches your ears. "Apparently, you're not that tough without your helmet on, are you?"

You look at her hand that is carrying what was once your helmet, now just broken shards and she drops it into your lap. Without your helmet you are ruined, as is your mission.

The smirk and one last punch were the last thing you remember before she knocks you down cold.

---

Your head was about to explode inside your skull, and you blink at the light entering your cell. All that brightness was not helping your headache at all.

It's been a few days since you've been taken prisoner by Empress Carol Danvers and whether Xandar knows or has noticed your disappearance is something you have no idea of. And when Nova Prime sends reinforcements after you it won't be pretty.

Before proceeding on your mission, you had already been informed that all diplomatic avenues had been tried but completely closed by the Empress. That way, Xandar wouldn't try negotiations to try to get you back. Perhaps this would trigger a new war.

A war you couldn't afford. Certainly, you didn't want the weight of being the trigger or the spark in a cold battle of inflated tempers on your shoulders. Carol had a very short fuse, as you witnessed firsthand, while Prime could be an slayer when the situation called for it.

Days passed, becoming weeks and your monotonous existence is only interrupted by the Empress's daily visits. Visits that you don't know why she still keeps, when it's pretty obvious that you have no information to provide.

You are a member of the Nova Corp and have been sent on a solo mission to "dissuade" the Empress from continuing to rule her own empire with an iron fist. There were no ulterior motives, no espionage or reinforcements waiting in the moon not far from Hala.

You were a single, last resource. There was nothing but you and your broken form. A failed soldier.

You were standing, watching the sun shining on buildings across Hala through the small window in your cell, admiring the dots circling farther down the street, almost forgetting that each dot was a person. You wonder if Carol forgets who they are.

"Um, admiring my city, I see." You spare her a brief glance before you return it to the window. She was in a red robe with local designs, and you can't shake off your head at how beautiful she is. How beautiful she looks in red. Or any other color.

You don't exactly know why Carol still comes to your cell, but you can't lie to yourself that you don't like it. You do. But you convince yourself that any company is better than the solitude of these walls, just that and nothing else.

She is an empress after all. A Sovereign, considered by many to be evil and tyrant. But each gentle gesture towards you reminds you that her hands are stained with blood. Like yours. Your conscience doesn't seem to know which side it should be on.

"Forgive me if my boredom is exacerbated, your city is the only thing I have left to admire." You answer still looking ahead, afraid to look at her and be mesmerized. The Empress was a mystery that captivated you, as her answers were never what you would expect them to be. Just like now.

“I could end your boredom. Hala’s Summer Trade is famous across the galaxy, have you ever tasted Pluot Fruit?” Your head swivel towards her so fast it feels like a whip.

"Summer?" Quickly you do the math in your head, in this solar system the days and seasons were longer than in Xandar, so... "How long have I been kept in here?"

"Too long, Nova." Nova? What kind of nickname is this? Shaking your head, you question her. "Nova? This is not my name." She giggles and moves closer to the energy field that makes up your cell door, she’s one yard away so you can smell her perfume. White jasmine.

“I know it isn't. But I decided to abbreviate the title of Nova Corps to Nova, besides, I own this place…” she opens her arms to emphasize what she's talking about. "I can call you whatever I want, prisoner."

You decide to play her game and with a smirk on your face you respond. “Prisoner? Now, seconds ago weren’t you inviting me for a walk, your highness?”

You lick your lips when you see her face contorting in a mix of anger and something else, but what, you don't know. “You abuse my benevolence too much. Your precious Xandar never tried to open a ransom deal, you are of no use to them or to me.”

Her words crash into your chest, and you feel your heart break a little more. Months have passed and there was no sign of another corpsman coming to your rescue and now she tells you that Nova Prime didn't even try to negotiate your freedom.

You close your eyes and with small, defeated steps you walk to the window. A lifetime dedicated to Nova Corp and Xandar, to be abandoned like a stray dog ​​lost from its owners. Like someone worthless.

Defeated and hopeless, you ask Empress Carol why she still keeps you alive. Standing in the hallway leading to the dungeons hall she smiles triumphantly and speaks. "For my entertainment, prisoner."

--

"What do you think of the Pluot?" Carol's voice breaks your train of thought.

"Strangely delicious." You respond by referring to the strange appearance, as if it was a dried fruit and not completely juicy right after tasting it.

As with the fruit, such was your surprise to see Carol's interaction with her subjects. Many of them kept their distance, paid their obeisance and respects to the Empress, and continued on their way with their heads low.

However, a reassuring number of people seemed to genuinely like or even admire Carol and not out of obligation. Doing a 180° turn in the opinion you once held of the Empress, she was extremely adorable when interacting with children.

Who knew the fearsome tormentor of the Kree empire would be so… human? How can someone, who keeps a prisoner just for her own pleasure, be so kind? You wonder if they were the same person at all.

She smiles in response to what you said and you smile back, completely unsure of the reasons why you do.

After the Hala market tour went without incident, that is, without any attempt to escape on your part, Carol has granted you the right to stroll through the inner gardens of her palace. As much as you want to hate the way she plays as if you were a puppet, you can't.

You try to hate her, but each day you spend in her company makes it harder for you to deny the feeling that, gradually, grows in your chest. Then, you find yourself desperate to hang this passion before it's too late.

Your morning walks allow you to see autumn slowly approaching, little by little, with each leaf touching the ground. And if you used to enjoy Carol's garden alone, over time, the Empress's company became part of your routine.

"Why are you still keeping me alive, Carol?" You rarely addressed her by the title of empress or nobility, and she never forced you to use it, she seemed not to care whether you recognized her power or not. Nor did he seem to mind when you used it ironically.

"I like your company." She answered and that made you look directly into her eyes. "It isn't every day that I find a match." Her answer made something boil in your chest and you had to force your heart to understand that she was probably referring to the fight.

"I'm not a match for you, your highness." You spoke. "Everything special about me came from an enhanced helmet." A sad smile danced on your lips, remembering how powerless you felt when you saw it broken in her hand. You remembered how broken you felt yourself.

“Everything special about you comes from your heart, Nova.” Her tone was low and as much as you wanted, there was nothing to grasp in it. She spoke this sentence as if she were speaking about the weather but for you it just set your heart on fire.

--

Between stories from a lifetime ago, when Carol was only a human being without a single clue that the universe was bigger than her world and stories from her time adapting and training in Hala, you felt yourself slowly but surely falling for her.

The change for you was visible and you prayed it would be visible only to you. If before you thought she was beautiful, now she’s extremely attractive in your eyes. Even when choosing simple robes, Carol was always dressed impeccably.

After spending so much time together, it was only a matter of time before you realized that the Empress was possessed of vast intellect and knowledge about many different things.

But what strike you most was how funny and mundane she could be, yet, she still had that special something in her eyes that never failed in make you weak. You were a prisoner, indeed. A prisoner of her eyes.

Unlike many extremely powerful beings, Carol was humble enough to listen to your stories, and even encouraged you to tell more details about yourself. She never quite understood, but something about you drew her as if you were a magnet.

The sparkle in your eyes as you spoke about your homeland, friends, or your passion and honor in serving Nova Corp thrilled her. There were many things in you that stirred emotions in her, as well as aroused feelings that she thought she was no longer capable of feeling for a long time.

And so, without realizing it and at the same time fully aware of what was going on beneath her skin, the Empress fell in love with her Prisoner.

--

Winter at Hala marked when your quarters were no longer a cell but a room in Empress's palace. Larger than your home in Xandar, the room was beautifully decorated with art, and you could discern some Xandar artwork. You wonder if it was coincidence.

Despite being as warm as a star, Carol suggested that both of you should trade your walks in the garden for spending time in the library available at the palace. And that's how you began to be the Empress's company during her meals.

It started with lunch and then evolved into dinner and now Carol finds herself waiting for your presence before even touching her plate. ‘I shouldn't allow myself such weakness’, she thought. However, she couldn't bring herself to change or to avoid the need of your company.

--

"I beg your pardon?" You speak, barely able to avoid spilling your soup. The increasingly warm but shy rays of the sun and the many animals strolling in the courtyard tell you that spring is just around the corner. And that's exactly what almost made you spill the soup, in first place.

Carol cleared her throat, promptly speaking again, as if you had not heard her from the first time. “I’d be delighted if you grant me the honor of your company for the Spring Ball due in two weeks.” She looked at you expectantly.

Your mind was swirling as to why she would want you as her company, out of all people. She was the Empress; she could have anyone she wanted by her side. Yet, here she was, asking you to be her date.

The time in Hala flew slower as it did in Xandar, but it felt like the opposite, for the Ball came faster than you thought it be possible.

And here you were, walking down the entrance stairs in a beautiful golden gown with Carol’s arm locked with yours. Her deep green dress was marvelous and when you saw her welcoming you with that pretty smile of hers you thought you could melt.

Much to your dismay, Carol could sing just as she’d told you she could, but you never believed in her. It wasn’t hard for you to realize that you were free falling in love with her even more than you already were. If it was possible, you fell in love again. You’d be her prisoner, forever.

As the night went on, you were mesmerized by the ball, the music, and the way of life in Hala. It felt like a different life, one that very much resembled prince and princess’ tales that you heard when you were a kid.

A life that didn’t quite belong to you but looking into her eyes it made it feel like everything was possible, reachable, as if her power could create a different world. Just as she did. As ruler of the Kree empire, she created a new kingdom.

Standing in the balcony, you welcomed the cold air hitting your skin that was inebriating your senses, previously flooded by the Empress. The stars illuminated the sky of Hala making the city bellow you even prettier.

A soft touch in your hand brings your gaze back to its owner and a small gasp scape your lips when you see how close she is, even more so when you wish she were closer. “I never told you how beautiful you are tonight.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“You flatter me, your highness. You’re flawless yourself.” A small smile creeped up her lips and you forced yourself to keep your eyes locked with hers, proven to be a hard task when she started to lean into your ear.

“There is something that I wanted to tell you for a while ago.” Her hands on your waist made it difficult for you to pay attention to her words, along with the feel of her cheek touching your cheeks made your knees weak.

“You’re no longer a prisoner and you can leave Hala if you want to.” Her thumb drew patterns where it touched you and you could feel your skin burning. “You’re free, but I wish you’d stay here.” She backed down and now her eyes were boring into yours.

“I wish you’d stay here with me.” She stressed.

Your heart and head were running thousand miles per hour in completely opposite directions. The rational part of you wanted to take your freedom and go back to Xandar, even though you should find it suspicious that, almost after a year, she’d let you go. Specially after you’d learned so much about Hala. About her.

However, your heart’s been slowly giving itself to this woman right in front of you, and there was nothing that you wanted more than to stay here with her. Surely, you felt left behind by Nova Prime, but it still stings in you that no one came after you. Not even a fellow corpsman.

‘Not one that you know, for that matter.’ You shook your conscience’s voice away and gave in to your heart. The rational part of you broke at the exact same time as did your helmet.

“Carol, I…” You begin but she interrupts you by placing an oh so soft lips on yours and there is no voice to hear anymore. Nor rational, nor emotional. There are only her lips pouring her heart into a kiss and you do just the same.

Right in that moment you felt as if your heart was about to melt, maybe it would, if she hadn’t broken the kiss and rested her forehead in yours.

“Tell me you’ll stay and rule by my side.” Before the true meaning of her words could sink in, the sky of Hala suddenly shone as if thousands of stars appeared right in that moment, drawing the attention of you both.

Not long until you realized that it wasn’t stars, but thousands of spaceships painting the night over your heads, and you’d recognize those ships anywhere. Xandar was here. And a voice that you’d never forget was heard above all noise.

“I am Nova Prime and Xandar declares war to Empress Carol, accused of murdering Nova Corps’ Commander.”

‘Why are they accusing her of murder?’ You thought to yourself. It does not make sense that she’s being accused of killing you when you’re alive. Unless…

“Carol, what did you do?”

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