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pinkygirlymeg · 2 months ago

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My opinions on 2.2 - As a Brazilian SPOILER WARNING

First off I'ma kick it saying yes, I am disappointed at Bluepoch for not adding diverse and PoC characters, however, this is a very much positive light on 2.2 because well, I enjoyed the update, I'm not here to defend Bluepoch but to appreciate the research and interesting things I think they added to their game about my people and culture.

I also think it's relevant to tell a bit about me, I'm a Brazilian woman natural from Rio de Janeiro, who early in life moved to a rural area in Goiás and later moved to the capital city of Brasília. I visited São Paulo, the city where 2.2 takes place quite a few times since parts of my family live there to this day, however the longer I've been there was 6 months, my visits to São Paulo also consisted mostly of living my the small towns around the big cities and living mostly in rural areas. (I've visited the big city but only to buy things that we didn't have mostly)

Starting off with some of the things I enjoyed the most: Music

So far there has been 3 songs of which I've listened

Starting with the one in the announcement of the special program; https://youtu.be/JsPw7aaB3WQ?si=aGYVp_yvvf1M5m5A

I do like the song, but this one is where they got the Brazil vibes a bit far off? They were going probably to the style of Bossa Nova, a Brazilian musical genre (noticable example are Garota de Ipanema) but I think in this one they went to much on a vibe that matches more french style music? Or at least reminds me of that (I'm sorry if I'm getting it wrong french people!!! Do let me know if I did).

The second one is the Livestream music! You can listen to it while they announce characters and garments;

I think the song is also not the best but definitely catches more of a Brazilian vibe, the style of music seems to be more centered around another genre commonly from the north east region of Brazil! (Noticable example is Figa de Guiné) Where they use a lot of triangles and little bit of the guitar, they're also going for a more beach style music to match the garments me thinks.

And now the third one and my favorite as off publication of this post. The "Trade Winds Garden" theme;

https://youtu.be/qCz036VZYXc?si=Gsbyl4JZzdPUpPqh

Once again they're going for a Bossa Nova vibe but this time, they nailed it perfectly. The strings and the chocalhos (sorry couldn't find a translation to that) work perfectly to create a representation in form of music! The style of the background of the new suitcase also fits the time period of Brazil's early 1900s or late 1800s that I think they're going for, the best example of a closely related song to this is also one of my favs "Águas de Março" is a music of the same genre who I think that this one might be based off.

Ok now with the characters and I'll start with the character I'm most familiar with the vibes!

Lopera the 6 star from the second part of the 2.2 version

Although we don't have much info on the story yet, she seems to be based of the "caipira" culture, I'll use the term Rural culture because "caipira" was a term used in a pejorative demeanor towards me and my family before.

Rural culture is a lot about family and as we know, Lopera ran away from her's, this is fairly common in these circles because living in a rural area while being young and full of dreams can be quite trapping! As for her design. I absolutely love it! From the hat to the sandal she embodies the spirit of a rural girl, the hat is ofc my favorite part, it's usually optional and men are more likely to not use hats as woman are. Being a Rural girl who easily burned in the sun I had to use long sleeves, long dresses and a really big straw hat, although the sandals are the norm when walking at home, usually we would use boots in the farm. In any case, I love her design and her clothes. In the i2 she seems to be more leaning towards a city girl, wearing the shorts and boots like she's ready for anything they throw at her. I personally like the i0 outfit more than the i2 for the many reasons I stated before and for the projection I did in her when I saw her.

Now for our singing best Anjo Nala!

I also loved her vibes! I saw a lot of people saying she's purple scary woman and I agree a bit with that but I really like this trope so I'm eating it! She's one of the characters that I also think I would enjoy way more if she has more melanin but for lore reasons I think she was never even a possibility for that.

First addressing the whole Anjo Nala is Kimberly, I disagree and don't think they are the same person. My evidence is that Kimberly has an identical twin who has been recently murdered! In the newspaper we can see that a ruthless murderer's life has been put to an end. I believe Anjo Nala is that twin who got murdered, aside from the visual differences both have, they also behave completely different at least from what we can see on the PV. Anjo Nala also speaks portuguese in one of her voice lines, knowing Kimberly she would've probably already said things in Portuguese had she known the language at this point. There's also some visual differences to the two, like anjo Nala's tail and horns being different than Kimberly's.

Now putting that to the side. Anjo Nala seems to be based of a more high class songstress. The beautiful girl who sings in the boats that pass by the river. Although that is a more romantic view of our culture it's still within Brazilian literature to have that type of character. The seducing demons from the rivers are also very much part of our culture as you can see from the "Boto Cor de Rosa" a character from Brazilian mythos and folklore.

The i0 dress looks simply so cute, matching the style and era of the outfits worn by the ladies here in the big cities of Brazil, as for her i2 it seems to be more of a stage outfit, I love it too, but personally, like Lopera I like her i0 more. Although I love the art and the background of her i2 and the references to the festivals of new year here and the carnival with the lights blowing in the sky voice line and the people laughing and dancing! She's a very cute character overhaul!

Mr. Duncan... Another character whom I think would look very good with more melanin, mr.duncan embodies a very common guy in Brazilian families, the "Tio do Pavê" or that cute and funny old uncle who cracks dad jokes whenever you meet with them, he seems like a passionate and generally nice guy and OMG I love seeing older man being added to the game! It really brings variety and the possibility of old men yaoi (looking at u Shamane), I really enjoy his character for how much I can see of him in my own family and it's very fun to think of all the cute interactions he could pull off! Design wise, he feels a little bit more like a tourist, although I've seen my dad wear similar outfits before when going to the beach or simply enjoying an outdoors barbecue. I like both of his i0 and i2 basically equally! I think he looks overhaul very nice

I won't make a comment about our skeleton hand just yet, White Rum seems like the most mysterious one so far! But I will make a post about them if I happen to have some new matured thoughts of if they get more info about them

Lastly for the garments, I LOVED the garments for this version, making the Brazil patch a beach vibes update is expected but they surprised me a lot! The outfits do look really like the things any Brazilian would wear to go to the beach, my favorites being Vila's and Yenisei's garment. Specifically talking about Yenisei, it might be me going on crack mode but I think her design is based off the Victoria Regia story of Brazilian folklore and I think it works perfectly with Yenisei's connection to rivers!

Marcus looks like the cute and sweet girl at the beach but girl that sunburn marks will be weird looking with all that fishnets /silly

Vila looks gorgeous and 37 is not beating the most beautiful character of the game allegations, I also think her garment has something to do with 37 accepting the malleability of truth and how it bends and changes like a river, truth changes in every different perspective!

Shamane looks gorgeous and I look forward to all the yaoi potential he got hwhshssh /silly and seriously I also love the representation of our fauna in Shamane's garment.

Few that was quite a lot I think I'm done for this post at least! I can and will yap more about this version once things come out and I'm yet to make a post about the PV, I did see it and I have some thoughts that I still need to mature! If you have any questions, suggestions or corrections they're all welcome! I just enjoy discussing things about my culture and country and how people from the outside world perceive us!

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 2.2 #brazil #Lopera #Anjo Nala #megramble

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oftenderweapons · 4 months ago

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Bourbon Bossa Nova | MYG | Pt.1

This story is part of the Blue Crush Collab

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (nicknamed Sunny)

Wordcount: 7k

Rating: 18+ (This part is pretty innocent, but Part 2 will feature mature content)

Genre: strangers to friends to lovers, composer!Yoongi x lifeguard!YN

Content warning: swearing, alcohol, allusions to sexual thoughts. Allusions to death, child abandonment and family loss.

Synopsis: when you start your summer at Honeycomb Cove, you're only expecting sunshine, waves and annoying teenage bravado as you work as a lifeguard. What you don't expect is Min Yoongi. He wasn't expecting you either. Soon your morning walks are your favourite part of the day, until you realise it's not really the walks, maybe it's always been him you are, after all, waiting for.

Shoutout to the incredible folks who helped me find courage to keep believing in this fic - and finally posting it. To Mars (@joheunsaram), To Bells (@youtifulhobi) to Yannie (@ressjeon), my power squad who believed in this fic (and in my writing skills) more than I did. Here's to me finally breaking my dry spell!!! And to some of my old and new supporters and cheerleaders @lelegzem0, @aanncchhuu, @blushingatyou and @percheee (other people are most definitely in this list but Tumblr is limiting my access to previous notes so I can't find you all) You folks are part of the reason I'm still rolling in the dust here on Tumblr

Part two out now!

Here's my masterlist, just in case you're new

Also: disclaimer! (very important, I should have put this first) I'm not Brazilian, and I have very little familiarity with Brazilian culture, but I really wanted to do a shoutout to this incredible country, its people, its art and its music. If you have any notes you would like to leave regarding Antonio's characters and Yoongi's attachment to Brazilian culture, you are the most welcome, both here in the comments and in my blog. I'd love to learn more 💜

Enjoy the fic!!!

May is a great thing. Flowers everywhere, the smell of sunscreen starting to spread in the air, orange dawns, hair getting frizzy with salty air and too much time in the water. Sand under your toes, loose linen garments, wearing a sports bra and a pair of shorts all the time, throwing an oversized sweater on when the night gets too cold, the smell of citrus and geranium to keep mosquitoes away.

Early summer is great. Way better than midsummer and August. May and mid-September had always been your favourite times of the year: the beginning felt like sparks starting to burst, and the end felt like the natural conclusion of things, that languid nostalgia sweeping in gently, like the soft wind ready to carry in autumn days and blow the leaves away.

The smell of rosemary and lavender and juniper accompanied you to the beach as you walked down one of the side alleys.

“Good morn’ Earl!”

The old man turned to greet you as he kept watering the hibiscus bushes before the sun became too blinding, burning the poor flowers. “Morning Sunny!”

“Remember your heart pill!”

“Sure! Already took it!” Earl shouted back, his voice bubbly and bright.

You waved at him as you kept walking, ready to meet your next friend. “Hello Rosa!”

“Hi Sunny!”

The old lady already had her cocker spaniel on a leash, ready for her morning walk. “When’s Mindy coming around this year?”

“Mid-July. And she’s taking her children too!” The woman looked ecstatic about her daughter visiting.

“That sounds amazing! I really have to rush, bye Rosa! And bye Lemon!”

“Lemon say bye!” Rosa told her dog, making her bark just in time before you started your jog.

Being a lifeguard was great. It was the life you had always dreamed of. You had always worked out to fit in the lifeguard guidelines requirements, and a good ninety percent of your decisions had been oriented to making sure that you could be a lifeguard from the second week of May to the first week of October — that is the entirety of tourist season. Once autumn arrived, you would resume working at the retirement home: it was only your second year with that working arrangement, and you weren’t sure it would work at first, but your grandmother being the godmother of the director of the elderly institute guaranteed you would always find a spot working there; plus, they were also constantly in need of an extra set of hands, especially if those hands came with a degree in nursing.

You’ve always known you wanted to work in elderly care just as much as you’ve always known you were made to be a lifeguard. Your parents were worried over the sort of sacrifices and strains that such an occupation would entail: all the caregiving, and the cleaning and the affection you spend on people you’re inevitably going to lose; yet it felt natural to you. Sure, some people can be antagonistic and diffident, in some cases you end up being more of a nanny than a nurse, but most of the time, it’s worth it. After two years in this field, the ups are definitely brighter than the darkest lows, and you’re under the strong impression that it will keep being so.

Back to the glorious morning in front of you, you took off your flip-flops as you reached the best place in the world: the golden beach of Honeycomb Cove. Smiling, you fixed your cap on top of your head and walked to your tower, depositing your stuff in the cabin before going for your morning run. As you were opening the umbrella, taking in the blue infinity of the ocean before you, you spotted an unfamiliar figure below, a big fisher hat on its head, a long-sleeved white shirt covering its arms, a stick in one hand while the other was pressed to his lower back in a fist.

“Hi, hello there!” you greeted, a wide smile for the small, old man walking on the shore before your tower. The bizarre figure lifted his head up, eyes squinted, his button nose curiously pointing about as he looked for the voice.

“Over here! Good morning, sir!” You waved energetically at him, the man frowning — not that you could notice that, because of the distance and the hat.

“Morning?” he greeted back in confusion before continuing his walk.

Yoongi was extremely confused when he heard the voice. His night had been too long for him not to suppose he was hearing voices. Maybe his time had finally come and that was the call of some deity summoning him to whatever comes after the struggles of the living.

What he didn’t expect was for the voice to call again, this time the source clearly identifiable. He squinted at the lifeguard tower and offered a small wave in greeting.

She — that had to be a she — seemed to be set alight in sunlight, the early morning light making her glow in something brighter than gold.

He had a precise image in his mind for a second, something his grandmother had told him when he was a child. Something like mythology, like Achilles’ halo of hair, or Helios who carries the chariot of the Sun.

He shook his head and continued walking, turning around only once he was several feet ahead and her long legs had carried her in the opposite direction, her wide strides amazing Yoongi, who could just stare at her golden, looped locks bouncing as she played with the back-and-forth of the tide, running along it.

For a second, Yoongi thought of The Girl from Ipanema, shortly before remembering all the controversies behind it, and how much his grandmother hated the song because of “the male gaze”. With chastised pupils, he let his gaze fall back to the fragments of seashells at his feet, the distant fall of her feet meeting the sound of the tide calling to his ears in a hypnotizing beat.

All the way back to his home, Yoongi let it ring and echo through all the empty halls of his brain, until he could finally — although artificially — recreate it in the calm of his home, and let it resonate through its corridors.

Yoongi would define himself quite a reserved man. He had his home — an old Victorian-style house in the more quiet and deserted part of the bay, too inhospitable for tourists, still linked to the naval history of the cove. He had renovated the house after his grandmother had left it to him, replacing the old wooden axes with new, not rotten ones, repainting the walls and repolishing the floors, installing soundproof panels on the room he had decided to turn into his studio.

It had only been a short while since he’d moved into the beach house; his college in San Francisco and his scholarship and research in New Orleans had sent him spiralling between opposites, diving deep into sounds he wasn’t entirely familiar with, and in a bout of homesickness and confusion, he’d decided to return to his true roots, to his true north.

Here he could daydream of green hills and golden beaches of a faraway place that he could only imagine through the saudade of an old immigrant. He could feel the beat of that city that was nothing but an overgrown village, the roaring of cars on dirt roads, and that open-armed man that seemed to be every man, every woman, every human being in that open-armed city — that all-forgiving man that seemed to welcome strangers, with their weary feet and guilty souls.

He knew the place that inhabited his wildest dreams, his most romanticised visions, no longer existed. It had been erased by decades of progress and politics and human greed. That place where all his bedtime stories took place was no longer, and maybe it had never been. Yet Yoongi longed to reach that all-forgiving stone man and feel, just feel how the rolling waves carried all the nostalgia and the sins and the tears of those lost souls that reached a new land hoping for fortune and maybe a brand new start.

He too was something in between worlds. Son of a woman adopted by a foreigner and a man lost in time, somewhere. And there was nothing more foreign to him than the woman who had raised him, the same woman who had given him the house he was living in. He had always been drifting in something somewhat estranged. His mother had been a nobody, abandoned before an orphanage, the only known facts were her name — Moonbae — and that she had been abandoned as the last of sixth children, her family too poor to afford her. As a twist of fate, she had then been adopted by an American anthropologist — Yoongi’s grandma — who had always respected her will to stay away from her past. Still, loss persecuted her, her loving, if a little taciturn adoptive father passing due to a mysterious disease somewhere in Guatemala.

It took several years for Beatrice and Moonbae to settle in the old colonial house in Honeycomb Cove; Trice had returned to her great-grandmother to assist the incredibly old lady to her last breath. Needless to say, she then inherited the house. The women lived sheltered, quiet lives until Moonbae got pregnant. A summer fling, that was all it was, the man a fleeting tourist who took a risk too many, fathering a son he would never take care of.

His absence was filled by someone who looked the exact opposite of the little moonbeam of a child, laying pale and tranquil in his cradle, lulled by strange, exotic songs that his grandmother had perfected for him.

Beatrice fell in love with a man who became everything to Yoongi — someone Moonbae never approved of, so much so that she decided to leave town when her son was maybe four years old. She never returned. Beatrice never looked for her either.

Antonio was eighteen years younger than Beatrice, his skin a rich cinnamon shade, his accent so thick that it took a while for Yoongi to decipher the heavy Brazilian cadence in the man’s English.

Yoongi preferred when Antonio spoke Brazilian Portuguese, anyways. By the time the boy was fourteen, he and his acquired grandfather easily conversed on the wooden patio, drinking lemonade, a guitar in the man’s arms. Antonio taught Yoongi everything, the boy so taciturn, so eager to listen, that the nationless musician let all his woes and nostalgia pour out. And maybe the man was no citizen, something in between an exile and a fugitive, but in that old house, he found a home, with Trice constantly refusing to marry him and loving him like a madwoman at the same time.

Yoongi doubted love like that could exist anymore. A love so strong that when she had passed, Antonio had magically drifted away together with her a few months after, disregarding his significantly younger age. What the not-so-old man would never say was that he passed in tranquillity, knowing that he had taught his spiritual child all he had to offer.

And just so, Yoongi won a scholarship, all because of the easy, wordless afternoons when Antonio taught him to play three instruments and speak that language that reminded Yoongi of his old cat, Sweeper, and the way he lazily rolled around in the sun.

Now he was just a young man graduated from a prestigious music academy in San Francisco, two of his compositions had been featured as soundtrack in a couple movies, and he was already producing for a small recording studio specialised in chamber music. He didn’t make much money out of it, to be true, but sometimes he managed to have an extra income with royalties, and he was currently composing his first mixtape — for which a studio had already contacted him, and the fact that Antonio had introduced him to some of the most influential artists in the San Francisco scene had quite definitely jump-started his career.

He was living a cool life, the kind of life he had always seen himself living. He worked at night and finished his day at seven am; then he would head out for a walk, when the sun was still gentle in summer and when it would be barely up in winter. And next, he would sleep. Wake up around five pm. Get some food ready and start all over again. He’d returned to Honeycomb Cove only six months prior, so he hadn’t yet entirely reconnected with his local social circle, plus most of his friends were still in college, which meant that it wasn’t that easy to arrange a get together. But to be true he was quite excited about Seokjin being back in town and spring break approaching. By summer come, they would all be a great team again and he would feel like he had all the time in the world.

His musings were interrupted by the doorbell. That had to be his pizza. It was almost eleven and Gerry, the old Italian man who owned the pizza place at the end of the street, always knew that Tuesday night meant late night pizza for Yoongi.

He grabbed the money — already perfectly calculated so he could pay for the pizza and leave a tip for the delivery boy, Pippo. But tonight it wasn't the delivery boy knocking at his door. As he opened it, he found a wondrous mass of blond curls right in front of his eyes. “Oh, hi!”

“Hey!” The voice sounded chirpy, familiar.

A sudden breeze pushed the stranger’s perfume past the doorway, the scent crashing over Yoongi like the surf. God she smells good, Yoongi thought, lips agape as he stared at the woman in his doorway. It was a mix of coconut and papaya, the scent overpowering the tasty smell of his pizza.

You put on your friendliest, warmest, brightest smile, then said: “We met on the beach right? You must be Min Yoongi. I'm _____. Gerry said you always dine alone and told me you could use some company.”

“I'm not a charity case,” Yoongi replied before realising how rude he'd just been.

“Well, that's a funny introduction, Not A Charity Case. Is that the name you chose to go by? Like Jenny From The Block?” You shook your head and looked away. “What told you it's not me who could use a friend. May I?” You asked, pointing at the door, asking if you could enter. “You can ask Gerry. He sent me. I've just arrived for the season and I could really use a friend. He told me you're a good person and you're always alone too.”

Yoongi was almost outraged by your insolence. Were you always so blunt? He was also confused: what kind of setup was this?!

You passed him the pizza and he lifted the lid, checking that it was actually his and that you weren't an imposter, or a serial killer.

'Take the golden retriever girl. She needs a smart friend. -G,’ read a note left inside the box.

“Yeah, I’m Yoongi,” he said, almost defeated. “Come on in, then.” If he found his house entirely stripped of anything worth money, he would sue Gerry.

“Oh. Thank you.” You flashed him a grin.

Yoongi's knees almost caved. What a smile. It was like… like staring at the sun. But in a good way. It was like a blue sky. Soothing. Serene. Cloudless, pacific.

You placed your own pizza box next to his on the counter while at the same time you looked around. “Wow, your house is so pretty. Your family lives here?”

Yoongi opened his pizza and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “I don't have a family anymore.”

You froze. “I'm sorry.” You were already failing at this. That's why your friends all had fake teeth and a medical record thicker than your cookbook. Not to mention the average age.

“It's okay. I got used to that. You should be the lifeguard, right? Wait, would you like some beer?”

You shook your head. “I'd like some water please.”

Of course you would, he realised. You had to be one of those health freaks. He could already anticipate how easily he could make you run from him with his suicidal diet.

He placed a glass beside your pizza box before sitting down and getting ready to dig in. “I still owe you the money. From the pizza.”

“I already paid for both. I thought that since I wasn't bringing you a housewarming present, I could at least buy you some food.” You took a slice and started eating up, humming and nodding at the taste. “I get why he works so much. This pizza is heaven.”

“Yeah. All the kids here grew up on sunshine and Gerry's pizza,” Yoongi mentioned casually. He liked that you talked with your mouth full. He did, too. Beatrice had never liked that.

“Are you from the neighbourhood?” He asked before wolfing down another slice.

“Kinda. I live a bit farther into the mainland. I used to come here on holiday when I was little. With my parents.” You took a sip of water as Yoongi learned one more thing about you.

“I thought so. I don’t really remember you from growing up, and me and my friends know all of the locals.” Yoongi studied your face, trying to dissect any detail that could make you familiar.

“I see. You’ve been raised here, I assume?”

“Yup.” The silence is heavy, but at least you can distract yourself with food. “So, lifeguard? That your dream job?” He said it sarcastically, almost evilly before he realised you were nodding eagerly and happily.

“My great-grandpa was a sailor. I've always wanted to live by the sea.” You munched on the crunchy crust, Yoongi blinking rapidly.

Making fun of you felt like shooting a dead body. There was no use — and no mercy — in doing that. “Shouldn't you be in college or something?”

“I took nursing school. And I'm old enough to be out of college.” Yoongi’s tone had really made that sound like an insult, but you tried your best not to assume the worst.

Yoongi tried to get on his better behaviour. You were a new person, you wouldn’t understand his sardonic tone. “I'm sorry,” he said, contrite.

“For what? Me being a certified nurse and a person in charge of other people's lives? I know I look stupid, no need to rub it in.” You arched an eyebrow, rather fed up with the weirdness of this exchange, of the man sitting before you. You stood up and closed the box of your pizza, still half uneaten. “Sorry I disturbed your night. Enjoy your meal—”

“Wait, no! Don't go, please.” He didn't know what suddenly convinced him to make you stay. “I was a dick, I'm sorry, let's start over.”

You hesitated for at least three seconds and then, despite your better judgement, you sat back. “I'm ____. But my friends call me Sunny. It's my middle name. Really. My parents thought it funny.”

It suited you so damn bad. Yoongi wanted to bask in your aura in a hammock with a slight breeze and a samba playing in the distance. “It's a really nice name. It really suits your appearance. And I mean that as a compliment.”

You breathed out the tiniest laugh.

“I'm Yoongi and that's the only name I have. We don't use middle names.” He relaxed once you opened your box once more.

“Where is it from?” You asked, recognising the name being foreign.

“My mom's name is Korean. She picked a Korean one for me too. Just to remind me we're not entirely American.” He was vaguely bitter about that. Maybe just indifferent, you told yourself. That must have been tough.

“That's interesting,” you mused, drinking some water. “How old are you?”

Your question was naive. Childlike. “I'm twenty-three. And you're…?”

“Twenty-four. Twenty-five in a couple weeks.” You smiled and he was once more lost in how radiant you looked.

Once you were finished eating, you rinsed your hands at the sink, helping him get rid of the boxes before shyly following him as he moved to the living room.

“Wow.”

“It's a bit overwhelming, I know.” He looked around, analysing the room through a stranger's eyes. “My grandma was an anthropologist, my grandpa too, though I never met him. She travelled a lot and always brought back fancy things.”

“What's this?” you asked, watching a strange fork of sorts.

Yoongi sat down and grabbed a bizarre little stick, no bigger than a pen, with a large ball at the end. He hit the fork, a soothing, metallic sound coming out of it and the box at its base, amplifying the cold dong. “It's a diapason. It gives a specific note. This one sounds like la. Or A, whatever notation you prefer. We use it to tune instruments like guitars.”

You nodded. “That's interesting. I like it.”

Yoongi chuckled. “It's very soothing, right? It resonates at a frequency that has positive effects on humans. My grandma used to play it when I needed to calm down as a baby.”

Thinking that the coarse man before you had been a baby felt baffling. “And it still relaxes you?”

“It does. But I think it's more of a reflex. I think they trained me. Like Pavlov's dog… Wait, was that Pavlov?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a giggle.

“Sometimes I think I was a strange experiment. That's what happens when you have two scientists in your home.” He shrugged with a funny grin on his face, his cheeks going puffy as he did so.

“It's okay. You lived through that. You're not doing bad for a lab rat. You could be having bald spots by now,” you joked, almost expecting him to get confused or disgusted. Instead he laughed.

His laugh was so soft. He actually looked soft, with his gums out, his cheeks puffed up, his nose curled up cutely. Yoongi was cute. Very much so.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

He blushed to his ears. “I'm a musician. And a producer.”

“Wow. That sounds cool! How does that work?” Your voice was filled with wonder, making Yoongi understand that after all it wasn't like you were dumb. You were just unashamed of not knowing things.

“I make songs. Spend too much time on the computer fixing songs for other people. And then spend a little bit of time with my instruments, going through riffs and melodies, finding little things that inspire me for longer songs or pieces.” Yoongi stopped himself from dumping all of his artistic worries over you.

“You studied at UCLA?” you asked, knowing that was the best place for a person like him.

“Actually, no. My grandfather got me into an academy in the city. I mean, my granny's boyfriend,” he corrected himself. Considering Antonio his grandpa had always come natural to him, but he'd never substituted himself for Trice's husband.

“It's so cute that she found a boyfriend. You mentioned your grandpa passed so I guess she met the guy after?” You posed the question gently, wording it accurately.

Yoongi nodded. “Yup. I was a toddler when they met.”

You hummed. “With all respect to your grandpa, I like when old people find a partner — or at least, someone meaningful to them. It brings a lot of joy and newness in their lives. Partnered old folks have a way less lonely life. And it seems they live longer too! I read a paper for a course back in college.”

Yoongi was pleased to receive confirmation of you being an old people's person. Hopefully you also hated kids so he could actually deem himself safe. “So you actually liked nursing school.”

You bobbed your head enthusiastically. “I’ve always liked the idea of working in a retirement home. Old people have so many stories and so little audience. I like staying with them, helping them write memories they can pass to their overly busy children and grandchildren. And they learn about technology, they play cards. They crochet! Isn't that amazing?!” you exclaimed with a radiant look on your face.

Yoongi realised you were a genuinely generous person. You reaching out to him wasn't just Gerry forcing you to Yoongi's place, but hopefully you needing a friend. It really seemed you could use a pal your age. “And how does that pair up with your lifeguard position?”

You shrugged. “I've always loved the beach. And splitting it with caregiving helps me from taking nursing too seriously. It helps me worry less about people… passing, you know.”

Yoongi nodded. He hadn’t thought about what it means taking care of someone day after day after day, and then suddenly they’re gone. He also thought about the different weights of a job: probably that was the same reason why it had taken him so long to work on his music while delivering piece after piece for commission. He had lost the passionate side of it.

“So, your granny's boyfriend got you into a music academy and then?”

Yoongi smiled, then he started telling you everything about that.

The two of you talked way deep in the night, the initial strangeness turning into easy chit-chat about school, life, family and work… It was almost one in the morning when you realised it was time for you to go. Once Yoongi noticed how long he’d been talking to you, he blushed and understood it was time to say goodnight, no matter how warm and welcome he felt at your side.

He accompanied you to the door, then stood on the porch, waving at you before wondering whether he should accompany you home. “You’re staying here in town, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just five minutes away from here. I have my bike.”

“You don’t want me to drive you?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for your reply.

You shook your head. “I’m okay, don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

Yoongi realised the reason why he felt sad about you refusing was exclusively because he wouldn’t be able to spend more time with you. He was struggling to let go, after only a couple hours of chatting, and at least half of that being awkward acquainting with someone new.

And to further increase his struggles, he could almost hear Antonio scolding him for letting go of someone that made him feel good. “Will I see you tomorrow morning at the beach?”

You were ready to leave when you heard Yoongi’s question. It sounded vaguely insecure, as if he was testing the waters. “Come meet me at seven. I’ll be there.”

Yoongi nodded to himself. He should have asked for your number. Stupid social anxiety.

“Goodnight Yoongi!” You waved from the gate before leaving.

He stood there, arms crossed, shrinking inside his striped polo shirt, its long sleeve doing very little in keeping him warm. So unexpectedly his night had changed. He thought about the percussion riff he’d jotted down that morning around nine, laying in bed, sleepless. For all he knew, you could have possibly changed his life.

He would remember tonight forever.

The following day, Yoongi left his house at six forty-five. You had given him a when, but not an exact where. He was nervous. And he was somehow hoping that seeing you in broad daylight would somehow lessen your magic.

How wrong he was.

He waited for you at the feet of your tower, leaning against it nonchalantly while he almost ran to get there in time. Watching you arrive in sunglasses and a white sundress was definitely something. You looked like the kind of girl that could have starred in Dirty Dancing.

“Good morning, sir!” you greeted, waving.

“Stop treating me like an old man,” he complained, however you heard some irony in his voice.

“Not my fault you behave like one!” you bit back, amused and maybe a little cheeky. “Hello Yoongi,” you tried again, more calmly now that you were standing before him. “I’ll go get changed quickly so we can go on a walk.”

He nodded and looked at the horizon before him, his ears blushing at the thought that you were half naked just a few steps away. You looked so lean and fit and tall and he was… He was struggling not to let his mind run wild. After all you were just a prettily shaped woman. No more, and no less.

All the months that had passed since he’d last slept with someone weren’t a valid reason for him to think of you half naked.

“Let’s go!” you exclaimed, basically throwing yourself down the stairs and taking a few small jumps on your spot — like a golden retriever too excited about going out. You started with a jog, only to watch Yoongi’s panicked look.

You exploded with laughter. “See, I told you! You’re an old man!”

Yoongi hid his smile with a pout before catching up with a few quick steps. “Do you need to run or can you just walk?”

“I’ll walk in the water. Helps me burn more energy and work on my stamina,” you replied, entering the water to the point it reached your knees. “You can walk on the shore. Did you sleep well?”

He looked away.

“Oh, right. You work at night. So— Did you… produce?” You looked down, careful about not splashing him.

“Oh, yeah. The conversation with you was very inspirational,” he conceded. He hadn’t worked half as much in the last four weeks. Listening to the little riffs and chords hidden in your voice was like experimenting with a new genre. It was as if he was building a new theme for you. Something that signified your presence, but at the same time conveyed the fits and starts of meeting someone new, and getting to know them, and discovering something new about oneself from all the analogies and differences they could see with the other person. As much as he was composing about you, about the little bits he’d learned about you, he was in some way also composing about himself.

The process had been thrilling and once he’d finished the first, roughest draft, at dawn, the music felt so vibrant that it could properly and proudly accompany the rise of the sun. It was of course still only a draft, but the way you’d talked deep into the night, the way you’d circled around things until they’d come out right, had inspired him to give it all a try. It didn’t need to be perfect, it only needed to work. And work, in the end, it did. He only wished he had sampled a piece of your conversation — that joke about him being a lab rat… the laughs that followed. It would have been great for a skit.

“You know, I really wish I could listen to your music. I'm kind of curious about what such a quiet person considers noise worth listening to.” You looked at him. “After all, music is just very tidy noise right?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I would agree to that.” He looked at the seashells on the shore. “I'll make you a playlist. I'll include random stuff I like listening to.”

“Oh, I'd love that!” you replied enthusiastically. “We can make a playlist for our walks!”

Yoongi’s ears perked up at that: “walks”, plural, which meant you would do this again, soon. He was pleased at the way you had so casually hinted at creating a routine. He had someone to share music recommendations with. Someone who would maybe recommend pieces to him in return. He realised he was excited about this. So many new sensations, and none of that as unpleasant as he’d thought. He could get used tho this.

Once the two of you said goodbye, he realised he couldn't go to sleep. He was too excited about making a playlist and sharing it with you. Walking with you in the gentle morning sun. Hearing you laugh.

Yoongi understood: he was making a new friend.

Having walks with Yoongi became extraordinary. You started associating him with the tender colours of the shyest sunshine, and the sweet cotton scent of his shirts in the gentle morning breeze. The way his soft locks danced in the ocean air, tangling together, the way his cheeks turned into little ice cream scoops when he smiled at you as you greeted him good morning.

Likewise, Yoongi started adoring sunshine. You ended each of his nights, bringing him into the reign of soft morning light, introducing him to a brightness he'd always much preferred doing without. Truth was that his ears had become acquainted with your vintage summer bops, with the way your steps would automatically sync up with the beat of Pumped Up Kicks when the song started playing, and your little blonde baby curls would end up bouncing by the time the first chorus came around. Sometimes you looked like one of those strange horses trained to match the rhythm of music. Dressage, wasn't that?

And then, you loved his calm acoustic ballads, the relaxing guitar riffs that accompanied the rise of the sun.

Once your shared routine of morning walks was sufficiently cemented, you trained him, like a stray cat, to stick around some more after your walk, convincing him to join you for a morning snack. You always brought him iced coffee and a peach jam sandwich while you drank your aloe and matcha drink before indulging in an avocado toast. He liked your mornings as much as you did. You also probably liked each other too.

Your perfect sunny streak was tainted only by a mildly cloudy morning, during which Yoongi showed up at your tower anyway, an extra sweater on top of his long sleeved shirt. He knew you'd probably be cold.

The striped black number seemed to be big enough for you to fill it up comfortably. After all, you were half a head taller than him, and your arms were significantly longer. At least by three or four inches, he had to admit.

When you showed up, you looked drowsy, your hair was half low and you were carrying a different bag from usual. “Morning old man,” you called, placing your bag at the feet of the stairs.

“Morning, Sunny. Wait. Are those actually knitting devices in your bag? Wonder Woman ____ knits?”

“Shut up. Linda taught me. It's just something to share with the ladies at The Orchard,” you justified yourself. “We'll see if you still joke about that once you get your soft, handmade cosy sweater this winter.”

Yoongi blinked, suddenly realising his expression had been shifting to a pout. “Are you still going to be around this winter?”

You invited him upstairs, avoiding the question for now. Could you wait from September to May to see him again? Could you go so long without him?

As you picked up a half knitted torso from your bag, pressing it to his face, you realised you couldn't. You also realised you had made a naive mistake. You had thought you were domesticating a stray but in the meanwhile you had opened him your home, your heart. You had invested your time in him and that made him much more than a stray. You were giving him a forever home.

“Is this for me?” he asked innocently, gently, rubbing his face against the soft, airy fabric.

“It’s alpaca wool,” you commented drily. You already knew you would give up on your long-term dream sweater only to see him all fluffed up in the pastel mesh of colours. You smiled as he pressed it closer to his face.

“So soft,” he murmured, nuzzling up against the small piece of knitwork. The moment he opened his eyes, you realised his nose was just a tiny bit red from the chilly breeze coming from the sea, carrying a storm in its wake. His cheeks were rosy and puffy, his eyes big and dark. And his eyelashes, so dainty and insanely… flirtatious? He looked like he was seducing you for the slowest of seconds.

You looked away, cheeks aflame. “Let’s go. Before the rain comes.”

Yoongi startled at your tone, cloudy for the first time since that night when you’d known each other too little, and he’d been unforgivably too sarcastic. He followed you like a confused pet down the stairs, then grabbed his earpods and passed one to you.

You were especially thankful for the music now that your thoughts were too scattered for you to form sentences and make some conversation.

“It will rain in a bunch of minutes,” Yoongi commented. “There’s no use walking today.”

You ignored him. Would he leave if you agreed with his statement? Would he think walking was pointless, and therefore there was no reason for the two of you to spend any time together today? Too lost in trying to find a meaning to how sad you felt at the thought of being apart, you didn’t realise a raindrop had hit your nose.

The storm was coming.

An angry guitar riff came on, The Neighbourhood blaring from the earphone as Yoongi grabbed your hand. One drop followed the other, his hand around your wrist as he tugged at your arm, running fast, faster, to a speed that felt ridiculous considering how lazy he always was.

‘I’m going back to 505, if it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive. In my imagination you’re waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs, and a smile…’

You ran, faster, short of breath, the music carrying you across the sand. You didn’t even realise you were trusting Yoongi completely, even as he led you past your tower, even as he kept running while the downpour broke loose, even as The Beatles came on, singing about jars by the door and lonely people, even as the morning got so dark, the sky like a purple shiner after a rowdy pub fight.

You kept running, Yoongi panting as the two of you finally recognised the fence of his house, the tower barely visible behind the thick cover of rain and mist. “Come on!” he gasped out.

You kept running until you were under his porch. “What the hell, Yoongi! Why didn’t we stop at the tower!?” you scolded him, barely alive, barely breathing — how had he worn you out like this? He was way less trained than you, and yet he’d managed to run by your side, keeping your pace, ending up winded, sure, but in way better a state than you’d thought he would be.

He shook his head, bent in two, his hands gripping his knees. “I was distracted! I wasn’t thinking!”

You shook your head, too busy pulling oxygen into your lungs to fight him back. After a few breathless minutes, you sat down on the first step of the staircase. “You knew it would rain. Why did you come?”

Yoongi felt called out all of a sudden. “I— I thought you were expecting me to come. I don’t have your number so I couldn’t text you. Or call you.” He sat down beside you, his hands pressed in between his knees. “I didn’t want you to worry or think I had forgotten.” He took in a large breath. Somehow the little effort of a confession required way more air than the makeshift marathon under the storm — it was definitely shorter than a marathon. Probably not even a tenth of it. He just knew that was the longest and the fastest he’d ever run, but you were running, and you were so majestic and he just wanted to be part of it.

Yoongi paused, gathered his courage, then murmured, “I didn’t want you to feel lonely.”

You recognised the guitar strums immediately, the song changing once more. You looked at Yoongi, Hozier’s soft voice crooning at your ear. “What about you? Were you feeling lonely?”

He looked away, too shy, too old, too used-to-it to admit it. He had no right to feel lonely when you weren’t around. He had been alone for so long, but loneliness? It had been a stranger to him until he’d learnt your name. “I don’t—”

You pushed his hair off his face, your index finger casually following the handsome curve of his jawline. “Yoongi?”

He finally turned to look at you, once more innocent in the way he seemed to seduce you. He looked so pure and for the first time you felt so desperate to taint him. You needed him to look normal and mundane and you prayed for your crush to fade, for his sinless charms to be washed away so he would show his true colours, because no man should be allowed to be perfect the way he felt perfect to you.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, your heart tied up with pining.

‘Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.’

You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed until it was too late, the lyrics making you open them only to notice Yoongi leaning towards you, his lips protruding in the most imploring pout you had ever seen.

You were ruined.

You tugged the earpod off, almost throwing it to the ground before hollering a ‘see you ‘round’ and running off in the cold rain.

Yoongi, confused, afraid, sat on his porch as he watched you disappear.

Part 2 will be out now!!

#bourbon bossa nova #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfiction #bts blog #min yoongi scenario #min yoongi imagine

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freesia-writes · 6 months ago

Text

Ch 7: The Alignment

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 2.9k

Some background music for this chapter: Bossa Nova Beach Cafe Ambience with Relaxing Bossa Nova and Crashing Waves (youtube.com)

It was a quiet afternoon at the tiki bar when Hunter and Wrecker found themselves there, having an early dinner and chatting about the recent happenings in their jobs. They were tucked into the far end of the L-shaped bar, relaxing into the hubbub of contented chatter and glasses clinking from the few other patrons. Omega and Lyra sat at a table on the far side of the deck, bent over a myriad of data files about the various job shadow opportunities for the next phase of the internship year, and Hunter cast a glance at the two every few minutes, whether consciously or not. Regardless of Wrecker’s boisterous recount of half a house nearly falling on him, Hunter couldn’t ignore the unsettled feeling in his stomach.

He hadn’t felt truly at peace since they arrived on the island, now the better part of a year ago. Morning hunts allowed him the most opportunity to be focused, to feel purposeful, and to let everything else fall away. But the rest of his time had a somewhat odd sense of artificiality to it, as though they were acting in a role that would soon be over and they’d have to return to their regular soldier ways. He’d never had time to think about his own sense of identity, as his days had always been determined entirely for him from the very start. The others had seemed to find their paths more quickly than him, save for Crosshair, who maintained a sense of unease as he casually pursued a variety of jobs, partners, and interests, but Hunter wasn’t much inclined to seek out a heart to heart with him about it.

“Still good with your water, babe?” Luciana asked, touching his hand briefly to get his attention. She’d given him a hard time when he insisted that he wasn’t in the mood to drink anything else, but it was all in good fun. Wrecker, on the other hand, could enjoy an island beer at any hour of the day without much effect, and he enjoyed both the full-bodied taste as well as the filling sensation of its hearty flavors.

“Still good,” Hunter echoed, nodding politely before turning back to Wrecker, who had finished his story and was holding a double-stacked Bantha burger in his hand, turning it from side to side to determine where the perfect first bite should be placed. With a hearty chomp, about a quarter of it disappeared with a grunt of delight. Luciana returned a couple minutes later with a basket of fries, pushing them toward him with a wink. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead as he gave her a messy grin and a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“You’re the best!” Wrecker exclaimed, blushing as she blew him a kiss before being called away.

“Free snacks, eh? Looks like someone’s in her good graces,” Hunter said, idly tracing a finger up and down the side of his glass where droplets of condensation had gathered.

“Everyone’s in her good graces,” came the response, hampered slightly by another mouthful. And indeed they were – a bright giggle reached their ears from a table on the deck, where a small, motley assortment of species was having an early dinner. Luciana’s little white dress ruffled in the breeze around her sun-kissed thighs as she leaned over the menu on their table, pointing out some favorites and upselling the add-ons with bubbly enthusiasm. None of the patrons’ eyes were on the menu, however, instead finding various points of interest from her perky cleavage to her long, slender legs. They made their selections, and Hunter would have bet good credits that none of them knew what they’d ordered as they watched her return to the kitchen.

“Anyway,” Hunter said, returning his attention to Wrecker after another glance at Omega, who was rubbing her forehead with a look of consternation on her face. Lyra pointed from one datapad to the other, speaking too quietly for him to hear, and then touched Omega’s shoulder for a split second. It seemed to have a soothing effect, as the girl’s shoulders dropped a few inches and she nodded slowly, tapping on her own datapad with a renewed focus. “Thanks for fixing the chimney,” he finished, grateful for the use of the fireplace being restored thanks to Wrecker’s skill.

“Yup,” his brother said, swirling the last bite of burger in some sauce at the bottom of the paper-lined basket before making it disappear with a flourish. “You stoked for this lunar festival? Everyone’s talking about it. Gonna go?”

“I guess so.”

“It sounds kinda fun, no? Everyone seems pretty excited.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing a lot about–” Hunter answered, interrupted by an elderly Xyloan a few seats down. The island native had been quietly nursing a darkly-colored drink and gazing contentedly at the ocean with his deep golden eyes, his somewhat feline face relaxed and expressionless.

“It is a very special occurrence this year…” the dark green-skinned male said, rising from his stool and approaching the two with an uneven gait supported by a knobby wooden cane. “Because of The Alignment.”

“The what?” Wrecker asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“The Alignment. It hasn’t happened for nearly two hundred cycles. My grandfather told us legends of the last one – the Elders received great insight from a hidden place during low tide.” Dark eyes moved slowly from Wrecker’s to Hunter’s as he nodded somberly, both claw-like hands clasped around the top of the cane.

Hunter worked hard to keep his face neutral, having heard a little here and there about the highly superstitious practices of the native Xyloans. They held the planet in high regard, insisting that each island upon it had its own voice and intentions, and that they all worked together to protect the planet and keep everything in harmony. There weren’t many natives left, many having ventured to other systems in the galaxy in favor of larger experiences and wider exploration, but the remaining population was scattered across the planet to sustain its history and practices. The younger generation didn’t hold the “ancient wisdom” in very high esteem, so the primary guardians of the old ways were mostly older, and they worked as an eclectic blend of healers, interpreters, and spiritual guides for those who would seek it.

Upon his arrival to the island, Hunter had been greeted by one of the female Xyloans with a traditional gesture – three straight fingers slicing across the air in front of his forehead and a few words in their guttural language. The intensity and unexpected act of the encounter had thrown him off, but the native had continued on in Basic as though it were the most natural thing in the world, asking about where he’d come from and what he was doing there. He’d tried to appear forthcoming with his answers while also avoiding specifics, and she had seemed to find his responses satisfactory. The short creature had tilted her head, tufts of her long, wavy mane following the motion, and squinted at Hunter with a piercing stare.

“You are fragmented, repplika,” she’d said quietly, startling him with her assessment. He wasn’t sure about the native word she’d used, but it sounded an awful lot like a familiar word in Basic. He’d felt a wave of apprehension, having been careful to reveal to no one that he was a clone, hoping to live in the safety of anonymity, but he could perceive no malice in her body language nor her words. She’d continued on, taking one step closer with large, flat feet that splayed out into small claws at the end of each toe, and had woven her head back and forth in a serpentine motion as she finished her declaration: “But even shattered shards find smoothing and settling in the steadiness of the sea.”

“Got it,” had been his short reply, thoroughly unsure of the entire encounter. He’d only seen a few other natives so far; some lived in the homes near The Forest where his own cabin was while others stayed closer to the center of town where the square and rectangular island housing was a bit closer together: flat roofs staggered as they layered themselves up the hills toward the school. The rest of the population on Xylo seemed to hold the natives in mixed regard, from polite reverence to dismissive avoidance.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Hunter gave the elderly male a nod and some muttered thanks while Wrecker watched him curiously.

“What’d they learn?” he asked, “The last time?”

“Ahh,” the slightly pointed ears of the Xyloan flickered as a glimmer appeared in his eyes. “The secrets are only for those who must know them. For those to whom they are given! It is not the privilege of all. The island has its own heart, its own powers. It protects itself from those who would bring harm, and it blesses a lucky few when knowledge is most needed.”

“Huh,” Wrecker mused, looking a little disappointed but taking it in stride. “Well, the festival sounds fun either way!”

“Enjoy it, young kreeyaytenn,” came the ominous reply, accompanied with a knowing smile as the male tapped Wrecker’s thigh with his cane before slowly making his way toward the exit.

“Young?!” Wrecker called after him, unable to decide if he was flattered or insulted. “I ain’t young!”

“To us you are!” the quavering voice returned as the green-skinned humanoid disappeared around the corner.

“Cryptic folk…” Wrecker observed with a grumble, turning back to the two remaining fries with a thoughtful expression.

“That they are,” Hunter agreed, noticing Omega and Lyra rising to their feet out of the corner of his eye. His little sister had made him promise that he wouldn’t feel the need to walk her everywhere, therefore she was to walk home alone after working on her applications. She did offer him a smile and a wave, leading Lyra to notice them and give a small wave as well before the two of them headed toward the crooked wooden stairs that led up to the main part of town.

“Is that one of the school workers?” Luciana asked, sidling to their end of the bar with a glass and a towel in her hands, wiping it haphazardly before placing it into a nearby tray.

“Mhm,” Hunter mused, ignoring the sudden elbow to the ribs from Wrecker, who liked to tease him about any and all interactions with anyone outside their family. Luciana smirked at the gesture, leaning on her elbows over the counter as though sharing a secret with them.

“Where is she from? She got here a little bit before I did.” Her green eyes wandered back and forth between the brothers and framed a charming smile on her full lips.

“No idea,” Hunter said, finishing his water glass and sliding it across the wooden counter to her. Wrecker shrugged too, crumbling up the paper liner from his fry basket and lobbing it toward the trash can behind her. It bounced off the corner and rolled away, earning him a mockingly accusatory glance from Luciana.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, but her grin was back in an instant.

“No worries, sweetheart,” she chirped as she went after it. Both men looked pointedly at the bottles lining the back wall of the bar as she bent over, her tiny dress sliding dangerously far up the backs of her thighs as she reached down. She tossed it in the receptacle and returned to them, taking Hunter’s glass and Wrecker’s basket to their appropriate places before pausing for more chatter.

“So. You and the school lady, huh?” Luciana teased, waving a long-nailed finger close to Hunter’s nose. “Tell me all about it!” She wiggled her eyebrows, giggling at Hunter’s indignation as he stumbled over his words, goading Wrecker into laughter as well.

“She’s helping Omega. What’s it got to do with me?” he finally said, unsure of why he was reacting so defensively. He didn’t like people assuming things, nor did he appreciate his life being determined for him by others. Ah, there it was. He raised his own eyebrows, surprised at the sudden aversion to the only lifestyle he’d known for most of his existence. Shaking the thoughts away, he shrugged, feeling his sense of stability returning slowly.

“Okay, okay,” Luciana chuckled, holding her hands up in surrender. “Sorry Xyrgio. Didn’t mean to ruffle your hair, as glorious as it is.” She was as disarming as she was playfully provoking at times, and her natural charisma invited others to relax more into being themselves around her. At least it seemed that way for Wrecker, who leaned onto his elbows with an unabashed grin. “What do you think, Big Boy?” she continued, turning to him now. Her nickname for him was far less original than the ones she’d graced the others with, but he didn’t seem to take any issue with it. “Is she gonna be dancing at the lunar festival? Eating at the food trucks with her family?”

“I have no idea,” Wrecker said, casting a glance at Hunter, who was still puzzled at her sudden interest in Lyra. Then again, the bartender did seem to be the town gossip, knowing random information about anyone and everyone.

“Maybe she’ll get a future reading from one of the Xyloans,” she pondered, stroking her chin with thoughtful fingers. “They’re so adorable.”

“‘S an odd choice of words for them, but maybe?” Wrecker was at a loss at this point, and fortunately was saved from further banter by the bell from the kitchen signaling that an order was ready to be delivered. Luciana was there in an instant, effortlessly carrying a large tray full of baskets to the table of hungry visitors. A chorus of admiration and gratitude rose as she began placing the food in front of each patron, and the nearest male grabbed one of her hands suddenly, placing a jubilant kiss on the back with gusto. Hunter caught the quick wrinkle of her nose and noticed how quickly she took her hand back, but she clutched the tray to her front and laughed endearingly, wishing them an enjoyable meal. As she turned to leave, one of them swatted at her backside, barely grazing the hem of her dress as she stepped aside quickly.

“Hey now,” she said, a sharpness to her voice despite the bright smile on her face. “Don’t get naughty with me, or I’ll have to do something about it.” She pursed her lips, tilting her head with a look that said try me. But the wave of tension disappeared as she blew them a kiss and continued on her way. As she slipped back behind the bar counter, Hunter heard her let out a heavy exhale, shaking her head minutely as she started mixing drinks from the list on the screen.

“They botherin’ you?” Wrecker asked, having noticed the ordeal as well.

“You’re too sweet,” she said, shaking the mixing container vigorously. “It’s okay, it happens all the time. Part of the job, you know.” She rolled her eyes theatrically, pouring the cocktail over a few chunks of ice in a curved glass before starting on the next one.

“Well it doesn’t have to be,” Wrecker answered quietly, giving Hunter a moment to appreciate his protectiveness and general good nature. “You let me know if anyone needs a talkin’ to.”

“I will,” Luciana answered gratefully, giving him a wink before brushing a curl of red hair out of her face. “Thanks, Big Boy.”

As Hunter watched her deliver the drinks to a different table, he caught the slight stiffening in her body as she passed the raucous bunch, who were not too busy stuffing their faces to spare a few looks in her direction. She noticed on her way back, waggling a finger at them but gracing her fingers lightly across the top of the shoulders of one of them as she walked by. He furrowed his brow at her approach, which seemed to simultaneously encourage yet deflect their attention. Perhaps it was a way to avoid direct or heated conflict, he mused, slowly climbing to his feet and standing beside the stool to bid Wrecker farewell.

“Leaving so early?” Luciana asked, flashing an adorably pouty look at him as he dropped some credits on the counter for Wrecker’s meal, nodding at his brother’s thanks.

“Family dinner tonight,” Hunter answered, offering a small, flat smile.

“What, my dinner’s not good enough for you?” she said, putting a hand on one hip and jutting it out to the side, her head coyly tilted.

“No, it’s great,” Hunter said, shifting uncomfortably. “But…”

“And he ate already!” she laughed, pointing a finger at Wrecker, whose eyes grew large as he also rose from his seat.

“That was first dinner,” Wrecker explained, looking like a scolded puppy. “Tech and Phee eat so late…”

“I’m telling,” Hunter jabbed, smirking as his brother gawked at him in horror.

“Ooooo, you’re in trouble now!” Luciana laughed, swatting him with a towel from across the bar. “See you soon, boys. Have a lovely night,” she purred, sending them off with one last delicate wave.

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

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@ilarria @padawancat97 @yve-barr @lucyysthings @flowered-bicycles

@maddiedrmr @techhasmjolnir @arctrooper69 @spicy-clones @ezras-left-thumb

@cw80831 @dreamie411 @meagmcc12 @waytoooldforthis78 @hunter-lvr

@baddest-batchers @yunggoblin @sweeticedtea @imperfectxprincess @ivyyyyy

@callsign-denmark @leotawrites

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