#i was doing some Research�� and like. what do you mean Soap is my age 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

[moonchild-in-blue]

Not forgiving yall for making me believe Price was a proper Tired Old Man™. What do you MEAN he is canonically 38/39 💀

and what do you mean Soap is like? 27? sir you are but wee boy. where are your parents.

[codmw2019-2022]

Modern Warfare Character Ages [2019 + 22]

Preface: Just wanted to add before getting into this that this is my interpretation of the character ages based on information from the games, confirmed information, research into the military/CIA and collage/university course information. This is by no means meant to be a definite statement about character ages, I'm happy to discuss or change any of the information here within reason.

I would also like to credit @sleepyconfusedpotato and @oleworldblues posts with their own opinions on the character ages. Which helped base my own thoughts and provided some good information that they had found. You can find Sleepy's post here and Blue's here they are really good posts and they both explain their own reasons for how they perceive the main cast of modern warfare's ages.

Farah & Hadir Karim : 30 & 32 [2022]

Both Farah and Hadir's ages have been confirmed by Taylor Kurosaki who is one of the writers from Modern Warfare 2019. This was confirmed when a fan ask him via twitter/X about how old Farah was during the Barkov invasion.

This means in 1999 when Barkov invaded Farah was 7 and Hadir was 9. In 2009 when they escaped they are 17 and 19 respectively and in 2019 they are 27 and 29. Hadir dies in December of 2022 as discovered in the Atomgrad raids at the age of 32.

John Price : 37 [2022]

Using the information provided from his original operator bio we find that "John Price joined the infantry at the age of sixteen and has served the British Army for 18 years." and that "he was ‘Badged’ a member of SAS in 2005, spending the next ten years in the Middle East, the horn of Africa.".

With this Price's age works out to be about 34 years old, but since it only mentions serving the British army. I added 4 years for him to be able to complete basic training which is roughly 18 weeks basic training.* Followed by Special Air Service (SAS) training with is roughly a couple months, but you must serve at least 18 months in the military to be selected**, and finally his training at the Royal Military Academy to become a Lieutenant and then Captain which is 44 weeks with 2-3 weeks of leave.***

So Price would join the British army at 16 in 2001, be badged a member of SAS at 20 in 2005, become Captain at 25 in 2010. In 2019 he would be 34 and finally 37 in 2022, which to me makes the most sense based on other character's ages.

*[army.mod.uk solider training] **[eliteukforces.info SAS] [eliteukforces.info SBS&SAS] ***[army.mod.uk officer training]

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick : 32 [2022]

We can do the same process as we did with Price for Gaz, his operator bio says "Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, enlisted in the British Army in 2008. Within four years, he passed selection for Her Majesty’s elite Special Air Service where he is currently rounding out a decade of service."

Since his bio never mentions what age he joins like with Price and Soap I'm going to assume he finished school and joined the military at 18. So Gaz is 18 in 2008, 29 in 2019 when he meets Price for the first time and 32 in 2022. I am not taking into consideration the archived Activision blog posts, which say he joined in 2014 because of them being archived. I do use it for some other characters but for Gaz it changed the date he joined not just giving extra information.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish : 26 [2022]

You can blame Activision for why Soap is so young compared to the others. So according to his updated operator bio, "Soap has spent the last seven years carrying out both covert and overt operations around the world." this with the contents of his old operator bio before MW3 "At 16, too young to sign up, but lying about his age, MacTavish enrolled in the Special Air Service…"

Means that Soap would be 23 in 2022, which doesn't make the most sense especially considering he is a Sergeant in 2019 meaning he would be 20 in the MW3 flashback. So I gave him the same treatment as Price and added 3 years, to make up for basic and SAS training. So he would be 16 in 2012 joining the British Army have to wait 18 months to apply for SAS, be roughly 18 when he starts SAS training and finish it at 19 in 2015.*

So making him now 23 in 2019, 26 in 2022 but since he lied about his age TF 141 would think he's 28 during MW2 or 25 during 2019.

*[jobs.army.mod.uk SAS reserve]

Alex Keller : 35 [2022]

Alex is one of the last characters who have dates or years of service in their information. From his Campaign Biography it says he was a part of, "CIA's Special Activities Division," and also has surrendered "his former rank and history of special ops military service with Army Delta, Alex sacrificed traditional contact and association with family to join the SAD. He has spent the last six years living a series of assumed identities to achieve “sensitive” objectives wherever he is needed."

There's also, "Through 2017, Alex’s units played a key role in ensuring definitive victories against emerging terrorist networks." So we know Alex has been working in the military before 2017, now most SAD members are former Delta operators. There's also some reports of SAD members having Master's and law degrees.* So with that we can add roughly 6 years to his age to complete a master's degree in law.**

Now Delta force has some requirements like being over 21 to join and having two and a half years of service remaining, so if Alex joined the US military at 18 after finishing High School and getting his diploma.*** In a couple years he could join Delta Force, so by 26 he would be able to be apart of CIA's SAD. (If studying part time while in Delta Force) Then adding the another six years which is when he is apart of SAD, which is mention in his biography as the last six years. The bio is published late 2019 so Alex would be 32 years old.

So Alex would join the Military at 18 in 2005, would be 32 in 2019 when he loses the lower half of one of his legs and 35 in 2022.

*[CIA SAD] **[coursera.org law school] ***[Delta Force] [US Military Requirements]

Now for the Characters with little infomation

Alejandro & Rodolfo : both 37

We find out they've known each other for 20 years and signed up together. So they are both younger than 38 but older than 30 since Alejandro is a Colonel. Looking at Wikipedia you can/have to join 18 the Mexican military for at least 3 years, this gives them about maybe two years to get to know each other before joining together.

Ghost : 35 [2022]

Honestly just pick an age between Price and Gaz, I personally like the idea of him being the same age as Alex and having them know each other previously. Maybe even before Ghost starts wearing the skull mask.

Laswell & Nikolai : 52 & 45 [2022]

No older that 52 and 45 if we go based on their actors ages, which personally makes the most sense to me. Laswell's Campaign biography mentions her supervising a SAD program in 2008, and her having studied a Master's degree in strategic intelligence analysis and having a BA in International Affairs. This doesn't help much though with figuring out her age.

AN: Hopefully this very long post is some what helpful or at least has some good resources that people can check out, especially fanfic writers or people making their own OCs.

I'm also going to repeat what I put at the top the end here. But what I've written down is not a definitive answer for their ages (minus Farah & Hadir) it's just what I personally think makes the most sense.

Don't let my own opinions/conclusions about their ages get in the way of you having fun with how you view/interpret these characters.

[pinkslaystation]

Ghost of A Connection

Ghost and Staff!Reader

In which you work at the nearest store at base, Ghost being your least favourite and unfortunately, most frequent, customer. Is there a connection there, or is it in his head? yALL - all these COD stories on tumblr got me hyped! So here I am tryna catch some clout ;) Be warned, this is possibly a very inaccurate version of military life, but then again, it's just a story. Word Count: 2.5k

Man, post-graduate life is hard.

Graduating top of your cohort of nearly 300 students in your masters degree within Psychology was impressive. Saving enough money from shadowing your senior Psychology professor and moving out to your apartment was impressive. Owing your own car was impressive.

What wasn't impressive though, was nearly hitting the 6 month mark of unemployment.

So here you are, stuck calling all your classmates for any open roles. You're so desperate at this point, you'd go for anything!

"Hey, Mahir! I know we didn't quite end of good terms...um-you know...when you asked for the mid-terms answers last year, and I- um...left you on delivered, and you had to retake the exams...but um, I hear you started working at the University as a Researcher and you're looking for a assistant? Well gee, don't forget how smart I a-"

Disconnected.

"Yooo, Josephine, it's me! From the Psychopathology group project! Yeah, I'm sorry I shouted at you for not doing your part on the project, and filing a complaint against you, haha...although, like, come on, it's your fault - you're 25, not a 5 year old bab-"

Blocked.

Wow. You were not liked.

So one evening, when you were on the phone to your childhood friend, Jordan Biggs, and had managed to slip out how desperately broke you were, he kindly offered a potential role at his workplace.

"Shop keeper? What, like a convenience store?" Remind me where you work again? Aren't you in the navy? What stores are you talking about?" You rambled, I mean a possible job - finally?!

On the line, Jordan chuckles, "Slow your roll, man. I've been been with the army for around 3 years now, I'm currently on a mission but we'll be home soon. Our base has a shop, that sells, you know, tactical gear-"

"GUNS?!" You interrupted.

Jordan laughs, then in shushed by, what you assume to be his teammate, "No, not any weapons. Just, tactical gear, MREs, bits and pieces of uniform. Sometimes you might be asked to clean the base, set up rooms for meetings. And ooh my favourite - work at the canteen. We serve the country, you serve us food." Jordan explains.

So you complied.

I mean, yeah, your degree isn't being utilised, but we're in a cost of living crisis, for Christ's sake.

And here you are, clad in a plain dark grey fleece, and straight black trousers, trying to look as professional as possible.

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

Your first day was silent. You found that you lived only 30 minutes away from the base, so you didn't struggle with the early shifts, working almost full days at the base, with a surprising decent salary.

You learnt you had replaced the previous worker, Katherine, a grumpy senior who quit, being fed up with the stench of these sweaty unkempt soldiers, and their rowdy behaviour after missions.

You also met your staff at the base, being the youngest one there gave you no surprise, with most your colleagues being double your age. You liked it. It was quiet, having met a few of the soldiers.

Your role was relatively simple. Consisting of various tasks such as ordering enough food to satisfy the recruits, more training equipment, when a recruit seemed to damage one. All in all, you were satisfied, especially when the first pay day rolled in.

You also noted that your colleagues, without fail, always seem to talk about a specific group of soldiers, such as Friday evening, when you all found yourself eating an early dinner.

"Soap is so sweet! He's always so generous when we talks to me, although I can't lie, I don't know what the fuck he says half the time." Your colleague rambles, shoving a spoon full of Friday's roast dinner into his mouth.

Another agreed, "Nothing beats the dilf of a man - Captain John Price. I may be chewing steak but that ain't the meat I want in my mouth, if you get what I mean-"

You choked, "Margaret, you're married with grand-kids, lord."

After a quiet but much needed conversation, you learnt about the most well-known team within the base, Task Force One-Four-One, lead by Captain John Price, forming of Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, and the one you were most curious about - Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

"But like, why Ghost? If he's close to this Soap dude, why not call yourself Shampoo or something?"

Your colleagues laughed at your naivety glancing at each other.

"My dear, I don't dare to call him anything other than Lieutenant. He's entered a 10 metre radius of mine, and I've already pissed myself." One stated.

"I've heard he threatened to attack Katherine, just because she overcharged him, long story short, she quit." Another replied.

It seemed you didn't understand how feared Ghost really was...

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

By the time you all had finished dinner, the staff split up, some going back to the canteen to prepare dinners for the soldiers finishing training, some going to clean up the barracks, and you found yourself going back to your designated shop.

Aah, this is peaceful. You mumbled, drinking your hot chocolate, whilst sorting out all the army boots on display.

As the clock strikes 10 p.m. though, the silence is broken and you hear a stampede of soldiers, once you assume had come back from a month long mission. The majority of them, from what you'd heard, sprinted to the canteen to rid themselves of their strictly MRE diet, and finally eat some home cooked food, whilst others ran off to their freshly cleaned barracks to get some well-deserved sleep.

Your little shop also seemed to be quite busy, a long queue waiting to buy water bottles, bandages, blankets, you name it. From nearby chatter from the tired soldiers, it seems most of the teams had arrived back from Afghanistan, a successful mission with no death and a few minor injuries.

An hour goes by and the queue dies down to around 6 people, with one at the till: Jordan.

"So a water bottle, that would be £1.50, payin- my God, Jordan?" You smiled, getting in front of the counter and pulling into a hug. He smelt like dusty and you joked that 1 bottle of water wouldn't suffice to rinse him of the smell.

"I haven't seen you in forever, it's been like 6 months? How's the job been treating you?" He enquiries, placing a kiss against your forehead. By now, the nearly empty shop turns to face the both of you, many assuming the situation to be a couple reuniting.

You and Jordan continue to catch up on everything - his mission, your job...Margaret's obsession with which positions she can take Captain Price in...

"Bro, she was going so in depth into the many ways she can contort her waist for, what she calls, the Price penis?!" You pull your most fake-disgusted face, as Jordan cackles loudly.

But his laugh falls short as a deep scruffy voice interrupts him-

"The only thing being wasted right now, is my time. Hurry the fuck up and pay for your shit. You act like we have all the time in the fucking world."

You jump slightly at the harsh words, although this is a military base, you should be used to this foul language.

"My guy, she said waist, not waste-" Jordan begins, before straightening his back and realising who he was talking to.

He turns around to face the man's voice, his back now turned to you, obstructing your view of the unknown soldier.

"Lie-Lieutenant. My apologies! Lemme grab this water and get out of your way," Jordan nervously chuckles, you can't see who he's talking to, but you can tell this was a man of higher authority, given how Jordan stutters. "Ooh, I see what you wanted to buy! Gloves, nice, socks, cool, Coc-Coco pops?!"

"My fucking God Biggs, the only thing big about you is your stupidity and your pussy attitude, grab your shit and go. Stop holding the fucking line, mate." The male's British accent is so prominent with every word enunciated, and you wish to never run into this stranger again.

"Sir!" Jordan turns to you, handing you a fiver and awkwardly side hugging you, "Have fun with this jerk wad." He whispers into your hair, before running out the shop, his water bottle still on the counter.

"Jordan your bottle-"

Holy shit.

After Jordan moves, your eyes feast before you, revealing a godly 225 lb man, standing at an impressive 1.89 metres, dressed in his dark and intimidating casual attire, his face hidden behind a skeleton mask, his piercing eyes squinted and penetrating into your shorter frame, his biceps bulging out of his sweatshirt, his shoulders broad, his trousers failing to hold his impressive bulg-

"Are you going to continue gawking at me like a fuckin' donkey or should I not pay for this shit?" He huffs out in disappointment.

Rude. Plain rude. Sexy...but rude.

Now you know why Jordan couldn't move a muscle when faced with this guy. Putting 2 to 2 together, you clocked. The way other soldiers left the shop as he entered. The way one look from him gets them to shut up so quickly. The skeleton mask-

This is Ghost.

"We- I- Um-" What the hell? Why can't you form a damn sentence?

"I- I- I don't give a damn. My shit, here." He mocks you, slamming his items on the counter. By now, the other customers have scurried off in fear. It's now you and Ghost in the shop.

You nod, humming a yes, eyebrows furrowing at his unkind words.

The next few moments are followed by near silence, the only sounds being the scanning of the items and your quickening breath. His foot begins tapping rapidly, as sign that you're taking to long.

It's uncomfortabl-

"The old hag before you's gone then."

Yes, Ghost, she is. And if you keep acting like this, I will be too. You grunt a response, unable to find the right words.

"£28.50" You say curtly, after a while. He hums in response, pulling his wallet to pay.

You watch him nervously, you did not expect to see one of the most respected soldiers in front of you so soon. Someone so handsome, someone so fucking sexy, but someone so fucking bitchy...

Oh. You said that last bit out loud.

Ghost pauses his actions, his head slowly craning upwards, his gaze drinking you in.

Your eyes meet his, quickly looking back at the counter, unable to meet his furrowed but amused glare.

"'m so bitchy, but you seem to love it, sweetheart. So red, like you're fucking in love with me or something." He scowls, slapping a £20 note on the counter.

"Maybe next time stopping droolin' over other men when you have your own cunt of a boyfriend." He mutters, before taking his shit and leaving. You don't fail to catch the smirk in his voice, as he exits your shop, loud footsteps booming behind him.

Oh my god.

You were at a loss of words. You were also at a loss of £8.50.

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

"Jordy, you don't fuckin' get it! Dickhead left the place, without paying the full fucking price, mind you." Frustration was evident in your voice.

"Bitchy and broke," Jordan snickers.

"And the audacity to call you my boyfriend? Bye." You huff in annoyance, whilst Jordan chokes on his spit. If anything, he was a like a brother to you!

A week has gone by since that first encounter and your conversations with Jordan at the shop, when he passes by, always seem to end up at the topic of Ghost. The way he glares at you as you walk past him in the corridors. The way he sees you struggling when you carry boxes upon boxes- oh he won't help you, by the way. When you ask, he simply scoffs, "You're getting paid and you don't even want to do your job?"

Since that day, you've met all of the Task Force members. Price was as Margaret mentioned, sexy. Soap, comical, Gaz, kind-hearted, Ghost...yeah, he's there.

"But you don't get it man, he's so big- like over 6 foot! And those eyes- man those eyes. So condescending...but so hot..." you continue.

"Damn Margaret wannabe, we get it." Jordan jokes, drinking his can coke - which he didn't pay for. You'll tell him later.

As you both converse, loud footsteps enter the store.

Ghost. Again.

Did I mention he's been in here every day since the first time?

8 a.m. sharp, the moment you clock in for your shift, and 10 p.m. on the dot. Fucker's so annoying, he'll stay around the shopfloor, lazily looking at the various protein bars, even after you state the shop is already 10 minutes past closing.

But you don't mind. His silently stares at you, as if trying to remember the exact location of every beauty spot on your face, the consequent reddening of your cheeks, the slight touches of his rough callous fingers brushing against your own. All this unspoken tension, leads to your every thought being consumed by Simon Riley.

And when he enters the shop, wow. Buys the most random unnecessary shit ever. You notice how he walks in and purchases his singular Coco Pops cereal bar, day after day. This man isn't sick of them?

I mean, come o-

"Your obsession with me is flattering." He states.

Oh, forgot to mention, he's still an asshole. But at least after rehearsing to yourself in the mirror, you can actually speak up for yourself.

"Guh- buh- we- u-" Fuck's sake.

But he actually laughs this time. A loud imploding chuckle exits his mouth, and you actually smile a little at this unfamiliar emotion.

You can't tell what his face is doing under the mask, but his voice suggests a small smile rests on his face, but it soon disappears before he coughs awkwardly.

"Your boyfriend's in the infirmary by the way." He looks away, emphasising boyfriend a little too roughly.

You stare in confusion. Boyfriend? He picks up on this.

"Biggs. Rolled his ankle or some shit. Dunno why he can't just man it up. I've had worse injuries." He mumbles, smiling under his mark slightly, assuming Jordan isn't in fact your boyfriend.

Your eyes widen, "Jordy? Wha-who-how?"

"He-" But before he can answer your question, you're running out the shop to the infirmary, stealing a snack from the shelf for Jordan.

You fail to notice that you'd left a dejected Ghost at the counter, who'd picked up 2 coco pops instead of 1 this time, his smile faltering, as he planned to give you the 2nd, as a token of apology for his impolite behaviour.

In the end, he realised he'd been holding onto a ghost of a connection, overshadowed by the presence of another man.

He winces, being left alone at the till, hoping to actually strike up a conversation with you, as he gathers his (unpaid) belongings and walks out the door, off to shout at any rando that dares get in his way.

yALL its 2.30 a.m. and i'm craving coco pops-

[elljayvee]

today's topic: that fucker RoundUp

It's time for more Don't Believe Everything You Read with me, elljayvee!

A friend encountered this the other day: 

This contains a lot of false information and should not be spread around as true. It's scaremongering in the first half and almost entirely wrong in the second half.

I will state my credentials and biases up front: I am an inactive Penn State Master Gardener (which means I have all the education and credentials, but am not currently an active volunteer), I have a permaculture design certificate and an active permaculture garden on my property, and I'm an agriculture & food systems researcher. I also fucking hate RoundUp (aka glyphosate), which I think is very bad, especially at industrial scales. I pretty much think all agricultural inputs have serious problems at industrial scales; RoundUp isn't special. In general, and particularly for home-scale or small-scale ag use, I prefer non-chemical controls; in my own garden I use manual control for all weeds except for poison ivy and tree of heaven, for which I use 2,4-D foliar herbicide. 2,4-D is also pretty nasty stuff, but I use it because unlike RoundUp it's very widespread in my environment already -- some of my neighbors have their lawns sprayed and that's what the lawn companies use. Me spraying a stray tree of heaven once a year isn't even a drop in the 2,4-D bucket of the block. 

Let us take these pieces of Wrong Information from back to front!

Dish soap: people love dish soap in the garden. Just love it. There's mixed evidence on what it can do in the garden but it's completely ineffective against weeds -- the reason it's so popular in garden applications is that it doesn't harm plants. How is something that doesn't harm plants going to be good weed control? Answer: it isn't. It does nothing against weeds. The one thing dish soap is proven to be good at is assisting with aphid control -- the best aphid control is manual/physical control, like blasting aphids off plants with water, and dish soap assists with that and also seems to do some damage to the aphid. Any other pest control involving "soap" almost certainly means "insecticidal soap", not dish soap. 

Takeaway: Unless you're trying to control aphids, don't use dish soap in the garden. (And make sure it's dish SOAP, not a detergeant. In the US, original Dawn is the go-to.) For anything but aphid control, you're just wasting soap.

Salt: No. This is bad. It will definitely help kill some weeds, but it's a bad idea. Don't put extra salt into soil. It's bad for the soil and for the inhabitants of soil; it's bad for water. One cup of salt isn't going to kill a river or a stream or whatever but if you're worried about killing animals, let's just say that poor innocent things like amphibians and worms do not do well in hypersaline environments. Do not use table salt like this. 

Takeaway: Leave table salt out of your garden altogether. You're just wasting salt, messing up soil, and hurting animals.

Vinegar: This is completely fine. Depending on the species of weed you have, it may work very well indeed. However, household white vinegar is only about 5% acetic acid, while horticultural vinegar -- which is sold as a weed killer commercially -- is 20% acetic acid, and works MUCH better on a MUCH wider variety of weeds. It also seems to work best when it is mixed with canola oil. Horticultural vinegar is not as safe for your skin/eyes/etc. and you should follow the safety instructions on the bottle when you use it. If you would like some more information on how well vinegar works to control weeds, you may enjoy reading "Impact of Acetic Acid Concentration, Application Volume, and Adjuvants on Weed Control Efficacy" (Webber et al. 2018). 

Takeaway: Household vinegar in the garden is fine and may work for some species of weeds. Horticultural vinegar works better. Follow safety information when using it. 

Now for RoundUp (aka glyphosate). 

RoundUp will kill pollinators, bees, hives: I will include all invertebrates that seem affected by RoundUp spray in this category. There is good evidence that AT INDUSTRIAL SCALE, RoundUp negatively affects pollinators and other beneficial invertebrates, such as pest-controlling spiders. When applied to a broad area in heavy concentrations, it seems to have lethal effects (particularly in bees who ingest it or come into physical contact with it), and it also seems interfere with reproduction in some bees, wasps, and spiders.

"Is glyphosate toxic to bees? A meta-analytical review" (Battisti et al 2021) is a good meta-analysis about toxicity to various bee species. (It is paywalled, sorry -- but some of its sources are not.) This analysis found that it's easy for bees to get a fatal dose from pollen from sprayed flowers, physical contact with sprayed flowers, or ingestion of nectar from sprayed flowers. At individual garden scale, you are extremely unlikely to harm more than a few individual insects unless you're doing something very weird, like, I don't know, pouring a whole bottle of RoundUp over your patio, or specifically filling flowers with drops of RoundUp. 

Takeaway: In general, I recommend not using RoundUp in your garden. If you do use RoundUp, snip off flowers from the weeds or do not spray the flowers, to avoid pollen contamination and lower the likelihood of bees touching the RoundUp. I strongly suggest instead using manual controls, which is what I do -- I weedwhack and hand-pull weeds (again, with the exception of poison ivy and tree of heaven). 

RoundUp will kill your pets and kids and you: In general, not unless your pets, your kids, or you drink it. This is how it kills mammals: a mammal drinks it. There is some evidence of toxicity to amphibians, but again, this is at industrial scale and high concentrations, not a household preparation used on like 5 weeds in your patio. There is conflicting evidence on whether or not glyphosate is carcinogenic in humans, but the risk -- if it exists -- seems at this point to be low and probably mainly affects agricultural workers who are regularly exposed to a LOT of the stuff.

Takeaway: Secure RoundUp from pets and children. I personally keep garden chemicals in a padlocked plastic box in the garage. If you are suicidal and may drink RoundUp, call your area's suicide prevention hotline or ask someone for help. If you are an agricultural worker regularly in contact with glyphosate in the environment your best resource is probably United Farm Workers (in the US), your local farm workers' org, or La Via Campesina (which is an international farm workers' organization that has taken a stand against the widespread industrial use of glyphosate). 

If you would like to read more about RoundUp toxicity, try: "Glyphosate Poisoning" (Bradberry, Proudfoot, and Vale 2004) and "Glyphosate: A review of its global use, environmental impact, and potential health effects on humans and other species" (Richmond 2018) -- this one is particularly useful because it collates a LOT of research together in one place, so you can get to many, many other articles from it. 

General takeaways: You should take precautions if you use RoundUp not to hurt bees in your garden, but you are unlikely to hurt anything larger than invertebrates if you do use it. Do not use random weedkilling formulas involving random household items in your garden. In particular, dish soap and salt have almost no good garden uses at all and if someone tells you to use them, they are probably misinformed at best. There is a lot of complete bullcrap out there on the internet.

If you want to use organic controls for stuff in your garden, which lots of people do, a good place to start is the OMRI lists. Items on these lists are approved for organic use in the US or Canada and free to download. You can also look for information from Extension in the US about organic controls and home gardening advice; county extension is government-funded and provides a wide variety of free educational material about gardening, forestry, agriculture, etc.

[thecheekyblog]

How to invest into yourself

In the past 15 years, there as been so many tools and new age techniques to change yourself. All of them more and more complex than the one before. Either it is weird diet, or wall Pilates, there will always be new ways to improve yourself.

However, i had to look back into old traditional beauty tips that have proven effective and helpful. The beauty of those tips is that most of them can be done at home at a very low cost which i love.

So here is a list of things that i do to invest in myself.

Let’s start by the physical investement.

The biggest investment i did was with my teeth. I did Invisalign and now i have a million dollar smile. I understand that teeth are expensive but if you have a chance to do so, it is a long term change that you will not regret. Also Try to go to the dentist at least once a year for a clean up.

My new smile actually even changed my face and i love it.

If you cannot do invinsalign, you can definitely ensure that your teeth are white at all times. I used white strip ( the best one is crest Hollywood white stripe ) with whiting toothpaste! Do it twice a week and within a month your smile will look amazing.

After investing in my teeth, it came time to take care of my skin.

I needed to update my skin care but honestly , with time I realize that the real trick was to be constant and have a simple routine that is easy to follow. It is important to have good product but if you are not committed to the routine there is no point into investing in pricey skincare.

You need to start by understanding what kind of skin you have and base on that RESEARCH the type of product that will work for it.

I double wash my face, than toner, serum, moisturizer than face oil. While my face still look like a glazed doughnut, I will gua sha the fuck out of my face and luvvs Gua sha keeps my skin tight and young. So do not sleep on that.

I not only take face of my face skin but also my whole entire body. I will turn my bathroom into a spa once a week and do a good hammam session to my self. I will take a warm bath for a good 20min just to make sure that the scrubbing is smooth sailing. I would use Moroccan black soap to exfoliate my body. After the exfoliation, i would be taking a warm shower and moisturized my skin with natural shea butter. If you live in Canada, you can find great one at your local Marshall with body oil.

Making sure that i look good, i started getting those cutes fits that would make me feel like that girl, invest in quality product because i now wanted the best of the best for myself. I don’t mean to break a bag but definitely not being cheap with my self. So instead of being the cheapest option, let’s say i will be looking into things that match my budget but still are good. I will take more time researching for things instead of just getting the product that was just cheap.

There will be always many option of the same things so just taking an extra sec to look into those options is you investing into yourself. You cannot be the best version of yourself by doing the same thing and buying the same thing as before. You wont change by doing the same!

Now let’s talk about investing to our mental and confidence!

It all fun and game to look good but if you do feel good about yourself. All of this will be worth nothing.

If you can afford it and if needed, talking to a professional or life coach can be life changing. Learning new skills and making yourself some goals will build your confidence so fast.

Something that really help me feel better about myself was podcast. I would listen to a shit ton of self improvement podcast and it really help me see things differently and broaden my perspective on life. READING too was game changer. So far, since the beginning of this year, i have read 4 books so far and reading my 5th right now. I never felt so smart ! But you know what i mean. Keep learning , reading , journaling , it will keep your brain sharp!

Honestly the best kind of investment you can do for yourself is to invest TIME INTO YOURSELF. Whatever you decide to do, take time doing. Make time when you do your skin care, make time when you talk to yourself, make time for your workout, shopping, hair care, body care.

Just invest time into everything you do. Every time you will try to cheat and go the easy way, you will never win. YOU ARE REBUILDING YOURSELF AND IT WILL TAKE TIME!

Invest time into your budget, finance and you will be able to reach your goals!

Believe me when i say that i am a living proof of investing time into yourself will change/better the person that you are. The more i worked on my self the more i became the woman of my dream and I know you can do it too.

Xoxo cheeky

[missbunnybunny]

Hide & seek

141 + könig x gen z member

A/N: Readers goes by the code name Widow in my writing. Along with she/her pronounces. I am biased with König and Ghost but for this story, König and her are the main pair. The reader is Latina, I'll use Spanish more in the next story. I know 0% about the military, I'll do my research and try my best. Am not good at writing at all just saying.

Minors do not interact!

CWs: Dark Humor, Age gaps, simping, crude Humor, cursing, might forget some but if I do lmk. I can't spell right for the life of me, my bad. This is a long read sorry.

" This is going to be fun" ghost turns to his side where the giggling voice said. Looking at the shorter girl to his right. " what did ya do?" He asked in a serious matter-of-fact tone.

"Huh I didn't do anything..yet," you said pouting, the last part coming out as a whisper. Hoping he wouldn't hear, but he heard you.

Ghost frowned and said in a more worried full tone " Widow, you didn' burn some shit up again'. Right?"

You looked up and gasped offended by his comment. You almost burn down the entire kitchen ONCE!, while trying to cook. One time was enough to get you banned from touching the stove, and you now need a babysitter to make sure you don't do somethin' stupid😒.

Soap walked up behind you and said " His right, you know lass." Scaring the living shit out of you. Turning around whit a pale face and slightly shaking. You hit soap on his arm saying " don' ever do that to ME."

Soap laughed loudly amused at your terrified look. Ghost sighed and shook his head, telling soap to stop scaring you half to death.

Captain price's voice came booming into the room. He walked along with Gaz, Gaz waved to you and you did the same.

"all right now that everyone is here, I have two announcements. First, we have a new team member. He will be arriving in 10. And lastly, it was widows turn to choose a training exercise."

Widow smiled widely, ghost stared a hole at her head, as he looked down at her. Soap looked pale and as for gaz, he was trying to hold his laugh.

Ghost finally spoke, breaking the long dead silent " Kid..What.did.You.do?" His deep timber voice said in a commanding tone.

Slowly backing away from the tall masked man and talking slowly" I might have asked...to play hide and seek. An' captain agreed😅" as you said the last part as you ran to hide behind Gaz.

Soap was trying to hold ghost back from giving you a verbal beatdown. " big bro, hide me" you told gaz giggling. Everyone on squad 141 was your family, and gaz and soap always hit you like the big brother type.

Ghost broke free and soap put his hands up when you looked at him. " sorry, did all I could" he stated while smiling. Running away from the tall man you yelled at soap " YOU LYING BASTARD, YOU LET GO." Ghost closed in on you as you stared at the older men, looking side by side for an escape.

To everyone, this was a normal occurrence. The scene was like a parent scolding their child for their Wrongdoings. Funny but for the receiving party it was like looking into deaths door. I mean you had the ghost, death was the next right option.

Before ghost could scold Widow a *HUMVEE pulled up. The only thing on everyone's mind was ' Widow got lucky this time'.

Squad 141 all stood in a line waiting for the new addition to the team. Altho it just looked like gaz, soap, and Ghost were the only ones in the line. Widow looked so small compared to all of them that they practically hide her by accident.

Price looked straight ahead as a very tall figure came out of the HUMVEE (High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle.). He had to duck down as to not hit his head, once he was fully out it was like looking at a big, but like a Big bear.

Price extended his hand to shake them with the tall man, after some small talk price turned around to face the group. " Alright everyone, this is könig. He will be with us from now on." The captain said.

Everyone started to introduce themselves " your' pretty tall ain't ya. Am soap, let's get along" soap stated. " nice to meet you." Gaz said shaking könig's hand.

König walked to the next person in line which should have been Widow, but he couldn't see her and so he walked to ghost.

Price notice it and walked a little closer, after a little while he finally realized what happened. " Gaz, Ghost please step aside your hiding Widow," he said shaking his head while taking a cigar out.

Ghost and Gaz looked to their side and realized that they in fact hide the small woman from view. " sorry Widow." Gaz said "sorry, kid," ghost said. As they finally move aside. " hello, am Widow. It's nice to meet you könig." Widow said almost shyly.

Widow extended her hand and Shook his hand. König and Widow had off the bat one thing in common nervousness and social anxiety around new people.

But after some small talk, widow would warm up to you, after getting to know you of course. Lastly, it was ghost's turn. Ghost shook his hand and said, " welcome to the unit".

After some time price spoke up " alright everyone get in the HUMVEE, will be going to the training site." Berugently everyone got into the viechle, price explained to könig what was going on. To which the tall man asked " hide &seek?" he asked confusedly. Hearing his voice for the first time gave you chills, not scared chills but a thrilled chill that just set a fire in you.

Gaz said it was widows idea and to be prepared for hell. " When it comes to this Exercise, widow doesn't hold back" price stated. After a comfortable silence, they finally made it to the training site.

" Widow can you explain how we play hide and seek" price said still smoking his cigar. "Okey. The way we play hide and seek is like a manhunt. Everyone has 10 mins to get a paintball gun and find a spot. After the 10 mins are up, I will get into possession. You have an hour and a half to find me before I snipe you all down. The last still standing or the first to kill me wins."

You said happily this is in fact your favorite training exercise. Ghost hates it because it hurts like a motherfucker, soap doesn't like it cuz it's hard to get the paint off. And as for gaz he quite enjoys the exercise. Except when he gets hit on the back of the head.

" alright get your weapons boys, " captain price said. He asked könig if he wanted to participate to which the man nodded, in response.

After everyone was set in their positions, captain price said that they had an extra 5 minutes. Widow was still looking for just the right gun, and she found it. A 468 PTR BLACK KING BOLT ACTION DMR SNIPER PAINTBALL GUN.

After the 5 minutes, Widow was ready for the hunt. " you ready kid." Asked price. You gave him a smile with a thumbs up 👍🏼. " yeah, it's demon time finna hut some bitches".

Being small had its ups and downs, but in this situation, it was your biggest advantage. So many hiding places, after surveying your surroundings you found the best place to hide.

A big tree had fallen and since it was surrounded by bushes the roots were well-covered. After making sure that no one was there you gave the word. The hunt was on and the boys now had an hour and a half to hunt you down.

After what felt like forever ( ten minutes or so 🙄) you spotted your right prey. Soap was surveying the area with his gun and reporting back. He was doing a good job, every sound had him looking around and making sure that it wasn't you.

Staying still as humanly possible you Held your breath, the closer he got the more your trigger finger inched. The need to pull the trigger was strong, like an addiction. You needed to wait for the right moment, 20 feet, 15 feet, 10 feet, 5 feet. Perfect -BANG- the sound of hitting your target dead center in the chest.

It was heavenly, Almost euphoric. Hearing cuz in his native language was all the better. " Sleekit, Bastart." ( sneaky bastard) the Scots man said. Then he yelled hit.

Now that your spot was given out you had to move, slowly walking deeper into the forest where the vines grow long and in numbers.

After stopping and crouching at the smallest sounds in fear of getting killed you come to a stop. Right in front of you was quite a beautiful site, a willow tree with low-hanging branches.

Perfect for climbing and most of all hiding, an Eagles eye view. After making sure the boys hadn't been there or around it you climb the tree.

From your communication earpiece, price spoke " first kill soap, 3 remain." Looking Throw your scope, checking to see your, next victim. You spotted Gaz and Ghost doing a swipe, könig nowhere to be seen.

Gaz was the clearest target after he moved from his hiding place from behind a tree. " just a lil closer, come on" you said under your breath. Gaz moved slightly to the right and at that moment you pulled the trigger.

"Well look who's getting sniped at the back of the head." You chuckled, watching as the said man got hit. You wanted to stand up and scream " I like your cut g" so badly but couldn't.

"Damn it" Gaz said angrily throwing his hands up and yelling hit. As you went to find the masked skull man, you found that he was living up to his name. Man's become a real ghost and ghosted you as fast as you pulled the trigger.

Now könig and Ghost were the last men standing. After what felt like forever searching for the tall guys you heard a Crunch from under you. You Stiffened, Your heart was beating fast and loud in your chest and ears. Ghost was under you looking around trying to find you.

You always wondered how such a tall man could move so fast without making the slightest noises. You felt like you were being hunted by a vicious beast, hoping he wouldn't look up you slowly pulled out your gun. Stopping every time he moved, you aligned your gun at him, put your finger on the trigger.

Just as you were about to pull the trigger he looked up, dead eyes looking straight at you. Your heart stopped and you thought that for a second you soul left your body.

He moved to bring his gun up at you, that snaped you out of your dice. Pulling the trigger and hitting him on the shoulder, your breathing was heavy. You felt so out of breath that you might get dizzy.

Ghost stared at you for a moment. Looking at the terrified look you had, he shoke his head and called out hit. " sorry for Scaring ya doll" he said to you.

Captain price called out again " 20 minutes left, last man standing is könig." He said.

You were still thinking that if this was a real battle Ghost would have slattered you without a second thought. You where so in your thoughts that you didn't notice könig under you.

You where sitting with your back the tree. Looking straigh ahead, only snaping out of it when you felt something on your leg.

Wide-eyed you looked straight into königs hooded eyes, before you could even grab your snipe. You were heading straight to the ground, landing back first. That shit hurt like a bitch.

König stood over you pulling his gun out, quickly getting on your feet. Slightly whining from the pain in your right foot.

You ran with your hand gun in hand, looking for a place to hide. But sadly the hope was short lived.

You looked behind you to see königs arm streched out a second later you where caught and on the ground.

The mountain of man Sat on top of you, Pining your arms above your head with his big hand. You tried to wiggle out but the more you struggle the tighter his while became.

He pulled his gun out and shot you in the stomach. You whined, the sound almost coming off erotic. Getting shot by a paintball close-range hurt like a motherfuckering bitch.

König let go of your hands and got off of you. With teary eyes and shaking hand, you pressed your earpiece " Am hit" you Stated.

Everyone back at the entrance was expecting you to loudly yell " I win ya old bitches. Kiss my ass " like you usually would. But instead, you called to admit your defeat.

You sounded out of breath and in pain. They waited for you and könig to come out.

König extended his hand out to you, you took it with a shaky smile. You stood up and König let go of your hand. The warmth of his hand on yours was immediately missed. König turned around to walk off, you took a step forward and began to fall. König turned around just in time to stop your face and the ground from having a meeting.

" Are you okay, Maus" (mouse) he asked. His voice was low and worried, it sounded like honey. You were starting to get addicted to his voice, only after meeting him hours ago.

You shook your head negatively, " I think I Sprain my ankle" you told him. "sorry" könig said. You told him that it was okay and that you had fun. You really did.

He said sorry again and He picked you up, carried you bridle-style. Your face was 50 shades of red, you felt like you could explode at any moment.

As he carried you, you sank deeper into his arms feeling his warm embrace comforting. Tho it was making you sleepy. As you came to the entrance ghost was the first to speak. "Widow, you okay?" Ghost asked looking at you in the tall man's arms.

You smiled and told him " yup, am Gucci. Just fucked up my ankle while running." You told the older man, while he stared daggers into poor könig. To which König nodded his head in agreement.

Ghost looked at you again and asked " ya sleepy?". Almost Immediately you responded with a yes. Everyone chuckled it was so like you to get sleepy when you finished a mission or any work. " yup totally Widow" was going around everyone's mind.

It was lights out immediately, "am gonna take a lil nap, night every...one " and just like that you fell asleep in königs arms.

Ghost looked at könig and told him "sorry mate, ya gonna have to carry her until we get to the base. She would kill ya if ya wake her up. In her word, she turns into an angry Grimling." Ghost walked off to the HUMVEE.

Soap patted the tall Man's back giving him a thumbs up " good luck" and off he was. Gaz only shook his head and told könig "come on, I'll get the door for ya".

König sat in the HUMVEE with an asleep Widow in his arms, she was holding him like a koala. As König looked down at her, he thought to himself " This isn't so bad." The tall man smiled under his hood, it was like heaven having her in his arms. And 141 was a nice addition to the whole deal.

"Sweet dreams, my little maus" könig whispered to the sleeping woman. Squad 141 was about to get interesting. A hyper Widow and the silent man könig, wonder how it all will turn out.

Ight am going back to hibernating until I wake up again. Peace out everyone 🫥✌🏽

[thestudentfarmer]

Nothing overly specific to post today aside from some rambles and a few pics of going on.

Rendered lard (5 total pints this week) and cut up the weeks worth of beef for the family

Also got into researching local beef farmers as that is next on our attempt to divest from what we want to see changed on the food system, it is definatly a rabbit hole of everything with that.

So far, for those curious where to start looking for places and people, so you can to remove yourself from big ag and cafo feed systems check out

🌱Craigslist and similar (Facebook too.) Be aware, you may need to know. Learn or be willing to help with or do the process of butcher, clean and process

🌱search engine, small grocers and local butcher shops.

🌱feed stores and occasionally pet/reptile stores. Feed stores will have a lot more localised or regional/state. Reptile stores has oddly been where I've made some egg sale/trade connections (I like to get crickets, worms and other insect goodies for my hens there)

🌱small scale fabric and sewing notion stores. Aside from finding sewers and other small crafter I've seen pig share flyers on a few boards.

🌱some cultural centers hold workshops or farmers markets.

I've not found a specific spot or place yet, but for now I'm looking to figure out what options would be best for us.

Not too much going on with the garden right now. Still been a bit to hot out to do much except maintain what I can (which as you can see, I'm not doing too well atm lol.)

I did some trimming of dead things this week, as well as a lot of grass pulling in the mint area. In the next month or so, there's intending to get some material to start planning extensions this coming winter/spring. As well as some stuff to be done in the back bit.

I did get around to 2 soap batches. This recipe is an almost castile style soap, which means it will take awhile to fully harden and cure.

This one's got ground oats and coffee grounds mixe din for an exfoliating, soothing bar.

We've got hummingbird friends regularly now, This makes 3 new species noticed in the last year.

The gila wood pecker, the peach cheeked lovebirds and now more than 1 hummingbird (this is the 3rd).

We've also had a hawk, bats, red breasted and gold breasted finches, collared doves to name a few regular visitors.

Don't worry, there is plans to add a birdbath or two as well as a few other sugar feeders for the hummers (though if the flower patch and herb expansion area works as we hope, that may not be necessary as it'll be a free flowering patch)

And I've been able to get into the office space and do some repairs on clothes and work on some jackets for the fall/winter. Thought I ahd zippers squirreled away that'd work, I do not. So for now it's a pause 😬

Well, that's it for me today, I've got some lawncare to do, and procrastinating won't get it done faster, lol

🌱✨️Happy homesteading and sustainable journeys✨️🌱

8.15.2024

[mysicklove]

Hi. That one user who replied to your post about proshipping is dead wrong. Full stop.

I’d suggest going onto Fanlore (a creditable source!) and researching for yourself, but I’d also like to help explain.

Proship means you’re in favor of shipping. Like how people are pro-choice, or pro-life, or pro-gun. The pro- in proship is NOT short for, and does NOT stand for, problematic. Otherwise pro-choice would be problematic-choice and that doesn’t make sense? Pro- as in for. For the right to choose. Vs anti. Anti-abortion. Anti-gun. Anti-ship.

Proship means “ship and let ship.” It means you don’t harass other people for liking things different to you because everyone is different and has different likes and dislikes. Maybe you like fluff (for example) but someone else likes angst. You may not understand why they do, but it’s just as valid as your love for fluff. Or like A likes pineapple on pizza but you like pepperoni. Or I like cilantro but you think it tastes like soap. Fandom is a big pizza party and we all have things we like and things we don’t. That includes age gap ships, toxicity, rape/non-con, incest, violence, what have you.

When you judge someone for what they like (like that person, who can’t even type out what they despise) you open yourself up for judgement. Proship... doesn’t do that. If you like X and I don’t like X, that has nothing to do with me. You can like X and I can like Y and we can still get along because there’s more to us as individuals than just liking one thing. Antis/antishippers don’t seem to understand that.

Antis think you are what you eat (“oh you like age gap? You pedo. You groomer! Ew you like yandere? Abuse apologist—no I don’t care if you survived that, you’re still bad for liking it. You like non-con? You’re a literal rapist, even if you’ve never touched anyone or are a survivor. You like incest? Again, don’t care if you survived it but I bet you wanna fuck your IRL sister too, huh? You freak! KYS!”) because they attach morals to their consumption of fiction. But the funny thing is liking only wholesome shit hasn’t made them any nicer. It just makes them feel morally superior.

It’s worth noting proship was the default stance in fandom. People shipped what they liked and didn’t care what others did because it had nothing to do with them. If you found something weird and it made you uncomfortable, you just closed the tab. Hit the back button. And that’s what proship is. Proship is also tagging properly so if people do have problems with certain subjects, they don’t have to see it. If I can’t stand rape/non-con, for example, I’m not going to click on a fic tagged “rape/non-con” if I even see it because I know it’ll only hurt me. But a work tagged r*pe/n0n-c0n won’t be filtered out so I will see it and it’ll hurt me because the author thought they were helping by censoring but they didn’t.

Again, please please please do research. Don’t just take the word of a stranger who throws emotionally-charged buzzwords to sway you into their favor. Please. And that goes for this ask too. If you don’t believe or want to believe me, I implore you to do your research and decide for yourself.

Thanks for your time!

oh wow, thank you for putting the time to respond to my post I appreciate it. I'm not going to add my take on it, but i will do some research on it. but thank u love!!

[appleciderp]

I'm gonna go in the zodiacs for this because even if I don't believe them IRL, I 100% enjoy assigning them to characters!!

I'm not gonna be going into birth years (especially for the 141 since I did a bunch of research already.) This is by vibes alone.

Soap being 1996 is correct for me. Early June (before the 20th) would make him a Gemini, and Late September (after the 23rd) would make him a Libra. Either way, it makes him an Air sign, which isn't the worst option for him. Air signs are perceived as social, witty, and smart. Geminis are often perceived as spontaneous and funny but impractical and careless, while Libras are friendly and childish they can be quite vain.

Personally, I find a fire sign would be a better fit. Fire signs are seen as brave, confident, and artistic. Aries would be the best fit IMHO, with them being known as outgoing and loyal, but quick-tempered and impulsive. So I'd put his birthday as the end of March, or early April 1996. According to studies, there is actually an effect of what season you're born in some sort of temperament you may have. Spring babies have increased odds of having hyperthymic tendencies. Read that and tell me that isn't Soap.

Gaz, again you've got the birth year in the range I find fits best! Slightly older than Soap, but not by much. I don't think Capricorn fits him well personally, so I'm scrapping the end of December. Early December would make him a Saggitarius who are thought to be optimistic and intellectual but can be a bit reckless and impatient. Early March would be my favorite for Gaz, which would make him Pisces, which are sensible, easy-going, imaginative, intuitive, sensitive, and selfless but tend to be too idealistic, secretive, and slightly weak-willed

Ghost, you do headcanon him a bit younger, but idgaf tbh. His age is so up there that I whipped the number out of my ass.

So for October, you've got Libra or Scorpio. I'm immediately taking Libra out of the running, he ain't a libra. I was considering keeping Scorpio, but they're far too emotional for Ghost. April you've got Aries and Taurus. Again, whipping out the Aries, it's not for Ghost. I'm putting Taurus on the top of my list though! May has Taurus (again) and Gemini. Again, Gemini ain't it.

Taurus is where we go. Taurus' are thought to be persistent, patient, and reliable while being possessive, stubborn, and holders of grudges.

Him being an earth sign just makes sense to me, they're hard-working and dependable. Plus being Fixed means he likes doing what he knows works. So I'm fully on board with him being born sometime between the end of May to the start of June.

Price, so you didn't give me much to work with. I'm dead set on him being a Cardinal sign though. Cardinals are thought to be good leaders and like a challenge. So that puts us to Aries, Libra, Capricorn, or Cancer. Which, funnily enough, each of them ends in the months you specified you didn't see him being born in.

I'm removing Aries due to me being dead-set Soap is an Aries. And the more I think about it, he def needs to be an Earth sign. So Capricorn it is.

Capricorns are practical, ambitious, humorous, and patient while still holding on to that Earth sign stubbornness, plus they can also be a bit pessimistic. So we're talking end of December baby for him.

Alejandro being between August and September would make him either Leo, Virgo, or Libra. I'm going to discard Libra and Virgo since Leo fits him better.

Leo's are a Fire sign that are faithful, broad-minded, dominant, and idealistic while being bossy, patronizing, and dogmatic.

Rudy being in late March or early April would make him Aries, which ain't the vibe for me. February on the other hand would make him an Aquarius or Pisces, which would fit much better.

Aquarius are humanitarians, loyal, inventive, and honest. but can be a bit detached and contrary. Pisces is in more detail on Gaz's

So I personally feel Rudy could be either-or, so anytime in September is fine for me.

(I also peeped at compatibility charts, and Aquarius and Leo are frequently scored high together)

Graves, January would make him either Capricorn or Aquarius. His ambition def makes him a Cardinal sign, so he def has to be a Capricorn. All the same info as Price.

Roach being May, July, or November would make him either Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Scorpio, or Sagittarius. I'm gonna remove the ones we already have since I don't see Roach as similar to anybody we've done yet. Which leaves us at Gemini, Cancer, and Scorpio.

Gemini I already went over in Soap's paragraph; it fits okay, but we can do better. So we're sticking with either water sign. Cancers are emotional, intuitive, protective, and shrewd, but moody, overemotional, and clingy. Scorpios are inventive, passionate, and determined, but jealous, compulsive, and secretive.

Personally, I see him more as a November Scorpio, so start of November for me :)

Okay, I slept less than 4 hours last night and none this night, so I'm getting kinda sleep deprived, so I decided I'm gonna share some personal headcanons about the birth dates of the boys!

It's a bit long but not that long, I just put it behind a read more so people who don't care can pass it more quickly 😊

I'm going only by feeling, it's also got nothing to do with the horoscope bc I have personal beef with it but anyway feel free to tell me if something makes sense anyway, I'm still really curious despite my grievances (I'm being dramatic for fun btw, my beef with the zodiac is not that bad)

Anyway, I feel like Soap is a June 1996 baby, because he's sunny, so a warmer month, not overbearing tho because he's soft, so not summer, so that leaves either early June or late September and I feel like June is hope and September is not, so June it is.

Gaz I feel like is a winter child, but not a cold one, so either December 1995 or March 1996, the years are because I think he's older than Soap but not by more than 6 months, which he still lords over his head.

Ghost is harder because he is shaped by his trauma and it does not represent who he might have been if he hadn't gone through all that. But I think he's a softer month, so no winter or summer, March and November are too cold still, but September and June are too warm so I think either October or April or May 1991.

I have no idea for Price tho, I feel like he could fit any month, cause he's protective and possessive enough for winter, hot headed and brave like summer, warm and nice like spring and headstrong and cold blooded enough for autumn... The only months I can't see for him are January, April, July and October but the rest are fair game...

I dunno the year, I think he's between 38 and 45 years old tho.

Alejandro strikes me as either August or September... It's this late summer nostalgy vibe of looking at the stars at 22:00, being sad that it's been night since 21:00 when just a few weeks ago the sun was still out, but the weather is still comforting and you can hear the ocean.

Rudy I think gives off soft but sad, so I'm gonna go with maybe late winter early spring? Or February, maybe... Mmh no maybe not... Oooh maybe late March or early April actually, he gives sudden harsh rains that stop immediately, with hot chocolate and cookies and flowers and puddles outside, and hugs.

I think both Ale and Rudy are around Ghost's age, like early thirties, they're the same year but Rudy is older.

I think Graves is a January if anyone wants to know, because he's a bitch and I don't like him (sorry for anyone reading this who was born in January, I'm sure it's not your fault /j) I also think he's late thirties, but maybe he just looks old because he's a terrible person.

I think Roach is either May, July or November because he gives "nothing can kill me until it does" and I think it applies best to those months. I think he's either 1992, 1993 or 1994, not younger not older.

If you want to put anyone else through my compleeeetely unbiased and true feelings (lmao) don't hesitate to tell me, be aware tho that I don't know the multiplayer characters beyond the few tiktoks I see.

If you agree or disagree please go ahead I love when people do tho I fear my only arguments is 'my brain associates feelings with months based on my personal experiences and memories and feelings, which wouldn't apply to another part of France, let alone another country, so I completely understand that you have completely different feelings' which honestly wouldn't make me win a debate, sadly, but thankfully I'm not competitive.

[gingersnap2010]

Yandere Platonic Lelouch x male Autistic! Kid! reader (Code Geass)

Name: Lelouch

Type: Platonic, Protective, Possessive, Delusional, Obsessive, and Controlling

Nickname: Name, possum, chaos in the flesh, and lord of discord

 Lelouch at first has no idea what to make of you. He probably meets you at one of Nunnally’s special classes. He’s shocked to discover your just a kid. Though with your needs it makes sense why you were here since Nunnally attending special classes for people who need it had greatly increased. 

 When he finds out you are autistic, he isn’t very sure what that means. He literally has to ask more than a dozen people, before researching it online himself.

 Eventually, you come over with Nunnally for dinner and he gets to see your quirks in action. You eat out of a compartment box, which has the correct amount of portions you can handle. You hate veggies with a firey passion, more so than his hatred towards his father. You proceeded to tell him your conspiracy theory on the veggie industry and how they will take over the world. 

He pretended to be interested even though he had absolutely no idea what you were even saying to him at the rate you were going. He learned you talk fast and loud when excited. Personal space is a word that is not in your vocabulary, also privacy.

You are very blunt and see the world bluntly, if Nunnally needs help getting into her nightgown. You offer with absolutely no intentions of doing anything funny with her. It makes sense for your age but with sex questions well…

He’s worried that no one has told you about how babies are made. Only to be proven wrong with your very open discussion on the topic. He learns you like being prepared for future events, your boldness of sex. Is a copping measure to make sure you don’t do sex wrong.

 He finds it endearing in a strange way.  Though you couldn’t discuss sex so often, then again you were one to discuss open issues in society so he doesn’t mind. Though he does keep ohgi the hell away from you!

However you have no table skills, you use sporks only, with the occasional spoon for deserts /cereals, and soups and a knife for meats. You have a variety of strange interests. You know more about zero than the average joe, which makes him sweat like you wouldn’t believe. 

Then there’s your animal hobby, you just love possums hence the nickname. He actually learns more about the animal than he used to because of you. Then there's the time you spout some random ass animal fact out of the blue and it catches him off guard. 

“ Hey lelouch! Kangaroos pause their pregnancies in times of drought! Isn’t that neat?!” you yelled rushing into his bathroom as he was getting out of the shower.

Cue him being perplexed as to why you are there and then you follow up

“ also there’s soap on your-” he cuts you off before you announce it to Nunnally

“ ah I see thanks name! Got it!”

“Also Nunnally says hi!” you chirp

“ hi back!” Lelouch yelled trying to cover himself 

Then there was the whole fancy dinner incident. Truthfully he should have told Milly you wouldn’t understand caviar.

” Where are the nuggets?”

“ name this is a fancy restaurant they don’t have chicken nuggets,” Lelouch whispered

“ macaroni?” you ask

“ no,” Suzaku said eyeing you 

“ Is there a kid's menu?!” you shout at the waiter, who turns confused

“ oh my god……” Milly groaned

“ Can we go to Mcdonald's?” you ask

Lelouch smacked his head on the table.

He  becomes your dad, without realizing it. He’s like Mr. mom, seriously he figures out a schedule for you after he convinces your guardian to let you move in. May have used his geass for that. 

Your social skills are zero to none, and so, is the perception of volume.

“ HEY LELOUCH!!!! NINTENDO!!!!” you scream happily pointing to a  pokemon manga

“ name!! shush we’re in a library!” Lelouch hissed 

 When you get hurt or sent to an area he’s gonna wreak havoc on, that's when yandere mode goes on full. He keeps you locked up after that. He feels a bit guilty but he may use your trust in him, to make you stay away from the television if he’s not there, and so on. But it’s honestly for your own good. 

He goes permanently after a bullying situation at school where someone calls you a retard after you did not understand something. He was livid at the person and has a smile the next day when they are found dead. 

This is a good display of his protectiveness, his delusion is in the thinking you are like Nunnally who he perceives is made out of glass. So instead of helping you in a way that would let you become more independent, he caters to your needs.  

  Don’t like watching movies if there's a sad moment in it? Perfect he’ll set up animal documentaries, and animal learning shows instead.  Or craft shows, you name something g rated he’s got it hooked up to the tv. C.C. is like a mum to you so he sees you often cuddling up to her. It makes him jealous, though when you cuddle him he gets flustered easily. He’s shy about hugs sometimes.

C.C. basically gets you stuff to keep busy with, she also teaches you about the history she had experienced. So your understanding of history greatly improves, and you learn a few more languages. She also is great to teach you anything since she is patient and mellow, and has also learned various teaching methods over the years. 

So while your skills don’t improve with people, academically you skyrocket. You're able to get your point across faster with higher-thinking words. Such as parched, instead of thirsty, and so on. It helps you fit in with the higger standing kids when you do go outside so that’s a plus.

  Lelouch calls you chaos in the flesh after the tube city incident in the club room, your idea which you somehow convinced Milly of. Then again she’s had outlandish ideas too. Was to make a giant system of tubes for hamsters. Then set them loose across the school as animal enthusiasm and awareness. 

  You also drench yourself in paint and tried to paint with your body. So yeah, chaos in the flesh. He calls you the lord of discord for the poker game incident that drove him and Suzaku up the wall. When they learned you had somehow been playing with Uno cards. Then said Yahtzee at the end. Truth be told he should have guessed that smile did not seem to get the point of the game. 

C.C. then congratulated you on the discord you created. Hence the nickname.

 You also hog the blanket, yeah you sleep in his bed. You have trouble sleeping alone. Your mind at night tells you that if someone is there they will protect you from whatever monster may come after you. You are not wrong in his case, but the point still stands. Every night you also sleep walk so he has put up baby gates and extra walls, in order to prevent you from getting hurt.

 When he becomes king, he’s hesitant about how you’ll take his death. Since you seem not to deal with the concept very well. So he may tell you he’s gonna be back. This is before he knows he's got code. You also like stealing his hat and sitting on the throne with your favorite drink and people watch. It spooks the guards that’s for sure. 

 You also like playing with the limo’s buttons. Much to the annoyance of the driver. Your favorite thing to do though is to sneak under his robes without him knowing then pop your head threw them scarring him every single time!

You also take a fancy to watch sleeping beauty. He’s not sure why though….

When’s he back with memories and code, you launch yourself at him before kola hugs him. He’s trapped by you and knows it. It takes bribing from Suzaku before you even consider letting go. You watch him like a hawk since he was gone for so long. 

  Lelouch sighs and lets you lay on him as he walks with C.C. to their next location. Yeah, he’d figured out how to keep you with him, so you ain’t dying anytime soon. When you ask what the funny tattoo is for, Lelouch just tells you it’s like a bracelet.

C.C Has dubbed you The Jelly bean of absolute Mayhem. You like it cause it makes you sound powerful, as you try to imitate what Lelouch does with his eyes. Lelouch just sweats in confusion when he sees you trying to act all threatening. 

He tried teaching you chess once, and he watched in horror as you ate the pieces. C.C. learns you are more of a tic-tac-toe person. You do it in the dirt with a tree branch you found.  The most recent incident was when you managed to find a possum and wanted to keep it. It liked you, but it hissed at Lelouch with fiery hatred! The possum had to go, but he got you a plushie which you dubbed mrs. possum.

All in all, not the worst yandere…. right?

[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.

[mysoftboybensolo]

Wash Away Loneliness

A/N: Ok, no one asked for it, but between after writing my fic and seeing people talking about Tonda, specifically his hygiene, I wanted to write a cute fic about it. This is within the world of my previous fic “The Princess and the Miller”, which the link for that is below, this is a moment within that story. Also, I did my research on Middle Ages/Medieval hygiene, so I like to think that I am pretty accurate with my descriptions. Also also, Tonda has better hygiene in this universe, so no UTI’s to be had from him.

Pairing: Tonda x Fem! Reader. No Y/N.

Link: https://mysoftboybensolo.tumblr.com/post/655989802674651136/the-princess-and-the-miller#notes

Warnings: Alternate Universe, medieval hygiene is different from ours, accidental voyeurism. some angst but if you know my previous story, it’s not so bad.

It had been a few days since you had been rescued by Tonda, and you realized that you desperately needed a bath. Not only was your dress torn and covered in mud and blood, but so was your body; your legs were stained of a terrible muddy red color, and your hair was sticky and dry from the blood and you just couldn’t stand it. Not only were books and dresses in your trunk, but your toiletries, and sigh when you see them. Now, just to get to a tub. But where is it?

Tonda comes in from doing his chores to drop off logs for the fire when you stopped him. “Tonda, I was hoping to take a bath. Do you have a tub?”

Tonda opened his mouth as if to answer but then he stopped short. “Oh, I almost forgot. I do have one, but, just before you came, I lent it to Adolfus, he lives in the village. But there is a lake nearby, you can bathe there.”

You look at him with uncertainty. “You mean, out in the open?”

Realizing your discomfort, he says, “No one hardly ever comes here, and I can stand guard, if you like. I’ll sit behind a tree and you’ll have the privacy you desire.” Seeing that you had no choice, and desperate to feel clean again, you agree. Once you are ready, Tonda carefully picks you up and carries you to the lake.

He sets you down at the shore and true to his word, he picks up his staff and moves to sit behind a tree, allowing you the privacy he promised. Opening the bundle you had made from the towel he gave you, you pulled out your brush, comb, soaps, and your new dress then set it neatly on the rock. Unlacing your old torn gown, you toss it aside and carefully slip into the water. The feeling of the lukewarm water felt wonderful and you couldn’t help but to sigh contently, it even helped to ease the pain in your ankle.

Tonda looked ahead of him, his staff laid across his lap and stayed very still. He didn’t expect to feel quite shy and uncertain, and he didn’t dare do anything lest should he invade your privacy. The thought of you being so close and without clothes made him feel small, and when he saw that your torn dress was tossed away landing close to him, his cheeks grew red. Turning away to land his focus on something else, he noticed your little arrangement and didn’t recognize two funny looking items. “What is that? Those funny blocks?”

“Soap. You haven’t seen soap before?” you ask from the water.

“No,” he shook his head, “Well, not like that. Madam Jutte has soap for her clothes, but it’s a powder kind. What is this for?” He picks up one, observing it.

“One is for the body and the other for the hair.”

“There’s a difference?” He questions, taking a sniff. “Hmmm, smells nice.” It was true, it smelled like bergamot and chamomile, and he takes another long inhale.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the other soap to wash your hair. “My father was introduced to them when the crusaders returned from the east, and since I had time on my hands, I learned how to make soap. These ones are of my own making.” You watch as the soap lather slide down your body and the white mixed with the dry blood, swim down the stream. Feeling that your hair was properly cleaned and rinsed, you set that soap aside and held your hand out with your back to him. “Tonda, may I have my soap back?”

He apologizes and hands it to you, but what you didn’t know was that when he did, he had accidentally caught a peek of your bare back and the slight curve of your breast. He quickly pulled back to the tree, his heart beating furiously, both from the allure of you and the shame of having broken his promise. He didn’t mean to, honest, he’d never betray your trust, but here he was thinking of the image, of your smooth back, the hint of a supple breast and this filled him with utter shame. It was in this moment that made him realize just how little female company he had kept since his mother’s death. Oh Lord, what would his mother think of him now?

You went on to bathe yourself without knowing of Tonda’s dilemma, and once you felt certain that you were cleaned, you managed to get to the rock and wrap yourself in a towel, brushing out whatever knots you had, then dried off as much as you could before you put on the dress one of the women had given you. Lacing it up, you call for Tonda, who you noticed didn’t look you in the eyes, but you assumed it was because he was still respecting your privacy still, and carried you back to the mill and in your bed, then returned back to his work silently.

The next day, Adolfus had returned the wooden tub and in time too. Later in the day, Tonda had returned from his work in the mill and was ready to sit for supper when you couldn’t help but smell his hard day’s work on him. You wanted to say something, but you felt guilty when he looked so tired and surely deserved his meal, but the stench was so awful. And you knew that Tonda did know how to keep clean; you saw him clean his teeth every night with his linen and paste and he washed his hands before eating, but this was difficult for you to bear.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing your not eating, “Is the food not good?”

“Um, no, I mean, the food is wonderful, thank you. But,” you hesitate for a moment then at last say, “I’m sorry Tonda, but you smell. I know that you want nothing more than to enjoy your meal, but how can you stand to sit and eat when you have dirt, sweat and powder all over you? I can’t imagine it feels good to sit and eat while all of that is on you.” You blurt out, feeling ashamed once it was out.

The look on his face a mix of emotions; confusion, followed by shame, then acceptance. “I-I hadn’t realized that I had. Please forgive me, my princess.”

“Oh, no, forgive me, Tonda. It wasn’t every kind of me to say it, and I should have waited at least until you were finished.”

“No, you are right. It is very impolite to eat with someone in this manner. I’ll, um, I’ll eat over here, then afterwards, I’ll get clean.”

Your heart broke to see him slink off to the far corner of the room to eat in silence, and you ate in silence too, uncertain of what you could say to make it better. Your eyes fall on the tub and, remembering how intrigued he was by your soap, will offer them for him to try, perhaps that will make him feel better.

You present the idea to Tonda, even offering to help him, hoping that he’d see how sorry you were. His smile was wide and bright, becoming excited at the idea of trying your soaps. As soon as he finished, he went to the well to fill the tub as you finished your meal and took out your soaps. Then, it hit you. He’d have to get undressed.

“I’ll turn away until you get into the tub,” you say when he returns and finished filling the tub. Rolling over, you wait until you hear the soft splash of water of him getting settled, then carefully, you limp over to take a chair and settle it to be at the back of Tonda’s head. “Now, get good and wet, then I’ll get to work on your hair.”

He did as you asked and you handed him the body soap and explained to him how to scrub it all over him, and while he does that, you worked on his hair, which was heavy with dust and sweat. You advise him on how to use the soap and how to truly get a good clean. “Once you see it lather, then you know it’s working. And take your time with it, cleanliness is next to godliness, as my nanny always told me.”

He listens to your advise and follows it to the note, silent as he washes himself. “I’m sorry that I didn’t wash before eating,” he says at last, “I suppose, I haven’t been used to having anyone around to care about how I smell or look, so when you said it, it took me by surprise.”

“How long have you been here alone?”

He thought for a moment, then replied, “Well, Mama died when I was twelve and then Papa died when I was fifteen. When he died, that was when I began to live on my own.”

You stop your lathering and asked, “Tonda, how old are you?”

“I turned thirty-one last month.”

Doing the math in your head, you gasp at your results. “Tonda, do you realize that you have been living on your on, all by yourself, for sixteen years?” No wonder he didn’t know what to do around other people, because he hadn’t been around other people ever since he was a child!

Tonda thought of it for a moment and he paused his own washing when he really understood what you said. “Oh, that is a long time.”

“It is a very long time,” you remark going back to washing his hair, “To be without people. Well, I suppose some people can do without human contact, but, I can’t. I’m afraid I need people too much, at least a someone.”

“It’s not all bad,” Tonda says, “It’s so beautiful up here, and being away from the village, you get to truly see the world come alive. The soft dewy mornings where the sun rises and animals wake, the stillness of evening where crickets chirp and the stars are so bright. But, it does get lonely, more often than not, I find. I once thought of leaving here to live in the village, but I couldn’t do it. This place is all that is left of my parents, it’s my whole life, and I don’t want to forget it.”

You listen to him and his words touch you deeply. “I know what you mean, about being alone. It’s funny, everyone thinks that living in a castle must be nice, so much space, so much to do, but, that space makes you feel small. It may have had people in it, family, servants, it still felt as if I walked those halls by myself. Being alone with no one around is kinder than being alone with people, because the latter makes you think, if I disappear now, will anyone notice? Will anyone care?”

Tonda turns in the tub to look at you, forcing you to stop your work. “Maybe we were meant to meet,” he suggests, “Even if it will be for a moment in our lives, for two souls to wash away loneliness. A comforting memory for us to carry for the rest of our lives.”

You smile, “I like that thought. Thank you.” You set the soap down then teasingly look down at him. “Take a deep breath,” you warn before you set your hands on the top of his head and dunk him under the water. When he comes back up, you see him smile as you smooth out the hair to prevent it getting into his eyes. Certain that he is rinsed off, you reach over for the towel and with your eyes averted, hold the large towel up for him to properly get out and wrap himself completely. 

He sighs contently, “Thank you, I really needed that. What other advise do you have to offer?”

“Well, I’d say that if you are ever this dirty again to give yourself a bath before settling down for the evening. And do not put your dirty clothes back on again, otherwise, it’ll make the work you took to get clean pointless. I tend to take a bath once a week to keep myself clean.”

He looks at you amazed. “Once a week?” He once heard the village doctor say that the necessary bathing should only occur once a year, but then again, the doctor did have the grubbiest hands Tonda had ever seen, so he had to question the doctor’s assertion.

“Yes. Trust me, not only will it make you feel better, but people will notice in a good way. It’d be a shame if you had fleas or lice in your hair,” you say, running your hands through his wet waves, “It’s such nice hair, you need to care for it properly.”

Once again, Tonda feels his cheeks grow warm, the feeling of your hands going through his hair, fingers grazing against his cheeks, it was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. He pulls away from your caresses, making the excuse to change into clothes, but he really had to get away from you, for if you continued to touch him, he thought he’d might burst. 

You are pleased to see him taking your advice, choosing his once a week day to bathe be Sundays, as it was the day of rest and he won’t do any heavy duty work. On one Sunday after bathing, he did go into the village to drop off a delivery when Adolfus leaned in and sniffed him. “Is that you?” Tonda nodded, watching as Adolfus sniffed again. “You smell good. What did you use?”

“Soap.”

“Madam Jutte’s clothes soap?”

“No, body soap.” He explains how you had soap and lent them to him, carefully withholding just how it was you were introduced to the soap in the first place.

“Oh, so she’s a soap maker!” Tonda says yes, which wasn’t exactly a lie, since you did tell him you made these soaps. “I wonder if she’ll make some for us when she gets better. No doubt it’d be a great business venture for her here.”

“I don't think she’ll stay long. Once she is better, she’ll want to leave.” For some reason, this thought bothers him, so much so that even speaking the words leaves him with a twist in his stomach. He leaves Adolfus alone to return back to his mill, but he really wants a moment alone. The thought if you leaving, that once he takes you to your betrothed, he’ll be back to being alone, and it kills him to think to go back to his silent solitude alone, to be without you.

In this moment, Tonda realizes he is in love with you. You, you who leant him your soaps, who touched him tenderly and was teaching him to read and write, filled the empty air with poetry and laughter. The feelings come for him all at once; he loves you, grateful you entered his life, but then anger towards you, how dare you come into his life, fill his life with beauty and love only to leave him and most likely forget him. He cries, throws rocks across the empty fields, only to fall to his knees, face buried in his hands and to brokenly say, “I love you” to no one to hear.

Once the tears subside, he wipes his eyes and sighs. No, he should not curse you or be angry at you. His feelings are his own, you owed him nothing, And he should have known better, you are a princess, he a mere miller, even if you dared to return his love, it would never be, for you are meant for another. When the moment comes and someone looks for you, ready to take you away from him, he will let you go full of love and gratefulness. He must teach himself to be ready for that day, to hitch his horse and take you to the kingdom when you are better and watch you walk from him, leaving him to return back to his mill, with nothing but the memories of you. 

You notice nothing different in Tonda when he returns, for he smiles at you, looks at you with tenderness and carries on as he had before. You don’t know that he is aching inside, is trying to take in every moment with you and making it count, for it could be his last.

Thankfully, the day will never come when he has to lose you. Instead he gets to forever hold you, keep you, to love and be loved by you, the princess of his heart.

Tagging those who I think would be interested: @monsieurbruhl, @creme-bruhlee, @bruehl, @neonheart1244, @justfangirlthingies, @git-it-got-it-good, @daniel-bruhhl, @cazzyimagines​, @scuttle-buttle​. 

[johaerys-writes]

Words Are Futile Devices

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/David Trevelyan

Summary: 

The last thing Dorian expected when he came to the South was to find love. In fact, he had entirely given up on the notion. Yet, when the gentle, shy and enigmatic Inquisitor Trevelyan came into his life, things started to change.

A (very belated) birthday gift fic for my dear friend @tessa1972 featuring Dorian and her OC David Trevelyan! 

Read here or on AO3!

A full, silver moon hung over the Frostback’s snowy peaks. Skyhold, for once, was quiet.

Dorian leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes between forefinger and thumb. It had been a long day; and an even longer evening, though he had hardly realised where the time had gone. He had spent most of it studying in the library, indexing books and codexes, helping the new apprentices find their way around. They kept streaming into Skyhold from all corners of Ferelden, and sooner or later they all came to him, asking him this and that, about the library and the hold and where everything could be found.

It was troublesome, certainly —Dorian had never sought to become the Skyhold library’s archivist— yet he found himself oddly drawn to the role. It wasn’t too different from what he used to do in the Minrathous library, where throngs of students from the university would follow him around to ask for his help on their research, or his opinion on various manuscripts. He had never admitted it outright, but he’d missed that sort of life; besides, being asked for help was much preferable to being overlooked and sneered at, which had, sadly, been the case for most of his stay in the South.

He tsked softly, letting the book he’d been reading fall closed. That Southerners could hardly appreciate genius even when it hit them straight in the face was no secret to anyone, yet it gave him a tiny bit of satisfaction to see that the tide was shifting, even a little.

The library was thoroughly empty at that hour, and the wick of the oil lamp above his desk was sputtering softly, close to dying out. It was the only sound in the Tower that could be heard, other than the soft cooing of Leliana’s crows overhead. Dorian stood up slowly and lifted his arms over his head, stretched his sore spine. Skyhold’s desk chairs were far less than comfortable, and his back was certainly not thanking him for it.

He was just about to leave when he noticed the bundle of books that he had gathered earlier that day, and left on the plush purple armchair close to the window. His stomach dropped somewhat.

It was Helisma that had informed him that the Inquisitor had been to the library the day before, searching for books on wyverns and dracolisks. He had left before Dorian had even arrived to his desk empty handed and hadn’t said another word to anyone.

When Dorian had teasingly suggested to Helisma that perhaps the poor man had been so confused by her archiving system that he decided never to step foot in a library ever again in his life, the Tranquil had given him one of her blank looks that somehow managed to speak volumes about what she thought of him and his observations.

Dorian sighed. The books were definitely on the heavy side when he picked them up, but he didn’t train every morning for an hour for nothing. He secured them under his arm, and, after putting the oil lamp out, silently walked out of the library.

Every step that took him through the largely quiet throne room, and closer to the Inquisitor’s quarters, made his heart sink deeper, ad deeper into his stomach. By the time he was standing outside his door —a rather plain, wooden one, considering that behind it lay the largest of all rooms in the hold— Dorian thought his heart would slink out of his ribcage and slither into his boots.

He took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” the Inquisitor’s smooth voice sounded from behind the polished wood.

“Good evening, my dear Inquisitor,” Dorian said with a wide smile that little belied his nervousness. If anyone was good at hiding his feelings, then that someone was none other than Dorian Pavus of Minrathous. “Or shall I say good night? It is rather late.”

“That it is.” Inquisitor Trevelyan was sitting behind his large mahogany desk, half hidden behind a high stack of papers and scrolls. A merry fire was going in the hearth, filling the space with warmth and shifting amber light. It caught in the highlights of Trevelyan’s chestnut hair, his soft violet eyes. He seemed more than a little tired, the corners of his eyes tinged with red, but there was a gentle smile on his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dorian stood at the threshold for a moment, admiring the space. Though he had never found himself in the Inquisitor’s quarters before, he had heard lots about it. The rumours did it no justice. It was wide and spacious, if on the colder side, with plush rugs lining the floor and expensive furniture lining its corners. It was rather obvious that Ambassador Josephine had spared no coin when it came to their leader’s accommodations.

Said leader was certainly a more than impressive man. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with impeccable manners and a gentle disposition. He had stood up from his chair at Dorian’s arrival and was gazing at him calmly. He seemed perfectly at ease, if a little uptight, yet Dorian couldn’t help the feeling that the grandeur of his quarters made him seem a little… out of place.

He wasn’t quite sure why the thought made a wave of sympathy rush through him. Perhaps because he deeply understood the sentiment.

“A little birdie told me that you visited the library yesterday in search of books, yet you walked out mysteriously empty handed.” He confidently strolled into the room, setting the heavy bundle of leather bound tomes on the low coffee table before the hearth. “Naturally, I had to make sure that our humble library did not disappoint you. I would take that as a personal affront, you know.”

Trevelyan blinked at him, a lovely blush creeping up his cheeks. It was bright and rosy and warmed up his features, and when a soft, nervous smile graced his lips, Dorian felt the ghost touch of them against his own.

Maker, it felt like a lifetime ago, when Dorian had last touched those lips. In reality, it couldn’t have been longer than a fortnight.

“I am setting out for the Exalted Plains in a week, and one of Leliana’s scouts reported sightings of dracolisks in the Ferns. I wanted to be prepared, should our party come into contact with them. I searched for an hour but I couldn’t find—” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his blush getting a deeper, more vibrant red. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you. If I did, I apologise.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, never you mind all that,” Dorian said with laugh and waved his concerns away, though he wouldn’t have minded letting the man go on for a little while longer, just to watch that flush make its way down to his graceful neck, his pretty ears that were hiding underneath lustrous locks of warm brown. “It only took me a few minutes. I couldn’t well leave our precious Inquisitor walk into the wilderness without detailed knowledge of wyvern mating cycles. You know what they say: a thorough education is the best weapon for any situation.”

The Inquisitor laughed, shaking his head softly. “I believe you are quite right. My father used to tell me something of the sort; though I believe he was referring to an education of a different kind.” He threaded his fingers through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “I… thank you, Dorian.”

Dorian was momentarily distracted by the sight of those long, slender fingers, the grace of their movements. He suddenly wanted to walk up to him, thread his own fingers through those locks. He could almost remember their smell— lavender and soap, the sweet musk of his skin. He swallowed thickly.

“Whatever for, Inquisitor?” he said with an easy, practiced smile. “It was no bother, I assure you; the whole search was done and over with in a minute.”

“I believe you. Still… you have my thanks. Just for thinking of me.” Trevelyan’s lips widened in that soft, infuriatingly warm smile again, and it was Dorian’s turn to feel a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It is much appreciated.”

The fire crackling in the hearth and the wind sweeping over the Frostbacks' peaks beyond the wide windows were the only sound for a long moment as they both gazed at each other. It seemed as if they were looking at each other across a great gulf; so near, and yet so far.

It was Dorian that tore his eyes away, as always. He wasn’t quite sure what he would be compelled to do, if he continued to stare into the face he had spent days thinking about, dreaming of, longing for.

“I see you are quite busy,” Dorian said, gesturing towards the high stack of documents on the mahogany desk. “I should probably leave you to it.”

He smiled and bowed his head respectfully, turning to leave. The tail of his silk coat fluttered with the motion, the light of the fire catching amidst the folds of the fabric. If there was something that Dorian was good at, then that was a dramatic entrance, and an even more dramatic departure.

His hand was almost on the door handle, when Trevelyan’s smooth voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Dorian glanced at him over his shoulder. Trevelyan had left his chair and his desk and was standing before the coffee table. He made a small motion when their eyes met, as if wanting to take another step, get closer to him, yet he didn’t.

“Stay, please.” He smiled at him, just a little awkward, never taking his eyes away from Dorian’s. “My work is far from done, and yet… I would appreciate the company.” He shifted just a bit on his feet, then nodded towards the liquor cabinet at the corner of the room. “I was recently sent some Fereldan whiskey. It is said to be very good. I thought, perhaps… you might like to try it.”

The edges of Trevelyan’s lips quirked ever so slightly upwards, and there was something so earnest and childlike about his smile, about the look in his violet eyes, that Dorian’s heart did a painful little thump.

“Whiskey, you say?” He let his hand drop from the handle and took a step closer. He crossed his arms before his chest, cocking his hips slightly to the side in a confident stance— far more confident than he felt. But what was it that people said? ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’? “However can I refuse, when you ask so nicely and bribe me with fancy drinks? You certainly know the way to a man’s heart, Inquisitor.”

Trevelyan let out a quiet laugh, a deep and mellow sound that warmed Dorian inside out. “I’ll pour you a glass then, shall I? Oh, and please. Just call me David.” He tilted his head to the side, his gaze growing even softer, if that was possible. “All of my friends do.”

Friends. Dorian couldn’t help but wonder whether they were simply friends, or if there would ever be hope for something… more.

“Very well,” he said with a smile and graceful incline of his head. “David.” He watched the man’s straight and broad back as he turned around and moved towards the cabinet. The smell of the whiskey was strong and aromatic when he pulled the cork out of the bottle and prepared to pour it into glasses. Dorian’s voice stopped him. “Actually, I think I may have a better idea.”

David’s eyes were curious when he looked at him over his shoulder, and Dorian had to bite back a grin.

~

“I never pegged you for someone who appreciates the great outdoors,” David said with a curious smile, gazing at the vast expanse of glittering snow, jagged peaks and lakes covered in ice. “Quite the opposite in fact, judging from the last time we were outdoors.”

Dorian chuckled softly, leaning against the stone wall of the battlements. A cold wind was blowing, ruffling the fabric of his robes and combing through David’s hair, but the magical bubble that always surrounded Skyhold did not let much of the chill from the mountains pass through. It was tolerable, even for Dorian, and Maker knew his tolerance for the blasted Southern cold was exceptionally low.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to bring the Inquisitor -David, he reminded himself- to that quiet corner of the keep. It wasn’t too long ago that he had taken to visiting this place when the walls of his room became stifling, bringing with him a cup of wine or brandy, and simply gazing at the stars. He didn’t know why, but it brought him a strange sense of peace.

The fact that it reminded him of the night that David and he had spent together not too long before was an added, if somewhat confusing, benefit. It was an evening not too different from this one, with a crisp wind blowing and the night sky clear above them, the stars reflecting on the glassy surface of Lake Calenhad. David had accompanied him to the dreaded meeting with his father, and on the way back they had camped there, talking and drinking the night away.

Dorian wasn’t going to fool himself by saying that he hadn’t been attracted to the man the very first moment he laid eyes on him. Still, being attracted to a pretty face, and suddenly finding out that the pretty man not only had a heart and a brain, but enough empathy and understanding to sink a small barge, were two entirely different things. David had surprised him in more ways than one— with his kindness and his honesty, with his wry sense of humour and his sweet, childlike smile, with his steadfastness and his quiet, profound care.

Never before had Dorian bared himself like this to anyone. He had expected judgement and scorn, yet had received none. At first, he couldn’t quite believe it. He had kept searching for the catch, the knife hidden amidst the roses, but more time passed and he could find none. Until…

Dorian swallowed thickly as the memory of the kiss they had shared flashed in his memory. David was watching him patiently now, waiting for his answer that had taken a tad too long.

“I’m full of surprises, as you well know,” Dorian said with a teasing smile. He poured some whiskey into the glasses they had taken with them, and offered one to David. “It’s simply a quiet spot I like to visit sometimes. There are few lovely things the South has to offer, and I believe this view is one of them. It’s quite spectacular, is it not?”

“It is,” David replied, accepting the glass. He was standing in a square of crenelated moonlight, half obscured by the shadows, and his eyes seemed bright like lit up stars when they focused on him. “What are the others?”

“What others?” Dorian sipped distractedly on his whiskey.

“The other lovely things that the South has to offer.”

You, Dorian thought instinctively, and he hated how the thought made his heart flip and jump, his insides tie themselves into impossible loops. “Well, this whiskey, for one,” he replied quickly. “And I’m partial to Fereldan cheese. Much preferable to those smelly Orlesian ones. Tevinter doesn’t have much of a tradition in cheese-making. A pity, if you ask me, but my people tend to avoid consuming anything fermented, unless it can get them blind-drunk.”

David laughed, shaking his head, and the sound warmed Dorian inside out. “You don’t know cheese until you’ve tried the Marcher varieties,” he said. His smile was bright and earnest, and lit up his entire face. “Fereldan cheese is great, don’t get me wrong, but it has nothing on Ostwick’s soft blue goat's cheese, trust me.”

“Blue cheese? My goodness, you Southern barbarians have none of the Maker’s fear in you, do you?” Dorian hid his grin behind the rim of his glass as he watched David laugh even more. “I suppose you made it with your own bare hands back in Ostwick? How terribly bucolic of you.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. It’s a yearly tradition in Ostwick, for the children and women of the household to help in the cheese making on Summer’s day, when the cows’ milk is at its richest. My siblings and I used to have the fun of our lives on that day; we could play with the animals in the farm and get our hands and clothes dirty while milking the cows and hauling the buckets of milk to the dairy workshop, and neither our mother or our father were allowed to tell us off. We would eagerly await that day all year.” He took a sip of his whiskey, looking out over the vast expanse of snow below. “There are moments when I miss those simpler times.”

“I can imagine. Your childhood sounds idyllic indeed,” Dorian said softly, his voice mellowed out even more by the nostalgic smile on the other man’s lips. “You’ve never told me about any of your siblings.”

The smile of David’s lips lost some of its nostalgia, but only a little bit. There was fondness and a shadow of sadness in his eyes when he said, “There used to be more of us than there are now.” He took another sip of whiskey, leaning against the battlements. The wind combed through his hair, bringing a lock of chestnut hair before his brow. “Virgil was the eldest. He died quite young from illness. There was nothing we could do. And Sieden...” He stopped and took a slow breath. “I was born a twin. But my brother, Sieden, did not make it through the labor. He was stillborn. My family still celebrates his birthday every year, along with my own, but it’s different from other celebrations in the family. It is a day for silence and contemplation, and for remembering the brief time he was in the world.”

“I’m… very sorry to hear that,” Dorian said quietly, a lump lodging in his throat. “It must have been very hard for you, not to celebrate your birthday like other children did.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” David replied. His gaze still managed to be warm and friendly when he regarded Dorian, despite the mellow sadness in his voice. “We lit candles, and I got lots of gifts, from my parents, my other siblings and my beloved friends. I also got a kiss from my mother, and a hug from my father. But that stopped after—” He tensed just a little, looking away. His brows gathered in an almost imperceptible frown. “It doesn’t really matter now, I suppose.”

Dorian stayed silent for a moment, wondering whether he should urge David to talk or let the silence linger between them. Yet it wasn’t long after that David turned to him again, and a warm light was flickering in his gaze once more. “My family and I have lost much, but not everything. I still have two sisters who I love dearly, Fae and Leah. The first married when she was quite young and moved out of the house, and the other became a lay-sister. I still write to them both, especially Fae. You could say she is the closest to me, despite our age difference. She is quite lovely. I’m sure the two of you will get along perfectly when you meet. She’s rather eager to see you, actually.”

Dorian’s curiosity was piqued. He tilted his head to the side in question. “Your sister knows about me?”

David gave him a wide- eyed stare. “No! Well, yes. I mean—” He paused abruptly, then let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. It could have been a play of the light, but Dorian thought he could see a blush creeping up his cheeks once more. “We write to each other quite often. She always asks me all sorts of questions, about my daily life and the people I’ve met here and… I suppose… I may have told her a few things about you. Just a few, mind you,” he added quickly, seeing the surprised expression on Dorian’s face.

“You… told your sister about me?” Dorian was sure his heart skipped a beat right at that moment. Something bright and warm, something like hope rose to his throat, and then something like dread twisted his stomach. Had he told his sister about him… about them? About their late night talks, their slightly awkward and nervous banter, their… kiss?

That moment flashed in Dorian’s memory once more, and this time it was much harder to brush away than others. He still remembered it, crystal clear: the moment when David had come to find him in the library, the evening after they had returned from Redcliffe. Dorian remembered how the flickering light the candles had caught in the depths of his violet eyes, how his deep and soothing voice had carried in the empty library. He remembered the concern and the warmth in them, the care. And, most of all, he remembered his clean and warm scent in his nostrils as David had drawn closer, the softness of his lips against his own, the strength of his arms around him.

Maker, it had felt like heaven. Tender and gentle and… so brief, that it sent Dorian’s guts twisting again. They had peeled apart soon after, and each had gone their own way. The tension between them had been sizzling ever since, thick enough to cut with a knife every time they so much as looked at each other. Hundreds of times Dorian had thought to pull him close again, to feel his body against his own, but something always held him back.

What if it was just a one-time thing, never to be repeated? What if David didn’t want anything more, what if he’d simply changed his mind?

Dorian leisurely crossed his arms before his chest, hiding his unease behind a wide smile. “So? What have you told your sister about me, pray tell? I hope you’ve mentioned how dashingly gorgeous, impeccably dressed and impressively smart I am, for starters.”

Dorian had only been half-joking when he said that. He hadn’t exactly expected a serious answer, but David’s reply startled him.

“That goes without saying, Dorian,” he said earnestly, his voice firm and unwavering despite his blush that brightened, distinctly visible even in the moonlight now. “Of course I told her all of those things, it’s only the truth. I also told her… that you’re brave and generous and kind. Actually, you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” He smiled awkwardly. “I hope it wasn’t terribly forward of me.”

Dorian stared at him for a long moment, his breath catching in his throat. He wracked his brain for something to say, anything at all, but for the first time, perhaps ever, he was totally speechless.

He took in a shaky breath. “Do you truly believe them?” he asked quietly, holding David’s gaze. He couldn’t take his eyes away, even if he’d wanted to. “All those things you told your sister… do you believe them?”

“I do.” The other man’s reply was quick and sure, and his eyes met Dorian’s levelly. “There isn’t a moment that I thought otherwise, Dorian. I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. You are… special. Special to me.”

If Dorian could stop time right there, he probably would have. If the stars and the planets had ceased their constant motion right at that moment, if the wind had stopped blowing and the moon had continued shining above them, silver and iridescent, Dorian would gladly stay in that moment forever and a day. Just so he could hear the fondness in David’s voice, watch that smile tugging at the edges of his lips when he spoke to him, the affection in his eyes when he looked at him.

Those eyes had always told Dorian so much more than David’s words had. And this time, Dorian understood.

He took a step forward, leaning towards him. The moments before their lips met felt like the leap from an impossible height. David’s breath skimmed Dorian’s skin, warm and spicy with the scent of the whiskey. Soft lips parted beneath his own, and Dorian was falling.

His fingers threaded through silky, chestnut hair, and David’s scent filled his lungs: lavender and herbs, that delicate soap he liked to use. Strong arms came around him, pulling him closer, and Dorian sighed softly, deepening the kiss as he let himself be drawn. He was helpless, utterly helpless when it came to David, melting against him, every one of his thoughts and defences melting away. Their kiss was tender and passionate, soft and just a little bit desperate, and everything he’d ever wanted, everything he'd dreamed.

David pulled slightly back, cupping Dorian’s cheek as he did so. He gazed at Dorian’s face through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips glistening. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing over Dorian’s skin in a tender caress.

His words washed over Dorian like a wave. He leaned against the other man’s chest, linking his wrists behind his neck. His heart was beating giddy and excited, making his head swim, and he could almost feel David’s heart through his clothes, beating in the same rhythm.

“Thank goodness one of us has a little initiative,” Dorian said teasingly, brushing his nose over David’s. "Let's not wait so long next time, yes?"

David laughed gently, the sound reverberating through Dorian where they touched. He leaned in for another kiss, slow and gentle, and this time Dorian really had no more words left.

"I'll make sure not to," David whispered against his lips, hugging him tightly.

[girlactionfigure]

“I give my child in your care, raise my child as if it were yours.”

These words were written by the mother of a six year old Jewish girl Rami, who was smuggled out of the Jewish ghetto in Nazi occupied Warsaw, Poland, during the Second World War. Little Rami was placed into foster care with her mother’s Polish friends on the Aryan side of the city and, unlike her mother, ultimately survived the war. The person who was instrumental in making Rami’s survival possible was a woman named Irena Sendler, a social worker and Polish resistance operative who helped save 2,500 Jewish children like Rami during the Holocaust.

Beginnings

Irena was born in 1910 in Warsaw into a Roman Catholic family. Her father, Stanislaw Krzyzanowski was a physician and a researcher in infectious diseases. He was a humanitarian and an idealist, who helped found the Polish Socialist Party. He believed in democracy, equal rights, universal health care, and an end to child labor, and was even expelled from university in Poland for leading strikes and protests advocating for those goals.

When Irena was two, the family moved outside of Warsaw, to the village of Otwock, where Stanislaw set up his practice for the treatment of tuberculosis. The village was fifty percent Jewish, and that percentage included the poorest of residents. Unlike other doctors in the area, Stanislaw treated everyone, the rich and poor alike, despite the poor not being able to pay. “If someone else is drowning, you have to give a hand,” he would often say.

Irena grew up in close contact with the Jewish villagers. She played with their children, and by age six even spoke fluent Yiddish. At home Irena’s family life was warm and nurturing. Stanislaw loved his little girl very much and hugged and kissed her so often that Irena’s aunts would warn him not to spoil her. “We don’t know what her life will be like,” he’d reply. “Maybe my hugs will be her best memory.”

In 1916 an epidemic of typhoid fever swept through the village and Stanislaw chose to be on the front lines. Typhoid, a bacterial disease spread through food, water, and close contact with infected persons, was especially prevalent in poor communities with bad sanitation. Unlike other well off villagers who isolated themselves to avoid contact with the sick, Stanislaw continued caring for patients and later that year succumbed to the disease himself. He died shortly after.

But Stanislaw’s spirit lived on in his daughter, and as Irena matured she resembled her father more and more in her beliefs and actions. She majored in social welfare at the University of Warsaw, and interned in charitable welfare clinics where the poor could get a free education and legal assistance. She also started becoming more politically involved, joining the Polish Socialist Party that her father helped start and beginning to engage in protests and activism herself.

In 1935 anti-Semitic sentiment was on the rise in Poland, and at Polish universities an informal rule nicknamed the “bench ghetto” was introduced. “A rule was established at the University segregating the Catholics from the Jewish students,” Irena recalled. “The Catholics were to sit on the chairs to the right and Jews on the chairs to the left. I always sat with Jews and, therefore, I was beaten by anti-Semites together with Jewish students.”

Later, like her father, Irena was suspended from university for boycotting the labeling of campus identity cards with the word “Aryan” to differentiate non-Jewish students from Jewish ones. “I was taught since my earliest years that people are either good or bad. Their race, nationality, and religion do not matter — what matters is the person.”

The War

On September 1, 1939, after the signing of a non-aggression pact between themselves, Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union invaded Poland. The country was split in half, with the eastern side going to Soviet Union and the western to the Nazis. Warsaw fell to the Nazis.

Overnight Jews became second class citizens in Warsaw. They couldn’t hold state or government positions, couldn’t own businesses, they had to register ownership of property, and lost access to their bank accounts.

Barred from offering social services to the Jewish population officially, Irena with a few friends began to circumvent the rules by faking paperwork in order to do so. This was the beginning of Irena’s resistance operations. Soon Irena and her resistance cell were providing money, food, and clothing to thousands of Jews in Warsaw.

A year after the invasion, moving forward with their ultimate goal of Jewish genocide, the Nazis established a ghetto for Warsaw’s Jews. 350,000 Jews, nearly 30% of the city’s entire population, were imprisoned in a 1.3 square mile ghetto. The ghetto was surrounded by a ten foot tall brick wall crowned with ribbons of barbed wire.

Irena sprang into action looking for blank documents that could give Aryan identities to Jewish friends destined for the ghetto. And once the ghettoization of Jews was complete, she continued helping in any way she could.

Life in the ghetto was miserable. The Nazis rationed roughly 200 calories of food per person per day. Death by starvation was common. Sanitation was terrible with refuse and human corpses littering the streets. There was a shortage of soap, clothing, and the means to heat living spaces. Many people froze to death. Disease was everywhere, including tuberculosis, dysentery, spotted fever, and typhoid fever, the same disease that claimed Irena’s father’s life.

But Irena was undaunted. Because of her work with Warsaw’s Department of Health and Social Services, she received a pass from the Epidemic Control Department that allowed her official passage in and out of the ghetto. She immediately began making daily visits, sometimes multiple per day, to smuggle food, money, and doses of typhus vaccine into the ghetto. She would hide items in the false bottom of her bag, or in small pockets sewn into a padded bra. Many women had their bras altered with padding and pockets. “It was a joke in wartime Warsaw that women’s breasts had grown dramatically everywhere in the city since the arrival of the Germans.”

Children

Sometimes Irena would smuggle candy or dolls for the ghetto’s children. Children were particularly vulnerable in the ghetto, succumbing faster to malnutrition, freezing, and to more varied diseases than adults. Some families facing starvation relied on their children to obtain food by smuggling it from the Aryan side of the city. Other families sent children across the wall hoping they would fare better as orphans on the Aryan side than inside the ghetto. In the beginning of 1942, about 4,000 children lived on the streets of the Aryan side. 2,000 of them were Jewish.

That year, fearing Nazi soldiers’ contamination with typhus and other diseases from children living on the street, the chief of the Nazi police ordered for Warsaw’s social services to get all homeless children on the Aryan side of the city off the streets and into orphanages and other local institutions. The roundups yielded a number of Jewish children, many of whom Irena and her network helped disappear into private homes and orphanages under false Polish identities. But there were thirty two Jewish kids that could not be placed, and so, in order to save them from execution, Irena had to smuggle them back into the ghetto. Knowing what was awaiting them there, Irena was devastated at not having an alternative solution. She vowed to never again return a single child to the ghetto, and started, along with her associates, an operation to smuggle Jewish children out of the ghetto and to provide them with false Polish identities and caring homes on the Aryan side of the city.

The price for helping a Jewish child in wartime Warsaw was execution, and Irena and her core group of twenty to twenty five mostly women operatives, risked their lives daily to save each and every child. Children were smuggled out of the ghetto in a variety of ways. There were secret routes to the Aryan side of the city via sewers and underground corridors. Children were able to get across by sneaking through an old courthouse and a Catholic church that stood on the border of the ghetto. Irena’s epidemic control pass allowed her to officially bring a child out of the ghetto for treatment if they were ill with tuberculosis. Children with or without the disease were brought out this way. Some kids were hidden in ambulances, under floorboards or dirty rags, or in coffins along with dead bodies. The Nazis were terrified of disease and performed only cursory checks before waving ambulances through. The youngest, including babies, had to be sedated with tranquilizers and hidden in trucks in toolboxes, in sacks masquerading as laundry or potatoes, or under vegetable boxes. Some were left in briefcases on early morning streetcars that ran in and out of the ghetto and later picked up by a friend.

Once out of the ghetto, children had to take on new identities in order to integrate into Polish society. Sometimes documents were faked, other times legitimate blanks could be found. If children looked too Jewish, they had makeovers to make them look more Polish. Sometimes it was as easy as dying a child’s hair, other times Jewish boys had to become girls in order to prevent the Nazi authorities from checking for circumcisions.

Escaped children went on to live in homes of friends, in convents, in group homes, orphanages, or religious institutions, and Irena kept a list of each and every child placed with the hope of reuniting them with families after the war. She encoded and recorded only the most essential information such as names, addresses, and an account of any money that parents gave to help with caretaking on cigarette paper that nightly she prepared to throw out of her kitchen window in case the Gestapo, the Nazi secret police, ever came looking for her. Eventually, when it became too dangerous to keep the list at home, she buried it in glass bottles under an apple tree in a friend’s garden.

By this time Irena was already having nightmares on a regular basis. Not only did she worry about the children who would certainly be killed if they were ever discovered, she also worried about the families that were risking their lives to hide them. On top of everything, Irena was the sole person who knew the detailed histories of all the smuggled children. If anything were to happen to her, that information would be irretrievable.

Capture

In the fall of 1943, the Gestapo found and arrested a woman who ran a laundrette that the resistance used as a drop-off point for messages and packages. Charged with conspiring with the resistance, the woman was tortured and ultimately broke, giving up names of resistance operatives. One of those names was Irena Sendler’s. Days after, the Gestapo pounded on Irena’s door in the middle of the night. She was arrested, beaten, interrogated, and sent to Pawiak, a secret prison for intelligentsia and those politically involved. Most prisoners interned at Pawiak never left alive.

The Gestapo repeatedly tortured Irena for information, breaking her legs and feet, and permanently scarring her body. Despite the agony, Irena never said a word. She knew what divulging information would mean, a death sentence for thousands of children, friends and families. As luck would have it, the Gestapo thought they had captured only a fringe resistance operative, not the head of children’s division of the resistance movement, which meant Irena received no special treatment. Certainly if they realized who they were dealing with, they would have taken extra measures.

Irena lived at the prison for four months until her execution date was set for January 20, 1944. During the days, when she was not being tortured for information, Irena worked as a washerwoman cleaning soiled Nazi underwear. One day, when the Nazis found the laundry work not to their satisfaction, they lined up all the washerwomen against a wall and shot in the head every other one. Irena was one of the ones who survived.

On the morning of January 20th, a Nazi officer came to take Irena to the courtyard where she was to be shot. She was led down a corridor, but instead of being taken into the waiting room where she was to await her execution, the officer led her out of the prison and into the street. He released her and told her to run. As Irena later found out her friends in the resistance had bribed the Nazi with what today amounts to $100,000 to secure her escape.

End of the war and legacy

Once free, Irena went into hiding, and soon resumed her operations with the resistance. She continued rising in ranks until she was running meetings and setting agendas. In the summer of 1944, with the Soviets advancing, and the Nazis retreating, the Polish resistance army attempted to liberate Warsaw. They fought for two months, but were ultimately defeated by the Nazis. In response to the uprising, Heinrich Himmler, a most high ranking SS officer and the person responsible for forming and operating Nazi death camps, gave the order to kill all Polish residents of Warsaw and to level the entire city. “The city must completely disappear from the surface of the earth…,” he ordered. “No stone can remain standing. Every building must be razed to its foundation.” Ultimately more than 400,000 people were killed and eighty percent of Warsaw was destroyed by the retreating Nazi army. Irena miraculously survived the destruction.

After the Nazis were driven out of Warsaw, Irena and a friend went to dig up the list of children they had hidden in bottles. They searched and searched for the tree under which the list was buried, but found only rubble. Irena then set out, along with her friends, to recreate the list from memory. She continued working for decades helping reunite children with their families, and even adopted two orphaned Jewish girls herself.

Irena lived until 98, and passed away in Warsaw in 2008. Until the very end of her life she felt that she did not do enough to help children during the war.

Five years before her death Irena received Poland’s highest honour, the Order of the White Eagle, but she never enjoyed being called a hero.

“Let me stress most emphatically that we who were rescuing children are not some kind of heroes… Indeed, that term irritates me greatly.” 

“Heroes do extraordinary things. What I did was not an extraordinary thing. It was normal.”

The children Irena saved during the war continued to call and visit her until the end of her life.

Historical Snapshots

[drethanramslay]

A funny thing called Fate- Prologue

Pairing: Bryce X MC (Aisha Khurrana)

Word Count: 2.8K words

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Warning: None really, just a little cursing

Author’s note: I had been listening to Strawberries and Cigarettes by Troye Sivan and that is actually the primary spark which led me to come up with this series. Shout out to @mvalentine and @anotherbeingsworld fo letting me bounce my crazy ideas <3

AHHH so it is finally here!! This is my first time writing Bryce so I hope I can do justice to this beautiful man. This starts with Aisha’s (MC) POV and like I said, there will be a time jump. It would be first person when I’m writing in the past and then it will shift to third person when I’m writing the present. I think i should stop my rambling and let’s go!!

Terms you need to know-

-Bhaiya: Brother in hindi

-Beta: Technically it means ‘son’ but in most Indian families its used like a term of endearment too

- AIIMS, Delhi: Stands for All India Institute of Medical Sciences. This is one of the best medical schools in the country and Only 100 people out of 200,000(or more) get in. So it is very cut throat.

10 years ago- Aisha's PoV 

(Age: 16)

I am done.

Done with all the drama, done with all the lies, done with all the manipulations and done with all the heartache.

And most of all, I was done with him- the infamous Bryce Lahela. 

The boy with the stupid long hair, the stupid signature smirk and the stupid charm. Those amber eyes which reminded you of the sand and sea and those lips on which an everlasting smile played used to be like a breath of fresh air. I always thought that he was so unique, but boy was I wrong. 

All boys are the same.

I really thought that jocks like him would be different huh? Can someone just hand me my clown shoes?

But luckily, I don't have to see his face ever again because for once, instead of making a mockery of my existence, life decided to give me something that I really wanted badly.

A chance to leave all of this in my past. A chance to start over again.

My dad had a better business opportunity back in Mumbai. I am an Indian and we lived in Delhi since the time I was born but we shifted to Mauii when I was in the ninth grade because of how demanding dad's job was getting

Bhaiya chose to stay back in Delhi because his engineering college was there and he enjoyed the hostel life way too much. And he had finally managed to get out of our toxic household so I really could not blame him.

So yeah.. that is how I ended up in Maui in the first place.

It was okay in ninth grade. I kept to myself and blended in with the shadows (because hello social anxiety!). But... Tenth grade changed everything.

It was one of the best and worst year of my life and I often wonder if I could ever get over this.

I am definitely sounding like one of those over-dramatic Indian soap operas my mom watches every night.

"Aisha? Are you ready? The car is here beta."

"Yes, Mama. I am coming!! Just packing up some stuff."

Breaking out of my reverie, I stuffed in my phone and other essentials into my carry bag. As I was zipping up my luggage, I yanked open my closet door to see if I left anything behind my eyes landed on the shoebox I had stuffed in the back of my closet.

I gulped and I felt tears well up in my eyes again. A part of me wanted to take it for it had all the trinkets of the good things in my relationship with Bryce but, another part of me knew that if I took it with me, I would never be able to move on and that would completely defeat the purpose of this fresh start I have been looking forward to.

So with a heavy heart, I looked away and shut the door of the closet, picked up my luggage and left.

As the Uber pulled out of the curb I stared out of the window, to look at the beaches I had come to love and hate.

I liked Maui, I really did but all that it was reduced was a place where I was humiliated and belittled.

And it was all his fault.

PRESENT

(Age: 27)

"Oh my god. I'm gonna late!!" Aisha screeched as she saw the time on her phone. She shoved the duvet off her and jumped out of bed. She tried running to the bathroom in her small closet-sized apartment but it just ended up with her stubbing her toe against the coffee table.

"Ow ow ow." She cursed as she hobbled into the washroom and got on with her daily chores. Her hand-eye coordination was already awful and add that she was sleep deprived just made the entire thing worse. Stumbling, tripping, cursing she managed to brush her teeth and hop into the shower. The burst of cold water managed to wake her up as she furiously washed.

Why did I have to move into a room under a busy staircase?! This is why bhaiya says- Do your research. She angrily thought to herself as she wiped herself rigorously and zipped open her suitcase, searching for her semi-formal clothes.

Grabbing a granola bar and her trusty thermos of coffee, she was on her way to Edenbrook.

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

As she entered the atrium, she was in complete awe. It looked big and majestic on the outside, with a clever mix of brick walls and the glass facade, making it look welcoming. Sunshine poured through the atrium as the various doctors and nurses worked around her, not giving mind to the clueless intern gawking.

"Hi, I'm Dr Ines Delarosa, a senior resident!! You look lost. Let me guess... the first day of residency?" A short woman in a doctor's coat walked up to her breaking Aisha from her awe, her aura full of happiness, rainbows and unicorns which made Aisha a little vary.

Is it normal to be this happy and energetic?

Aisha nodded hesitantly and the resident smiled a hundred-watt smile. "Great. You are gonna need a photo ID. Follow me, I will get you all set up." Wordlessly Aisha followed Ines, slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder, nervously playing with the strap.

It is going to be fine... Aisha breathed out as she entered a room with a white background and a camera before it. "Just step over here, in front of the camera and smile."

And waste my energy? No thanks.

She schooled her features to be as professional as she could and the flash of the camera went off. Aisha walked over the tangled wires and peeked at the screen. A serious face stared back at her, the lighting doing good to her brown skin. Her nose piercing caught light and her dark mahogany hair was tied up in a neat ponytail.

"Is it okay? Or do I need to retake the photo?"

"No, it is great! I like it. Thank you."

"Well I will just stick this on your ID.... and you are good to go!! I wish I looked that good in my ID." She said and cheerfully and once her eyes fell on the title a smile made its way on her face,

Dr Aisha Khurrana... It is real and it is true.

"My first day as a real doctor." she whistled lowly shaking her head as if she didn't believe it.

"I was in your shoes last year. Believe me, med school was nothing compared to this. Your three years of residency will be the toughest, most amazing year of your life!! But the first year as an intern will be the craziest of all."

As soon as the smile had graced her features, it slipped away and she nodded seriously. "I think I am ready for it. I have been dreaming and slogging my ass so that I could work in Edenbrook. Ever since I learnt that Ethan Ramsey worked here. His research basically pushed me to apply for med school."

Also, the fact that my parents can like shut up about me being worthless.

"That is great. I will just walk you to the locker room so that you can change into scrubs." Ines offered and Aisha gave her a small smile.

"So... Any advice?"

"Make friends..."

And I am out. She thought to herself. She always struggled with making friends and that is partly the reason why she would keep to herself all the time. Sure she did make a few gem of a friends in med school but if she had to choose between mingling with strangers and drowning, you know what she would choose.

"... with your interns, year senior residents, even your patients! Friends will get you through anything. And, uh, try to not annoy the Attendings! You do not want to get on your boss's bad side."

"Noted."

After changing she was just passing through the waiting room so that she could get to the orientation when she heard gasps from the seating area. A woman had collapsed on her seat and the people were crowding around her.

Her instincts kicked in and she ordered. "Give her space. Everybody step back! I'm a doctor."

She hurried over to the woman just as another doctor rushes in. He kneeled at her side and checked her pulse. "Pulse is weak. She's unresponsive." He looked up and his eyes landed on her.

"You Rookie. Get here."

"Right away doctor. Coming!" Aisha hurried over as the doctor lifted the fainted woman on to the nearby gurney.

"What was she coming in for? Did she fill out a form yet?"

"No, she'd just walked in."

The doctor's piercing blue eyes landed on her which made her straighten her back. "If we don't figure out what's wrong with her fast, she's going to die on this table. Rookie, check B.P."

Wrapping the blood pressure cuff around the unconscious woman's arm and she pumped the bulb, peering at the numbers.

"It's plummeting. She's hypotensive. We've gotta get fluids in her."

Aisha's eyes wandered over the woman's form, trying to search for more clues. Her eyes landed on the rapidly forming bruise on her elbow.

"Doctor... Look at this bruise. I think it's a sign that she is a haemophiliac."

The doctor replied in a gruff voice. "You think or you know?"

"I know."

"Good. Also can you see the way her fingertips are turning blue? It is a sign of low oxygen saturation in the blood. Take a closer listen to her lungs. Hurry."

She nodded assertively and slipped the resonator of the stethoscope over the ribs, straining to hear the diminishing whooshing of the lungs which made Aisha gulp in fear.

"Can't hear anything on the left side and the right side is struggling. She is going to suffocate at this rate." She spoke up , her voice struggling to stay calm but as she glanced at the older doctor, he seemed to be as cool as a cucumber.

"Nurse we have got a code blue." His authoritative voice boomed over as the nurses bustled around the gurney.

Taking the bag mask from the nurse, he secured it around the patient's mouth and gently pump air into her lungs.

"What do we do, Doctor? What's happening to her?" She asked as she noticed the reducing breath rate.

He looked up. "Consider all the clues. It's all there. You know this, Rookie."

Aisha closed her eyes and took a deep breath, realigning her focus, delving deep into her mind, analyzing the clues.

Hemophilia... low blood oxygen... no lung expansion on one side...

Her brown eyes snapped open as it struck her. "It's a haemothorax!"

A twinkle of approval flickered in the ocean eyes, which vanished as soon as it came. "Precisely. A blood vessel ruptured and is filling her pleural cavity..."

"... Blocking her lungs from expanding! That's why she can't breathe." Aisha completed the sentence.

Fuck.

"But we can't repair the blood vessel over here."

The older doctor's jaw clenched. "Then we will have to do a emergency thoracotomy to drain the cavity instead. Nurse!"

The nurse hustles around handing her a scalpel and a chest tube, her eyes widening in shock.

She gulped, her nervousness spiking as she sees the doctor lift the shirt of the patient, exposing the side of her rib cage.

"We need a local anaesthetic-"

The doctor interrupted her. "We're out of time and she is already unconscious. Do it now, or the woman's life is on you!!"

She gritted her teeth with determination. I am not loosing a patient on my first day.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. It is just like anatomy class only... this isn't a cadaver but a real person.

But that statement, instead of calming her, it just caused the scalpel to shake in her hand.

The doctor reaches and encompasses her hand. "Hey... You can do this."

Aisha nods stabilizing herself and focusing solely on the older doctor's voice, before she looked down.

"There you go... Nice and easy."

Incision at the fifth intercostal space... anterior.. to the mid axillary line...

And when she was confident enough, she made the perfect incision, a trickle of red following the path of the scalpel.

"Now the tube."

She took and pushed it into the incision and with a spurt, blood started draining out of the chest cavity resulting in the patient to take a deep breath.

Holy shit I did that. I freaking did that.

In the daze of endorphins, she heard the doctor order her surgery, the nurses wheeling the gurney and the onlookers applauding.

She turned towards the attending, excitement pouring out of her in waves. "Doctor.. that was absolutely amazing!!"

It's was as if a switch flipped and the grumpier and sarcastic facade took place. "You're right. It is pretty amazing you didn't get her killed."

Aisha's jaw dropped.

"Wait, what?"

The doctor rambled off, pointing out her mistakes. "Your examination was slow and superficial. Your scalpel technique, amateur at best."

It took all her might to not scoff. 

Excuse me I graduated from AIIMS Delhi, thank you very much.

 Swallowing the dying need to go off she spoke in a professional tone. "Amateur? I'm sorry, doctor but it is my first day."

"Well, that is not an excuse you can use because if that patient would have died, the blood would have been on your hands..." He lifted the badge attached to her breast pocket scrutinizing on the surname.

"... Khurrana."

He tossed the id back to her, turned on his heels and walked away, leaving a steaming Aisha in her place.

"What a dick." She muttered under her breath.

"Yeah and I'm totally in love with him." A nurse appeared magically out of thin air near her, causing her to jump in surprise.

The kind eyed nurse just rolled his eyes and placed a hand on her shoulder which had Aisha bristling. "Don't worry about it, Dr Ramsey is like that to everybody."

Aisha's jaw dropped for the second time. "Wait... Dr. Ramsey as in Dr. Ethan Ramsey?!"

Shooting a knowing glance, he spoke up. "I take it, you're a fan?"

"He's only my medical hero and greatest inspiration. I've read all his research!" Aisha rushed off, horror and excitement rushing through her.

Oh my god I managed to piss of my one medical hero.. I'm such a dumbass.

Noticing the horror of her expression he gave a gentle smile. "On the bright side, you'll get plenty more chances to impress him."

She sighed and looked down to see that her scrubs were stained with blood.

First impression is last impression beta, always remember that. Her father's voice resonated in her mind.

"Dammit, I'm here for five minutes and I'm already a mess. I can't show up to orientation like this!"

"Don't sweat it. There are extras in the locker room. Come I will show you the way..."

She walked into the locker room, looking for her assigned locker. There was a crowd of half naked interns and after mumbling a couple of 'excuse me's', and rubbing shoulders (literally) she made it the end of the room.

As she turned she knocked into another woman in nothing but her undergarments.

"Uh...um.. okay then." Aisha stuttered as she felt the back of her neck heating up.

Thanks to my brown skin no one can see me getting flustered.

"What? See something you like?" She asked cheekily in an Indian accent which eased Aisha up a bit.

"Ha, you wish."

"Aren't you cute?" The woman snickered as she reached for her pants.

"That's what people say, so it must be true."

She reached for her full sleeve shirt before looking Aisha's way. "Desi?"

Aisha snorted. "Obviously. And I'm guessing you too."

"Of course. And I'm guessing that you are definitely not wearing those scrubs."

"What? Didn't you hear? Bloody clothes are like the new trend around here."

There was a moment of silence before both of them started laughing.

"It's good to meet someone from home." Aisha spoke as she pulled her scrub shirt off.

"Woah, woah, woah. Don't count on that yet. I need to see if you are gonna get in my way in this competition."

Aisha smirked as she shut her locker. "Can't say I'm surprised. Can't be desi if the sense of competition isn't ingrained in your DNA."

"Oh my god never thought that I would see Jackie's twin." A familiar manly voice wafted over to them.

Wait a second...

"Shut up scalpel jockey, this is our kind of bonding."

"Oh please, don't scare the newbie aw- oh."

Oh.

She was standing right in front of him. Face to face. The playful amber eyes, with flecks of brown hadn't changed. The long shoulder length hair had been cut and styled to be short and messy.

There was no trace of the surfer boy she met in Maui. He was a man through and through but still, the youth in his eyes poured out in waves, reminding her of the sandy beaches.

But right now those amber eyes were wide with shock.

It's not everyday that you meet your ex of ten years in the locker room of your new job.

"Aisha?"

".... Bryce?!"

HEHEHEH AWKWAARRDDD

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[writing-fool]

Hey, real stressed out right now, if you're not too busy can I get the Mlqc boys with a stressed out s/o? I'm in some need of some serotonin, love your work x

mlqc | so will i

Hi hun, I’m very sorry to hear that. I hope you’ll feel better soon. If this doesn’t end up giving you enough serotonin, I have something a little similar up on my blog: here

That said, I think I’m becoming a comfort writer, and I can’t really complain about that. So, here’s a couple of quick and loving headcanons for each boy.

Much love,

R.

Victor

Victor isn’t actually all that cold as a husband anyways (and we ALL know author Ré likes their moody boys just a little gooey) 

but when you’re stressed? oh boy this gentleman is ready to do anything in his power to make you feel better

he was deadass about to buy a whole spa before you stopped him and told him you just need him to hold you

“Oh. I...guess I can do that.” be careful, this man will not let you go until you feel better

as an excellent chef, he’s also The Person to ask when you need comfort food

mac & cheese? you got it. congee? already done. chicken noodle soup? yes yes.

the way to a person’s heart is through their stomach and mine is currently growling

on occasion, he’ll be the cause of your stress, and while he doesn’t want to favour you over his other employees necessarily, he does understand that sometimes you need a break

for once, he’ll be the one pulling you from your work

how does he notice you’re stressed? your reports become dangerously subpar. sorry hun, it’s the truth

if you don’t listen to him and keep working yourself to near death, he’ll just have to use drastic measures

did he swing you over his shoulder? yup.

did you low-key enjoy it because his ass is Immaculate? also yup. 

he knows you like it when he pampers you, so when you’re stressed out, he’ll run you a nice bath with expensive oils and soaps

he’ll wash your back for you, digging his large fingers into those knots at the nape of your neck

afterwards, Vic will brush your hair for you, making sure you’re all cozy in your fluffy robe

he doesn’t like to admit it, but seeing you relax warms his heart and makes up for all the mediocre reports you write

Lucien

our favourite perceptive professor notices right away

i mean, everyone has tells when they start getting stressed out, and Lucien knows yours like the back of his hand

sometimes, he even notices before you do. how does that even happen?

prepare for the endless amounts of chamomile tea he’ll make you drink

Lucien’s very supportive of what you do, but he also reminds you that you need to rest like a filthy hypocrite~

so he’ll jot down cheeky notes in your agenda

14:00 / come have a relaxing walk in the park with me. ~L

7:30 early morning online meeting 8:00 have a lie-in with your favourite scientist. for research purposes, of course

you confront him about it and he’s just staring at you with this innocent look that’s absolutely illegal because you’re not innocent Lucien, not in the slightest i won’t believe it i’m not going to fall for it—damnit i fell for it

“Am I not allowed to take care of my little flower?”

is really good at clearing your schedule

like, suspiciously good

he’ll probably help you with anything you’ve got going on regarding paperwork, and instead of having to do research for a production, a whole stack of highlighted and marked articles will already be on your desk, waiting for you to quickly sift through everything

on a more serious note, he does know a lot about destressing and ways to relax

so he’ll suggest practicing mindfulness together, or something similar 

from experience, these things may sound silly, but breathing exercises or meditation can really just refocus your brain on the tasks at hand to lessen stress. obviously though, this is all very personal

but he knows he can’t love your negative emotions away, so most importantly, he’s always there for you

whether it is to listen to you rant, to give advice or even just to soothingly rub his thumb over your shoulder

Lucien’s always right next to you, and that’s one less thing to worry about

Gavin

Birdcop! lately i’ve been associating him with bnha’s Hawks/Keigo, and i don’t know how to feel about that. but i digress

Gavin’s not the quickest to pick up on your emotions

like, he knows there’s something going on because his mind is filled with you all day, but he can’t really decipher what’s wrong

will just straight up ask you what’s going on, how you’re feeling, etc

i always turn Gavin into this really understanding and communicative, healthy relationship poster boy, but y’all deserve it

“Babe? Are you feeling alright?”

if the answer is no, this man just clears his schedule for a week, or a month, or a whole year Gavin you can’t ignore your responsibilities don’t—

not really, but he does go out of his way to spend more time with you

clocks out earlier, only does missions that require him,...

flies to you the moment he’s got time to spare

does so recklessly. gets caught by some people who, fortunately, are convinced it’s just some very weird humanoid bird. gets reprimanded by STF. does not care.

at home he doesn’t really do more than give you space when you need it, offer a listening ear when you need that. he’s really not doing anything grand, because that’s not really Gavin, but he lets you know that he cares, and that’s good enough.

Gavin will force Minor to look out for you at work, and will stage a freakin’ intervention if you’re getting overworked

“MC, you’re getting kidnapped.” wraps you into a blanket like a burrito and flies home with you in his arms

actually flying seems like a relaxing thing to do, especially at night

when the stars are twinkling, the moon is glowing, and you’re high above the city, all your problems seem just a little smaller

Kiro

the chances of him not knowing you’re feeling bad aren’t very small

he’s obviously very busy, and if he’s overseas...

being concerned that you’re going to be lonely without him like he is without you does make him call you as often as he possibly can

he’s a clingy pupper, what can i say

he picks up the stressed out tone in your voice though, even when you try to hide it

“Oh, Miss/Mr. Chips, you can’t fool me, The Best Actor Of All Time. Now, tell me...are you alright?” imagine him saying that last bit in like a hushed, slightly worried tone. i wouldn’t even be able to lie

he’ll let you complain as long as you want on the phone, even when Savin’s been calling him

he’ll just hide in the closet so he doesn’t get found

when he goes back home, the first thing he does is trap you in a big hug

he refuses to let you go, pouting about how worried he was, and how much better he’ll make you feel

“Because I’m your brightest star after all!”

if he’s free while you’re feeling stressed, for example, when you’re at home together, he’ll do something silly to cheer you up

like dance on the coffee table

yup. that’s why it broke.

i don’t think he’d be too focused on your problems, as in, he doesn’t need to know 100% of what’s going on

Kiro just kind of zooms in on the fact that you’re feeling sad, overwhelmed, stressed out, and he’ll do anything in his power to relieve that feeling

and that’s one of his qualities, to be fair

you’re not going to do stuff like have long chats about your feelings, but he is going to propose doing face masks together to calm down

maybe you’ll play a couple of video games together

at the end of the day, how could you worry when your sun is right next to you?

Shaw

look, i don’t know if you’re of legal drinking age...but Shaw’s coping mechanism is drinking and going out

so the moment you say you feel bad, he’s whipping out the wine, hun

lowkey wants to drag you to the club to make you forget about your problems...but even he realises how inappropriate that type of behaviour is

he’s actually a lot cuter when he’s a little tipsy

“Hm, beautiful.” “What?” “Nothing.”

Shaw’s also a huge diva, which is canon now you guys can’t stop me from making it canon

so you guys will have matching head bands on, face masks, glasses of wine, bottles of nail polish, talking about how horrible life is

you’re venting to him, and he vents back, and you just both come to the conclusion that life sUCKS, work sUCKS and Shaw...doesn’t suck at all

the next morning, you wake up slightly disheveled and a bit disoriented

but you feel significantly lighter

well, not physically, since there’s literally an arm slung around your waist

he doesn’t really change much about his behaviour...but you notice he’s a tad more affectionate

and a lot less mean

like, forehead poking suddenly turned into teasing hair ruffling.

tickling turns into soft kisses in the crook of your neck while you’re cooking

his rough hands intertwine with yours

“Don’t just overwork yourself, stupid.”

ahh, his words don’t match his actions at all

I had very little inspiration for Shaw...but I wanted to get this out ASAP. Feel free to send in any requests!