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It was a very demure day for the flower dance. Something about an azure sky and fluffy white clouds made the farmer want to behave for once. The trees were as green as they had ever been and a demurely gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and she was so tempted to speak mindfully and move as gracefully as her grandmother taught her to move. Grandma had been a seasoned breakdancer representing the Australian team in the Olympics, and she knew Gram Gram had instructed her properly on how to represent the family in a mindful and demure way at the dance today.
There was just one problem. The farmer’s stupid costume dress itched like hell, and she wished with all her might that she could let everyone know it. She probably shouldn’t have tried to break in the brand new costume for the first time on a hot spring day, but where else could she wear an outfit like this? Adidas has only recently begun sponsoring her since she went pro. She smoothed her fingers through her hair, hoping the heat wouldn’t ruin what she’d done. No simple farmer braids today. She wanted to look good while getting down with it. As Gram Gram always said, it was time to talk less and smile more.
The farmer’s biggest competition of the day was going to be Linus. He was a legendary dancer, going by the name, “L-Money” on the mean streets of Zuzu City back in the day, and even though he was older, he was a seasoned professional of the dancing world. The farmer had met Linus once or twice since moving to the valley and honestly wasn’t that impressed or intimidated by him. He had no rizz, but she did have to admit that he was ripped as hell. Her Gram Gram always said that if you stand for nothing, you can’t know what you’ll fall for, but her Gram Gram also said when you got skin in the game, you stay in the game… so take that, L-Money. The farmer was in it to win it.
The farmer, in fact, was hoping to do more than win the dance. She was hoping she could catch the eye of more than just the judges… in particular, a certain doctor that day…and maybe if she was lucky, not just his eye, but his mouth and his balls. Hopefully in her mouth. She smiled to herself at the thought, licking her lips. She wondered what he was doing at that very moment. Getting ready for the dance himself, suit laid out on his bed, shoes polished, mustache trimmed. Maybe he was in the shower. Maybe he was putting lotion on his calves. Maybe he had gotten that famous African net sponge off of the Tiktok shop and done extra exfoliating. Her mind wandered. Would he take part? Or would he just watch? Even that was an intriguing thought.
Lewis was first up to compete. He wasn’t exactly the most technical or skilled dancers, but his music choice raised some eyebrows. As Charlie XCX’s “365” began to blast over the speakers, Lewis ripped off his velcro pants, revealing a slimming and stylish bodysuit that showed off his recent BBL, and he began to gyrate and dance.
“Holy shit, Mayor Lewis is like, so demure-” the farmer could hear Shane whisper under his breath.
As Lewis’s sick moves began to slow, the farmer took stock of the scene around her. Several people looked mildly ill, though Elliott had a suspicious bulge in his pants. She blushed and tried to look elsewhere, though he quickly moved behind Leah to apparently attempt to hide it.
Hmph. Figures
, the farmer thought. It was then that the farmer noticed a certain tall, dark, handsome, fresh, rizzed-up doctor sneak into the event. Where had he been? Caught up with a patient at work? No, everyone from town was already here. Emptying his balls in preparation for the hotness he was about to behold? Possibly—not at all improbable. She had to wonder what his water bills were like? All those long showers.
Out of the corner of her eye, the farmer could see Linus warming up. His yellow track suit looked just like the one that The Bride wore in that Kill Bill movie, and he looked straight up drippy. Linus was HIM, and the entire state of Ohio was going to know all about it. He flashed her a look as sharp as a Hattori Hanzo samurai sword. She knew she would have to bring her A-game if she wanted to beat him in not just looks, but in moves, and she practiced her routine in her head. She channeled her Gram Gram, who always reminded her that her goal on the breaking floor was to amaze and astonish, but never to brag. Very demure. Very modest. Always mindful. Always ready to slay.
Everyone clapped politely after Lewis was done dancing, and as he cartwheeled out of the center of the field, it was Evelyn’s turn to perform. She had picked out a sick crop top and booty shorts that day, and she was looking fresh as hell. She pushed down her holo-shades just long enough to wink at the crowd, then launched herself into the center of the field, executing flip after perfect flip.
“Slay, bitch!” Sebastian yelled as he hit his vape and blew out a fat cloud. Beside him, Abigail and Sam nodded, hitting their own vapes. “Slay,” they concurred demurely.
Marnie coughed pointedly, casting a baleful side eye at the trio as she hustled Vincent and Jas away. Harvey sighed in disapproval at the unhealthy habit, but the farmer could tell that his mind was busy scoring Evelyn on her perfectly executed Biles 2.
Harvey watched Evelyn’s routine with a careful eye. Although it wasn’t exactly fair for him to be judging the competition, seeing that he showed up late, he was really bad at saying no to things and the farmer had asked him to do it, so he did it. Did he know anything about breakdancing? No. Could he breakdance? Also no. Could he walk down his stairs in the morning without groaning in pain? Also no! But he took notes with a small pencil on a small notepad, looking kind of important (and, as always, smokin’ hot). When he wasn’t writing, he kept the pencil nestled behind his ear, like the owner of a small town hardware store or someone who was too invested in mini-golf. (Okay, maybe that wasn’t so hot. The farmer would have to talk to him about that sometime. But maybe later, like after she’d won the competition and gotten to gargle his balls. She’d be very gentle delivering the news, sure to take his mind off it soon after. She wondered how many points she’d score when she wrapped her lips around him. A perfect 10? She was so very mindful after all.)
The farmer held her breath as it was now time for L-Money’s routine. Linus had recently had all of his fillers dissolved, so he was looking much younger and more fresh than he did a few months ago. He was looking so snatched too, she wondered if he had been taking a little demure obvi to stay trim for the battle. The farmer could see Doctor Harvey’s chagrined face as he realized Linus
once again
hadn’t taken his advice to merely seek routine dental care—though she could have sworn she detected a hint of jealousy, too.
Oh snap. Is Harvey…jealous…of Linus rn?
She felt a tingling in her nethers, never before realizing she apparently had the hots for both the town doctor and the town hobo/hot-bo. Truth be told, Linus was bringing a whole new meaning to the word “himbo,” if you considered it a portmanteau of “hobo” and “bimbo”. The farmer’s attraction was only natural.
Clint, the DJ for the day’s activities, started up L-Money’s signature track - a sick beat from his babby Doja Cat - one that was mixed with Baby Got Back and also Bye Bye Bye. Very timely. The farmer could see Lewis and his BBL quaking in his sexy stylish bodysuit, and for good reason. L-Money has the sauce. The farmer took a quick gander, noting several more popped boners. Her own heart beat nearly through her chest, her very modest and very very demure granny panties (RIP to the GOAT Gram Gram, but as she would say, dying is easy. Living is harder) SOAKT, eyeing that loincloth-like bodysuit that gripped his curves and left nothing to the imagination.
As if on cue, L-Money began twerking with an intensity that nearly shook the leaves from the trees. The farmer had never seen flesh move like that, and in fact, her panties actually dissolved from the electricity that suddenly crackled through the air. She struggled to keep up with his moves, but they were faster than she could track. All at once he was there—an inch from her face—twerking as though he were saving lives. She came, and promptly collapsed. But before she could hit the ground, a pair of strong, confident hands caught her. They were Harvey’s, she realized. Who else could execute such perfect timing and also be so mindful?
She looked up, breathless, more than a little dazed, not even sure she could compete. How could she follow such a performance? Last thing she wanted to do was move like a wounded parrot. But Harvey had healing hands for sure, a hip flask containing the most perfectly mixed spicy marg, and the bulge of her dreams. Was that even real? How could a bulge be so bulge-shaped under such modest khakis? His budge reminded her of the great smoky mountains, majestic and commanding. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to set up a tent or slurp him down like a cold can of Monster Energy, but she was determined to do one or the other.
It was clear that breakdancing was an allegory for sex, and Harvey knew it.
The farmer was filled with renewed energy. She stood, thanking Harvey for the quick catch, thanking him with her eyes for that beautiful bulge, although she wished she could thank him with her hands. Or her mouth. She would have to do that later. Right now she had business to take care of. She locked eyes with L-Money, who gave her a knowing smile. After all their late-night chats, after that one time in his tent, after all the dumpster diving, it was time to give back to the man who had taught her everything she knew.
The moment had come for the farmer to show the world that she was, as Gram Gram would say, young, scrappy, and hungry. Silence filled the air as the farmer stepped into the center of the breaking floor. She took a deep breath in, placing her hands firmly on her knees, as she glanced over towards DJ Clint. She nodded, eyes narrowed, and he nodded back, slipping the cassette into the boombox and pressing play. It was time and she steeled herself, remembering that Gram Gram also told her not to throw away her shot. This wouldn’t be like the Egg Hunt, losing to Abigail as she elbowed small children aside to win that competition. She wasn’t sure if she had this one in the bag but she would give it everything she had, so she could later give the doctor everything she had.
The audience gasped as the soundtrack to Journey of the Prairie King, but in dubstep, pounded from the speakers, shaking them deep within their gonads. It sounded as if RUN DMC had mixed this track themselves and presented it on high from the breakdancing gods.
“Awww shit, this is my jam!” Alex screamed. Evelyn smacked him with her purse, giving him the side eye to rival all side eyes. George immediately popped a boner. Evelyn eyed it greedily and turned to whisper in his ear. “Sup daddy, where you been all my life?” We know she said that because this is an omniscient narration.
She turned to face the audience that had gathered around her. But before she could make another move, a cloud of blue smoke exploded across the field, blinding everyone. Confused boners were everywhere. From a dramatic but demure plume, a mysterious man materialized, dressed like he’d sewn his own outfit from leftover bolts of fabric that were intended for a kid’s bedroom, but it still looked fresh as hell and he dripped with rizz.
“Eager, aren’t we?” he said—or thought. Everyone’s heads filled with the sound. “But let’s not be so hasty. Aren’t we forgetting something?”
The farmer was so confused. Who the fuck was this guy?
Just as quickly as this bruh had appeared, a plume of purple smoke appeared, and some other dweeb in a magic hat magically appeared. Was it a magic hat or a cowboy hat? Was it a magic cowboy hat? Whatever it was, she wondered what they wanted, why they were stopping her crowning performance, further delaying what she was hoping would be an exemplary performance with the doctor. The Journey of the Prairie King was still playing in the background, but the farmer looked over at DJ Clint and swiped her hand across her neck, cutting him off.
In the silence that followed, a new voice spoke.
“You bitches could never do it like me.” a baritone but also maybe tenor (or maybe even alto or soprano, idk, we aren’t voice experts) voice said from the smoke.
Everyone gasped, the farmer included. She knew that voice.
Gram Gram’s ghost materialized on the field, arms crossed in judgment. Her pointy goatee quivered in righteous concern, the coat tails of her green frock coat wavering in the breeze, smelling like new money, dressing like fake royalty.
“Oh shit, this is in fact, the most demure woman who ever lived!” Shane’s emerald colored orbs widened in shock.
“Asf,” uttered Sebastian, dropping his fat spliff. Or vape. “Asf,” concurred Abigail and Sam.
“Skibbidi, toilet, she’s him fr fr-” Vincent said as he picked up his iPad to continue to play subway surfers and watch Gram Gram dance at the same time.
“Bruh,” said Gram Gram’s ghost. “This comp is super not bussin’. You’ve got a lot of brains, but no polish. I’m putting myself back in this narrative.”
“Cap,” nodded Sebastian. “Cap,” Abigail and Sam echoed.
“Peggy, you raggedy bitch!” Lewis roared, his bussy full of contempt.
And with that, a ska version of “Luck Be a Lady Tonight” started playing over the speakers. DJ Clint jumped back, wide-eyed, and held up his hands to assure the viewer that he no longer had control over his speakers. Nobody was reassured by this.
The farmer was insulted that her own Gram Gram had interrupted her breaking moment. She had been prepared to leave it all out on the floor, but now she watched as her demurely departed Gram Gram tore it up on the dance floor, her ghostly sleeves and braided goatee swinging in the wind as she skanked to the beat. The farmer shot a quick look at Harvey, whose judging pencil was frozen over his notepad. A glint in his eye told her that whatever the outcome, she’d be helping him out of those khakis by the end of the day. But then, she looked over to see Gram Gram’s eyes also locked on Harvey. Bruh.
Was Gram Gram trying to steal her man’s balls?! Just because she lacked the gyatt of her Gram Gram didn’t give that ghost bitch free range to her crush. She didn’t want this to be like that scene in Ghostbusters where that one guy gets the Gluck Gluck 9500 from Casper. She needed to do something, she needed to step up to this ghost Karen, take it to the streets old school. She has more skibbidi rizz and it was time to let Gram Gram know.
It was time to sally in on a black stallion. (She had to speak Gram Gram’s language in order to win. She could feel it.) The farmer had a trick up her sleeve she knew Gram Gram lacked.
She took a deep breath, scanning the crowd, locking eyes once more with L-Money. They might have been rivals, but there was only one way through this, an arcane solution revealed to both of them by the magic of the forest on a really weird night that neither of them have ever talked about. They shared a knowing look, and whispered the phrase together, sealing their fates as they did:
“Mindful.”
The power of the valley rippled through the field. As the energy, honestly kind of mid but still strong, swept through her, the farmer knew that they truly would tell the story of tonight. In twin puffs of smoke, one blue and one purple, Mr. Qi and Rasmodius dissipated, their essences infusing the farmer and L-Money as the sick beats stole their souls, and their asses. Every wig was snatched, every crumb got ate, and everyone there was gagged as the farmer and Linus twerked til the cows came home and the ghost of her Gram Gram got sucked up into the sky.
“OK boomer,” Sebastian said, bidding the random ghost farewell.
“Sus,” Sam agreed. “Go touch grass,” Abigail added helpfully.
The farmer finally had her triumphant victory, and shared in it with her newly ride or die homie L-Money by her side. The farmer stumbled off the field, feeling the essences of the magic guys and her Gram Gram’s goatee leave her body. She locked eyes with Harvey, who had dropped his notepad and golf pencil, welcoming her with open arms.
“My love,” Harvey greeted the farmer. “Skibbidi fuck. You’re the GOAT.”
She felt that bulge at last, and determined it was, in fact, very real, and very thick. Even better than the great smoky mountains, which she had never seen in real life, but had heard of their majesty and demure beauty. Harvey gasped to feel her gentle fingertips. “I-I was so glad you won. I just wanted to be in the room where it happened.”
“The competition?” Asked the farmer.
“No, this.” And he kissed her.
Because this story ends in a happy ending, of course the farmer and Harvey were able to return to the farmhouse for some sweaty, post competition bulge judging. Harvey took home the gold and the farmer had a very demure and very mindful face full of his sweet sweet essence. Possibly better than a grimace shake in fortnite, but who is to say.
As they fell asleep that night, immersed in the glow of post coital bliss, a glow of golden yellow, not unlike L-Money’s tracksuit, the farmer heard a voice in the distance crying:
“ Aaaaaaand Pegggggyyyyyyy ”
And she knew that her Gram Gram had made it to her eternal rest. Finally.
-
cue in memoriam montage for Gram Gram and George, who died in the magic field that Linus and the farmer conjured. RIP.
This fic is dedicated to the immaculate Olympic performer Raygun. You can definitely scam.