#it's just insane to me that a trained chef who is so proud of her cooking doesn't even have any salt at home | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sailoryooons · 4 months ago

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Alright mf buckle in because I am going to scribble all my little thoughts and comments here while I read this bitch live okay. I apologize in advance for all my ranting and screaming but who cares that's part of the fun.

Again I feel the need to mention this fucking banner is my favorite thing because the color combos are so insanely chefs kiss. Ugh I love teal and orange!!!!!!

Spoilers under the cut

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? IF THAT AIN'T MY MF LIFE LMFAO. This is still the most relatable thing I've ever read because truly why are we all suffering in like...... very basic jobs like a bitch is metaphorically trying to sell fruit.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 1) I would get distracted b the fingers lmfao 2) I'm like WHAT DO THE NUMBERS MEAN? IS IT ODDS FOR A REASON? OR IS HE JUST QUIRKY?

Can I just say I'm obsessed with the dynamic of like Yoongi who is sort of cranky and gritty and just answers in noises and reader who is nice and talks to him and tries to get him to respond? I love that little contrast between them, especially because it actually works and wears him down.

sdkfmsodfgijs tired of eating plantanos is so fucking real odigjdoigjdfroigj

"Then eat something else" LMFAO MOTHERFUCKER I GUESS I FUCKING WILL DGIODOGDJRFOISEJFOSIEJFOIJ

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” Lmfao this is so girlboss I love her bye

Literally when I tell you the tension between them fixing her cart is so !!!!!!!! Like why are they in total silence and yet it's like VERY charged and sdfikfojgdigrjoi that's how you know something is well written I'm just like broooooooooooo I'm lowkey kicking my feet over here.

I really love that like - Yoongi is very consistent. From the jump he's kind of .... not rude exactly but also a little bit sharp and even though you get the feeling he has a soft spot for her like fixing her cart and chatting etc. he's still very much a little asshole and I just really adore that consistency/commitment to his personality in this. Okay I will get off my soapbox.

I too, would be lured in by a noodle shop.

I'm going to be so fr this 👇 was me when she realized he was Dragon

Can I just say how well the moments of chaos are captured? Like the pacing and the cadence to the writing while the fight is ensuing with the Cranes above the noodle shop is so well done you can sort of feel the fractured rhythm of the fight and how confusing/fast it all happens.

LMFAO SHE STABBED THAT MAN IN THE NECK SOEIFJSORIGJSFORI. Look at my baby, off to war. I'm so proud of her.

Again, Yoongi consistency. She just killed someone for him and his first response is to yell at her for saying his name too loudly lmfao.

God. The way you write chaos and a scene with a lot of movement and panic is so good. It captures the frantic energy SO well. The running/chase scene is so high tension and you can feel reader's panic bleeding through.

HOLY SHIT I GASPED WHEN YOONGI PULLED THE TRIGGER I DIDN'T THINK HE WOULD DO IT LMFAO JSGOFISDJGOISJFSOIEFJ

"You'll live. Drive." is crAZY LMFAOOOOO

Dead ass thought his ass was about to miss that train jump jesus christ.

SOFJDOFIGJ NOT EXPECTING THE LAIR THAT IS SO FUNNY BYE

WHO IS YOONGI LMFAO I'M SO ????????????? WHAT IS THIS MAN UP TO AND OSIRGJDOFIGJIJ I have so many question. I'm gonna kill you. This was so utterly action-packed and fun to read and high stakes and AHHHHH. You've knocked it out of the park you fucking genius. I hate you lmfao.

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked.

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind.

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst.

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself.

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat.

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks.

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits.

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans.

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him.

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is.

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house.

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away.

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.”

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.”

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly.

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off.

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart.

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers.

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together.

Taboo, even.

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just…

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span.

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag.

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day.

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things.

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall.

“What.”

“I worry sometimes.”

His gaze lifts. “About me?”

“Yeah.”

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to?

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.”

Someone like him? What does that mean?

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.”

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.”

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday.

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest.

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact.

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets.

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again.

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter.

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street.

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans.

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?”

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too.

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.”

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?”

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.”

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead.

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought.

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point.

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return.

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand.

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—”

“Course I don’t.”

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again?

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again.

What the hell is up with today?

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now?

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too.

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first.

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously.

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached.

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.”

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time?

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street.

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.”

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.”

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one.

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.”

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence.

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home?

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.”

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences.

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.”

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over?

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.”

Ah.

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!”

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk.

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting.

And he looks impatient as hell.

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived.

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?”

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second.

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question?

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks.

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it.

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.”

Oh.

Why did… you kinda like that?

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.”

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence,

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi.

For a hardened soul, his name is so…

Tender.

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once.

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi.

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right.

Left seems promising.

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for.

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared.

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby.

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance.

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out.

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form.

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down.

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed.

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months.

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth.

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the…

Ambiance.

Wait.

Dragons. A lot of them.

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal.

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass.

…Yoongi?

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge.

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere.

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers.

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past.

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke.

And just like that, your reunion is over.

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling.

Shit.

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company.

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often?

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time.

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here?

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side.

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase.

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win.

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful.

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on?

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight.

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now.

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you.

What do you do? What even can you do?

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance.

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!”

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life.

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!”

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him.

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do…

This one thing…

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you.

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck.

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.”

“Excuse me?”

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply,

“You shouldn’t be up here.”

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?”

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet.

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward.

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant.

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now.

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.”

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.”

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages.

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill.

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.”

Live with it. How poetic.

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor.

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps.

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling.

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe.

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs.

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down?

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same.

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.”

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now.

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?”

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit.

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought.

This is going too well.

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now.

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded.

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime.

Yoongi’s right.

You’re in it now.

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run.

You’re really doing this.

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go.

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front.

“Get back here!”

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns.

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine.

And he’s… enjoying this?

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees.

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit.

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!”

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between.

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck!

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes.

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face.

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life.

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no.

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is—

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd.

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?”

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.”

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside.

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in.

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear,

“Kiss me.”

“I said get out!”

“What?”

“Come here.”

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.”

Oh.

You were just… Oh.

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either.

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.”

…Huh?

Agust?

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun.

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight.

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes.

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever.

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey.

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that.

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck!

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day.

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts.

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory.

Did you both really make it this far?

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do.

Rest. Sleep. Home.

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three.

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not.

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.”

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.”

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it,

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right?

Right?

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop.

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it.

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for?

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up.

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again.

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all.

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive.

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district.

Han Station is a floating railway?

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head.

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward.

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head.

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore.

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name!

“Agust!”

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle.

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt.

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now.

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe.

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection.

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way.

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry.

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by.

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time.

Your tangerines…

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away.

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal.

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake.

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off?

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers.

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.”

We? Stay?

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.”

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?”

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.”

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.”

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.”

Mm.

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow.

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder.

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have?

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now.

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust.

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train.

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—”

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.”

“Understood.”

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling.

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with?

…Who exactly did you save?

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into.

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman.

Right before sliding doors shut the world out.

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ minted masterlist (coming soon!)

#yoongi #mem x reader #organized crime #faves #kithtaehyung

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mrskurono · 4 years ago

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mm dw, i'll ace all of the assignment with only 2 all nighters! and yes of course i'll not forget about my health :D. i actually cried a little when you said you are proud of me. i've forgotten when was the last time i received such compliment from my parents or did they ever compliment me tho? i'd be so proud and will definitely be the hottest baddie if i were your kid >:) blame my parents for making me having serious mommy and daddy issues... (ya theyre lowkey manipulative and abusive(verbally&physically))

my roommate seriously skipped today's online class because she said she need to do some serious hot girl shit which is reading your wife's and your works. she claimed it as "training for milf in training" 💀and now she's whining about wanting to dominate noritoshi and gives her babies 😭💀 recently i drag her ass into watching haikyuu and she said, "i want to see seijoh 4 cry their eyes out because i overstimulate them, especially mattsun who definitely hides monster cock in his pants." pls she is insane but i love the energy she radiates.

love,

🍡.

That’s just- such a load of crap. I will never understand why people even have kids if they’re going to act like that. For what it’s worth I am incredibly proud of you! For everything you’re able to accomplish! The schooling, defending yourself, being so wonderful, I know I’m just some crazy lady on the internet but baby you are brilliant and wonderful and doing such a good job!!! Your parents lost not recognizing that! <3

THAT IS THE MOST HOT GIRL SHIT I’VE EVER HEARD I FREAKING LOVE HER?? LET HER KNOW I LOVE HER OK LIKE?? I’LL NEVER BE THAT COOL GOD

SHE GETS THE MATTSUN CRYING THING TOO HOLY SHIT. Like- fuck me ok domming Oikawa yea boring, domming Iwa kinda zesty but domming MATTSUN. Fuuuucking hell he’d be the prettiest crier let me break a man’s will until his legs are trembling and he’s pleading with me to stop <3 (obviously I can’t dom Makki, rip but my dom ass is in love with him I wanna smooch him it’s gross)

And the making Noritoshi give you babies. That is *chefs kiss* everything in life I need. Allow me to side tangent bc I had this thought getting out of bed. But Nori being placed and trained as the Kamo head (away from his mom) and he ends up taking a liking to a worker on the family grounds. First it’s innocent as he follows you around all those years. Then its when he slips up and calls you mommy one time that you just....you gotta use him. Poor mommy loving Nori begging for your attention while he sucks on your tits like a baby. Pleading that he needs you and you pet him and tell him he can have you all to himself after he gives you all the babies you want. Securing your position in the Kamo family heads bc you’re gonna have all his cute babies <3

Anyways, thank you for letting me tangent! Babe ilysm <333

#as you might also notice love anon is now off my acct for the time being until i get the second part of the megumi fic out #this will affect my anons i know but pls know if you ever wanna just talk my dms are 100% open and I'll never divulge your blogs #anon will probably come back after this megumi thing blows over #hopefully you'll stick around baby <3 #🍡.♡#anon #three.talks #jjk smut #jjk #kamo noritoshi #noritoshi x reader #noritoshi smut #noritoshi kamo smut #mattsun x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa smut #hq smut #hq!!

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puppy-phum · 4 years ago

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for the character ask...OUR FAV BOY LIU SANG

(*´∇｀*)/💖

i had to come answer this one bc!! my son!!!! aaaaaaahhhh!!!!!! so thank you sob now i can talk about my second sour grape boy,,, wait. ok well, hissy kitten ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ spot the difference (you can’t)

give me a character

(placing this one under a cut too bc oh boy. i have things to say about liu sang)

How I feel about this character

Good lord. I feel so many ways about Liu Sang. He is absolutely amazing but he also just drives me insane every day. No other character has ever given me such headaches, he must be proud. Finally someone suffers as much as him (because I bet those ears cause him a permanent migraine). I feel sorry for him. I’ll take this pain gladly if it helps him in any way.

But well. As simply as with Jiang Cheng, I do love Liu Sang. I shouldn’t really be surprised (at this point) that I fell in love with him but back when I was watching Reboot, he hit me like a truck. Which,,, he probably drove that truck himself, judging from the way he was handling the car chase with Jiang Zisuan. Just ruthlessly drove me over. I never stood a chance, not in front of that arrogance and stubbornness and enormous puppy eyes.

And with all of himself, good and bad, he makes me feel so many things. One of those, probably the strongest one, is protectiveness. He needs someone to protect him from himself because he has a nasty self-destruction streak going. Boy has not known love since he was born. He has gone through way too much to try handle it alone. I can’t even remember how old he is supposed to be in Reboot (maybe 29?), but that is way too many years of fighting a battle he was never supposed to win. But he pulled through. Cynical and prickly and absolutely terrified of any human contact but he fucking pulled through. I want to fight some battles for him now. He deserves to rest. He deserves some peace and quiet and unconditional care. I want to tell him that he doesn’t deserve all the pain he’s going through, all the pain he himself is putting his body through because he thinks he can only be used as a punching bag. I want to tell him he deserves friends. I want to tell him that it’s okay to trust people again. I want to... just protect him. And maybe this is why – because of all this fragile mess I’ve discovered from inside of him while trying to figure out who he is – I struggle so much with writing him. I feel like I’m bringing up things no one is supposed to see. I feel like I’m pulling out words from him like teeth. But at the same time, I know he’s desperate to tell these things.

So I struggle because I love him. Willingly. But oh boy does he annoy me sometimes, under all that protectiveness and fondness I have for him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I am quite sure at this point that I don’t really ship Liu Sang with anyone. No one clicks with him in my head so well that I could feel myself slipping into the proper shipping territory. But I haven’t minded any of the ships I’ve seen for him, not Pingxiesang (which makes me super soft) or him with Kanjian (which is so sweet) or even @kholran’s pool noodle Risang (which is very interesting and I will read your fic, friend, when I am out of my Pingxie pit! I just need to feed these beasts first). I am mostly just very intrigued by all these ships people come up with because it really plays to my wish to just explore his dynamic with every other character that is available for him.

But to put it simply: Not one perfect match exists for him yet in my head. Let’s give boy some time to figure out freindships first.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Well, this one I love because! This is what he is all about for me, somehow. So I will mention three: Xiaoge, Bai Haotian, and Pangzi.

First, like I already mentioned in my Xiaoge answer, I adore Liu Sang’s dynamic with his ouxiang. They are both so damn awkward. I feel like I’m following a train wreck happening in slow motion any time I see them interact but instead of death and flames and screeching metal, it’s. surprisingly soft and sweet? They are both very tentative when it comes to people so they somehow get each other? Even if Liu Sang is a mess when it comes to Xiaoge which I totally get because I have once in my life met a person I consider a celebrity and who I look up to a lot and I was just shaking. And giggling. And acting dumbly. So I don’t blame Liu Sang for any of that; I’m actually quite proud that he’s keeping his cool so well and despite the rough start, manages to be a huge asset to his ouxiang. I am so happy that he gets to have this budding friendship with Xiaoge because they both need it.

Then! Bai Haotian. I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately and the more I rewatch some of their scenes together, the more I notice that they really develop a bond during Reboot. They are in a very similar position: brought in because of their idols, young, sometimes overlooked, struggling, and usually falling behind. And oh, definitely in need of some saving and with tragic backstories. They could be such amazing friends, and I think they come to trust and care for each other during their trip to Thunder City. Bai Haotian is so caring by nature and then Liu Sang is just right there. And Bai Haotian is so lowkey about her care; she doesn’t push if people don’t want her to, which works so well for Liu Sang. She’s there when needed. She doesn’t ask too much. She knows how it feels to look up to one of the members of the Iron Triangle and then curl your own life around them. (She also knows how it feels to have a crush on that same member and then notice that crush will never lead you anywhere, though I guess Bai Haotian comes to realize that during their trip instead of years before but well, details.) She doesn’t judge Liu Sang and somehow Liu Sang comes to rely on her a lot.

And last but not least (never the least!): Pangzi. God I adore these two to bits. Their banter is just *chef’s kiss* and when I look at them, all I can think about is a big dog trying to pat a hissing kitten with its paw. Which then turns to the kitten play fighting the dog’s big paw. And then getting tired. And falling asleep. While the huge dog just curls its body around the kitten to keep it warm, and maybe the kitten swats at the dog slightly for show but actually it enjoys it. Because it’s nice and soft and very warm. So yes, I love it how Pangzi and Liu Sang start off as enemies but come to care for each other. I cry about the peanut scene every day. Yes please adopt this poor stray kitten, he deserves a loving home ;; Give him food and a blanket and maybe he will hiss a little less (Pangzi also gives great hugs and Liu Sang deserves a dozen. For starters.)

My unpopular opinion about this character

Once again I am at a loss with this. I don’t really know what this fandom thinks about Liu Sang? I feel like our tiny Liu Sang hyping corner here on tumblr is very much unified with the opinions. We all love him a lot and want the best for him, case closed. So maybe I’ll just talk about my hypersensitivity headcanon for him? Let me do that for fun haha

So, I know he’s sensitive to sounds. Understandable, with his skills. And I feel bad for him for that because it must be horrible at times (we get introduced to him through him vomiting because he can’t handle a train station with all the noise, christ) but I also somehow relate to that. I get sensitive to sounds sometimes too. A simple click of my mouse can be annoying at times. I require absolute silence quite often, and this intensifies if my emotions are on the negative side. So, somehow I’m taking things from that. Touch hurts when he’s feeling bad about himself. Noises annoy him when he’s angry or scared. Lights look too bright or he feels like he can’t focus his gaze when he’s sad or panicking. Smells and tastes are intensified when he’s stressed. I dunno, just simple little things. Him feeling through his senses. Him just generally being sensitive with his feelings because this world is a demanding place and pushes you into feeling things. And I feel like a lot about him is already tied to his hearing so why not his feelings too? I’ve read so many nice takes on him which somehow support this so I feel like this just fits right in.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon

Liu Sang joins the final celebration!! Him just disappearing doesn’t make sense at all!!!! Let him get hugs!!! Let him be happy!!!! Oh my god. I was so mad about that and still am because no way did he just leave and not join his new friends for this final evening!!! Dammit. No matter how much he feels like he doesn’t belong and like he’s just “a hired talent” among them, he’s not that dull!! He got those damn peanuts and some hugs and shoulder pats from people, he was there saving the day, he managed to create bonds!!! And god, knowing Wu Xie, he would never allow Liu Sang to think that lowly of himself!!!! He would be there to offer Liu Sang the world if he wants it!! Gaaaahhhh

So yeah, give Liu Sang his moment with his new family or I am throwing something, for fuck’s sakes

thank you again for sending me these asks ♥ i’ll answer the rest during these next few days! you’re amazing!!

#i would give him my right arm #or my lungs #if he asked #so here take my blabberings #also gonna tag this as #liu sang #bc i know ppl out there love him #and we like to see each other blabber lol

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oloreaa · 4 years ago

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Rea rea REA, every time you write a new Ven chapter is a holiday in this house ok!!! Chapter 16!!! *chefs kiss* it had everything!!

You gave us love like Oprah handing out prizes: “Omera gets a blushy domestic moment!” Me too bro, I would lovingly watch her take care of my kid through her warmly lit window and envision a peaceful future with her! It is! What! Elana deserves! ;“Cara gets a muddy squishy hurt/comfort hug!” Cara not being into kids but still plucking Bean away so Elana can have ~training time~, Cara “””yeah you could call it a swim””” Dune; “Din gets asked about his name and everyone has some unresolved feelings!” !!! Din gently rearranges Elana’s posture! He is trying his best! Elana is RIGHT to be on her guard around him but I understand how it’s easy to buckle after hearing That Unmodulated Voice, I understand...but then!! You gave us action! Elana is so Fierce!! She worked so hard on her lessons! She made those kids feel safe even at such great cost! No one in the village was hurt! You can tell this is very traumatic for everyone despite their victory and I’m wishing them all a very take care of their mental health and recover! You gave us B E A N: he fall in a mud puddle! Din chuckle! Bean silently Nestle into Elana’s shirt to recuperate from the battle and everyone calls her mama (my heart is feeling both love and hurt,, how are you doing this WEEKLY)!Anyway I’m so proud of you bb! Your attention to detail, your depth of understanding of your characters, your plot development, your incredible balance of reader’s emotions?? It’s incredible!!! And I’m sure you work insanely hard to produce such amazing content 💕 I know you have your big list of WIPs, but whether you finish them today or next week or decide to move onto new ideas, you will always find people who love your work and appreciate you for creating it ✨ SO remember to take care of yourself OK! (We read those tags to make sure u are not overwhelmed! You know a lot of people would descent on you in a storm of frogs, blankets, and cake to make sure u r feeing your best!)

Oh my gosh???? When I opened this I literally gasped oh this is wonderful🥺😭😭

Bro I simp so badly for Omera it's not even funny anymore, I love her so much❤ she is just such a gentle but fierce soul and I swear if they dont bring her back in Season 3 I will RIOT

I'm so glad that you liked all the little moments in between and noticed all the details!! Writing Cara is incredible fun, she has such an easy voice while writing and her and Elana's interactions are very dear to me.

And Din!! Ooh precious tin can man, he absolutely tries his best but the two of them still have so much left unsaid and they definitely need to have a true heart to heart at some point because it's getting painful lmao.

Writing Bean is my absolute favourite thing😭 he is such a sweetheart and I just cannot get enough of him!!

And babe you're the absolute best, your kind words made me tear up and gosh, if I could hug you right now, I absolutely would🥺🥺❤ amazing people like you is why I love writing and share my stuff onto here, and please accept thousand kisses from me omg🥺💕💕💕

Thank you baby, I appreciate this so much😭❤

#💌#babe i just want to #wrap you up and give you the biggest smooch #this made my evening #thank you so much🥺🥺#vencuyanir

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theashofwkm · 6 years ago

Text

Whispers of Heartbreak

Summary: In which Mark tries to cope with losing everything he once held dear.

Warnings: angst, insanity??, loss of self, manipulation, depression, alcoholism, self loathing/hatred, multiple suicide attempts mentioned and briefly described. Read at your own risk.

Note: I wanted this to be angsty, but I didn’t think it’d be this angsty.

———

The first time Mark heard the whispers, it only said three words, said them just days after Celine had left, after William had betrayed him and destroyed his entire world.

It put words to what he was feeling.

It’s not fair.

His own head had repeated the words after that, accepting it as his own.

Those three words described everything so perfectly, so how could they be anyone’s words but his?

The next day, it expanded on its earlier words, as Mark drank his morning coffee.

It’s not fair, is it?

“It’s not fair.” A mumble into the ceramic rim of his mug.

He stole your wife. He’s a monster.

Plush lips tip downwards as the bitter liquid washes over his tongue.

“He took Celine.” A glance at the two empty seats. The seats that held his wife and brother, once upon a time.

He took everything you held dear.

It continued to build upon its words, building a foundation of hate for the man Mark used to be closest to.

He never respected you.

It’s words also build an anger in Mark - a fire that only grows, that has nothing to burn, because he lives in an empty shell of a house, with only ghosts of the people he used to love.

The pictures of him, Damien, Celine and... William still sit on the table in Mark’s bedroom.

He was probably with her when those photos were taken.

Mark doesn’t want to believe it, but he knows it’s true.

Just look at him, looking at your wife.

“She was mine.”

His eyes scan over the photo of William, on his own.

Look at how proud he is, how smug. He has the wool over your eyes and he knows it.

His fingers are wrapped around the frame and slamming it face down on the table before his mind can catch up. Bits of glass scatter from underneath it, a display of its now-broken casing.

He deserves worse.

The voice in him whispers, then falls silent, leaving Mark to stare at the snapshots of what used to be a happy group of friends, now as broken as the cover of William’s photo.

He watches the sunrise now, a fantastic view provided by his balcony. It’s a gorgeous sight - Mark wishes he came to see it more often, perhaps Celine would have liked to see it.

Maybe she already has.

Mark blinks, contemplating the words. He gives a minuscule nod. Yes, she probably had seen it before, she was an early bird, after all. But perhaps she would have liked it better if she had company.

William?

The name is mocking - an obvious statement to the person that had slipped from Mark’s memory.

Mark’s face sours, gaze turning to the second chair, positioned next to the one he sits in.

Perhaps she had company with her, after all.

A watery image appears in his mind of Celine and William, sitting side by side with mugs of coffee in their hands.

The fire sparks in his chest. He jumps from his chair, turning and tossing it carelessly over the balcony. The second chair and table follow suit.

Celine has requested them to be there.

Perhaps she wanted it so she could be with William.

Mark looks at the cheap, scattered furniture laying haphazardly in his yard. The fire doesn’t dwindle, just grows a little more.

He’s having dinner. It’s a silent, almost proper affair. The Chef and Butler bring his food, then vacate the room.

He eats alone at a table set for six.

She sat across from him. They probably played footsie under the table while she flirted with you.

Mark huffs sharply. A quick scalding glare is set on the chair his wife sat in, the one just to his right. Damien had moved a seat down so his sister could be with her so-called love.

He probably knew about it. Moved down so she could be closer to him.

His throat tightens as he swallows tasteless food with a numb tongue. Tan knuckles whiten against the silverware as he tries to rein in his disgust long enough to get his food down.

His upper lip seems to be stuck in a never ending sneer - as constant and present as the whispers and memory of his ex-brother are.

He ends up leaving the table after only having just a few bites of whatever Chef had poured hours into making. The rest goes to waste. Like everything else in the Manor does.

Mark isn’t sure why he’s still keeping up the charade of living. He’s tired. The effort he would need to salvage the ruins of his life is too much. He just wants to forget.

The whispers lead him to the cellar, stocked to the ceiling with different wines and beers and whiskeys.

One drink will help you forget.

He now shares his heart with tinted, empty bottles.

The alcohol has not made him forget.

Instead, it’s William’s face he sees in the mirror and Celine’s voice he hears late at night, when the Manor is silent.

Rock bottom has given way to a new low. Mark is beginning to learn that there is always a worse. There’s always something to lose, even when all he has is the empty air in the gaps between his fingers.

He’s tired of losing.

He wonders who will miss him, if anyone does, if he offs himself. A night is spent dedicated to this train of thought.

No one really will be, he decides. They’ll all mourn him fast enough.

Then William will finally get everything of yours, everything he thinks he’s always deserved.

Mark feels like he has nothing. What is there for him to lose?

And Damien always said that life was yours to choose, anyway. It’s his choice. Mark chooses a premature end. So he drags the knife across his skin and spills red on the pristine floor.

In his last coherent thought, he wonders if Celine will attend his funeral.

He doesn’t die.

Mark laughs once this sinks in. Throws his head back and legs out a genuine full-belly laugh.

He thinks this is his punishment, his payment for failing Celine.

He tries again.

He lives.

Numerous tries later, Mark still breathes.

He laughs, again. Because he is stupid. He has nothing, why would he have a way out?

Why do you deserve a way out?

He doesn’t. He deserves to suffer, he thinks. This doesn’t stop him from trying to find the way out. The pain hurts, anyways. He deserves that too.

His skin is forever marred.

A physical manifestation of your love for her.

Even if he somehow, someday moves on, he can never forget. The scars are everywhere. His thighs, his legs, his arms, his chest, his throat.

Yet he lives. A reminder that he will never have what he wants.

He thinks perhaps it’s the method that’s the problem. It makes no sense - dead should be dead. But Mark is depressed and desperate and he just wants it to be over.

So he tries other ways. He poisons his own dinner and makes enemies of the town’s gangsters. He’s beaten and choked in a back alley. It is the first time he has left his home in months. He tries to drown himself in his childhood pond, he ties rocks to his limbs and sinks to the floor.

Everything is warbled and blurry, but his crazed mind doesn’t notice the difference. He hadn’t seen clearly since before he found William in his bed.

You can’t die.

The voice whispers, sounding almost kind for once.

There’s something you need to do first.

———

Masterlist

Here’s another spin on WKM, from Mark’s POV. It seemed like an interesting idea - Mark and what the whispers told him, how they corrupted him. I decided to start it where it ended - it’s not fair, is it? I low-key love this, btw, hope you guys do too <3 Let me know if y’all would like a part 2.

TAGGING:

@pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frappuccino @jmweezy (tags are open, I feel like I forgot a couple people)

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zoebechtle-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Unlikely Chapter 12

“You know what my favorite thing about your face is?” Random thoughts from Zoe. Niall turned his eyes from the football match on the TV (against my own will, he had turned me into a Derby Rams fan). It was late on a Saturday night. Willie and Hannah were out of town and Deo had been relocated for the weekend. We hadn’t seen much of one another over the last week - he was finishing things for his upcoming charity golf tournament and gala, and sliding into the studio to write as often as he could. He claimed he'd had a stroke of inspiration lately and wanted to get back to making music. I was busy finishing up work on a big research project with a few other therapists, and hadn’t been home before 9:00 anytime recently. As of next week, his schedule was the most insane thing I’ve ever seen for an unemployed musician (as I liked to remind him): golf tournaments, fundraisers, charity games, concerts and festivals, and an extended trip to the U.S. to write and record more. Therefore, we had sequestered ourselves in his house and were having a grownup sleepover. Last night I’d insisted we make a fort out of cushions to eat pizza in - once I’d convinced him it was an amazing idea, he’d gone in with full gusto, choosing blankets that were sturdy. He fancied himself a fort engineer by the end, and was a little pissed when we knocked it down after the dinner during more active pursuits that resulted in an impressive patch of rug burn on my back. We took a long bath, with bubbles that I’d smuggled in, and I’d dozed off with my back resting on his chest, at ease with pretty much everything. He turned on some late 90s dance music this afternoon and we danced around like idiots, then tried (unsuccessfully) doing the tango (I have two left feet). I was trying to convince him to let me braid his hair, but he wasn’t there yet. It’d been the best 30 hours ever, and I was kind of buzzed off my love of him. Well, and the bottle of wine I’d been sipping on.

“What’s that, baby?” He took a long drink of his beer and I watched him swallow, enthralled. “Z?”

“Huh?”

He started laughing. “You have the attention span of a mouse. What’s your favorite thing about my face?”

“Oh yeah!” I was sitting on his left side on the ginormous sectional sofa in his living room, my feet across his lap. I scooted my butt closer until I was almost sitting on him, and turned his chin so he was facing forward and I had a perfect profile shot. “This. This is my favorite.”

“You’re poking my cheek!”

“No! I’m poking your eye dimple. It’s the cutest thing ever.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about - don’t have a dimple on my eye.”

“Right under, not ON your eye.” I rolled my eyes for emphasis. “Here.” I grabbed my phone from behind me and pulled up a picture of him I’d taken that morning. He was sitting on his countertop in his tightie whities, laughing at my impressions of various Food Network chefs while I made French toast. He looked so utterly perfect, laughing so hard he ended up getting the hiccups when I discussed Wonder Bread and Egg Beaters as Sandra Lee, his hair falling over his brow and fingers grasping the overhang of the counter. Who knew the members of One Direction loved cooking shows? I’d promptly walked over the kissed the living hell out of him after I snapped the pic. Such opportunities could not be wasted. “See? It’s a little dimple and it only shows when you’re genuinely smiling. Everytime I see it I want to buy a house and retire there because it’s the most perfect place on Earth.” Okay, maybe I’d had closer to a bottle and a half of wine. He looked at me with wide, adoring eyes, and caught my lips with his own.

“Know what my favorite part of your face is?”

“I’m guessing my lips because, blah blah, sucking you off,” I gave him a cheeky grin, expecting the usual male answer.

“You underestimate me, Zoe,” he replied, wrinkling his forehead and pushing his pretty lips out into a tiny pout. He actually looked a little hurt.

“I’m sorry, boo.” I traced his chin dimple with my thumb, pacifying him. “What’s your favorite part?”

He kissed my brow bone. “This. Can tell everythin’ you’re thinkin’ by your forehead and brows. You can’t hide a thing. Explains why you can’t play poker for shit.”

“I’m not THAT bad.”

“Babe, Nick took forty quid off you in one hand.”

“He cheats.”

“Sure he does.” He’d pulled me back against the cushions with him and I cuddled up to his side. “Love you. Bad poker face and all. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

I felt my emotions bubble up as they always did when he said something like this. “Love you more.”

“Impossible.”

“So possible.”

“Nope.”

“Shut up, shamrock.” In order to ensure his silence, I climbed over his lap and kissed him stupid. He upped the ante by slipping my t-shirt over my head, and I won by pushing his shorts down and sliding down on his cock.

His stylist, Ellie, and her favorite tailor showed up Sunday early afternoon to fit Niall for his fundraiser suit one last time. He was leaving soon for a golf tournament in Northern Ireland so all final preps needed to be now. I adored Ellie-she’d helped me find a dress (not even a dress, a fabulous creation of nature that was the most perfect item of clothing I’d ever had on my body) for the upcoming Horan Rose event. And to Niall’s chagrin, I’d paid for it myself despite his requests otherwise and whines to the stylist. I would be there not only in girlfriend capacity, but also representing the clinic and its autism research efforts. Luckily, my boss was coming as well, as Niall’s guest, so he could field all the tricky questions. An administrator I am not. When I’d shown Hannah pictures of the miracle dress, she’d been shocked.

“It’s pink.”

“‘tis.”

“You don’t wear pink. Ever.”

“I like pink!”

“I know, but 90% of your wardrobe is black! And it’s light pink at that!”

“Because pastels make me look dead. But this looks good.” I showed her the next pic in the roll of me modeling for Ellie.

“Holy shit.”

“Right?”

Hannah sat back, obviously proud of herself, “Love looks good on you, Zoe Jane.”

I threw a shoe at her, intentionally missing. She wasn’t wrong.

I laid on the bed while Niall pranced around in his underwear. His good mood was infectious, and Sam the tailor was having none of it. The older gentleman who had twice whacked him on the back of the thigh for screwing around. He’d earned my adoration quickly.

“Zoe, will you look at these ties?” Ellie had plopped down next to me, holding up a large box. “I can’t decide which one.”

“Lord, she’ll put me in a bow tie, don’t let her choose, El!” I stuck my tongue out at Niall as I sorted. Damnit. He was right. I loved bow ties. They looked dapper.

“How about this one?” I held up a navy one for Ellie’s inspection.

“The peaches? You think?”

“Yup. In honor of his little peach bum.” He shook said bum at us, earning another smack from Sam. Too cute for words.

I was nervous about the fundraiser. Besides it being my first official event as Niall’s date, I was also going to meet the whole Horan clan - he was flying a boatload of people over from Ireland for the party. In negotiations with him and Kim, I’d gotten out arriving with him and doing the red carpet thing (the mere idea gave me hives). He wasn’t aware that I wasn’t going to be “arriving” at all - at my request, Kim was going to arrange for me to come in the back door of the facility. I knew I’d be photographed at some point or another, but I wanted to avoid it as much as possible. I agreed that I’d sit at his table and be on his arm instead of eating with Willie and Hannah nearby or my boss and his wife in the back of the room. He knew I was terrified of the attention, and tried to talk me down as much as possible.

“I know it’s a lot, babe.” We were FaceTiming as he got ready to head off to a rugby match with Rory.

“No, it’s fine. I just don’t want people paying attention to something that isn’t a the reason for the night,” I tried to explain. I started playing with my bracelet, twirling it around my fingers.

“Put the bracelet down, ya liar.”

“What?”

“Get on me about my nervous hands, and ya do the same damn thing.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Kate is next to Justin, so why wouldn’t ya be with me?”

“Um, because she’s his wife.”

“Is that all it takes then? Ok? Wanna get married? Let’s go.” Wha? I knew my mouth was gaping.

“No! I mean...no, shut up.”

He knew he had me and smirked. “Just gotta say the word.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’ve known one another more than three months. They weren’t outed on the The Daily News and Sun out partying. Twice. The fangirls of the world don’t hate Kate. I don’t want to cause problems for you.”

“Z, are ya ever gonna realize that I don’t give a fuck? Yeah, I try to keep as much of me life private as I can, but I’m not going to hide ya. Ever. And I’ll protect you.” By this point he was pointing his finger at his laptop in a rant.

“God you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Likewise, pretty girl. I gotta go, car is here. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Nialler.”

Niall got home late Thursday night, and the Irish contingent starting arriving by the planeload Friday afternoon. I’d stayed late at work to get ahead since I’d be off Monday and Tuesday for the golf tournament and the inevitable aftermath-I’d been training my liver for this weekend since I was sixteen. After work I’d planned on going home, leaving Niall to his own devices with his guests. But in true Niall fashion he had his dad text me that he expected to see me when he landed. The little bastard had pulled out the Bobby Horan card. When I finally left, a black Range Rover beeped at me from the curb and Basil waved. I let out a sigh and muttered to myself. “So much for taking the tube like a normal goddamn human being.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up, obviously.”

“He really doesn’t know how to take no for answer, does he?” I buckled into the passenger seat as Bas tossed my bag in the back.

I wasn’t one hundred percent on board with this uncomfortable hour drive and silently shook my fist at my boyfriend. I was still trying to figure out where I stood with Bas. While I was sure he didn’t hate me, my relationship with Niall and what it meant for his security (and heart) were still unknown. We both routinely got some nastygrams, and lately he’d been getting his phone hacked on the regular and spammed by little shits. I was anxious and had skipped lunch today because my stomach was going nuts with nerves. I was facing an entire long weekend filled with people who loved Niall and were going to be watching me. I didn’t work well under pressure. So I filled the car with awkward conversation until Bas’s eyes basically begged me to shut up. Rightfully silently chastised, I leaned my seat back and closed my eyes until we arrived home (shit, did I just refer to Niall’s house as home?). I didn’t even get my buckle undone when the door was opened.

“Ni, Jes-,” Oh. This was not my blonde bombshell. The older man with rosy cheeks beamed at me.

“Zoe! Aw, love, it’s a pleasure!” The legend himself, Bobby Horan, pulled me out of the car and into a gigantic bear hug. Unlike when I met Harry, however, I didn’t mind. I may have squealed a little bit.

“Back off, old man!” Niall elbowed his dad. “I haven’t seen my girl all week.”

“Whose fault is that, youngster?” Bobby gave me a grin, and I squeezed him again.

My quick confidence shot from Bobby quickly diminished when I walked into a house full of strangers. I knew it was coming but still was not prepared. Before I could blink, I’d met Eoghan, Bressie (hello...I was never going to be able to make eye contact with him), Bobby’s girlfriend Aoife, another Niall, and various other guys whose names I was going to spend the whole weekend trying to remember. I was passed from person to person - the Irish were huggers. Sensing my discomfort, Deo slid a Jameson in my hand. I mouthed a thank you to him and downed it only to have it replaced by a beer. After being appropriately introduced, I excused myself to go to the bedroom and change. And have a minor panic attack in the bathroom.

“Babe?” Shit, I’d been gone for almost half an hour.

“In here.”

“Decent?”

“Totally depends on your definition. But no, I’m not pooping.”

His head poked through the door, giving me a look. “Hiding, huh?”

It was useless, he’d figured out my M.O. “There are just so many of them. And they all love you. If you haven’t noticed, I tend to make an ass out of myself when I’m nervous.”

“I know. Still waiting for those strokes you promised me.”

“I hate you.”

“C’mere.” He pulled me up to him, wrapping his arms around my middle. “I missed ya. Didn’t even get a proper kiss. My da’ cock blocked me.”

“I’m assuming not for the first time.”

“You have no idea.” He’d finally worked a smile out of me and gave me a warm, gentle kiss that I felt down to my toes. The beer he’d been enjoying was obvious, but there was a slight mint to his taste as always. “Missed you, pretty girl.”

“I missed you, too.” I rested my head on his collarbone as an someone beat on the window in the closet, causing us to both jump a foot.

“Quit molesting the lady, Horan, and get your ass out here!”

“Fuck you, Eoghan!” he shouted back. “Hey,” he whispered, pulling my attention up to him. “Everyone out there is so excited to get to know you. You’re all I’ve talked about for months. Babe, they love you already. I promise.”

The Irish could party, let the record reflect. Aoife, Hannah, and I ventured out late Sunday morning for manicures and to get last minute supplies, including buy a new tie for Eoghan, who had insisted his could double as a headband the night before, requiring me to cut him out of it. None of Niall’s ties matched the intricate pattern of his suit, he claimed (Niall was positive he just wanted me to feel the fabric) and I’d been tasked. Once I’d gotten over my initial shyness, I realized why every one of these people were special to Ni. It made me feel even closer to him, and pondered introducing him to my family eventually (then promptly took a shot to chase that crazy idea away). The only stone left unturned was Maura. She and her husband were meeting us at the event. Willie and Deo privately had told me that she’d guilted Niall into the invitation - something she routinely did when there was something she was interested in. In the time we’d known one another I had never witnessed her interacting with him in any way. I had developed an attitude about her, and he was aware of it. I didn’t know Niall as a small child, but the idea of willingly leaving him was foreign to me. I didn’t know her side of the story, it was true. But even how she treated him now pissed me off. Plus, I’d bore witness to the affects of her abandonment, and that made me pull out my momma bear tendencies.

Over the last two months I’d observed Niall pour over details with planners and Justin, his co-host. He’d really put his heart and soul into it, and I was full of pride. So proud that I’d risked my perfect hairdo (okay, so it was Hannah and her masterful use of a flat iron and bobby pins) to give him a blowjob in the closet before he’d left. Right against his perfectly organized hat collection, near the mirror so he could watch in full detail as I swallowed him whole wearing nothing but a strapless bra (ouch) and lace boyshorts.

“Christ, if that’s the reaction I get for helpin’ people I’m gonna sign over my whole bank account.” I’d just nuzzled my cheek against his thigh and cleaned him off with a satisfied sigh. Then I did something so positively dirty that when my rational brain returned I couldn’t believe it. I dipped my finger in a tiny trickle of come on his thigh, and, eyes locked with his, and dabbed it behind my ears like perfume. Then licked my finger.

“So I have a little bit of you with me all night.” I loved philanthropic men, what could I say? He hauled me to my feet and was about to maul me when his phone rang. “That’s your car.”

“Fuuuuuck. I’m going to think of that all night.”

“I know. That’s why I did it.” I kissed his lips pertly and rubbed his nose with mine. “Go, I’ll see you in a bit. I’ll be the one falling down in heels.”

“Don’t worry,” he turned to grin at me as he picked up his suit jacket, “I’ll catch ya.”

The ballroom at the private golf club was madness. Ellie and I had ridden from the house together, and were both bouncing with excitement. Swanky events weren’t my thing, but I knew the night promised to be amazing. We had shuffled in through the kitchen, and observed Jamie Freakin’ Oliver yelling out directions. El didn’t give me time to adequately fan girl. Probably for the best. I’m sure I would have ended up stealing a carrot. We spotted Bressie and Eoghan and huddled with them. My inner matchmaker decided that Ellie and the single Bressie would be adorable, and I made a mental note to mention that to Niall later. He was still working the green carpet, and would be for a while. I’d spied him outside of the ballroom doors and felt giddy inside - he looked amazing (god, Ellie was good at her job) and in his element.

We sipped Horan Shamrock Spritz cocktails and the obvious jokes about Niall being in our mouths were shared. I privately gloated knowing he was more than just in my mouth. Eoghan eventually made a face, “Of course she’d show up to this - rich and famous folks.” We all turned in unison and Bres groaned. I recognized the tiny (seriously, I’m short - I would tower over her) woman as Maura. Not wanting to be obvious and being a huge fan of avoidance, I excused myself to go to the charity section and spend some time mingling and discussing the clinic with guests, most of whom had no idea that I was anything other than a practitioner attending the event. My feet ached by the time dinner was announced, the royal blue shoes that matched some of the gem detail on the top of my cocktail dress not being designed for long term wear. I mentally patted myself on the back for tossing a pair of flip flops into my bag.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” a familiar Irish voice interrupted my conversation with an older couple about vaccines (for the nine millionth time in my career). Niall put his arm around my waist, “I need to steal this one to meet a few people. Have you all seen the silent auction tables? We’ve got some great prizes. Glenn,” he patted the man’s elbow, “there’s a package to play with Rors this fall. It’s got your name written all over it.” Like that he slid me a way.

“I owe you. So hard.”

“Your eyes were screamin’. I know when my girl needs help.” He kissed my cheek as we navigated the crowd, being stopped by every other person for Niall to chat. “You smell fuckin’ amazin’.” We raised our eyebrows at one another.

“Musk.”

“You’re going to kill me, woman.”

We were interrupted by a high pitched, loud voice, “There’s my baby boy!” I knew I couldn’t avoid her all night.

“Mam, I was lookin’ for ya. Wanted to introduce you to Zoe, my girlfriend. Zo, this is my mam, Maura, and step dad, Chris.” I could see Maura eyeing me up and down, and I felt everything from my hair to my toes being judged. I slapped on a huge smile and reminded myself that he loved her despite the shenanigans she’d caused, so I owed it to him to try.

I extended my hand, “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

“You, too, dear. I didn’t know you had a young lady, Niall.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, for a couple of months.” The tension was thick and I was uncomfortable.

“Did the two of you have a nice trip?” It was lame, but it was something. We stood and talked awkwardly (Niall had his arms crossed over his chest with his hands tucked, a sure sign he was uncomfortable) until dinner was announced. We were all at the same table, but luckily were joined by Bobby and Aoife as well, and Deo and Martin. Willie, Hannah, Eoghan, Bressie, and other friends were behind us, and at the next table were Justin and Kate (whom I had grown to quickly adore) and their family members. There were plenty of people to chat with so I could avoid direct conversation with Maura, who, to be fair, didn’t seem all that interested in talking to me. Luckily, the wine was flowing.

Shortly after dessert was served, some big shot came over and Niall introduced us all. As they left to start the speeches, the gentleman complimented Bobby and Maura on raising such a fine young man. Having sat back and watched her bask in Niall’s glory all night (and watching his jaw tense and him clench his fist when she did), including claiming him auditioning for XFactor was her idea (it wasn’t, and any fan with internet access knew that) and how she always knew he’d be special, my irritation grew, I couldn’t control myself. The cat was out to play.

“Yes, Bobby, he’s right,” I reached over and grabbed “the father-in-law” (as he’d dubbed himself the night before)’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You really did a fabulous job with that one. Thank you.” I knew Maura caught what I’d done, and frankly I didn’t care. She glared at me and I gave her the eye right back. Deo watched us in amusement.

“Zoe, would you like to go to the powder room with me?” She was throwing down a challenge, and emboldened by liquid courage, I took it.

“Certainly.” Aoife looked at me with wide eyes, and stood to come along. I waved my hand at her, and she grabbed it. She had my back.

“Aoife, I think this needs to be a talk between Niall’s mother and his fling,” Maura said, giving her a withering look. Oh fuck no. Those were fighting words. I pushed my chair in with a little more force than I’d intended, and the table shook. She might be little, but I had rage and a little country in me. I would take her on for insulting me, her ex-husband’s girlfriend, and abandoning her sons. With pleasure.

“Well, let’s go have this talk, shall we?” I turned on my heel and walked off to the private toilets, not looking back to see if she’d follow me. I knew she would. And I knew whatever I said would be turned around to make her the victim. We all knew women like her. I leaned against the toilet wall and waited.

“Listen, missy,” she’d barely cleared the door. Normally I hated confrontation, but this was different. This was standing up for Niall. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am his mother and you will not undermine me. I am just as responsible for his success as his father!” She was feisty, I’ll give her that. “You don’t know anything about me and how dare you embarrass me in front of these people. You’re just a slag using him for his money and connections.” I just let her rant. Also, project much?

My voice was much more calm than I’d anticipated. “You’re right, Maura, I don’t know you. I don’t know what you went through when you abandoned your sons, but I’ve seen first hand the damage it’s caused. I’ve had to deal with the complex Niall has about women leaving him, and it almost ruined our relationship before it started. Forgive me if I underestimate your contribution to his life beyond birthing him.”

“You have some nerve!” The door opened and Aoife and Hannah walked in just in time to hear her shriek at me.

“I do. You’re right. But, I’m not ‘some fling’. If you were an active part of his life, you’d know that. Everyone else from Ireland knew. I love your son. Desperately. And I apologize,” that hurt to even say (sorry not sorry), “if you feel that I haven’t adequately respected you. But please quit taking credit for something you had very little to do with. Niall is the amazing person he is in spite of you, not because.” My peace being said, I brushed past her and walk out of the bathroom, my hands shaking and went straight to the bar.

The night proceeded on, but I felt uneasy. It probably wasn’t my place to tell his mother off, even though she richly deserved it. Especially on a night like this. I tried to put it out of my mind, but I couldn’t. My stomach rebelled against me and I was anxious as hell. I’d seen her approach Niall afterwards and the two of them venture outside, their heads bent towards one another. Shit. Before I could check with him, however, the performances started.

Hannah had shared the highlights (greatly exaggerating, as to be expected) with the boys, and Eoghan had declared me his hero. Bressie jokingly offered to pay my tab for the evening. Bobby very obviously called me daughter multiple times in her earshot. At least some people were on my side.

“Hidin’ so I can’t have a dance with ya?” I’d be standing at the bar, sipping another Horan cocktail, and his hands rubbed my hips. He dipped his mouth close to my ear and whispered, “Gotta be careful kissing your neck tonight. Not big on the taste of myself.” I laughed and turned around, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Hi, bugaboo.”

“Hi.” He kissed my nose. “Heard you’re causing trouble.” My stomach dropped and my face flamed even more. I bit my lip, hard.

“Sorry, I ran of-”

“Don’t apologize,” he stared at me. “No one has ever called Maura on her bullshit before. No one ever stood up for me like that.”

I exhaled, the weight of the world lifting off my shoulders. I pulled on a little piece of hair on his neck. “I could have picked a better venue, though.”

“Probably. But this is twice you’ve proven you’re a fucking bad ass in public.” He kissed me and lead me onto the dance floor as “Fix You” by Coldplay blasted. Appropriate.

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unkindnessofone · 7 years ago

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5SOS. Rooms You’re Tall In

It’s up! This was a much tougher one to write. I thought I knew where it would go, I had so many notes, but here we are. I would love to hear some feedback. Sending this one out as a thank you to the darling @gotsbadblood. They are always encouraging and supportive. I appreciate it. Also if you love Taylor Swift, it’s a blog worth checking out.

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They had been there before together multiple times, but this felt different than following their parents around for their respective vocations and seeing Parisian life from the safety and comfort of their parent's laps. He was travelling the world as an actual musician, making money for his songs and hearing people that weren't from his neighborhood being impacted from feelings and words that had been produced by his fingers and mind. Then there was her, studying in the city to become a chef, being screamed at in a language she hardly understood while prepping plates for some of the most appetizing food she had ever seen. She wasn't Luke Hemmings daughter when she had her culinary whites on. He was still trying to shake off the shadow of his dad as it danced behind him every time he stepped on stage.

Taking her bohemian dreams to a different level than she had been able to back home in Sydney, Penelope skipped steps on her way out of the subway pit as found herself in a more touristy part of town. She held the crochet strap of her usual purse over her chest as the bottom of her elephant pants, coloured teal, mustard yellow, and a rich purple, dragged delicately over the dirty street. Her eyes were tired, the bags beneath them almost matching the colour of her lightweight pants, but she had taken today as her first day off of work since moving to France. She couldn't spend the Saturday sleeping in and losing out on time with her best friend. Penelope walked straight into the hotel lobby as if she belonged there like any other guest and headed to the stairwell. Connor had texted her his room number and it would have been easier to take the elevator, br she had been surviving off butter, sugar, and jam. Besides, walking up the stairs felt exciting since her doctor and parents had banned almost every other physical activity.

"Hi, rock star." Grinning from ear to ear, Penelope mustered up some energy from the vitamin she took upon leaving her place as soon as Connor threw the door open, his hair as light as it had ever been and terribly curly. As if they had a mental countdown between them, they hurried to hug one another - laughing as they did.

"God, I missed you." Hugging her tighter, shaking at her touch, Connor moaned into her ears that were poking him back with her gold conch shell studs his mother had made for her. "You smell like...thyme? Is that thyme?" Chuckling, he asked as she started to slip out of his arms.

Penelope lifted up her arm and smelled her elbow before yanking on the collar of her plain white t shirt and sniffing it next. She was low on laundry. From living on her own, she was learning she hated to do laundry.

"Honestly, I smell like a pantry now. It's just my life." She shrugged, smacking her arms against both her sides. "I brought you something." She raised his brows with peaked interest as she unzipped her purse and reached around into its contents, producing a small jar of mixed berry jam. On the tightly sealed gold label, she had stamped 'Penelope Hemmings Jam' with a small conch shell in black ink.

"Thank you." Connor held it in one hand, admiring her self made label and leaning in to hug her again, using one arm this time.

"So you can taste home wherever you go."

"I have something for you too." He held his hotel room door open wider for her, allowing her in as he stepped through to where his suitcase was resting open on the queen sized bed.

Fidgeting with the fabric of her pants, Penelope looked around and the room and concentrated on nothing. It felt uncomfortable to be alone in his hotel room. Connor was her best friend and they had been countless hotel suites together, but last time they had seen one another they had kissed. She wasn't sure if that had stopped meaning anything or where they were at yet. Over texts neither of them had brought it up.

Penelope leaned her shoulders against the wallpapered stripes and watched him. He looked stronger somehow which made little sense to her as they hadn't been apart very long and she followed his life closely online. Penelope chalked it up to her head. She was trying to learn French and cooking with a permanent concussion, maybe it was making a mess of the way she saw things even a guy she knew better than the instructions to the perfect pancakes.

"Here you go." Standing up straight again, Connor offered her a closed yellow envelope with her nickname written across it in his forever clumsy penmanship. "Four tickets to the show tonight."

"I can't believe I am going to see you live in an arena tonight." Grinning, Penelope took the envelope and then held her arms up above her head to shake them around with wiggling excitement.

Laughing, Connor stepped in to hug her again, picking her up and twirling her around which invited high volume laughter from his favourite girl. He snuggled his face into her neck, breathing in her new scent, but when he went to part his lips slightly and leave a kiss behind he was surprised that she leaned her neck and head away. Connor took the cue and politely put her down on an end corner of the bed.

"So are you best friends with your idol now? Or one of them." Penelope teased while leaning back comfortably onto her flat hands. Everyone knew that as much as he was inspired by the opening act, Ashton Irwin was Connor's truest idol.

"Paul is cool." Humbly, Connor informed her. "He's living up to my expectations, but he definitely is more quiet and distant than I thought he'd be, ya know? With how crazy he is on stage."

"People are full of surprises." She mused even though more often than not, Penelope found herself guessing what was about to happen before it did and being correct. She was a good judge of character and she figured that came from meeting so many people at once constantly as a little girl on tour. One had to learn fast who was good and who was just pretending.

"Like Molly." Connor mused with a wiggle of his brows, sending them under his mess of curls that were someone else's nightly problem now.

"I can't even imagine your Dad's face." Penny shook her head, eyes shut with disbelief. A dedicated cheerleader of a father, Penny imagine her Uncle Ash still hadn't picked up his frown from the floor since finding out Molly had been arrested.

"They were way more upset she was in a relationship and didn't tell them." Honestly, Connor had been bummed out that his sister didn't confide in him either. He laid down on his back on the bed next to Penelope, hanging his legs off the edge.

"He's really hot." Pen mentioned casually. When the news filtered through the many group chats, Emmeline had taken it upon herself to send everyone pictures from the Internet of Molly's rugby beau, Flynn O'Malley. Connor stared at her blankly, absorbing her comment and trying not to expose how much he didn't care for it. It had always been him obsessing over girls and Penelope blowing off the advances of everyone. Connor wasn't sure he had actually ever heard Penny call someone that wasn't on TV hot before. He knew now that it didn't make him feel good.

"I guess." Connor tried to laugh it off, staring at her blond hair from where he laid like it could tell him a thousand secrets. "I got to go to a radio interview and sound check in a little but. How's your French? Can you translate for me?"

"I could, but I'm not going to." There was nothing about a life that mirrored her dad's that interested Penelope. She wanted to stray as far away from living beneath a microscope as she could. Sometimes she considered using one of her middle names or her maiden name in place of ' Hemmings' just so she was less traceable. Penelope knew how much that would hurt her father though. They had talked about it. "People would start rumours I was your girlfriend if I showed up at interviews and your show with you." Penny laughed awkwardly.

He wanted to ask her if that would be so bad, but Connor wasn't sure his singer-songwriter could take the answer, "Is that why you're bringing a bunch of friends tonight? You don't want anyone getting ideas?" He asked instead.

"I'm just proud and I want to show the people I'm close with here to see my best friend and all can do." She was staring down at him with her usual loving eyes, but the sun bleeding through his balcony window illuminated her to look like his own personal angel.

"You're the best." His hand reached to cover hers over the bed as they both shared smiles from one another. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." She had been so busy in her new life that e didn't occupy her thoughts constantly, but once a day when she was sitting on the train or learning a new French phrase, he popped into her mind and lingered.

Connor wanted to pull her down. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and moan how much he craved her over and over into her hair and neck. She was keeping her distance from him though and he knew he would pummel some guy who made her uncomfortable. Connor would never forgive himself if he was that guy.

"You're coming to the party tonight after, right? I want you to meet some people. They hired a bassist for us and he's so dope. He's from South Africa and might be completely insane."

"Can't wait." Penny joked. "I want you to meet my friends too." Along with her, she was bringing some of her petite Paris family that she had naturally put together. Alexandra, Cerise, and Jules. "They're excited to meet you as well. I've been playing your music for anyone who will listen." Her cheeks blushed a mauve tone which felt unnatural since very little made her nervous. "You should probably get ready, huh?" She knew he had a busy day ahead and was just fitting her in for a sliver of time this morning.

Like a child, he whined, "I don't want you to leave." It was the same way he felt when she was packing for France ages ago.

"You got to go be the Connor, the Rock God. I have no choice, I'm just a lowly culinary student." Penny fished her hand out from under his, beginning to slouch her way off of the bed entirely. She still had things to do on her day off as well. Nobody was trying to interview her, but she had research for school and she planned to cut her own hair in the bathroom before going to his concert. Plus she had to go to the open market to pick up more ingredients for homemade jam and salsa. Canning had become a fun past time to do in her tiny kitchen with friends. It was a love second to surfing. Nothing would ever replace a board and waves for Penelope Hemmings, but staying up in her kitchen until 4 in the morning in her pajamas with good music playing and fruit in a pan could tide her over.

"There is nothing lowly about you." He said with great conviction, his eyes screaming his opinion as a promise to her as he took her hand again. "You're the amazing Penelope Hemmings."

After wishing Connor luck, Penelope let herself out of his suite. His lips had tainted her as she said goodbye with their knees knocking. Penelope felt like there were too many things to consider. She was falling in love with her new life and her independence. He was on tour and had always taken up with other girls. She imagined he was meeting so many different bodies now that his career was on it's launching pad. Of course, there was also the new people in her life to think about as well.

As she squeezed between two doormen squabbling in French, Penelope reached into her purse and pulled out a bent thin paperback to read on the subway along with her cell phone in its Australian flag phone case. She had missed two texts from her friend, Cerise. The first one in French and second translated to English. The two girls had paired up on the first day of class and became fast friends over their mutual disdain for the know-it-all guy who sat two stations ahead of them.

"I will see you there." Excitedly, Penelope texted back and tossed her phone back into her purse before heading to her subway stop. Somehow, Cerise had managed to score a brunch reservation at Cafe Lola and it was on Penny's long list of places to eat it mostly because of their lemon curd that was apparently the perfect balance of tart and sweet. Penelope was starving anyway. Today was going to be perfect.

As soon as she pulled the black glass door open to the busy spot, Penny was greeted by cutlery clanking against plates and chatter so frequent that it was just static around her. It reminded her of being in the restaurant kitchen just without the heat and pressure. Penelope loved when she was in the middle of chaos which was strange given how little interest she had in drama. It was just that when she was surrounded by noise and movement she felt closer to the feeling of surfing. She was tranquility in something made without control. It was thrilling.

Her eyes scanned around the room for the vibrant red pixie cut she sat beside every week day in class. Instead, she spotted Jules sitting by himself with a cup of coffee and a kindle in front of him. He was waving at her up high by the time she linked her eyes to him. His smile sent her waking by the hostess stand and through waiting groups of patron.

"Salut, Penelope." He stood up and greeted her with a hug, one hand resting on her back. She loved the way he said her name in Picardy influenced accent. It always sounded like he meant to say 'antelope'.

Penelope kissed around the stubble on his cheek before taking a seat right beside him, the spot across from her vacant for their third.

After exchanging pleasant how are you's en Francais and flagging down a server to order a lemonade for Penny, the Australian-American reached into her purse and retrieved the paperback that she had tucked back in after reading it on the subway. Jules turned off his kindle and moved it to the side, leaning in to give the beautiful girl his full attention.

"I like this one better than The Three Musketeers." She told him, flipping through a couple dry pages of Gaston Leroux's 'Le Fantôme de l'Opéra.' with Penelope being the type desperate for adventures, Jules had assumed she would love The Three Musketeers, but she had texted him somewhere around chapter two giving it five thumbs down emojis. Penny found the page that she had drawn neon orange highlighter marks on with his permission. It was his clever way of helping her with her French. He gave her books to read and asked her to keep track of the words she didn't know. She had gone from requiring him to read her whole pages while she cooked him dinner in her suite to just needing help with a few words every couple pages or so. Penny dragged her nibbled finger nail to the word and tried to read it before noticing Jules was rubbing at his right knee.

"Are you alright?" Even though she could say it French, she said so in her native tongue to better express her concern. Jules would have detected it in the way she leaned in and dropped what she was doing.

"I love that I can still get you with that." Chuckling, Jules tapped at his prosthetic leg and watched Penny relax with a sigh and fix him her meanest mug that was cuter than it was cruel.

They met at the tapas restaurant they both worked at. Jules played piano with the jazz band and met Penny while rushing through the kitchen late for a gig. He had snatched a piece of baguette she was using for a bruschetta platter and found his chin at the tip of her sharp blade until he put it back down onto the surface. It wasn't until she was mixed up with directions on how to get home that they found themselves talking and getting to know one another better. He fit in with her friends from school because he was relaxed and the girls were wild. He had quickly become a very close friend. One of the only people she actually liked talking to about her surfing accident.

"You're a gomer." Her Aussie accent shone as she rolled her eyes at him and leaned back into her book, turning it around to show him the words she was struggling with. She often looked them up on her own, but it was nice to be with a local that she trusted and have him show her better pronunciation and how to use the word.

"Did you have a nice visit with your friend?" Very interested, Jules asked while leaning in and looking at the book he lent her. She was at the part where Christine and Raoul were hiding from the Angel of Music in the roof of the opera house, vowing to protect one another and love each other for eternity.

"Yeah, it was quick. He has press and stuff." Penny shrugged. "But it was really nice to see him. He gave me the tickets for tonight. Thanks again for coming." She liked spending time with Jules and, like her, he had a true appreciation for live music. It wasn't just about screaming and having drinks for him which Penny liked because she detested both.

"This word, bagarre," With a clean fingertip he poked under the word she had highlighted. "It would be like...how do you say?" Jules bit down on his bottom pink lip, a small scar in the middle that she had noticed as soon as they met. "It's like a duel, but less formal. A brawl!" As he was talking, he figured it out. "Raoul would step outside of himself and brawl with them phantom in order to look after Christine if he needed to." Jules didn't even realize that he had begun to use his hands in front of him to explain the story.

"That's what I thought." The rest of the sentence only made sense that way, but it was still helpful to hear her friend say the word aloud. "Bagarre." Penny repeated and celebrated mentally when he shot her a thumbs up, a gesture he liked because it seemed American.

"C'est bon! Oui." Celebrating with her proudly, Jules reached over and squeezed her arm right before her lemonade was set down in front of them. Penny would have watched his hand over her if the server hadn't shown up. She peeled her eyes off of his hands that were strong and worn out from a lifetime of playing music so she could order a tray of pastries for the table. She hadn't forgotten how badly she wanted to try their lemon curd. Penny nodded her head into her shoulder and watched as Jules watched her, the arrival of her French friend who reminded her so much of Emmeline interrupting their sweet, but nervous silence.

"I'm here and I'm hungry." Kissing Jules cheek first, Cerise exclaimed as fast as she could in French before rushing over to greet Penny with a kiss as well. While Cerise put herself together in her spot, stripping off her pink jean jacket and talking about her morning, Penelope watched Jules listen. His side profile was what had caught her gaze and daydreams in the first place. She was confused. He was very much her first real crush from the excitement that tickled her stomach when he texted her to the nerves that took over her mind when he waved 'bonjour' when he saw her at work, but then there was Connor. He had lusted after her for so long, written songs about her, and they kissed before she left in front of so many people. Did she talk to Connor about a long distance relationship or did she keep dreamed about the French jazz musician with eyes that she swore had flecks of 24 karat gold in them.

*************************************************

Penelope hadn't been wrong about her day. It started with a tight squeeze from Connor Irwin, followed by pastries that lived up their rave reviews, a little time sitting on a bench in Rene Binet garden with Jules, both of them reading their respective books while wishing they brought sweaters. Autumn was fast approaching. She went home in a dream-like state, having a little cheese and jam while cutting her split ends in front of her perpetually foggy bathroom mirror.

She wasn't used to the confusion that seemed to swirl in her brain like creamer freshly poured into morning coffee. She felt like a moron the way her mind was drifting between imagining a hectic life that mirrored her parents with Connor Irwin and an easy melody with Jules where they could cook, dance, and create together. Penelope used to roll her eyes when her friends would stress about boys, but she was reading her textbook with her French to English dictionary on her bed and wondering what Connor's mouth between her knees would feel like it if the way Jules said her name would feel as good as it sounded.

She was thankful when Alexandra texted her that she was on her way so they could get ready for the concert together. The two girls who worked in the male dominated kitchen could gab together about other topics. Alexandra dreamed of running her own catering business in the South of France, only working for the most elite events, and her dreams helped Penelope figure out where she wanted to take her new skills. So far, Penelope Hemmings just really liked making jams and salsa. It wasn't exactly a launchpad for a real career.

Once in her favorite sweater, a blue and white check pattern that her Grandma Christie from her mother's side sent her, and slipped into a very worn out pair of black jeans, Penelope was ready to spend the night with both boys who were holding the logical side of her brain captive. She rested her butt on the edge of her claw foot bath tub and braided her friends hair, breathing in the third cigarette Alexandra had lit in the last fifteen minutes.

"I listened to your friend's music the whole way here." The older girl spoke after her drawn out inhale, her thick almost black hair being massaged by Penny's nimble fingers. "I don't know him, but does he write about you? I felt like his songs, some of them, they were about you." Alexandra had obviously figured out that the tune 'Penny and Me' was all about her new beach loving friend.

"I think so." Forever modest, Penelope explained. They didn't have a deep enough friendship yet for her to be forthcoming. They usually just talked food and work. "We grew up together, you know? Our dads are best friends, they were in the same band. I don't think I had a day without Connor until I was, like, four." It was a slight exaggeration, but they did spend more days together than apart for most of their early years. It wasn't until they grew into preteens that they started to choose to run in the same circle.

"It sounds like he loves you." Alexandra let the cigarette smoke curl upward as she glanced behind her to inform Penny. She wanted to see her reaction even if it was lackluster. "Do you love him?" She inquired as soon as she turned her head again.

"I didn't think we were going to talk about guys..." Nervously, Penny chuckled back. "Weren't you going to give me a recipe for some kind of bore entree?" Penelope was obsessed and wanted to soak in all the different techniques and meals she could.

"I will." She rolled her eyes. They worked together, there was time to teach the blond how to make a bore lasagna. "Do you love him or do you still have, what do you call them, giggly eyes for the drummer?" Alexandra had been working with Jules since she was hired over a year ago. He didn't ever register in her world though until she investigated who the guy walking Penny home every night was even on the evenings he didn't work. Girls had to stick together and look out for one another, she figured.

"Googly eyes!" Loudly laughing with her head back and her blond hair falling to the dimples above her butt, Penelope taught her. She supposed that giggly eyes still described her as well. "I don't know, Alex. I wish I did. I've never been in this situation before."

"Wait!" Letting her second braid come completely undone as she yanked it from Penelope's hand, Alex looked up with an enlarged stare and almost blew smoke right into Penelope's almost nude face. "You're a virgin?!" It was a real plot twist for Alex. She just assumed that the daughter of an Australian rock star with legs as long as pi in its entirety would have banged out a boyfriend and a few wild strangers in-between.

"No more. I'm not talking about this." Penelope drew her line in the sand. She readjusted her almost straight hips on the bath tubs edge and took to her friends hair again. The girl who was once known for how laid back and chill she was (like ice cubes in a finished glass of iced tea) was flustered and embarrassed. She felt like every time she entered a different room in Paris she was finding a different part of herself. It was the biggest adventure of all and she was not impressed with it.

*****************************

She was blaming it on her busy mind, but Penelope felt lost in the crowd during Connor's act at the Paul Shimnowski Band concert. She had no idea how many concerts that she had attended in her entire life, all of them she had loved, but this one she wanted to sit out. She had arrived so excited with her hair falling Cher style down her back and her phone ready to take a hundred pictures a second. Instead, she felt the headaches that she suffered randomly since her accident come on the moment she was a part of the large crowd in the concession areas. She followed Alexandra and Cerise, staying next to Jules as they squeezed through to find their floor seats. Maybe, it was because all of Connor's shows she had attended up until this point had been small venues, local ones that she had seen other decent and not-so-good bands in. This was a stadium. This was the kind of show she grew up watching her Dad put on, but of course, more folksy. The smell of weed lead the vibe of the entire show. She usually danced freely at Connor's shows. She was his biggest fan and former number one merch girl after all. She would raise her tanned arms above her space buns and turn her body in every direction she could without colliding with anyone, but not tonight. Tonight, she hugged her chest and watched her friend with a tight lipped smile. The kind that silently shouted, 'I am not okay'.

Connor looked every bit like his father with his mom's chin and jawbone. Somehow he managed to hone his mother's poise and grace while still embodying his father's goofiness and charm. It made it hard to pull your attention away from him when he was practically making out with the microphone and his hands were massaging the instrument he was playing, seducing the crowd by gyrating to his own songs. It could not be denied, as far as Penelope could see, Connor belonged to the stage. He always said he was born to play music for the world and she hadn't ever doubted him. Now she knew that nobody would be able to. The crowd around her was reasonably new to Connor. He had been relatively unknown outside of Sydney until Paul Shimnowski took him on tour, but she could hear over 5,000 other voices singing along to the song, 'Slipping Away', a ballad he wrote about her, about being with someone else and wishing he was with her, a song that Penelope had heard over a hundred times, but she couldn't remember any of the lyrics. Her head knew the words, her mouth was well acquainted with them, but her brain refused to connect them to her memory. It even struck her as a surprise when he whispered her name into the microphone, singing out loud how he felt clearly, 'Penelope she sleeps so soundly, somewhere in her bathing suit...'. She had heard the line before, even recalling the first time he played the song for her in his parent's backyard while she scratched at one of his big dog's ears, but the words were lost in the fog her head produced.

To her left, looking for sanctuary, Penny looked over at Jules by her side. He was standing still, just watching Connor with a contented look blanketed by a blue glow coming from the stage they were near to. She moved her attention down to the military green chinos he was wearing. She could see at the bottom of one pant leg the fabric outlined his metal prosthetic. He had opted to wear it over his one that better resembled a limb for reasons she knew not to be her business. The sight of his prosthetic, though covered, was a source of comfort to Penny and she leaned into him, knocking her arm against his and gaining his attention for herself.

“You're the Penelope, right?” Jules asked right in her ear, still saying her name how he knew it to be pronounced and not how Connor had just sung it. He had found her to be a small recurring theme in Connor Irwin's songs especially the sappier ones.

“Indeed.” She brought both palms to her chin as if to frame her face for him before laughing gently. “Connor invited me to an after party. Do you want to come?” She knew Alexandra couldn't because she worked in the morning and Cerise was all, but seething that she couldn't because she had obligations with her own boyfriend and his very religious family that attended church every Sunday.

“I'm going back to the restaurant.” Jules explained with a half-frown. Music was his life, just like it was Connor's, and even though he would gladly take any night off for a concert or if Penelope needed him to, he loved going to see his friends play and always wanted to find an opportunity to jump in and jam. He knew he wouldn't make it to the place they both worked at until nearly 11 pm, but he also knew that his seat behind the kit would always be warm and welcoming to him.

“I didn't know.” Penny shrugged. She didn't know which event she wanted to be at more, Connor's after party or her work where Jules would be playing with the rest of the jazz group. She felt obligated to Connor's since she had agreed to be there that morning.

“You'll be okay?”

“Oh yeah, I'll be fine. I just thought it would be fun for you to come too.” She knew it would be. He was a simple calmness that her life was missing. He chased adventures and liked new experiences as much as she did, but Jules was older by a year and needed time to lay in bed and relax. He forced Penelope to just slow down sometimes.

** * ** * ******

Still hugging her chest, Penny waited backstage against a cold white brick wall that she had once leaned against before as a three year old, waiting with a stomach ache for her Aunt Grace to take her back to the hotel for a medicine and a long nap. The way her Uncle Michael told the story was that she ate too much stinky French cheese and threw up everywhere, but the truth was just simply that she had a terrible stomach ache and both her parents were working their respective on-the-road jobs.

Penelope waited behind hoards of people. Some speaking French, but most gabbing back and forth in slang English. She wasn't invisible, eyes looked her up and down, but no one engaged with her, so she kept to herself. In her purse, she still had her copy of The Phantom of the Opera if she really needed it. From over top of a small balding man and very angry looking woman, she spotted Connor's sweat slicked forehead. Penny stepped forward in a lunge movement and waved. He was in the middle of being spoken to by two people at once, but as soon as Connor spotted her, he dove between his new manager and a label executive to talk to her.

“You were out of this world!” With delight and honesty, she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck as he twirled her around.

“You're here.” He moaned against her cheek with a smile that almost broke free from the confines of his face. “You're stunning!” Connor was never light on compliments around his favorite Hemmings, but since they kissed, he felt better about always saying how he felt and right now he felt that she was the most beautiful girl he had seen all day. “Where are your friends?” He looked around, certain that he had given Penelope more than enough passes to come see him backstage without any hassle.

“They all have cooler lives than me.” She excused, as if going to an after party for a concert wasn't anything to write home about. “You're stuck with just me.”

“I'll take you.” Connor threw his arm around Penny and started to walk her closer to the people he now shared his life with. “What did you think of the show?” Her opinion was the only one that truly mattered to him.

“I think you look like a young Ashton Irwin. It was so bizarre.” Penelope tapped both her cheeks with her open palms as she looked up at Connor. “Like, I'm not sure if you're my Uncle or not.”

“Don't be sick.” He playfully shoved her away just to pull her back with the same arm he draped around her like a useless scarf. “Did you like some of the new stuff? I'm just constantly trying out new material. Paul thinks it's the best way to figure out new music, play it live in front of as many people as you can and gage the reaction.”

“It was cool. You're getting kind of Dylan-ish.” Well acquainted in the world of music even though she didn't feel like she had much artistic talent herself, Penny critiqued him. “But like both his eras, you know? Folk and electric. I dig it.”

“Awesome.” Connor tightened his arm around her, bringing her in closer for a hug. He led her into his dressing room where his two best music buddies from back home were packing up their instruments. “I'm just going to get changed. You cool to hang with the guys?” He asked, but Penelope had already escaped his grip and was sitting on a coffee table next to a bowl of pretzels, talking to the guys she knew from spending all her free time at the Wax 'n' Wake by the beach back in Sydney. Connor watched as she easily made herself fit into any room effortlessly. He wondered if his new schedule would change how he felt for her, but his feelings were strong as ever. She was still the image that waltzed through his mind when he was working on new music or the voice he wished he could hear after a particularly challenging day.

** ** ** ************************************************

Outside, where the air was crispy through a hollow wind that was announcing October was just days away, Penelope was dressed perfectly in her cozy sweater and jeans. Inside of the club, she was cooking like one of her first attempts at baklava. It turns out hotter doesn't always make something cook faster. Penny excused herself from the booth that Connor and his ban were occupying, squeezing her way past two very drunk and very French girls to make it to the stairs. She didn't realize that Connor was following behind her until she almost slapped his face off by whipping the smoking door open and shut.

"Are you okay?" Once outside, relief from the heat and noise greeted Penny. She moved away from the group of smokers huddled by the door and stood out in the open, admiring the street lamp between limp orange leaves in the trees. "I didn't know you were behind me."

"It's okay. I didn't need my nose anyway." Wiggling it theatrically at her, Connor teased. "Are you doing okay?" He never quite knew where she stood on parties and clubs. She was a teetotaller which changed her experience from other people throwing back shots and sipping on mixed drinks. Even before her accident, Penelope didn't have any desire to drink. Still, Connor remembered Penelope as a staple at almost every beach bonfire or high school party he went to. She was always there with her usual cooler than the rest smile and the straps of her bathing suit top poking out of a neckline.

"Yeah, I just couldn't breathe." Fresh air had become a requirement in Penelope's recovery. She spent her first few lunch hours at school walking outside around the building, breathing in the air, and she liked to keep a window of her bachelor suite open at all times. It helped her keep her mind clear or, at least, she felt like it did. "You seem really in your element. I can tell you're happy." It was nice to not have to check. With her brothers and Emmeline, she had to check, but Connor's joy stretched through him. It practically screamed into a room.

"I'm even happier that you're here." Connor moved in close just as Penny was lifting up her arms to tie back all her hair, allowing a cool breeze onto her neck and her small chest to press against his. He had no complaints about the movement. "I wish I had more time here. You could show me around or I could see your apartment." He tightened his hands together behind her back, right where her dimples were. "We don't have a day off til Lyon and I'm assuming you wouldn't skip school on Tuesday to hang out there with me."

She was shaking her head before he even finished speaking, "As much as I plan to go there, no way." If she missed a day of school, she missed an entire lesson. Culinary school was fast and Penelope wasn't as whip smart as she used to be. She really had to focus now where she could slack off before. "No." She finished the same sentiment. Somehow, and she wasn't quite sure how, Penelope's hands had left her hair and were both laying flat against his chest which made him flex out of insecurity.

"I understand." He nuzzled his head closer to hers, making their conversation private from even the prying ears of the breeze around. "We will just have to take advantage of tonight then." It was only half past eleven anyway. Connor kissed her forehead and then her cheek. It felt safe and comforting. Penelope felt drawn in, but stepped back anyway.

"Do you want to just go and hang out in my hotel room?" Connor asked and tried to follow her eyes that she was now hiding from him. It wasn't the first time someone had asked Penny back up to their room, but it was the first time she was tempted to agree.

"Connor -" She sighed out his name with frustration. It confused him even though she meant to direct it at herself. Penny had a hand on her forehead and her heart in her throat. "Con, I don't know what to do." He was her best friend and she didn't want to start keeping secrets from him now.

"We don't have to go to the hotel. I didn't mean that in a pressure filled way." Right away, he hurried to defend himself. "We could just, like, catch up or watch TV."

"No, I'm not upset about that." She assured, her hand still massaging sat her temple. "I like you. There's a part of me lately that would love to go back to your hotel room." Enlarging Connor's pupils she surprised him. He instantly cleared his throat and fidgeted his arms at the sound that she had thought about being with him. "There's a part of me that thinks nobody could ever see me the way you do, but..."

"But?" He was stunned she could follow both those reveals with a 'but' and his voice showed it.

Penelope stared at him, her hands finally both at her side, as she tried to read her own racing thoughts. They were four steps apart from one another and Penelope swore she could hear his nerves beating beneath the thin material of his black shirt, "I like someone else too." Like it was a sin, she admitted it, flicking the words out from behind her teeth at his frozen face with the tip of her tongue.

It was obvious he was disappointed as his head instantly fell and a few of his lazily tamed tangles of hair fell free. Penelope figured other girls might apologize in this situation, but she didn't. She made a point not to just apologize unless she was sorry and she was not sorry for how she felt for either Connor or Jules. It was nearly autumn, the wind was cold, but she was slowly burning in the parking lot with Connor almost on fire just steps away from her. Their silence was aching and she could hear it's melody like someone slamming on out of tune piano keys.

"It's that guy in your photos?" It took Connor a minute, but eventually he figured it out. He followed Penny's photo page online closely and the only two photos he hadn't liked was one of her in her white coat at work sitting with Jules in the walk in freezer of the restaurant and the other was just of Jules eating her jam with a large spatula on her balcony. Every other picture, he laughed and admired before giving it a heart tap.

Penelope only nodded in response. She wanted to be truthful, not hurt him.

"The guy with one leg?" It was obvious to Connor that the picture of them in the freezer, Jules in shorts, that he had a prosthetic limb.

"Yeah. His name is Jules." She didn't know if Connor would want that detail, but it came out of her anyway.

"You brought him to the show?!" For a second, Connor felt stung, but he puffed out his chest as he told himself that he had put on a great set. "Wait, he's the drummer at your restaurant." It was coming together quickly now that Connor had the perimeter of the puzzle pieced. He remembered in one of their earlier phone conversations that Penny had mentioned she made friends with a musician, a drummer at the place she was working at, and he was going to show her around Paris. Connor had felt jealous initially, but when she never brought him up again he figured that it was nothing. "He's a musician." He didn't like that for some reason. Maybe it was because he didn't want to have anything in common with her crush or it was because he felt threatened. Connor was on tour and this guy worked with Penny night after night.

"I've never known you to be into somebody." And he had known Her forever even when went through a phase where she wore a lollipop body mist that made her smell like sugar cane. Connor was flabbergasted. "I really thought tonight was going to go different. Honestly, I thought we would just pick up where we left off." Connor really did imagine Penelope's hand in his and the two of them kissing backstage, their young blood rushing around as she finally let herself be with him.

"You want to be together while you're flying around the world?" It was Penelope's time to be surprised though she supposed she shouldn't be because Connor was always fanciful and believed in fairy tales. They were different that way.

"Yeah. Why is that so bizarre?" She had a crooked smile on and her head was posed to the side, asking him to be real.

"It would never work." Penny had gone over the situation in her head plenty of times. She was in school and couldn't visit him whenever and he was on tour and couldn't stop by Paris whenever he felt like it. They could never be there for one another. Right now they were too restricted. Plus, she didn't know Connor to resist the attention and affection of girls who were fans of his music.

"And it's different with Jewel - ?"

"Jules." She corrected before he could continue.

"He plays music too. What is it just because he wasn't good enough to tour?"

"Okay, easy, you're not David Bowie." Penny pointed out with her face holding a frown. She really didn't want to upset Connor, she just didn't want to lead him on either. "And Jules is really talented. There's a lot of talented undiscovered people, you know that!" It wasn't that long ago that he had been recording music in his bathroom and wishing someone would give it half a listen. "I really like both of you." She didn't even know if Jules had any feelings for her, she just knew thinking about him made her feel like there was a ticking time bomb inside of her.

"He has one leg!" Connor laughed as he raised his voice.

"So?" She couldn't believe he was bringing that up so she made sure to narrow her eyes into him and step closer, letting him know just how crazy she thought he was being. "You have dirty blond hair." She said to try and show him how moot his point had been.

"Well, come on, Pen, what's so special about him? I've never known you to be into someone."

"He gets it."

"It? Gets what?" Connor squinted to better follow her. "I get you."

"He gets what it's like to have your whole world change from an accident." Sighing, Penelope told him with some embarrassment. She hated having to admit that things were different for her now.

"Wait..." He put up both his hands and waved them in front of himself as if it helped him understand what she was saying. "You have a crush on him because he's disabled?"

"Okay, fuck you." Penelope said it like she was wishing him good luck. It was simple and sincere. On her toes, she moved forward to rush away. She didn't know where she was and she couldn't remember where Montemare was from where they were standing, but in that moment, she thought being lost would be better than arguing with someone she trusted to never hurt her. Her blond hair whipped behind her like a reptiles tail as she stalked away. She could hear Connor's voice painfully calling her name, pleading, as his feet shuffled closer. Penny inhaled deeply and ignored her instinct to keep walking when she spun around. Their chests were so close to colliding that, out of reflex, Connor jumped back.

"You being cheesed right now is so hypocritical!" She threw her hands down in fists as she shouted into him. "I like both of you a lot, yeah, that sucks, but you dated your way through your yearbook in high school while writing songs about me the whole time!" In case e had forgotten, which he hadn't, Penny reminded him with one large breath.

"I didn't think I had a chance with you." With Penny, she was a mermaid-like angel and, around her, he was just a human with all his flaws. Connor softened, guilt leaking into his previously burning throat, Penny wasn't finished though. He had crossed a line and poked a button. He had never seen her so wound up before and he hated that it was him who had made her feel so awful. He wished now that he could step back five minutes into the past and try to handle his emotions differently.

"You know your parents and their perfect freaking marriage that you're lusting after? You are never going to have it if you don't like yourself on your own first. I was figuring out who I was then I had my accident and I had to figure myself out all over again. I'm not going to apologize for not having time to be your girlfriend and groupie because I was too busy figuring out who I was!" Her own impulsive foolishness had ripped memories and cognitive skills from her and Penelope was very proud of how hard she worked to become someone she liked again.

Connor has never heard Penelope raise her voice. Any time she had been cross before, she played it off cool as a cuke. He had seen her unleash a little on her younger brothers before, not him. It stung and Connor wanted to sit down on the curb and cry. Instead, he ran all his fingers through his hair aggressively holding the ends down and trying to keep from coming undone in front of her.

"Alright, so let's pretend there's no Jules. It's just you and me, you still wouldn't believe we could do it while I'm touring?" He couldn't change Penelope's heart. If she had feelings for two people than Connor couldn't yell at her until he got his way. "No chance?"

"I just don't see...how." Down at the tips of her scuffed up white canvas shoes, she said quietly before looking up to notice how little he cared for her response.

"Why?" Thrusting his chin forward, he asked assertively. "What? You think I'm going to be like your Dad?"

"What?"

"You think I'm going to stay out all night and get fucked up? You think I'll get caught with hookers -"

"That was a rumor and you fucking know it!" Like they were guitar strings, he was playing with her nerves now.

"Whatever. You think I'm going to cheat and not come home just like him."

"He didn't cheat on my Mom!" Penelope growled. She had asked her mom point blank once if he had and she promised that he never did.

"You're still the same little girl who got teased in kindergarten because her dad was in the papers and on TV! You are scared of being happy with me because of my job. Admit it!" Connor huffed at the end. He was out of breath as it has run away with his mouth. Neither of them were used to behaving this way especially with each other. "Penny, what I should have said -"

"Get fucked, you gomer." She didn't let him correct himself. Penny dragged her spiteful glance away from him and began to walk away. She figured she would walk until she was on a Main Street and then take the last subway home. Her emotions were so heightened that she couldn't think straight. Penelope stiffened up her mouth and fought with herself before taking her low battery phone out of her purse and calling her mom. She didn't know what she would say, but she hoped it would center her. It was almost ten in the morning back home on the next day, she assumed her mom would be up running errands or getting breakfast with friends.

She nearly broke into tears when she heard the groggy voice of a freshly awaken Luke Hemmings pick up. It played back every horrible thing that her best friend had just said. Penelope pulled her face away from the phone and checked that she had actually clicked on her mom's name.

"Penny? You okay?" Luke checked the time on his wife's phone as he had reached over her side to pick it up. She was in the shower. "Penny, its like midnight there. " He forgot that she was going to Connor's show that night.

"Dad, I'm lost." She hated admitting defeat. Her frustration with herself was evident.

All at once, Luke panicked, but he chose to take a deep breath and follow the advice of Penelope's doctor and therapist. He couldn't always spring into hero mode. He had to let her learn.

"Okay, that's okay. Can you call an uber to where you are?" He inquired, sitting up and adjusting his wife's pillow behind his back for support.

"I think I'm in a park. We went to a club to celebrate after Connor's show and...and I left..."

"Without your friends?" He didn't hide that he didn't like that.

"It's a long story, Dad." Her sigh was long and held its exasperation until the end. "I know that I'm in Passy which is, like, less than a half hour by car to my place." He was glad Penny knew that because he neighborhoods of Paris were simply French words to him. "The subway station is by Radio France." She didn't know why she knew that, but at some point someone had mentioned that to her and it stuck in her brain. "I don't know how to get there."

"Walk North, Penny." Luke coached her while reaching around to find his phone somewhere in the bed sheets. It was right beneath his pillow. He pulled open Google and began to search on the map for Radio France. Once he had the address, he opened up his GPS app that he used to track all three of his forever wandering children. He found Penelope quickly and changed what he told her, "I'm sorry, Penny, turn around and go straight. I'll stay on the phone til you get to the subway or in a cab." He didn't prefer either. Luke just wished he could drive her around himself.

"Thanks, Dad. I knew where I was and then I couldn't remember. It's been really good though until now." She had Jules to walk her home from work, but she really didn't need him to anymore. She just loved being alone with the drummer and all the tattoos that decorated his arms like lights and bulbs on Christmas tree.

"Are you alright? You could go back to the club and get a car."

"Yeah." Hearing his voice was giving her something positive to focus on. It made her feel closer to home even though they were just over the phone. "Maybe, I should. I just want to be home."

"You will be on December 24th." Luke reminded her while laying back down, feeling calmer now that she did.

"I meant my apartment."

"I know, I'm just teasing. We miss you." He told her that almost every day. "You close to the club?" He couldn't tell that on his phone app.

"Yeah, like, a minute away."

"Just take an Uber, Pen. I will wire you some money."

"I'm fine for money, Dad." Penelope was very proud of the fact that she supported herself. She could never be like her friends who lived off their parents back accounts. Still, Luke always helped her. It was one of the only ways he felt like he could help her from so far away. "I'm here. I'm at the club." She was standing right in the back parking lot where she and Connor acted like children fighting for no reason, but because their emotions demanded it. Connor wasn't there anymore and she assumed he had gone inside with his heart racing and hands playing with his hair.

"Okay. You feel okay?" He didn't want to patronize her and ask her to do some of her memory exercises, so Luke found a more vague way to investigate.

"I'll be fine." She wasn't about to vent to him about how Connor hurt her heart.

"Okay. Love you, Pen. Call anytime." He always reminded her that she could.

"Dad?" Penny didn't want him to hang up just yet.

"Yeah?"

Sometimes, to help her recollection, Penelope would walk herself backwards through her day until she was the place she needed to remember. Right now, she was in the parking lot where Connor made her feel as small as Daphne Hood was.

"You were a good Dad. I know you were away a lot, but I still liked having you as a Dad." Penny nodded and swallowed hard, telling herself as much as she was telling him.

"Thanks." Luke ignored that she used past tense and softened. He had been criticized harshly by people who knew him and many who didn't, so hearing from one of the kids he raised that he earned a passing grade was as comforting as the blanket he was half beneath. "I love being your Dad." He informed her as she approaches the first cars outside of the front of the dance club.

"I'm going to go. Goodnight. Well, morning." Once he said goodbye back, Penelope hung up and put her phone back into its bag.

In an effort to save money and work out some of her conflicting thoughts, Penelope requested for the Uber driver to drop her off on the same block as the place she worked at. It was only a ten minute stroll to her home from there and she wanted to stop in to check her upcoming schedule for the rest of the month.

Penelope squeezed in through the kitchen door where four line cooks were smoking and swearing about the busy night they were in the middle of. When the band came on and the cocktail specials were announced was when people started to pour in. It was a very popular after hours spot for their strong drinks and a generous tapas.

Penny wiped off her shoes on the rubber mat and went to the wall by the office. She could hear the music playing, almost recognizing the staccato song playing. Right away though, Penny knew Jules wasn't on the drums. She checked to make sure she was given the day off before her upcoming exam and then forged forward through the boiling and hectic kitchen. Her eyes checked over moving shoulders as she glanced at different meals being prepared or plated. There was always an opportunity for her to learn. All around her, she heard her name and greeting. She felt better already. This was her makeshift home, this was her out of town family.

She moved closer and closer to the perpetually swinging door that separated the fun loving atmosphere for the dining room and jazz club from the stresses out sweat and swear zoo that was the kitchen. As soon as she had curled one hand around it to push it partially open, a waitress she recognized as Ismay flew by with an empty tray and an annoyed expression that could staple itself into anyone's mind. Penny glanced around the busy room and found Jules right away, sitting on a bar stool with an old fashioned and keeping the beat of the song with his hand on his knee. Due to enjoying the band, he swung slightly on his chair and waved over his head almost as soon as he spotted Penelope. He thought about nodding at her to join him, but it struck him as odd that she had left her friend's party and he could tell that something had happened. She was wearing a face he hadn't seen on her before and, while he thought she was ethereally beautiful, he did not particularly care for it. So Jules carefully hopped off the stool and moved to her. Penelope came out of the kitchen entirely, standing behind the bar in her casual wear.

"Why did you leave?" Jules inquired, leaning into the small bar door that came up to his waist and kept them apart. "Were you not having fun with celebrities?" He couldn't resist teasing her, wiggling his brows as he asked. Jules was not impressed by fancy things and name brands. He grew up with a single mother and modest means between himself and his older sister. He played music and worked as a doorman at Le Royal Monceau. Sure, he had dreams, but he was never impressed by anyone who flashed their success and wealth around. Jules just wanted to be happy right before he fell asleep at night.

"No." Penny sighed and rolled her eyes halfway at the thought of it. "It was weird. I'm going to home now, I just needed to check the schedule."

"Want a walking buddy?" It was a term she had coined for him around the third time he escorted her back to her apartment.

"No. I got it." She was worried about getting lost again, but Penelope really did want to be by herself.

"Okay. Well I'll see you...mercredi?" He could never remember the days of the week in English. Jules hoped to see her before, but he knew that was when they would both be working together. He had picked up the habit of checking her schedule.

"Yeah." Penny promised. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight. Did you like the show?" She realized she hadn't asked after the concert.

"Yeah, it was good. Both acts were good." He admitted while waving his hand back and forth to gesture that they were really just 'okay'. Jules wasn't a big fan of folk or pop music. He grew up on jazz and classic since that was what his grandfather that they lived with played. He was the man who taught Jules everything about rhythm and built him his first drum kit. "It was weird watching someone be so in love with you in front of all those people." He half-laughed through his awkward honesty. "Did you two date?" She had always just referred to Connor as her closest friend, but the performance has all three of Penelope's French friends wondering if they had once been more.

"No." She shook her head and reached around to tighten her ponytail. "We kissed once." She said and instantly wish she hadn't. She looked down into her purse to check the time on her phone noticing that it barely had any battery life yet. She was sitting at an uncomfortable 3%. Penny missed that Jules scrunched up his nose at what she said.

"Do you like him?"

Penny puffed both her cheeks out and let them deflate with a long exhale at his question, zipping her bag back and wondering for a second if her feelings for Connor had changed after their fight.

"I have." Realizing it was a strange way to answer, Penny shrugged. "We sort of fought at the club and we've never fought before." Penny explained to Jules, wrapping her fingers around the bar door again. "I don't know."

"What did you fight about? Was it bad?" He wished his English was better or that her French was more extensive in times like these. Jules felt like he couldn't be as good a companion to her when their was a language barrier between them. He didn't realize his hands had curls over hers, but Penny had and she could not stop looking at them.

"It was just bad because it had never happened before." She spoke directly to their hands. "I hurt his feelings and then he hurt mine back." She supposed that she really just described every fight throughout history, but she wasn't quite feeling as smart as usual tonight.

"What did you say?" In a joking manner, Jules scolded her. He narrowed his eyes in and shook his head very slowly.

"You really want to know?" She asked before realizing that she didn't know if she wanted to honestly tell him.

"Of course." Jules laughed and squeezed her fingers under his tenderly. He couldn't imagine her saying anything that he couldn't handle. His bet was that they just misunderstood one another or that her friend was too drunk to think before speaking.

Penelope tightened her throat which made Jules chuckle at how strange it looked and she tried to come up with a lie. She tried to reason with herself and remember how to be the cool girl that she was known as back home on the beaches of Sydney.

"I told him..." Penny looked up into Jules eyes, but that made the truth harder to share somehow. "I told him...I said...well..." She was embarrassed by how tongue tied she felt and just spat it out, "I told him I like somebody else too."

"Okay." Like it was nothing, Jules accepted with a casual smirk that shrugged above his chin. "So he feels a little crushed. Anybody I know? Someone in your classes?"

"You." She had come this far. There wasn't much point in beating around the bush now. Penny sometimes wondered how different things would be with Connor if he had come out and admitted to liking her instead of just trying to tell her through poetry.

Jules hands loosened on hers and his eyes lightened as he gave her a smile she interpreted as pitying.

"Okay, so I'm going to go jump in front of a car." Penelope uttered a sentence she had heard Emmeline say a dozen times before when she didn't get her way. The words didn't feel right in her mouth, but she pushed open the bar door and tried to squeeze past him. Jules tugged on her wrist, but she yanked it away.

"Penelope! Penelope!" He chased her through the kitchen. After she pushed open the back door, she turned and stopped him from going outside with her. He looked concerned and as if his mouth was full of a hundred things to say.

"Don't. It's okay!" She put up her hand to stop him from coming closer or uttering a word. "Cause I like you both and I don't know what to do. So you don't have to say anything and make it more weird." She really needed to work on her eloquence.

"Can I, please, walk you home?" Jules genuinely wanted to and took her hand in his to try and make that clear.

"I'll text you when I'm there." Penelope just assumed he felt obliged to make sure she was safe. She took her hand back and ran into the night, his eyes watching until she became a dot as dark as the sky was.

****************************

After plugging her phone in and taking a pear from her bottom fridge door, Penny ran a hot bath. She soaked in the bubble free water and watched her skin grow red from the heat. It was comforting and removed how perplexed, hurt, and rejected she felt. Penelope only ate half of her pear before her stomach couldn't bare anymore. She felt too upset and her stomach couldn't handle another bite. Once she was starting to drift off into sleep, she rose out of the bath tub and drained the dirty water. Penelope wrapped herself in her favorite multi-color striped beach towel from back home and picked up her phone from in the dry sink since she used it as a DIY speaker for the Soft Cell songs she was playing to drown out the furious pain from the evening. She noticed that she had four texts and read them as she dried off.

"I'll be in Paris soon. MAKE TIME FOR ME AND ROMANCE MY PALE ASS!!!" Emmeline sent with a string of bright coloured emojis that had nothing to do with her sentiment.

"Are you home safe? You didn't text." Jules wrote about twenty minutes after she arrived at her building.

"I'm really sorry, Pen. :(" Connor had sent around the same time as Jules.

However, Penelope only concentrated on her dad's message.

"Your mum and I are really proud of you. Nice to start the morning with your voice."

Once dry, she put on a pair of sweats and a stained 5SOS shirt from their first headlining tour way before she was born and slept on her futon. She was exhausted so she didn't even bring it down from its couch form. Penelope texted no one and fell asleep wondering where her perfect day went.

#5sos au #5sos series #5sos imagine #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings one shot #penelope hemmings

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theaveragekenyan · 4 years ago

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Industrial Disease...

Industrial Disease��

To anybody that worked in the UK TV industry circa 2000, ask them what their favourite TV shows of all time are and I guarantee, that somewhere amongst ‘Big Brother’, ‘Harry Hill’s TV Burp’, ‘X Factor’ ‘The Day Today’ and ‘Noel’s House Party’ all great shows, but ‘Faking It’ would definitely be mentioned.

‘Faking It’ had a memorable format, by where the programme selected a protagonist to see if they could perform a job in which they held no previous experience, i.e a Plumber being a Chef, a Traffic warden being an Orchestra Conductor, a Politician being an Politician, you get the idea. Then, from within a group of candidates who had actual experience, a panel of experts would decide who was the best and thus work out if anyone was actually faking it.

‘Faking It’ was particularly relevant because in one of the episodes they set up a person who had no experience at all to fake it as a TV Director. They did remarkably well and actually beat the other 3 contestants who were proper TV directors.

I’ve been working in Kenya for 8 years now and ever since I started working here, that show has constantly been at the back of my mind.

My first Kenyan contract started in 2012 and this was the first time I came across the expression “Fake It ‘til you make it”. As soon as I heard that expression, It never sat right, it made no sense to me. I mean, I know the TV show was vastly entertaining and proved that you can fake it, but then again the ‘Faking It’ contestants had a team of experts essentially providing the greatest intense training course ever.

To me, faking it, means that you can’t do the real thing, yet people use that saying to help them believe they can fake performing a job until they succeed. From my experience, I saw straight through the expression and anybody that was indeed “faking it”, or a better description “shit at their job”, would be found out and fired, we switched the format to ‘The Apprentice”.

In my early days of working in Kenya, we went through a lot of fakers. Back then though, I was working for an International company, so it was always easier to work honestly, without fear and tell people the truth about aptitude in the workplace. Of course, we’d train, nurture and encourage all of our employees to change, open their eyes and become better, smarter, more productive and skilful workers, but sadly, for too many annoying workers, change was a skill they weren’t happy to learn.

It’s deep working in Kenya, really deep. On the vast majority of days working, you will have the best day ever of your entire career. The pace is much slower, you get no way near as many of those socially awkward colleagues you find elsewhere in the world and it’s usually warm.

Put simply though, it’s impossible to compare working in a productive, efficient, time conscious, rule compliant business, because companies working to all of those standards don’t exist here.

Of course, any international that’s worked in Kenya would add balance to my thoughts. They’re probably of the type that came here and worked for two weeks, taught people chapter one, stayed at a lovely hotel, discovered the better parts of Nairobi, went to the Mara and then fucked off home leaving us to deconstruct their incredible ideas.

In those early days of working in Kenya, I was tied up in knots, I became so confused it was scary. We inherited a magnificent team who’d learnt from “the best”, only problem was that “the best” was a scattered, dysfunctional and obtuse role-model at best. So the ‘magnificent’ team had learnt all those crippling behaviours thus creating a magnificently illogical mess of wires that we had to sort out.

And I feel this is the problem, Kenyan’s have had to learn most of their technical skills from Westerners and this does not help at all if the Westerners that are sent here are cluttered with Western Anxieties and conditions, which from the ones I’ve met, is mostly the case.

You see, if you give orders for a Kenyan to go dig a 3’ x 3’ x 3 hole in the ground’ , that’s exactly what you’ll get, no questions asked. If you need it deeper, you can have it deeper, no questions asked, if you want to hit Magma, that’s fine. The problem arises when instruction becomes blended, so the 3′ x 3′ x 3′ hole is now a 4′ x 4′ x 4′ hole and not round, but square, hang on....triangle, no, keep it round, don’t dig it there though, dig it over there, yes there. This scattered instruction style creates a pandemic of distrust, by where Kenyan’s assume that white people coming to work here are all insane and should not be trusted.

Again, within those first few weeks, I’d give my Kenyan team instructions and always would be met with a “yes” then the instruction once it had been processed would either be executed incorrectly or simply not executed. This used to make me wonder why?, then it was explained to me very clearly that Kenyan’s will say “yes”, to anything a Westerner says.

A typical example of this is;

Me - “Can you do that?”

Kenyan - “Yes”

2 hours later

Me - “Where is it”?

Kenyan “I can’t do it”

Me - “but you said you could do it”

Kenyan “you know…blah blah blah…lie…lie…lie…it can’t be done”

Me - “Thanks, I’ll do it myself”

Always get your new colleague to repeat back the instruction to you, once you’ve learned that, it’s ‘Welcome to Working in Kenya’.

Sadly the majority of people in the workplace tell lies which does not help. It’s tricky to cut through the lies and the genuine problems. I’m used to it now, but Kenyan’s will happily lie about taking their sick child to Hospital, their Uncle dying, their Aunty dying, their Uncle dying, their Aunty dying, their Uncle dying, their Aunty dying, their Uncle dying, their…ok all Uncles and Aunties are dead, their cousins dying. No shame at all, no fear of tempting fate, anything goes to get a few hours off work to go and moonlight i.e do another job elsewhere. They will then wonder why you have zero trust in them at all.

I work in the Kenyan creative industry, which means the imagination gap leaves creativity as a challenge for many, but that’s a gap I see closing with more and more automated technology. Unfortunately, by the time AI has destroyed the world, Kenyan’s should be just about ready to compete.

It’s tricky trying to explain natural skill, instinct, aptitude, how to look between the lines and not just follow rules but create them.

There are three simple factors that have determined this situation.

1 = Incorrectly privileged bosses in the wrong positions.

2 = A binary style of working, inherited from the NGO / Finance world.

3 = An under valued creative arts industry.

I have no idea how this translates across industries, but from what I can see, the story theme is common, an expectation of being told exactly what to do, fear of responsibility, fear of losing a job and copying too many bad habits.

The most obvious industry where apathy is plain to see is customer service. In all honesty, Customer Service is considered in about 20% of the country and this is often exclusive to where foreigners will be. Kenyan’s know foreigners demand a better level of service i.e they expect to be greeted, they expect to be welcomed, they expect customer service. Whilst this will be a certainty in the nicer parts of Nairobi, lusher parts of the coast and the more modern game lodges, the rest of the country generally sucks.

I had to go and collect a TV from repair, it wasn’t repaired. All I had to do was collect a TV, but I couldn’t help myself so it turned into a lecture about customer service.

I walked into the shop and was greeted by two assistants sat down at the counter eating their lunch, this practice is common in Kenya, so, now the persons mouth is full of beef. I waited for the gob full to be finished and I waited for my greeting. This greeting never came, so through my silence she became uncomfortable enough to shrug her shoulders at me in an attempt to ascertain why I was deliberately disturbing her lunch. I try and say as little as possible these days, the majority of what I say is indecipherable to the average Kenyan anyway.

We go through the motions of me doing the persons job for them and I end up with the TV. It’s at this point I request the person searches “customer service” on YouTube, I explain it may help to get a promotion. That’s a positive solution right?

In Kenya, the first disagreement a foreigner will have with the average Kenyan will be whilst in a customer service scenario. This is why I implore every single possible online feedback opportunity to be completed in full detail. I believe businesses are learning the importance of reviews and stars and are generally increasing their responsibility to customers because of this.

When it comes to opportunity, Kenyan’s have been shafted by their adversaries far more than any white man. Colonisation sadly set the tone of working for a boss and being told what to do without any questions asked. In 2020, I find the legacy remains, which is sad.

I’m proud of the people who have learnt from myself, and vice versa, what I’ve learnt from them.

I’ve been able to open minds, increase focus and promote a productive way of working, however far too many people have chosen not to take the opportunity and preferred to stay blinkered.

I am all for the notion of Kenya working out its own destiny, to take control of its ambitions and develop the nation, but from what I’ve seen, this is not happening. There are too few people benefiting from the corrupt economic model for the country to succeed anytime soon.

If we’re led to believe what NGO’s and Embassies spout, then the road to a prosperous Kenya is just around the corner. All except it really isn’t, this is their agenda to keep the blinkers on the people. Evidently, the country has a huge skills gap, yet remains reticent against making foreign investment and implementing international expertise a priority.

The lies need to stop, corruption needs to end, the people need to be honest with themselves, international aid and investment needs to be regulated and to produce their development goals plain as day. Kenya needs to work out what is most important to itself, it needs to take an online course in customer service.

The most disappointing thing about living in this country is the inept apathy that exists. So many Kenyan’s I talk to tell me this, they are sick, fed up, embarrassed, disgusted in the way their country is governed.

The potential of Kenya is incredible, yet week on week, we read stories of businesses and even even whole industries unable to survive because of greed.

Whilst the hand out mentality and legacy of foreign aid remains, for now, this country will never be an entrepreneur, but rather remain a hired help faking it until it makes it.

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dontshootmespence · 7 years ago

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College Crime Stoppers

A/N: An anon request for a BAU fic where they are a much younger group of kids, late teens and early twenties, not working for the BAU, that go around solving crimes in their spare time, kind of like the Scooby Doo gang. Takes place in Vegas. @coveofmemories @jamiemelyn @sexualemobitch @unstoppableangel8 @iammostdefinitelyonfire26

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What happened when seven college students with a knack for actually using their brains came together in their off time?

Basically, you got the real-life Sherlock Holmes, Kay Scarpettas, and Hercule Poirots of the world - the wanna-be crime stoppers that were using their wits for something other than law enforcement.

First, there was David Rossi, age 23, whose parents worked for an engineering firm and had been transferred just before he started college. He’d drifted through school for nearly three and a half years, not knowing what he truly wanted to do, until finally he landed on it. Cooking - it had always been his one true passion. Once he’d finally decided what he wanted to do, he transferred to Le Cordon Bleu’s campus in Vegas and was training under some of the best in the field.

Next was Aaron Hotchner, age 22, who’d grown up doors down from David. Since he was a child, he knew he wanted to be a lawyer. After four grueling years of college, he was returning to the University of Nevada, Las Vegas in just a few weeks to begin law school. His father, also a lawyer, was ecstatic, and Mrs. Hotchner could not have been more proud.

Derek Morgan was also 22. From the time he was a child, his father had taught him the value of working with his hands, so it felt truly natural for him to pursue a degree in construction management; it would allow him to continue on the legacy his father had built, Morgan and Hayes Construction, a construction company his father had established with his best friend, Matthew Hayes. Morgan couldn’t deny that in his time of from school his mind tended to wander toward Hayes’ daughter, Savannah.

Emily Prentiss, age 21, was the next oldest in the group of seven. Her mother was an ambassador, so they had moved around for quite a while, but she’d taken a permanent position for her daughter to stay in the same high school. Best friends with JJ and dating Aaron Hotchner, she was pursuing a degree in world languages with a minor in Russian and Spanish, hoping to one day work for the UN.

Then was Penelope Garcia, age 20. On her own for the past two years after her parents tragically passed away in a car crash, she hopped to different friends’ houses and had taught herself coding. She never went to school, but she could probably hack the Pentagon if someone asked her to.

JJ, or Jennifer Jareau, was 19 years old and wanted more than anything to become a nurse, and hopefully work in a neonatal unit of a nearby hospital. She, Penelope and Spencer all lived near each other, and anyone you asked would say the trio was inseparable.

And lastly of course was Spencer Reid, a certified genius with an IQ of 187. He’d already obtained two bachelor’s degrees and was starting a Ph.D. in Engineering at the University of Nevada Las Vegas this year.

Through it all, different schools, different towns, somehow the seven of them had come together. One day about a year earlier, someone had asked them in passing if they’d seen someone pass by with a very particular bike that had been stolen from him. It had irked them so badly, they ended up seeking out the bike stealer and eventually returning the bike to its original owner.

Ever since then, if someone needed help in their local area, they found themselves helping. “You ready to go?” JJ asked Spencer, at the moment reluctantly peeling himself off her couch. The group of them had decided to go to a Halloween-themed Murder Mystery dinner. Spencer was dreading going; he hated big gatherings of any kind, but JJ and Penelope had begged him to go.

“Yea,” he groaned.

Within a half hour, all seven college students found themselves sitting at a table enjoying the beginning of a delicious three-course meal. Now was going to be the moment that the lights would go out and a dead body would appear, Spencer thought to himself. It was all so predictable. And as if on cue, the lights went out, came back on two seconds later, and when they returned, he saw the body of a man on the floor.

Everyone playfully screamed, while the already jaded college students giggled at the whole ordeal...until Emily noticed the body seemed to be bleeding. When she approached the body and turned him over, there was a small knife sticking straight out of his heart.

In a panic, everyone actually started screaming. Emily turned toward her friends and boyfriend. Should they help? Could they help? Sure, the police would be there soon, but it would still be a while, and no one could leave until they arrived. “We should help,” she said.

“We found a stolen bike, a missing cat, and stopped a bully,” Spencer whispered hotly. “Murder? How are we supposed to help?”

Emily wanted to help and Aaron wanted to impress her, so that meant he did too. Spencer was too petrified to help, and JJ and Penelope just thought they wouldn’t be able to, while Rossi and Morgan just thought the rest of the group was insane.

While they waited, they observed the panicked patrons around them. The man on the floor had been sitting at a nearby table. Everyone with him looked suspicious now. “Are any of them missing a knife?” Rossi asked.

Spencer huffed. “I would hope no one would be that stupid. None of them are missing one, plus, the handle looked too small, like it was a paring knife or something, not a steak knife.”

“I overheard the man next to the woman in green saying something about his old job. I think he employed the dead man at one point. Maybe he has a connection?”

“Maybe,” JJ interjected. “But the woman is my bet.”

“Why do you say that?” Morgan asked.

She turned back toward the woman, glancing every now and then to gauge her reaction. “Her reaction when everyone else thought it was still the dinner was just a touch too real, and now she is over the top. Of course, you’d expect a woman to be distraught over the loss of her husband,” JJ said, pointing to her ring finger to indicate the woman and man were married, “But she is crying way too hard.”

“So maybe she’s just really distraught,” Morgan said.

Hotch shook his head. “No, JJ’s right. She’d not crying out of sadness. It’s anger.”

“Why anger?” Emily wondered aloud.

Spencer noticed the woman turning to the others at the table and pointing fingers, both literally and figuratively. “She’s accusing the people she’s with. If she was purely just distraught, she probably wouldn’t be thinking about who did it.”

“So we have a theory that it’s the woman in green, right?” Penelope asked, her blonde curls bouncing up and down as she moved in quickly to whisper to her friends.

JJ nodded. “Can you hack another person’s phone from your phone?”

“Can I?” Penelope said surprised. “Is there anything yours truly can’t do?”

If she could hack the Pentagon from a laptop in her car, she could get into a couple of cellphones. At the speed of light, her fingers flew across the keyboard, attempting to uncover the dirty little secrets of the inhabitants of the nearby table.

While Penelope worked her magic with the cellphones, everyone else mingled around the open space, chatting with anyone they could to gain some valuable insight as to who the killer might be. The police arrived shortly after and started taking statements, mostly from tables toward the front, where they and their suspects were not.

“What have you found?” Hotch asked Penelope as he sidled over to her.

“What have I not found?” She laughed. “The man next to the woman in green is Michael Dance, a construction engineer who recently fired the dead man, Jacob Brewer. The woman in green is Jacob’s wife, Melanie. Next to Melanie on the other side is her friend, Justine Cramer, who dated Jacob in high school. Next to Justine is her current husband, the second one, whose name is Marcus. The guy next to Marcus? Justine’s first husband, Eric Goldstein. Who knows what the hell is up with that. And the other couple at the table are Tina and Barry Rockingham. They have no connection to anyone at the table.”

“You got all that in ten minutes?” Hotch asked incredulously.

Penelope feigned hurt and grabbed Hotch’s drink, downing it in one gulp. “I am the master,” she smiled. “Now mama’s gonna grab some more of this amazing ice tea while the rest of you do your thing.”

While the police continued to take statements, the rest of the crime-fighting group gathered back at the table save for Emily. “What do we have?” Rossi asked.

“Well, there seemed to be some hostility between Jacob, the dead dude, and his former employer, Michael Dance. Michael had to lay people off recently because of the economy and it didn’t sit well with Jacob,” Morgan said. “But Michael had no ill will toward Jacob, so I don’t know what the motive would be.”

“Justine is just your typical gold-digger,” Spencer said candidly. “She came here with her second husband. She comes every year, so that’s how her first husband ended up here, because he was trying to win her back even though she cleaned him out of half his cash during their divorce.” The rest of the group wondered how he got this information. “It’s a wonder what people say when they’re drunk.”

“True,” Emily said as she approached. “But I think I know who did it...the chef. Well, the guy playing the chef.”

Rossi being the oldest of the group always asked the rest of them for explanations, like he was the boss or something. “How do you know?”

Emily took a deep breath and then went into a full-on speech. “While I was talking to the other couple at the table, who have no connection to the rest of them by the way, I overheard a conversation taking place behind me between the guy playing the chef and the guy playing the butler. The guy playing the butler asked why the other one was so calm, and he responded ‘that condescending fucker had what was coming to him.’ Now that perked my ears up, so I turned around and used my womanly wiles to get them to give me their names. The butler is Brendon Pond and the chef is Joseph Brewer; that’s right, the dead man’s brother.”

Penelope had since returned to the group and again pulled out her phone to dig a little deeper into the lives of Jacob, Joseph and Melanie Brewer. “Okay, since Jacob was laid off, he developed his own construction firm in a neighboring town. He made quite a name for himself and his business seemed to be growing. I have a police report here that says that Joseph, two years younger, was taken into custody after a fight because he needed a job, but his brother wouldn’t give him one. Apparently his younger brother is a screw-up.”

“Well,” JJ said with a smile, “If I know men, and I think I do, Joseph coveted his brother’s entire life, wife included. The two of them started an affair. Jacob, being a construction firm owner, probably has a decent life insurance policy, so with him out of the way, Melanie and Joseph would be well-off and they could be together.

Morgan eyes widened. Spencer pondered why people couldn’t stay faithful. Emily gave JJ a high five and Penelope once again patted herself on the back for a job well done.

Eventually, the police came to them to give a statement. They’d been asking everyone if they could think of who would’ve done such a thing, so all of them told the police of their suspicions, minus the initial hacking on Penelope’s part of course.

Once everyone had given a statement, most of them would be free to go, but the young college students actually wanted to stay and see how things played out. It got even more interesting when the police started taking statements from the people at Melanie Brewer’s table. Without bringing the wanna-be crime stoppers into it, they’d brought up a variety of possibilities. “What the hell gave you that idea?” Joseph Brewer boomed. Although he hadn’t meant to, the cop had glanced back toward the group. “You think I’m a killer?”

Emily just laughed, Joseph’s drunken breath nearly knocking her off her feet. “Yea, actually. You have a history of hating your brother. She has a history of cheating. All public record mind you,” she said, turning toward the officer, “Who better to be carrying around that murder weapon than the man playing the chef, and on top of that I believe I see a small speck of blood on that navy blue tie you’re wearing, presumably from when you washed your hands.”

In his supreme inebriation, he didn’t even try to hide it, screaming about how his brother deserved it and bringing Melanie down with him. “She put me up to it! Said we could be together and we’d be rich!”

Ear-piercing screams and flying fists played out in front of them until the cops put them both in handcuffs. They might not have had conclusive proof, but they did have enough to take them in. One of the officers approached the group and thanked them for their time, suggesting they might like law enforcement if they hadn’t picked a major yet before returning to the suspects to bring them to the squad car.

When they were taken outside, passing the group of college crime stoppers on the way, the brother muttered under his breath. “I could've gotten away with it if it weren't for you meddling kids!”

#criminal minds #criminal minds au #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dontshootmespence #college crime stoppers

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coeurdastronaute · 8 years ago

Text

The District: Chapter 7

“I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom, and that of all about me, seemed insufficient for the day.”- Abraham Lincoln, Third Debate against Stephen A. Douglas, 1858.

The city happened. The uncharacteristically warm day of mid-January erased the slate and flushed free the gutters and streets until it was a constant river of frozen trash and saltwater feeders. The sun came out and blinded everyone who grew accustomed to the overcast sky of December, attempting to convince everyone that they could trust it, that this was here to stay, and so eager were the inhabitants to accept it, that they foolishly fell into the trap despite the warnings of every morning weatherman’s smile.

The anomaly of the weather distracted the sad wanderer of the oddly familiar streets, though she did not allow herself to think of it longer than just a moment, a stray thought about how odd the course of events of her week had been that a day like today seemed almost normal. She wished it had been the standard blustery day, that would hurt and make her bones ache, so it would fit her mood. Instead, she got the sunshine and timid people who wanted to enjoy it but couldn’t allow themselves.

Cars and buses rowed down the rivers of avenues, kicking up wakes in their passing while everyone marveled at the gushing of water and overflowing of sewers, as if the island itself was sinking into the ground. All breathed a sigh of relief, and the streets became alive again of people who met each other’s eyes and did not remain bundled up with heads bent low.

The house had been too stifling, and Lexa too hungover to be able to tolerate it for too long, and so she relegated herself to wandering the streets in search of memories, while simultaneously attempting to avoid them, as if she had a chance in it, as if it were an option. It was a tough line to balance atop, and she failed at every turn, but still she tried because at home her mother was sad and hiding it, and her siblings were loud and loving, and all that she wanted was a moment of quiet and bitterness without infecting them.

He made it exactly three days after everyone returned home and life went back to the post-holiday normal. Stroke they said. Quick, they told her mother. Painless, she had explained to her children.

Lexa heard the words and wondered how it could be true, how ceasing to exist could just happen, how leaving could be painless, because she was damn near certain this pain of being left was unbearable to mere mortals. The doctors didn’t talk about that part. Leaving felt like a relief and being left felt like being stabbed with dull knives continually.

Her shoes kicked along the soggy sidewalks, while her mind raced too quickly to focus on anything particular, instead jumping from one topic to the next because if she thought too hard about one thing, she would lose it.

When she was fifteen, her grandfather taught her to drive in the parking lot she refused to look up at as she walked past on her way home. When she was twelve, he was ready to beat her raw for stealing baseball cards from the convenience mart on the corner. Instead, he marched her up and had her return them, shamefully. When she was eight, he showed her how to fix her bike chain in the park a few blocks from home. When she was seventeen, she saw him cry when she walked across the stage because when they met, she couldn’t read and nine years later she got a diploma.

For every important moment, he was there, and he was vital. She picked up his crossword habit, and his love of complaining with his hands held up, and she inherited his distrust of good things and his good-natured welcoming of adversity. And he was gone, when she was certain she would need him most, and she hated him for it.

There was never going to be a time in her life when she wouldn’t need him, she realized, and this hatred was inevitable because it was born from love and admiration and selfish need. He would have known what to say to her, she decided with a sigh.

The entire day passed in a hapless kind of meandering around the city. Lexa didn’t want to go back to the house. At the house, plans were being made. In the kitchen, her mother wasn’t crying, but she did occasionally bury her face in her husband’s chest and let her shoulders rock with tears that were forbidden to fall. In the living room, calls were being made to relatives abroad and at home, bringing the troops around. In the yard, neighbors traipsed through the mounds of pent up snow and dropped of plats and apologies. In the garage, an alarm clock remained open and waiting to be fixed.

This was a time to step up, and Lexa knew it, though every time she lapped back around to her street, she couldn’t do it. And so she took another and hoped it’d be easier next time around.

As the city appeared, Clarke leaned against the window for a moment, her phone slipping a little from her ear as she hardly listened to her colleague explain something. For a moment she doubted herself, and she panicked. Just a few hours before, and she’d been having a shitty morning. Now she was having a shitty afternoon, and was far away from home in more ways than one.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be back tomorrow,” she shook her head from the revery and sighed, catching half of the conversation. “I’ll email whenever I get set up.”

She’d been to the city a few times, but she never left Manhattan. When she stepped off the train in Washington Heights, the Christmas lights were still strung up and the snow was gone. Backpack filled with work and a duffle slung over her shoulder, Clarke took a deep breath and resigned herself to it.

Lexa had been right, that she’d hid and been afraid, shirked her responsibilities, and not been an overall good girlfriend. The lawyer only wondered if she was too late in realizing it, if this wasn’t enough, if this was the right way to handle it.

By the time she got a taxi to take her to Lexa’s home, the nerves were over the moon. Cars were parked out front, filling the small driveway. The smushed together houses seemed even more cramped on the busy street. Kids played where they could, still in their winter clothes despite the warmth that allowed the world to thaw for just a second.

Standing on the front stoop of the house Clarke was just now realizing was Lexa’s childhood home, her hands felt empty. People always brought things for funerals. When her dad died, they filled the house with casserole dishes and cards. Clarke looked at her empty hands and cringed.

“Clarke?” Gabby opened the door before she could raise her hand to knock, catching her off guard.

“I am so very sorry for your loss,” she sputtered, catching herself in the midst of a large hug. “I was about to knock. I didn’t make any food.”

“We have more than enough food,” the mother murmured, squeezing Clarke until her bags fell to the ground.

Though it took a moment, Clarke finally relaxed into the surprised arms. She closed her eyes and hugged her back. The smell of something wafted through the house, billowing out warm and delicious. Something about a mother’s hug was too much.

“Lexa’s not here,” Gabby finally sighed, pulling away and holding Clarke’s cheeks, eyes glassy and proud. “She’s out walking around the neighborhood.”

“We, uh, we...” the newcomer fumbled. “She... we fought. Things are... I’m here for her. She didn’t know I was coming.”

“Are you staying?”

“I didn’t mean to impose. I know things are... I did not come to get in the way. I came for Lexa. I have a hotel. If she wants me.”

It was a mess of nouns and verbs and pronouns, but Clarke hoped she got near a tangible point as they barreled out of her mouth with alarming veracity. She argued with lawyers and strangers with more grace than she found herself exhibiting to the mother of the girl she refused to acknowledge that she loved.

“She was close to my father.”

“I know,” Clarke offered a small smile. “All of the stories she told me... he sounded great, and I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him.”

Noises inside brought them back to their moment, and the kindness of the introduction was warm and Clarke bathed in it, hoping the same would be the same for when the daughter returned from her walkabout.

“Come on inside,” the mother smiled. “Come on, come in. Warm yourself up a bit.”

As soon as she walked inside, it was an inundation that made her head spin. Brothers and sisters and noise and people and yelling and living, it all happened right there, and Clarke was swarmed. Every person she’d heard stories about was there, jammed into every available nook and cranny.

Sheepishly, Clarke accepted hugs and offered her condolences, trying to keep everyone straight. Aunts and Uncles who didn’t even make it to stories appeared, and she did her best to keep up, but it was like one of those math problems that covered and entire blackboard, expanding out in all directions with no beginning or end.

Her coat and bags were taken, and her cheeks blushed with the heat of the rooms. It took a lot of angling around different questions, answering as best she could, before she was able to take a breath. Another hour, and she was able to sneak outside and make a few work calls, to catch her breath from the insanity.

The sun started to set as she helped around the kitchen. Lexa’s brothers sat down with her and made her help with paperwork, when all she wanted to do was peel potatoes. But she didn’t have those skills. She could read a life insurance policy though, and understand legal paperwork. So she did that because they had questions, and that was how people grieved.

“Can’t you wait?” Gus complained, waiving a knife as he chopped and prepared food.

Tall and broad and huge, Lexa’s brother was the only one who could keep up with their mother in the kitchen. He did it all day, chef at some restaurant downtown. The seemingly moral standard of the group, he waved a knife as an extension of his hand, bothered by the legality of death.

From what Clarke could remember, he was the stern one. The oldest, with the responsibility. The stoic one. But the one with a laugh that came straight from his belly whenever it was allowed.

“We’ve never had a lawyer in the family. I have questions,” Abe ignored him, flipping through documents.

“I’m not in the fam--”

“Plus, if we get it done, we don’t have to think about it,” Anya ventured.

“I really--” Clarke tried.

It was nice to have at least one familiar face when Gabby disappeared to execute the duties of the matriarch, attending to phone calls and sorting out the rest. Anya hugged Clarke tightly when she arrived, and it gave Clarke a little hope.

“One less thing Mom has to deal with,” Aden piped in from his stool as he crunched on the veggies his big brother cut.

The youngest except for Lexa, the soldier was much quieter than the rest of the siblings. His hair was a little lighter than her girlfriends, though she recognized him instantly from Lexa’s descriptions.

“We can really--”

“You’re making a complete stranger read important family documents,” Lincoln argued, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge as he balanced a newborn on his chest. “Maybe let her settle in a bit first.”

“I would be happy to--”

“Like I said, if we finish it now,” Anya reiterated.

“One less thing Mom has to deal with,” Aden helped.

“Mom is going to lose it soon anyway,” Gus shrugged as something sizzled. “It’s coming.”

“You know she has your wife picking out clothes?” Luna asked Lincoln as she strolled into the kitchen.

Just half of them were in the room, and Clarke was overwhelmed, and so she gave up trying to have a voice. She could understand how Lexa was quiet, and how she learned to be stubborn and scrappy. She could also see how a family of kids who didn’t look anything alike was closer than she ever thought her own could have been.

Her esteem for the mother of the brood only grew as the kids, with their loud opinions and certain kind of mischievous smirks got together. It would have been enough to make a saint pull their own hair out.

“I had some questions for you as well, Clarke,” their father pulled up another chair.

He was not as tall as his oldest son, though he was taller than Aden, Bill Brady was quiet and polite, and Clarke had no problem imagining him to be the best kind of balance for his wife. Angry when she wanted to be calm, peaceful when she was inevitably feisty, Clarke enjoyed his presence, for what she knew.

“Again, I don’t specialize in contracts or policies,” Clarke offered weakly. “I can try to remember the classes, but I--”

“She works with the Constitution,” Ellie interrupted. “You have the poor thing reading a Will. In Portuguese.”

“I can peel potatoes,” the lawyer offered, earning some chuckles.

“Get her a drink, son,” Bill called Aden, looking down the bottom of his glasses at the tiny words. “We’re getting this done so we can tell your mother not to worry about it. So we have time to grieve and celebrate properly. First comes--”

“The climb,” the kids all echoed with various methods of rolling their eyes.

“And then comes--” he smiled, not even looking up.

“The view.”

“Exactly.”

“Congress?”

The kitchen grew quiet as Lexa walked inside and paused at the entrance. Just down the hall, the living room continued to play host to kids and cartoons, to cell phones ringing and people talking while footsteps upstairs paced and debated. The siblings in the kitchen grew quiet and looked around at each other while Lexa couldn’t look away from the girl who sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by paperwork and her father and brother and sister.

“Hi.”

It was weak, but it was all Clarke had to offer at the moment. The eyes of the family ricocheted back and forth between the two as if it were the US Open.

“What are you doing here?” Still frozen where she first laid eyes on the guest, Lexa wanted so desperately to move, to go back and wonder the streets a little while longer.

“Your grandfather died, and you’re important.”

No one knew what it meant, but the father saw how his youngest shuffled slightly and set her jaw before shoving her hands in her pockets defiantly.

“Why don’t you two go talk? We can write down our questions for Clarke,” he offered, setting his glasses down.

“I want to see what happens,” Aden grinned, earning a gaggle of kitchen towels swatted at his shoulders.

Lexa waited until Clarke stood up and took a few steps before hugging her tightly. She knew they had to talk, but it didn’t matter at that moment, because as much as she walked around outside in the city, she realized she was chasing this exact feeling, and so she buried her nose in the familiar hint of strawberry hair, and she let her cold nose earn a flinch from Clarke’s neck as it took up residence while she closed her eyes and clung.

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke whispered, arms wrapping around Lexa’s neck as she felt her ribs squeezed by inked ones. “For all of it.”

“You came.”

“Yeah.”

A chorus of awe’s and kissy giggles began behind them despite their father’s insistence that the reset of the brood stop mocking their sister. Lexa allowed herself a full minute of clinging and inhaling before finally pulling away. She kissed the girl that travelled this far just to make sure she was alright, even with her family watching.

“Thank you,” Lexa sighed.

“I’m so sorry. I’m trying to figure it out. I don’t know how,” she confessed, hands hanging on Lexa’s biceps that held her cheeks. “But I have priorities.”

She earned a small smile there, not the whole, cocky, definitely Lexa smile, but it was still something and Clarke felt a relief sink into the muscles of her lungs and chest. As if they hadn’t in weeks, both took a deep breath and caught themselves feeling oddly alone.

It was short-lived, but it was needed. The world impeded upon them, while the relief was a drug that did not wear off as easily.

“You’re frozen through,” Gabby came into the kitchen with a grandson on her hip.

“I’m fine,” Lexa shook her head, growing embarrassed with the fretting.

“Go shower and change. Take Clarke’s bags with you,” the mother ordered, easily taking control of the situation. “I’m sorry honey, but we’re full. The basement will have to--”

“No, no that’s... I can go to a hotel. It’s not--”

“We stay together,” Lexa stopped the protest. “Mom doesn’t believe in giving away money when we have space here.” Clarke waited and measured her options, watching her girlfriend for an idea of her own thoughts on the subject. “I’ll put your bags in my room, Congress.” Clarke smiled and nodded.

“Thank you.”

The basement was a collection of lives and times. The stairs creaked, well-worn and used from a stomping heard of kids up and down it all day. The pool table tucked beneath the stairs was covered in Christmas decoration boxes. Clothes hung from the line above the washer and dryer in the corner.

The cemetery of mismatched furniture created a little living room in one corner, a grandmother’s couch, a neighbors old futon, spare tables for holiday gatherings.

From the pull out sofa bed, Clarke sat on the edge and waited. Upstairs, the house quieted and the squeals of floorboards as the last siblings awake cleaned up and snuck to their rooms so as not to wake up their parents.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Lexa smiled as she made it down the steps to see her girlfriend reading through something while the old television on the mismatched table flashed colors on the walls.

“I had a few things to catch up on.”

Lexa nodded and pulled her shirt over her head. She had a few drinks under her belt, and that helped. It helped that Clarke kissed her cheek and let her family bombard her with questions. It helped that suddenly Lexa didn’t feel terrible when the lawyer approached.

The ink flashed different colors on the new skin presented. Clarke loved watching it move, watching it shift and change.

The bra went next, and a shirt covered it again as pants disappeared.

“I wanted to talk about... the past few weeks,” she broached, swallowing the sight in and shaking it away.

“I said some things I shouldn’t have,” Lexa acknowledged. “I don--”

“No, you were right. And I have priorities. Your family is... big, and I’m not used to it. I want to... I want to be--”

“I know,” she smiled and crawled onto the wobbly bed. “You’re here.”

“I took you for granted, and I was self-absorbed.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t trying hard enough. It’s hard work, and I didn’t know that it takes constant kind of--”

“You’re here. We can figure it out,” Lexa promised.

“I thought it might be too much, me coming, but I was already on the train when I figured that out, so it was too late, and then I ended up here--”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Clarke let Lexa toss her reading to the side, let it flop onto the concrete floor. She let her crawl onto her legs and let her drape herself across her lap.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Clarke realized, pushing the messy hair from Lexa’s temple. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she swallowed and dug her nose into Clarke’s stomach.

“Want to talk about it?”

“I just want to be quiet with you.”

“Okay.”

It took a second, but Clarke laid back against the pillows in the warm sheets and let Lexa use her like a pillow. She wanted to say a lot more, apologize for even more. But that would be for her, and right now she only wanted to be something good for Lexa.

“Your family is nice,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe they didn’t eat you alive before I got here.”

“They basically did.”

“I’m so tired,” Lexa shook her head and confessed.

“You can sleep,” Clarke whispered. She ran her hand up Lexa’s back, rubbing soothing circles there.

“How long are you staying?”

“Until we go home.”

Eyes already shut, Lexa hummed slightly and smiled against Clarke’s ribs. It was nice and warm in their little bubble. Clarke wanted to tell her it was going to be alright, and that things were going to be different, but all that Lexa needed was sleep and to feel safe and like someone was fighting for her, so she kept quiet and she rubbed her back.

The clouds hung heavy in the sky, dragging thick through the afternoon, slowly twisting themselves empty with a thin kind of rain that was consistent and unrelenting. It felt like the day for a funeral.

Unsure of her place or her job, Clarke remained quiet, helping the wives of the siblings who were distracted with their grief, each handling it differently, yet ridiculously similarly. All became chickens with their heads cut off, unable to focus on anything, unable to really do anything. Abe lost his tie, Gus broke a crate of eggs, Anya went to the store and returned with nothing on the list, Lexa could barely sit still, and yet couldn’t accomplish a thing.

And so Clarke followed behind, cleaning up, making breakfast, washing dishes, making sure everyone ate and drank water. It wasn’t much, but she ran out and bought a tie, and she got the stain out of Lexa’s dress, and that was what she had.

“It was a really nice service,” Clarke offered as she held Lexa’s hand and they made their way to the house. She held the umbrella as best she could, though her girlfriend didn’t seem to notice anything.

“Before I ended up here, I lived with my mom.” Clarke watched Lexa bring a cigarette to her lips and light it despite the weather. “I don’t know who my dad was. I don’t remember any pictures. But I remember the day I came home and she was gone. She just packed up and left me. And then I came here, and V��, he found me trying to run away one night, and I don’t remember why, but my voice didn’t work. So he figured out what I wanted, and he drove up and down the streets with me, for weeks, every night, looking for her because I was convinced she was lost.”

She didn’t have any words, but Clarke just held tighter to the umbrella. Bitterly, Lexa inhaled and let smoke drift up into the clouds. Of all the stories she heard of the man who loved her girlfriend, they all ended in this feeling that he was a beloved hero to each person he came in contact with, and that was a lot.

“He would talk to me, stop and get me a snack, and every night, when we didn’t find her, he’d put me to bed and promise we would try again, but no matter what, I could stay with them.”

“He sounds amazing.”

“The world feels different without him.”

“It is different, but if you think it’s without him, you’re very wrong,” Clarke promised. “I never met him, but he made you, and that is no small feat.”

They lingered in the front yard, taking their time already on the return trip, everyone was already piled inside. Clarke sensed the way Lexa avoided going in, but she was there, and she was good, and so Lexa tossed the butt across the yard and sighed before making her way inside.

In the kitchen, Lexa helped her mother while Clarke changed clothes, and she shoved up her sleeves and dug into the water, her hands moving as they knew ow after years and years of practice. Clarke absently ran her hand along her back and hugged her, looking over her shoulder at the progress she made at chopping.

The inhabitants fluctuated through the room, tugging at ties and growing antsy, and Clarke held on for dear life.

“I’ll get it,” she offered when the bell rang, kissing Lexa’s shoulder and earning a small smile and nod at the offer as she disappeared.

“I like her,” Abe nodded, stealing some of the veggies his sister cut. “She’s good people, Lex.”

“She’s a nice girl,” Gabby nodded eagerly while Lexa focused intently on her task. “It was a nice service.”

“It was,” Lexa agreed, hiding her blush.

“These are for you, Lexa,” Clarke breezed in again, hidden half behind the bouquet. “From Justice Jameson.”

“You told your boss?”

“He asked why I wouldn’t be at work,” she shrugged and placed the flowers down on the counter, handing the card to the artist.

“Who is it?” her mother interrupted.

“Clarke’s boss. He sent his condolences,” Lexa muttered, reading the note jotted there quickly. “Though I did not meet the man you mourn, having met a single flash of his legacy in you showed me how great your loss must be. Your family is in my prayers during this difficult time. From one vexillologist to another, I know he would be honored by your continued dedication to what he loved.”

“That is from your boss?” Aden asked as Lexa tucked the card back into the flowers.

“My boss, yeah,” Clarke nodded. “I don’t know how he found the address.”

“That was very kind of him,” the mother smiled fondly.

“Her boss is a Supreme Court Justice,” Anya reminded the group.

“He’s just a guy that likes flags,” Lexa shook her head. “Like Vó.”

It took hours for the house to empty. Well-wishers and supporters, people who were touched by the doting grandfather, friends and relatives, the extended family all lingered and helped clean and helped eat, and they all took their time leaving. Babies were put to sleep, exhausted from being dressed up and passed around. Ties were undone and tossed on door knobs and heels were kicked off while music muffled through the old stereo.

But once it did, once the door shut and everything quieted, the vodka came out, and the kids gathered in various states of disarray. Clarke sat back and observed because suddenly Lexa became clearer, and more abstract, more unknown.

As an only child, it was overwhelming, to say the least. As much as she wanted to sneak away and finish the work that piled up in her inbox, Clarke was too distracted and enjoying herself much too much.

Lincoln’s wife kissed his cheek before disappearing to deal with the crying heard over the baby monitor. He smiled and drank from his beer, solemn and strong for his siblings.

“I’m going to bed,” Gabby finally wiped her hands on a dishtowel before tossing it on the counter, surveying her full kitchen, the large table filled and added to with mismatched chairs. “Don’t stay up too late,” she warned, earning a kiss from Aden who put his arm around her before he dug for more leftovers.

“Please don’t make a mess,” she asked, looking specifically at Lexa who shrugged.

“Love you, Mom,” a chorus of different goodnights mumbled from the table.

“He loved you all so very much,” the mother paused, watching her grown up kids together at the table, grown from such tiny, scared things to such full, conscious, kind adults. “He would be very proud of you.”

The table was quiet for a moment while each took in the words. Ellie was the first to move, pouring herself another drink. Her husband put his arm around her chair.

“Boa noite, Mãe,” Lexa offered.

The kids watched their mother disappear down the hall, listened to her climb the steps, waited until the door shut.

“Okay, give me five minutes,” Lexa smiled, standing suddenly, surprising her girlfriend slightly. “Who’s first?”

“Me, before Jess comes down and tells me no,” Lincoln decided.

“I have to get across town,” Gus shook his head.

“I’m the youngest,” Aden tried.

“Me, before Jack loses his nerve to watch,” Ellie chuckled and patted her husband’s cheek.

“What’s happening?” Clarke furrowed, leaning toward Anya as Lexa slid around the chairs, moving toward the basement.

“Do you know how rare it is to get all of us together like this?” the nurse scoffed, pouring herself more before adding some to Clarke’s drink. “Luna’s down in Texas. Aden is God knows where half the time. Both can’t get home on leave often. Abe lives out of a suitcase practically, traipsing all over. Gus is on the other side of the city, working every night. Ellie is two hours away. Lexa is about five. Lincoln has the kids and Jess’ family and work. I mean, it’s tough.”

“Right.”

“So, we have to celebrate.”

“Oh no,” Clarke sighed.

“Oh yeah,” Jack nodded, commiserating. “Welcome to the club.”

Reluctantly, Clarke clinked her glass with him and swallowed as she surveyed the table. She was the partner, she was Jack and Jess and Tara and Tom, and when she saw their resigned faces with their part of the brood, she realized what a commitment it was.

“We’re getting jackets made,” Tom offered, earning a pat on the chest from his fiancé. Anya kissed him a second later and laughed.

“You just have to let them be them,” Tara shrugged and sipped from her wine glass.

“We’ll send you the checklist for the proper handling and care of your puppy,” Jess smiled, taking her seat again.

Clarke sipped and felt her eyes grow big with the realization of all of it. It wasn’t terrifying, but a great responsibility.

The order got figured out through fights and yelling, and she wondered how the parents could sleep through it, but she was certain it was practice. Lots of practice.

There was something about watching Lexa work though, that dulled the inherent panic of how she ended up in this kitchen, with this vodka, this late at night. Clarke liked the process of it, the business of it, the demeanor that came in Lexa’s face when she sketched and placed and sized, when she prepared the ink and put on the gloves, pushed up her glasses, tested the machine with a few light buzzes.

Tiny, little flags appeared on different spots on different bodies. Clarke was distracted with watching her girlfriend do her job, watched her grieve in the only way she knew.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Lexa murmured as she cleaned up and tugged off her gloves, in a quiet moment between it all.

It was small, and it was honest, and it was all that was needed.

Somewhere on the fourth night after the funeral, after everyone went back to work, back to their houses, after a few trips to the airport and station, Clarke stole away a few hours to catch up on work. Gone from the office for just two days, all other emails seemed negated after and email from her boss telling her not to mention it when it came to his note and flowers, and to take care, because work could wait.

It was true, and she knew it, but Lexa told her to go ahead, and so she did. In reality, it was an excuse for the artist to run away and play with her old rag tag group of friends and Clarke took it as a good sign.

It was deep into the night when Lexa crept down the stairs toward the tiny bed set up in the tiny available space. She did not bother much with changing, but tugged off her pants and slid in beside the girl who read from her laptop and waited up.

It was such a wonderful thing, to be waited up for, and Lexa knew it.

“Hi,” she whispered, settling atop the lawyer, closing the laptop lid and setting it on the dryer.

“Hey,” Clarke cooed, adjusting to allow the new blanket. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You needed it.”

“I needed this,” Lexa disagreed, tucking her head into Clarke’s collarbone with a hum.

Hands moved up and down her side, touched her bones until they slipped beneath her shirt and warmed her skin. Their breathing evened out and only the hiss of the boiler kicked on as someone showered upstairs.

“Are you ready to go home?” the artist asked, closing her eyes and hearing heartbeat.

“Whenever you are. I’m here for you.”

“I’m sorry for how I acted...”

“No, that was needed,” Clarke stopped her. “We have a lot to work on, I think. But so long as we’re each other’s priority, I think it’ll all average out.”

“Not too good at math, are you, Congress?”

“I cheated on my Stats final in college.”

“Shame.”

“Well, it got me here, so I’m okay.”

Lexa smiled and kissed her shirt before inhaling deeply. It was a lot, all of it, and she was so very tired from existing for the past week. While most of the time days just stacked and stacked, bleeding into another, there were weeks, she knew, that were just exhausting marathons of living, truly living, and coming to the end of one was too much for her.

Clarke felt the tears on her shirt, against her neck, murky and tepid there, creating a rainforest on the equator of her shoulders, but she let Lexa remain still and she let it happen. Only once did she pause to kiss her head.

Nothing deterred Lexa, and she cried because she couldn’t grieve before, and because she didn’t know how to stop. And now, when she cried, the first honest cry of Loss, she wanted to be done.

“It’ll be better after you sleep,” Clarke promised.

“It won’t.”

“It will,” she swore. “Because you’ll wake up with this fire for life, and I’ll fall madly in love with you, just like I do every day, and that’s something.”

Lexa sniffled and dried her cheek with her hand. She did not move to sit up or to shift off of her girlfriend who was a pillow now. Slowly, she put herself back the way it was supposed to be.

“I’m glad you came.”

“I met your family. Now nothing can scare me.”

“I can be a handful.”

“Good.”

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stephicness · 8 years ago

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Hey there :3 I totally love your hc/scenarios, they are awesome! Bc I'm Ravus trash (xD) I wanted to request smth - like how would he react, if he fell in love with his childhood friend (who also serves the Nifs army and secretly has a crush on him as well)? How would he confess/first kiss/first time/whatever xD :3 pretty please

Why, hiya there to you, dear anon! c: Many thanks foryour comments. I’m super glad that you enjoy my writings! It really warms myheart knowing that. qUq

But hm… For your question, I normally have a hardertime answering these ones because I’m not exactly the significant otherdescribed, so I can’t really gauge what they would say in the moment sinceeveryone’s different. But let me try to tell you a story of a childhood friendship and romance~ A long one, so look under the read more!

Ravus Nox Fleuret twenty years ago, the young prince ofTenebrae. A bright young child many years ago, a musical prodigy some say aswell, and a mama’s boy. He often had a hard time making friends when attendingthe private school his father enrolled him into, and he often kept to himself.He wasn’t particularly well-liked among his classmates, but he at least tendedto his studies while also balancing out his responsibilities as the prince andas the future heir of the throne of Tenebrae. He always did his best to servethe needs of his kingdom and to make his parents proud. Even at eight yearsold, Ravus was a studious kid. Never interacting with the world unless itinteracted with him. A lonely world of responsibilities that would have drivenany child insane.

And yet there was one person that managed to keep himsane. The only person who seemed to bother ever visiting him was a youngservant from the kitchens – no more than a year or two younger than Ravus wasbut already working so hard to serve the Fleurets. The child servant would alwaysdrop by whenever Ravus was in the study practicing the piano. A bright andtoothless smile they wore, a pleasant and happy aura around them that wouldilluminate even through the darkest of times. They always did their best tosneak in and slide a different pastry every day over to Ravus. Just enough forthe prince to catch the pastry out of the corner of his eyes before he ceasespracticing. And just like every morning, he’s greeted with a bright and cheery‘Mornin’ Prince Ravy!’

He couldn’t help but frown in return. It’s Ravus, not Ravy.

At first, Ravus was curious as to why the servant was sohappy to interact with the prince, considering that his routine was so strictthat he couldn’t afford to socialize with someone as lowly as a servant. Especiallyone as dirty as they were. Covered in flour and cake batter most the time,always with some sort of bandage around their fingers. Ravus honestly didn’twant anything to do with them. He just wanted to get back to playing the pianobefore his instructor would scold him for not practicing. But it seemed likethey wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. The merely strolled on over afterpushing the pastry toward Ravus before they sat on the piano stool next to himand poked at the keys.

“Lady Sylla wants you to eat. But they didn’t make itpink enough.” The servant smiled again, scooting the pink cupcake to Ravuseagerly. “I made it! Extra frosting. ‘Cause Lady Sylla said you like it!”

“It is Queen Sylva.”

“Lady Sylla. Right!”

The young prince frowned. What a scrappy kid. But itseemed like they just had a hard time pronouncing his mother’s name. Lady Sylva.But he wasn’t going to be able to correct them any time soon either. Ravusmerely let out a sigh, taking the cupcake before he licks off some of thefrosting from it. The prince stopped, looking down at the cupcake with big eyesbefore he looks to the servant. That dumb smile never left the child’s face asthey watched in return. The prince quickly turned away, stuffing the cupcakeinto his mouth and devouring it like a predator attacking its sugary pink prey.

“Ya like it?!” Ravus gave a quick nod, face stuffed withthe pastry and mouth covered with pink frosting. The servant grinned andbounced happily in their seat. “Imma make you one for breakfast every day then!Okay, Ravy?”

Ravus glanced away, swallowing the cupcake finally as hewiped away the cupcake with his fingers. “…Maria told me I am not allowed tohave sweets.”

The servant placed a finger over their lips as amischievous smile formed. “Just don’t tell ‘em then.”

The sneaky pink breakfast cupcakes became a routine astime passed. First, it was a rather strange nuisance of having to hide from thepiano instructor whenever the pastry chef-in-training would visit with cupcakesand other pastries. But the more the servant would visit, the more Ravus beganto value the morning pastries with them. They would end up sitting there andtalking about nothing or everything. Rarely was there ever an in-between. Thecompany was pleasant, and it was nice to have a chance to not be alone with hisown thoughts. Sure, sometimes the thoughts of annoyance would come to mind asthe servant would go on for hours about their dislike for pastries withoutcolorful sugar or chocolate on them. But if they were willing to sit there andlisten quietly as Ravus practiced the piano, he could at least give them thechance to talk about pastries.

And despite having many topics to talk about, not oncedid the pastry deliverer question or judge the prince for his status. Yes,they’d have to refer to Ravus as ‘Prince,’ but it seemed that ‘Ravy’ stuck moreas a nickname than the title of Prince. Ravy and the little servant would merelyspend their time together for the next eight years after their fateful cupcakeexchange.

Eight years, and Ravus had become a young man ready tostart learning more about the crown and the chance to aid his sister and motherin their duties as Oracle. Sixteen years old and ready to become king already.A noble boy and one that was respected and admired for his dedication to hisfamily. And as he grew older, his friendship with the servant grew as well.Their morning pastries were matched with afternoon snacks, evening walks,weekend hanging out, and so much more. The servants in the castle began tothink that the young man spent more time with the servant than he did playingthe piano anymore. Not that Sylva or the others really minded. It was ratherpleasant to see the prince of Tenebrae finding a friend he cared about. Someonethat he adored. Someone that he… Loved.

No… It couldn’t be that. Could it? The prince could only shakehis head of the thought and quickly go back to his studies.

Until one day, when Sylva and Ravus sat together as theyoung boy showed his mother the composition he was practicing, there was a softknock on the study’s door, followed by the faint sound of sniffling. Silva gotup, answering the door and looking down at the tiny servant. The smile theservant usually wore was broken and weary as poofy and teary eyes looked at upat the queen and held the pink cupcake up to her. “’G-Good morning, yourmajesty. I-I brought Ravy breakfast!”

The sound of the servant’s cracked voice caused theprince to stop playing the piano, quickly getting up before going over to hisfriend. He hesitated, trying to make sense of the saddened look on the servant’sface. But when he looked up to Sylva as if begging her to do something aboutthe tears, Sylva merely nudged her head at Ravus. She would be disappointed ifhe didn’t do something. So Ravuscarefully avoided crushing the cupcake in the servant’s hands before he wrappedhis arms around them and pulled them into a strong and comforting hug. Sylvasmiled at the two, kissing the top of Ravus’s head before she let the two be.

Ravus let out a sigh, rubbing the servant’s back beforehe guided them to go sit down. “What happened? Why are you crying?” He had totake the cupcake from his companion, or at least, what was left of it. With howtightly the servant crushed the pastry, there was little left of it. He merelytook out a small handkerchief and began to wipe away the remnants of thecupcake mess from their hands.

“My dad told me that I’m not allowed to see you again…” Ravuspaused at their words, looking up with a shocked expression. What…? “He said thathe was okay with it at first, but not anymore. He said that he wants to quitserving the Fleuret family and leave tomorrow.”

“But… But you can’t. The party for King Regis and PrinceNoctis is tomorrow.”

“Dad says I’m not allowed to go tomorrow. He even slammedhis hand on the table and yelled at me too…”

Ravus frowned, shaking his head as he wiped off the pinkthat now stained his friend’s skin. He seemed to press a bit too hard whiledoing so, but they didn’t say anything about it. “You can’t just leave and stopserving my family. And you can’t just spring this news onto me without anynotice. It is foolish, and you can’t simply just leave!”

“I don’t want to leave either.” They pressed the back oftheir wrist to their eyes, the tears just continuing to fall. This was thefirst time in eight years that they’ve known each other that Ravus had seenthem cry. “I just wanna be here with you, and-and cook for you like usual. Andhang out with you. And just stay with you. And-And…!” They choked on theirwords by this point, their sobbing turning into a near wail of sadness as theypressed their palms to their eyes to cease the tears. “I don’t wanna lose you!”

Ravus’s gaze hung low, the prince becoming quiet as hiscompanion wept. He didn’t want them to leave either. Eight years of theirbonding, and Ravus couldn’t even see the color pink without thinking of theservant that he would spend his days with growing up. With them leaving, thatwould mean no more spending the mornings talking until his piano instructor yelledat them both, no more of them sneaking by Ravus’s room and lazing about untilRavus grew tired of his studies and lazed about with them, no more pinkcupcakes or smiles from the pastry chef. No more of them… Ravus felt his frowngrow deeper before he wrapped his arms around his crying friend and squeezingthem as tight as he could.

“I command you stay here. You must stay. You are notallowed to go.” Ravus frowned before he pulled back and looked down at thepastry servant. “What if you snuck away during the party tomorrow? We couldhide you away, or perhaps I will tell your father that you are ordered to stayhere. With me.”

They sniffled, whipping their eyes with the back of theirarm. “You can do that…?” Ravus’s face twisted. He probably couldn’t, but hecould still try. But before he could reply, two arms wrapped themselves aroundRavus. Surprised at the gesture at first, Ravus returned the embrace, restinghis head on their shoulder. “I hope you do! I don’t wanna leave. Who else willeat my cupcakes?”

The prince let out a chuckle, looking down at the servantwith a soft smile. “We will find a way for us to be together still, so do notlose hope. After all, I cannot imagine myself not having my morning cupcake.Pink frosting and all.”

“You promise? You promise that we’ll get to be together?”

Ravus nodded in response, leaning closer before placing akiss on top of the servant’s forehead. “I promise.”

The servant ended up laughing with excitement and joybefore they hugged Ravus once again, nuzzling their face into his chest. “Ilike you the most! You’re the best, Ravy.”

Ravus paused for a moment, his cheeks reddening slightlybefore he hugged them in return, placing another light kiss on top of theirhead. “I like you the most too…”

The high commander suddenly blinked hard as his attentionfinally came back to reality. He had lost track of time, it seemed. The momentpassing in the mere blink of an eye as he pondered on what seemed like aneternity ago. Ravus’s eyes faltered, turning down towards the ground as hestood in his place. He wished the moment would have been frozen in time, histhoughts to recollect the past, to cherish it. But it felt like time alwaysmoved forward. A pity that such innocence was left in the past.

And so, he stood there, the bouquet of pink roses tuckedinto his arm as he carried the small box in the other. He had the moment tospare that morning to visit them. To see them once again after so long. A longyear of hardships and trials that challenged Ravus and pushed him to nearlybreaking. And yet, here he was. He was there, surviving, alive and well. Helooked down, giving a small nod before he set the flowers on top of the marbleheadstone stepped back. He held the box in his hands, staring down at theheadstone. Silent. Quiet like his mornings have been for the past twelve years.But this time, it feels deafening. The high commander felt his breath shaken ashe exhaled and took a seat in front of the headstone. With shaken hands, he openedthe box, taking out one of two cupcakes and setting it down in on top of thememorial. The other he took for himself, but both were covered in bright pinkfrosting.

It wasn’t quite the same as before…

Ravus let out a small sigh, putting the cupcake pack intothe box as he hung his head once again. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have tried to relive this moment again. It would never be the same. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have made their friendship a routine. He shouldn’t have told the servant to come with him to the party. If he hadn’t done that, then maybe Ravus would have kept his promise. He could have done something more. He could have kept them by his side, to have them nearby, to tell them that after all this time… The commander shook his head, closing his eyes as he gripped the box tighter.

“I’m sorry… But I promise: we’ll get to be together soon.”

#asks #dear anon #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ravux nox fleuret #ravus #stephic writings #welp #i tried to be happy #i failed #my heart hurts now #*ugly sobbing*

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