#they consistently did worse than his store but every excuse was made for why they couldn't reach sales

[darkmoonkestrel]

daily kestrel 109:

work was mostly chill today, except for the fire alarm that happened as most of the building was getting their kids down for nap. it was not a drill, it was accidentally set off by the people working on the heating systems in the attic, so we were definitely justified in being concerned when it went off, but we got evacuation done without a hitch. it took a while to get everyone settled back down, but we let them nap an extra 30 minutes after the usual time to make up for it

I spent my lunch break changing my addresses for several accounts, then looking up schools in the area that are hiring paras and cross referencing that with how long the media specialists have been there (looking for soon to be retirees/future open positions) and have come up with a short list of schools to apply to come mid-January once we're at least a little settled

I'm glad I chose to come back to Harley's for tonight, it felt like college almost, probably because we all took a shot of straight vodka at one point. Mom called so I talked to her in the bedroom for like 45 minutes, and then while Karilyn cooked we talked about her work scavenger hunt and the old prank war I did with Peyton and Paige as well as the inspection report for the house and all of the things Karilyn can look at once we get in the place. Karilyn made steak for dinner, Harley and I went to get milkshakes, and we discovered on our outing that the store he used to work at with our former employer has been closed for good - seeing the store totally empty with all the lights shining on bare walls and carpet, it was like Christmas came early. I almost fell asleep on the couch watching the new EP of Gastronauts, but now I have properly prepared for bed so it is time for my last sleep here before I have to do moving part two, electric boogaloo starting on Monday

[kroerms]

Half-way (Part two)

pairing: Akaashi Keiji x y/n (gender neutral, I think I stayed clear of using any pronouns for reader, please correct me if I made a mistake)

genre: angstish with a little bit of an open ending

warnings: aftermath of a break-up. Mentions of unhealthy coping strategies (bad eating habits, kinda isolation), usage of the word death twice, my bad writing skills ^^

a/n: this is part 2 out of 3 of this fic. I really love interactions very much, so feel free to tell me what you think of this :) Reblogs are greatly appreciated. Part 3 will follow some time this week I think :)

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Two weeks have passed by since “the dining table incident”, as you call it. Your days consist of laying in Atsumu’s guest room, refusing to exit it. If it wasn’t for Atsumu bringing you food twice a day and sitting next to you on the bed until you’ve eaten all of it, you would probably have starved to death by now. You just don’t have the energy to go out and do stuff. You just want to lay in bed with the blinds closed and reminisce about Keiji and you and how it all began.

Keiji and you met way back when you first moved to Tokyo. You were a very shy, very anxious, and most of all, very lost young person, trying to find your way to the little bookstore your friend told you about. To be fair, you never were big on orientation. Your father used to say you’d get lost on the way to your bathroom if it weren’t for your flat being so...cozy…

So you were just wandering around the streets of the city, looking like a lost puppy and -just your luck- it started to rain cats and dogs. And of course, you being you, the new umbrella you bought was sitting at home. Just as you found refuge under a hotel entrance, hugging yourself to find some sort of comfort and already wet to the bone, a voice next to you spoke. “Excuse me, but is this your phone?”

You slowly turned to face the person attached to the deep, raspy voice. You locked eyes with a tall, very handsome dark haired man with an unreadable facial expression, holding a (your!) phone in his hand.

“Oh my god, could this day get any worse?” you said, anger evident in your voice as you inspected the broken screen of your very new phone.

“Seems like Murphy’s law strikes again.” The man next to you spoke.

“Huh?”, you looked at the man with furrowed brows. You were absolutely not in the mood to entertain a stranger right now. You let your eyes wander over the young man standing next to you. His dark hair was wet and drops of rain ran down his forehead. His blue eyes were soft and his smile seemed genuine.

“What I mean to say is, it seems that your day is not going all too well, considering you kinda said so yourself. So - Murphy's law.” He smiled at you again, wider this time.

“Oh, well yes, it seems like everything is going wrong today, that is right indeed.” You answered, a small smile making its way to your lips. You bowed to the man with no name.

“Thank you very much for saving my phone. My name is y/n, may I ask yours?”

“Name’s Akaashi Keiji. Nice to meet you y/n. This may be overstepping a bit considering you don’t know me. But would you let me take you out for a coffee to cheer you up?” Keiji’s smile widened at your nodding.

“That would be very nice of you, thank you very much, Akaashi.” you answered shyly.

“Please, call me Keiji.”

You nodded again, a smile spreading across your cheeks.

Keiji led you to a small café. Ironically, the café was right next to the bookstore you were looking for. You giggled as you noticed, making him look at you in confusion.

“Sorry, it’s just funny how I was looking for that store right here for hours today and then I meet a stranger who brings me exactly where I wanted to go.”

“Well, this is fate then, don’t you think?” Keiji offered you an even wider smile as before. You didn’t think it was possible but he became more attractive with every minute you spent together.

The two of you sat at the café for quite a while. Keiji asked you why you moved to Tokyo and you asked him about his job. Keiji seemed very interested in you and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. His entire being intrigued you. It became clear very fast that the two of you had a lot in common. For one, you both liked to read. He told you about his friends and about his time in highschool, you told him about your family and your dreams. Time seemed to fly by, without neither him nor you noticing. It wasn’t until the waitress asked the two of you to leave because the shop was closing that you checked the time on your phone.

“Oh, it’s late already. And I didn’t even get to go to that bookstore,” you say, blushing slightly "don’t get me wrong though, I really enjoyed your company, you actually did cheer me up today Keiji. I really appreciate the effort.”

“Oh, I am sorry you didn’t get to go to that store. It’s actually really cute and they have lots of antiques as well. If you let me, I would like to take you on a date there some time? Maybe Saturday afternoon, say 2pm, what do you say?” Keiji’s eyes held something similar to hope in them. And who were you to destroy that? So you agreed.

The rest was pretty much history.

Keiji and you took each other out on different dates almost every other day for two months before he asked you to be his on a late sunny afternoon the two of you spent sitting and reading to each other in the park. The kiss that followed was a bit reluctant at first but tender and passionate nonetheless.

After that, the both of you became almost inseparable. You met his friends, he met yours and a little after a year the two of you moved in together. Everyday spent with Keiji was filled with love. From cooking dinner together to waking up next to him, his arm slung over your side, chest flush against your back, everything felt like home. Keiji became a home to you when you weren’t even looking for one.

Going through all these memories that connect the two of you makes you tear up again. You just wish for Keiji to come back to you. But since the break up you haven’t heard anything from him. It is killing you, at least that’s how it feels. But death would be too easy, so you are left suffering that loss.

At your shared apartment, Keiji is reading your letter for the nth time over and over again. Tears fill his eyes, the sound of his heart breaking audible in the sobs he lets out. And as if to punish himself, he reads your words again:

My dearest Keiji

I know you think taking a break from us is the right thing to do. And although I disagree, I nonetheless accept your decision. It hurts, I am not gonna lie to you. But I do understand where you are coming from. I just want you to know that I will always be here for you. If you decide that you want to end things definitely, I will accept it. But if you come back to me, I will be here with open arms.

Just know that you always were and always will be enough for me even in times when you don't see yourself as worthy. You are the most kind and most loving person I know and you make me feel so loved. And I can just hope that you feel the same way when thinking about me. If I did something to make you doubt yourself I want you to know that I would never doubt you. Sure, sometimes you annoy the shit out of me but I know for a fact that I not once doubted your love and affection towards me. And that, my love, will never change. I will never see you as anything less than the best part of my life. So if you decide to come back to me, I'll be here.

I love you today, I love you tomorrow and I'll love you every day after that for the rest of my life if you let me.

Forever yours

Y/n

All he can think about is that he wants to hold you again. He needs to, otherwise his life will never feel complete again, this much is obvious. He knows he fucked up bad by sending you away. He needs to make this right, he thinks. So he takes a piece of paper and writes down a plan. A plan to make the heartbreak end. A plan to bring happiness back into his life. The happiness he knows in the form of you.

He knows love is real because he can feel it. He can feel it with every fiber of his being when he thinks of you. He can see it in the way his eyes are dark and lifeless and the bags under them are the embodiment of the loss he feels every night when he can’t sleep because you are not laying in his arms.He knows love is real because it is what he feels whenever he looks at your pictures or when he reads your letter. And all he wants is to make you his again.

[woodsteingirl]

A case in suburbia, domestic dynamics, and a forever home. What could go wrong?

the moment i’ve been waiting for! chapter one is up now! read here or under the cut.

Cas and Dean were searching for a forever house. They had been pretty much since Cas got back from the empty. They were ready to distance themselves from hunting. Dean had always wanted a sort of suburban, white picket fence life, even if he didn’t admit it to anyone. And since he already admitted how he truly felt to Cas, why not throw his need for a domestic lifestyle into the mix. Cas was all for it. Ever since Jack had given up most of his powers to Amara, thus causing her to take his place as God and him almost human, Cas had been hoping for a place to raise him like a normal child. The bunker was great for hunting and a place for Cas, Dean, and Sam, but not so much for raising a 5-year-old kid.

House hunting had been a burden to bear, but they were making out alright. Up till this, they’d looked at about 3 other houses. They were all a no for different reasons. The first one Cas decided was in a school district that wouldn’t be good for Jack, the second didn’t have a big enough garage or backyard, and the third didn’t have enough bedrooms for all of their family to stay. With the whole credit card scam they’d been running for as long as they remember, budget wasn’t really a problem, but they didn’t want something extravagant.

There it was, 538 Chapel Street in Pine River Crossings. It wasn’t too far out of Lawrence, only a few hours' drive, and all the houses looked nice. Very cookie cutter, but that was sort of the appeal. They couldn’t guarantee that they would fit in with the traditional, upper middle-class people, but what the hell, if they could kill god they could take suburbia.

A few days passed, and they were set up to look at the home. They drove the hour and a half to the next medium-sized town with the belief in their minds that this was the one. It had all they needed, a two-car garage, a respectable school district, and two guest bedrooms. They were so caught up in this concept they made the mistake of not checking the news for the nearby areas. Once they arrived, a realtor who showed them around the dwelling greeted them. It was all they could ask for and more practically too good to be true, especially for people like them. The actual presentation of the house went over without too many problems. The person exhibiting the residence commented on how it had been on display for almost a month now, which was the first red flag. A house as nice as this, in a densely populated area, would usually not be on the market for that long in weeks unless there was some hidden con.

They signed on it not a day after seeing the house in person. It was all set up and they could officially start moving stuff in the next week. They officially shared the good news with everyone the day after they signed. Sam was beyond happy for them. Not only would he finally have a space to himself, he was proud of his brother for living the life he’d always wanted. Jack was thrilled that he would get to go to actual school and have friends that were his age and not cosmic entities. In the meantime, Cas did more research into the neighborhood. There was their hidden con. The newspaper Cas had pulled up on his phone said, “Local Couple Murdered in Own Home.”

“Dean, look at this.”

Okay, that was a setback. A murderer on the loose in the neighborhood they were moving into was not exactly what he had planned, but he had delt with worse. “Alright, that could be a problem.”

“I think it’s a little bigger than a problem,” Cas retorted.

“Is it our type of thing or just something local law enforcement could deal with?”

Cas read on in the article, “the couple was stabbed, there was no sign of forced entry, neighbors reported nothing amiss besides lights flickering before the murder. The weapon, as well as the perpetrator, was never found. No official suspects have been labeled, everyone has seemed to have an alibi.”

“It definitely sounds like our thing. Lights flickering, no breaking and entering, and all.”

They decided they could pose as residents, as it seemed perfectly normal for the newcomers to be concerned about the literal murderer on the loose. Since Cas was newly human, and Jack was, well, 5, Dean thought they might need outside help. Being out of practice to spend more time with your husband and child really had its fallbacks. Sam was off the table as backup. He was out of town and Dean didn't want to interrupt his first weekend without him in god knows how long. Plus, they needed someone who wouldn't draw too much attention to their family dynamic.

“Hey, Cas, what do you think about calling in Claire to help us with this one? You think she’d do it?”

“Calling her in for help is a good idea, whether or not shed actually do it is another question.”

“I’ll call and ask, and if she wants to help, and if not then I can think of something else.”

He kept his promise and called Claire not an hour later. He decided it might be best not to tell her it was undercover work, or that it was taking place in a white picket fence neighborhood, as that might turn her off from it almost immediately.

“Hey Claire, its been too long since we’ve talked,” he started.

“Hi Dean. what do you want, there’s no way you’re just calling to catch up if you’re starting with ‘its been too long.’”

“You got me there. I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me and Cas on a hunt. Its not too far from the bunker and we’d have you back home in a week.”

“Sure, that works. When do we start?” She hadnt seen Dean and Cas since they rescued Cas. That was over a month ago, she’d been meaning to visit, but she’d been so busy with hunting, and getting to know Kaia again now that she was finally back. This seemed like a perfect opportunity to reconnect and not miss out on anything too big back at home.

“If you could come down here by Wednesday, that’d be great.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” She was tempted to sign off with an ‘I love you’ but she was never a lovey-dovey person in that way.

On tuesday she promised Jody she’d be extra careful and would be back in under a week. Kaia told her to make sure to call every day and update her on what was happening. Claire agreed, promising to keep in touch. She spent the rest of the day driving down to Kansas.

Back on Dean and Cas’s end, they were trying to get the house set up for 4 people when they had no furniture prior to this. Cas had always loved furniture shopping even before he had a use for it. When he worked at the Gas-and-Sip, he would browse the home improvement magazines in his spare time. Dean was pretty much the opposite. He had never had reason to care for it, so he didn't. Maybe his hatred for Swedish furniture was rooted in his deep-seated commitment issues. It didn't matter much why he hated it, he just left most of the choices up to Cas. there was then the issue of appliances and such you couldn't find in a furniture store. That was left up to him. Cas sent him out to Walmart to get things for the kitchen. That was something he could do. He picked out a mixer, some silverware, and a pioneer woman kitchenware set. It came with pots and pans, mixing bowls, and a few normal sized plates. That was enough for him to consider it an absolute steal. He brought his finds home to the bunker, setting them on the table designated for things that were to go in the new house. Jack was sitting on Cas’s lap, pointing at things on the computer.

“What’re you guys finding?” Dean asked, hovering behind Cas’s shoulder.

“Djungelskog!” Jack exclaimed, showing Dean a photo of a large stuffed brown bear.

“I thought you were looking for furniture?” Dean directed the question more at Cas, but he was still looking at Jack.

“We are. Jack just got us a bit sidetracked. We found the majority of what we need. Among other things not of as grave importance.”

Dean looked over the shopping cart and then gave the go ahead. Not before adding the stuffed bear to the cart, though.

The next day Claire arrived. Everyone was thrilled to see her. Jack ran up and threw himself around one of her legs and Cas gave her an awkward dad side hug. Dean wondered when he would tell her what the hunt would actually consist of, but he didn't want to interrupt the moment.

A few hours later, Dean fixed everyone a real dinner and had them sit down at the kitchen table. The realization dawned on him that this was going to be his last sit down meal officially living in the bunker. Everyone sort of just sat in silence for a beat. Perhaps reflecting on their own lasts of officially living there. “Claire, I sorta forgot to add this when I called you, but the case is a lot of undercover work. Also its in a suburban area.”

“And why didn't you tell me this sooner?”

“Well to speak freely, I wanted you on this case and I was worried it would make you not want to come.”

“It almost does, but i'm already here now, and i wouldn't want to waste a days driving on something i'm not actually going to do.” She guessed this would probably take longer than a week. “And i'm guessing this isn't just something you decided to do out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“We bought a house in the area, and we just wanted to make sure it was safe,” Cas explained.

“Hang on, you bought a house for real and you didnt even think to tell me? You didn't think that that was valuable information?”

“It didn't come up in our phone call,” Dean said.

“And? That’s no excuse to leave your daughter out of major life events!” The ‘daughter’ part just sort of came out without her noticing, but seconds after she said it she regretted it. God, how embarrassing.

“You’re right. We should’ve told you sooner. It was kind of a recent decision, though, so you haven’t been out of the loop for too long,” Cas said.

The next day was moving day. Dean loaded the appliances into the back of Claire’s car, since the back of the Impala was already full. Claire took her own car, while Dean, Cas, and Jack rode in Baby. Their real furniture was being delivered as they spoke. Cas offered to ride with Claire, but she assured him she’d be fine by herself. The drive wasn’t even that long, especially compared to the distance she drove yesterday.

Dean was silently nervous. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but it was written all over his face. His first real stable house, with the man he loved, and his two kids, he could only hope that he didn’t mess it up. Cas put a hand on his shoulder showing he saw how Dean was feeling.

They turned onto Chapel Street and pulled up into the driveway of the house. It somehow looked bigger and more daunting than it had during the walkthrough. Claire arrived almost ten minutes later. Everyone just sort of paused in front of the house for a minute, reveling in the stability most of them had never had.

[drawlfoy]

Colorblind

masterlist request guidelines yes ma’am i’m back

pairing: draco x gryffindor!reader

request: yes! thank you kind anon :) this is the first request that really got me out of my writer’s block so i appreciate it!

summary: soulmate!au where the entire world is black and white except for your soulmate. y/n’s situation is a bit...unconventional. 

warnings: swearing and a little gore but it’s not explicit at all and just a mention

a/n: helloooooooo everyone! i know i’ve technically been “back from the dead” for nearly a month now, but this is the first time i’ve decided to jump back into writing. i’ve been working on the wonders of ohio bit by bit and have been horrified to see just how much my writing has deteriorated since last summer (when i was writing 1k words+ a day). i’d like to get into writing genuine original work during this quarantine, so i’m using my blog as a chance to polish up my own writing and work the kinks out before i touch my original ideas. thanks for being so patient with me !

music recs: figure 8 from peach pit, don’t delete the kisses from wolf alice, and bad things from cailin russo

word count: 3,098

Y/N frowned as she stirred the honey into her tea, watching the sugary swirls as they dissolved into the bottom of what she had been told was an amber drink. Her best friend, Tina, sat across from her in her snug Gryffindor robes, energetically recounting just how beautiful the color blue was.

“I had no idea, Y/N,” the brunette gushed, her cold triangle of buttered toast lying long forgotten on her plate as her hands added animation to her story. “You have to see it. He told me that the red in our robes brings out my eyes too--something about the color wheel and how green is opposite of red--and we made each other hold up our things so we could see what color its meant to be...honestly, it was such a dream...”

Even though Y/N was thrilled that Tina had found her soulmate in the convenient place of the Ravenclaw house--really, she was ecstatic for her friend--she couldn’t help but feel a little sad. She did quell the bitterness and envy that threatened to crawl its way up out of her throat, instead choosing to sit and pretend to listen as her own thoughts trailed off with a vacant smile on her face.

She’d been alive for 16 years, seen everyone there is to see at Hogwarts, traveled to every country that had a sizable young magic population, and had let her parents submit pictures of her to wizarding families all across the globe--only to still live in a dull world of simple blacks, whites, and greys. Friends like Tina had told her vibrant stories of the stunning hues of green, blue, red, purple, and gold, but Y/N had no way of knowing what they actually looked like, relying instead on her parents’ soft explanation of green as the color of life, blue as the color of peace, red as passion and anger, and yellow as the feeling of the sun hitting your skin after a long winter. 

Infuriating. She despised the security questions she had to fill out to open her Gringotts account (What’s your soulmate’s surname? What’s your favorite color?) and the unimpressed look of the goblin teller as they quietly conferred with her parents (”Sir, we rarely have complaints over this--statistically speaking, soulmates are found by the time a wizard or witch is old enough to handle money...). 

In other news, her love life was barren and dry, and at the end of the day, it was better to just not dwell on where she fell short. 

“I’ll stop going on about me,” Tina said, finally reaching down for her breakfast. “I want to hear about you. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with that crabby posh Daddy’s boy in Potions. You have my moral support. Always.”

“You mean Malfoy?”

Tina quirked an eyebrow as she took a sip of her own tea. “Yeah. Y/N, I have no clue how you’ve gone so long without being put off by that wanker. He’s so annoying. I know you don’t believe me, but you’re about to see for yourself in...erm..” She made a show of checking her pocket watch. “Less than an hour.”

“He doesn’t seem that bad,” Y/N countered. “I’ve spoken to him once or twice in the library. Doesn’t have much to say, but he was cordial. I’m not horrendously upset that we were assigned to be partners.”

“Did he know you were a Gryffindor?”

“I have no idea. Neither of us were wearing our robes, so I couldn’t tell you.”

Y/N’s friend rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re going to be singing a very different tune come lunch. Trust me.”

<^>

The wooden stool that Y/N was perched on was uncomfortably wobbly as she waited, albeit a little nervously, for her potions partner to arrive. It had been an unwelcome selection process--or perhaps, lackthereof--that began with Slughorn reading off a canned speech regarding house unity and the importance of bridging the gap between old rivalries and ended with groups that consisted of one Slytherin and one Gryffindor and directions to create an immaculate Draught of Peace.

Not her favorite way to spend a Friday morning, but she admitted to herself that it could be far worse. She could be paired up with one of Malfoy’s goons--Crabbe or Goyle--who were by far much more obnoxious.

A slight movement in the corner of her eye pulled her attention back to the present. Y/N started at the dark figure standing by the empty stool next to her.

“Excuse me,” Malfoy said simply, placing his satchel on the table in front of them and sitting.

Y/N sent him a weak smile as she unrolled her parchment and began reviewing the ingredients. 

“I don’t mean to sound brash,” she began as she sorted the ingredients at their table, “but I’m pretty good at Potions. If you want to, you can just read the directions while I prepare everything.”

He seemed like he wasn’t quite listening to what she was saying, instead his eyes, unfocused and slightly cloudy, were settled on her braid that snaked around her shoulder.”Er, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Okay.”

As the pair began, Y/N couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy looked tired. His normally pristine and glowing skin looked dull and lifeless, decorated with dark eye bags under his slate-grey eyes. She was struck with a sudden desire to ask if he was alright but decided against it. The furrow in his brow as he glanced over the directions reminded her that they were simply partners for the week--and that Slytherins generally got into a hissy fit if people tried to act too buddy-buddy with them too quickly.

“Add the moonstone until it starts to steam,” he said after a few moments, apparently not noticing that she was already emptying the powdered moonstone into the cauldron. “Stir until completely dissolved.”

“Add syrup of hellebore.”

“Stir until the consistency is akin to cream.”

This went on for the rest of the lesson--Malfoy softly instructing her while Y/N consulted her own set of directions, just in case. As she worked, she couldn’t help but notice how unusual his hair was. It was unlike any other white she’d ever seen before--instead, it had some kind of warm hue to it. Y/N knew that no one her age actually had naturally white hair--Malfoy clearly had some iteration of “blond”, whatever that meant--but all the other light haired  wizards she had met had slightly grey tinges in their hair...not whatever he had going on. She shrugged it off and kept stirring.

An hour passed by much quicker than anticipated, and to her surprise, Malfoy never said anything even mildly irritating. Y/N stored this tidbit of information away with the interest of asking Tina why she thought he was such a dickwad. 

“I think that’s all we have to do today,” Malfoy said once they had added the porcupine quills and set the lid on for the night. 

“We really let it sit here until Monday?” she questioned, reviewing the parchment one more time. “That seems a little excessive.”

“Well, it’s not like--” He began waspishly before he took a breath and cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Er, I mean, I know that Slughorn casts a preservation spell on them over the weekend. There’s really no other way to do it without booking an entire day.” 

“I guess that makes sense.” 

He sent a surprisingly soft smile her way. It appeared that they had finished earlier than the rest of the students and had a couple more minutes until they were dismissed, so the silence around them was tense. Y/N decided to take a risk and ask something she assumed everyone, especially someone as allegedly ostentatious as Malfoy, liked talking about.

“So,” she began casually, twiddling her thumbs under the desk, “Have you found your soulmate yet?”

The few moments of complete and absolute quiet that followed after this question prompted her to send a glance over to Malfoy, who looked...completely stricken?

“Er....” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked her up and down. “Yes?”

Y/N had never had an interaction so awkward as she waited, tense and very weirded out, for him to just go ahead and pose the question back to her so she could break the ice and complain about how she’d searched far and wide for her soulmate and failed--but it never came. Malfoy just stared at her for another few heartbeats before he shut his slightly gaped mouth and turned to pack up his belongings.

Not another word was exchanged between them until Slughorn officially announced that they were all dismissed as long as their brewing stations were spotless. 

Malfoy was out the door before she even had a chance to say goodbye.

<^>

“So?” Tina sat at the edge of her seat, waiting for her friend to relay all the details of her potions adventure.

“Super weird,” Y/N answered. “He was nice. Didn’t say anything mean about my house or parents or wealth or anything. I asked him about his soulmate, though, and he totally clammed up.”

Tina’s eyes narrowed as she shifted on her bench and drew closer. “I haven’t heard a whisper of anything about his soulmate. Poor bloke probably doesn’t have one. I’m not surprised...no one deserves to be stuck with him forever.”

“No, that’s not it,” Y/N countered. “First of all, he’s not bad. I told you. Second of all, he told me he had one and looked at me like I was stupid for not knowing. It was weird.”

“I wouldn’t sweat it. He probably thinks he’s so important and sought after that all anyone talks about is him and was just offended that you didn’t know, I guess. This is what I mean. He’s such a prick.”

“Maybe.” Y/N found herself looking over to the Slytherin table, her eyes stopping on the curiously colored hair of a certain 6th year. He seemed especially down, hardly touching the spoon in his stew and choosing to look like the definition of angst instead. 

But in a very attractive way she admitted to herself. There was no denying it--Draco Malfoy was beautiful, in a tragic sort of way, like how paintings of imaginary places that you’ll never be able to actually visit for yourself are beautiful. 

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, jarring her out of her whimsical train of thought and bringing a blush to her cheeks. For once, she was relieved that no one could see her in color.

<^>

By the time Monday rolled around, Y/N was feeling more and more uneasy about her whole situation. Malfoy ignited some kind of weird feeling deep inside of her--almost like butterflies--as he absentmindedly tapped his lips with his quill, studying the directions sheet in front of them.

“How was your weekend?” Y/N asked, her voice a little pitchier than she would’ve liked. He arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow at this, hardly even bothering to glance her direction. 

“The usual,” he drawled. “I studied, mostly.”

“Nice. Way to keep us all on our toes.”

The slight smile that stretched across his face and the dimples that followed nearly made her knees weak, her hand shooting out to grasp the edge of the table before they gave in. “Yeah. You know me. The wild card.” His voice seemed bored, but she was just glad that the words coming out of his mouth weren’t entirely insufferable. 

Y/N sent him a soft smile, fiddling with the edges of her robes. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tina watching them intently.

“We only have to stir it 12 times counter clockwise and 14 times clockwise and add the unicorn horn powder before we let it simmer until Wednesday,” Y/N mused as she finally tossed the parchment back on the table. “Easy work. We should be done in about a half hour, give or take.”

They made quick work of the directions, the smell of their potion taking an amiable lilac like scent. 

“I think that means we didn’t royally fuck it up,” Draco offered as she rolled her sleeves back down and settled into the stool next to him.

Y/N smirked at him, a glimmer in her eyes. “We? Don’t you mean me?”

He laughed stiffly before immediately sobering up and packing up his things. “Sure. I’m going to ask Slughorn if I can leave early. See you.”

With that, he got up and left her alone. At face value, Y/N didn’t expect the situation to mean that much to her, but it left a bitter taste in her mouth and stung more than expected.

Shake out of it, Y/N, she chided herself. What does it matter, anyways?

<^>

A knock on her dorm room shook her out of a particularly thrilling study session for her DADA exam, whose notes she promptly shoved into her satchel at the suggestion of a welcome distraction.

“Come in!” she called. 

The door opened to reveal a particularly devious looking Tina. “I come with questions.”

“Please distract me from that tragic exam tomorrow,” she moaned, throwing herself on her bed. “Anything is better than thinking about it.”

Tina’s lip quirked as she settled down next to her friend. “It’s about your dear Potions partner.”

“What about him?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you were looking at him today.” Tina propped her chin up into her hand. “You like him.”

“I most certainly do not!” Y/N said hotly. “I mean...I think he’s cute, and his hair reflects the light in this really cool way, but no! I’m not an idiot!”

“Of course you’re not an idiot,” Tina soothed. “He’s objectively a very pretty person. No harm in appreciating that. And now that you’ve spent a little more time with him, and you’re realizing that maybe he isn’t an arsehole, I could totally understand why you’d develop feelings for him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“How am I being ridiculous?”

“He’s already found his soulmate, Tina. I’m not masochistic enough to want to pine after a boy who already has his person.” As the weight of the words sunk in, Y/N could feel her chest tighten for just a moment. Tina just kept watching as she moved to gently wrap a hand around her shoulder.

“So say I do like him, just a little bit,” Y/N continued as her voice grew softer. “Say I actually let myself develop feelings for him even though I know there’s no way he’s my soulmate. Say I actually give in and have to see him every day knowing that he’s in love with someone else. Don’t you think that’s a little too much for me? I want to find my soulmate! I don’t want to mess around with anyone unless it’s with them.”

Her friend was quiet, but she moved her arm to wrap around Y/N’s frame. 

“I’d just really like to find my soulmate already,” Y/N finished up. “And I’m afraid that they’re not even out there. So, no. No detours allowed.”

Tina smiled a little at this, sitting up to instead pat her friend on the back. “You’ve always been the more focused one. I respect that. But I am saying that there’s no harm in seeing other people while you wait.”

Y/N shrugged. “Yeah. Fairs. Now, I hate to say this, but I have a list of spells a metre long just waiting to be memorized for the exam tomorrow. I’d love to tell you the rest of all my gushy secrets once that’s taken care of.”

“Of course!” Tina kissed her friend on the cheek and skipped off. “Just don’t go too crazy studying. I still need a best friend to bitch to at breakfast.”

“No promises!”

<^> 

“Add a little more powdered moonstone,” Malfoy instructed from her right, “Just until it starts to boil.” 

Y/N went to reach for it, catching a glimpse of her partner on the way. There was something just so magnetizing about him, something so delicate and stunning. She couldn’t help but feel a quick twinge of envy for whoever his soulmate was. 

The sound of the moonstone slipping into the potion pulled her back into reality, and she quickly stirred to avoid an unwelcome explosion. 

“And now the chopped gillyweed.” 

Y/N turned to their stockpile of ingredients, only to see whole cloves of gillyweed.

“I have to confess something,” she said, still stirring vigorously. Malfoy snapped to attention so quickly it almost made her jump. “I’m shit with a knife. Can you chop it for me? I have to keep stirring this anyways.”

What looked like disappointment flashed across his face for just a moment before he stood up and reached for a knife. “Sure.”

Y/N nodded and turned back to the concoction, careful to make sure that the moonstone wasn’t clumping together at the surface as she waited for Malfoy to be done with the gillyweed.

“Fuck!” 

Y/N turned to see Malfoy’s hand covered in--no way.

His hand was covered in blood, as was the knife that was held tightly by his right hand. 

“Fuck, fuck, can you hand me a towel?”

Y/N couldn’t help but stare as the words from her parents floated back into her head (Green is the color of life, blue is peace, red is passion and anger...). 

“It’s red.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Your hand. It’s red.” Now that she looked closer, she could see hints of colors that she’d never seen before in him--a soft hue that reminded her of first kisses and the scent of roses in his cheeks and lips, a warm, sunny glow in his hair, and a cool, startling color in his eyes that seemed like the color for getting thrown into a cold lake on a summer afternoon.

He was staring right back at her, his eyes wide and his breathing quick. 

“It’s you, isn’t it,” she breathed. “It’s been you all along. If only you hadn’t worn those blasted black suits all the time instead of your robes..”

The corners of his mouth crinkled into a smile.

“Ms. Y/L/N, step out of the way,” Professor Slughorn interrupted, rolling up his sleeves and getting his wand out. “Draco, boy, this looks deep. Get on up to the infirmary now. Don’t dally.” 

“Meet me,” he whispered as he made to leave. “Tonight. In front of the library. I guess we have some things to discuss.”

“Yes, yes, I guess we do.” Y/N cheeks were hurting from smiling, and as he left the room, the color fading from her vision, she had never been so content to be in pain in her life.

final a/n: hi everyone :) welcome back! can’t wait to write more! sorry if this was a bit of a trainwreck...i haven’t written in a long time and this is the first thing i’ve done since college apps. all feedback is appreciated! thank you! also apologies for any plotholes or spelling errors! i wrote this in a day and i know it’s a little messy oops

[strayfreckles]

all on you.

☕︎︎ hwang hyunjin x reader (ft. ryujin, felix, & yeji); highschool au, friends-to-lovers au, barista au, bulletpoint fic.

maybe you would’ve gotten out of highschool with your emotions (and pride) unscathed if it weren’t for hwang hyunjin and his so-called romantic, obnoxious—and, in your case, unfortunately effective—antics.

includes: fluff, angst (especially in the middle), mutual pining, somewhat slow burn (?), gn!reader, barista!reader, a hefty amount of swearing, the only consistent thing you’ll see here is how utterly terrible this is, fluctuating humor

notes: this was requested by a wonderful anon! before you dive in, i’d like to inform you that this is my first fic of any kind, so please tread gently 😔✋ though constructive criticism is appreciated !! hope you enjoy (and hopefully not cringe too much sdkdnkdks) <33

wordcount: 2.8k

let me be the first to say that you absolutely abhor romance films with every existing fiber and cell in your body.

like, you cannot physically withstand the atrocity that is occurring right before your very eyes and you have to tear your gaze away before you bash your head to the nearest table.

and though you do admit that you’re overreacting sometimes

you also admit that you’re a massive dumbass for falling prey to one of the most common—and one of the most infuriating tropes—that is falling for your best friend.

yeah, hwang hyunjin? that boy holds your heart between his palms and with every smile you fall deeper and deeper

you’ve known that kid since you started eating crayons in elementary, and since then you’d been attached at the hip, clung to each other through all the clownery of middle school

finding each other in places is like a sixth sense; it only takes you both less than a minute to find the other before startling them with a quiet “hey, you”

but time is impatient, and that timid, starry-eyed boy you knew became the dimpled heartthrob come highschool—geared with the smarts and the talents and love-laced words that sent boys and girls running after him

but to you he was always just that kid who nearly consumed clay cakes because “it looked so real!”

until he wasn’t

it just came to you like a blow to the face, in the middle of sophomore year, sitting on hyunjin’s bedroom floor on a weekend trying to cram revise for your upcoming exams

you decided to take a quick break, and made the mistake of looking at hyunjin

and my oh my was he stunning

every laugh that tumbled from his lips sounded like a fucking symphony

and the bastard was just playing with kkami !!

he looked so damn soft as he planted kisses on his coat

every single constellation you knew was embedded in his irises

haha heartbeat go brrrrrrr

and maybe all you wanted was for him to never stop smiling, because he looked the most beautiful when he did, and maybe you wanted to brush his hair away from his face because you couldn’t see his eyes all that well and what the fuck—

you just malfunctioned

because that was your best friend

he noticed you staring, of course, and had the audacity to smirk, and in a second you wanted to set yourself on fire

“y/n, i know i look good, but at least try to be subtle.”

“you look like a low-budget minion, hyunjin.”

“i’d rather be a minion than a shabbier version of gru, thank you.”

(many fists were thrown that day, and hyunjin learned not to pick fun at your clothing lest that he face humiliation)

for the first few months you were in constant denial, even going so far as to blame hyunjin himself for forcing you to watch countless romcoms on your weekly sleepovers

but once you catch hyunjin staring at you with that fond look in his eyes, one he’s carried since childhood, your heart finally has the courage to murmur into the concaves of your chest, i am in love

it gets worse around senior year

the summer after junior year you land yourself a job at miroh café, a coffee shop at the heart of the town bc you’re broke as fuck and you need the cash

and, as expected, hyunjin becomes a frequent patron

he’s armed with a pickup line every single time he orders

and every single time you have to tell your heart to calm the fuck down he’s always been like this c’mon gimme a break

it’s even gone to the point where the regulars mistake him as your boyfriend

and as if your conscience nagging you 24/7 wasn’t enough mental baggage, your coworkers and fellow seniors, felix and ryujin, decided to weigh in

“if that isn’t the look of someone who’s simping over you then i don’t know what is,” ryujin nudges you, and from the repetitive force you’ve sustained from the past week you’re surprised your ribs aren’t bruised yet.

“you act like you’re not in the same dance crew,” you scoff, “ryujin, he flirts with everyone—he even had the balls to hit on chan!”

“let me remind you that denial is always the first stage of falling in love,” felix chirps, cheerful as he replenishes the pain au chocolat in the display.

“and let me remind you that i’m holding a very hot cup of coffee straight out of the machine; ‘accidents’ can happen, felix.”

of course, you weren’t in denial—you’d been past that stage long ago

it’s just that you didn’t wanna give yourself false hope

you didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing with him that’s lasted for nearly a decade because of your stupid emotions

so you’ve trained yourself to remain indifferent to the many compliments and lines he sent your way, hoping that if you could fool the others into thinking he didn’t affect you, maybe you could fool yourself, too

but oh ho ho, do i have some news for you (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

you don’t know how hyunjin’s pulse speeds up whenever he sees a handwritten note on his coffee wishing him good luck

you don’t know how often he forces himself to stop staring at you whenever you’re not looking

you don’t know how stupidly happy it makes him when he sees you smile

especially when he’s the reason why.

maybe everything about you makes hwang hyunjin happy

and maybe if you weren’t so kind and gentle and considerate during the times he lost a competition then maybe he wouldn’t have fallen this hard

but you were (and still are)

during the times you cried from laughter at all his antics

or cracked a smile at one of his pickup lines

he’d think that maybe—just maybe—he could stand a chance

but every time he did, he’d spiral into self-doubt

because there’s no way you would ever fall for him

you’re the kindest, most talented person hyunjin has ever known who deserves the universe

and he’s just… him

even if he did plan to confess, he’d be putting everything at stake; you’re too important to him, losing you would be a loss too heavy for him to bear

so he’s content with playing this role

even if the idea of you being with someone else hurts him so much

he’s content with reminding you everyday—even if it isn’t direct—that your mind is like no other, and that anybody would be blessed to have you

you both think it's always going to be like this

with you struggling to keep your feelings from showing

and hyunjin battling his inner demons

and those left to perceive the “discreet” ogling across the room and the hidden yearning in your voices are none other than (you guessed it!) felix and ryujin 🤩

it was funny the first few months

but now it’s just plain frustrating and they want nothing more than to bash your two oblivious heads together because y’all !! are !! idiots !!

no matter how much they persist, they’re always met with either a sad, gentle smile with a shake of the head or a monotonous “ha. you’re really funny.”

both have considered dropping your asses but they can’t because they love y’all too much

so all they can do is hope for a change

and change does indeed arrive when september rolls around

dance practice has just ended and hyunjin feels hyped because it’s movie night and he can’t wait to cry to kimi no na wa again

and lowkey stare at you for the entirety of the film

he exits his dance crew’s studio and is about to go straight to 7/11 for snacks when he spots the team’s newest recruit by the road, waiting for a ride home

hwang yeji’s only moved here two months ago and in a short span of time she’s already become one of the well-liked kids at school

but she’s a kind & humble sweetheart who deserves all the love & attention !!

so being the good sport he is, hyunjin approaches yeji with the brightest grin, having only talked to her a few times prior

“hey, there! yeji!” when the girl turns to him, her smile looks and feels like liquid sunshine. “waiting for your date?”

yeji turns rosy when he asks, like she does when everyone teases her about her special someone, who she’s been crushing on for weeks and who she finally had the courage to ask out. “c’mon, stop that. i don’t even know if they like me like that—they probably think it’s just another friendly date.”

“they’re a fool if they don’t end up liking you after, then,” hyunjin quips, hoping the bitterness doesn’t seep into his tone and wishing he has half the luck and strength yeji has, and she laughs.

“you know them, actually.”

“oh?”

“yeah! y/n l/n?”

oh.

o h

hyunjin can only blink at her dumbly, feeling like a thousand arrows are digging into his skin

you… with hwang yeji?

is that why you asked about her the other day? because you like her back? and that her feelings are far from being one-sided?

watching a dark cloud loom over his features, yeji thinks about asking if he’s okay when he blurts out an inaudible excuse as he walks away, zooming past the convenience store when he does

when he heads off he doesn’t even look at where he’s going, relying solely on muscle memory

he feels like he wants to grow smaller, biting his lower lip and clenching his hands into fists

he doesn’t even know why he’s upset

you were never his to lose

why would he regret what couldn’t be in the first place?

when his feet instinctively halt in front of miroh café, all he can do is stare blankly at the glass doors, at your figure behind the counter

but he wills himself to move away again, and when he does he clashes with another body

“hey, watch where you’re... hyunjin?”

ryujin stares at him with her mouth half agape, and she flinches when she sees his eyes glistening, his face flushed with the shade of pure heartbreak

“did you know about them?” he’s afraid to raise his voice, because doing so would mean there’s no stopping his emotions, “about… y/n and yeji?”

the lack of response provides the answer, and hyunjin walks away from the block

that afternoon, a cup of coffee with his name scrawled on the front went forgotten on the countertop

that evening, hyunjin doesn’t show for your monthly tradition for the first time in five years

you spend the rest of your evening obsessively checking your phone for text from him, wracking your brain for reasons he couldn’t come

of course, there are multiple reasons: like schoolwork (you are seniors, after all) and the upcoming dance competition

but you know he would text you over the slightest inconvenience, so why isn’t he saying a thing?

you rack your brain for anything you might’ve done, and your chest tightens when you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s finally caught on to you

you try to distract yourself with other thoughts as you lie wide awake in your bed: like your midterm exams, the nearing debate tournament… your date with yeji

bright, splendid hwang yeji who shares the wittiest jokes in biology and has the most colorful personality around

the first time you spent time with her she made you smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt

her laugh is the loveliest one you’ve ever heard; like dewy lavender fields beneath the spring sunshine

but every time you hear it you’re reminded that it isn’t hyunjin’s laugh, that you aren’t with him and every time you realize it you wanna cry

bc yeji’s been nothing but sweet and considerate this whole time and you’re more than guilty at the fact that all her attentions will be wasted because of you and your stupidity

you barely escape the wrath of crying yourself to sleep when you finally doze off when the clock hit two am

the next day at school, you both barely even make eye-contact

even the underclassmen who’ve heard the frequent calls of your names feel uneasy when they don’t hear hyunjin’s high-pitched voice or your shrill tones

felix especially, who’s experienced the trauma of sitting in between you two at history and feeling the tension that nearly chokes him

you’re more than terrified to look at him at him in the eye, terrified that once you do you’ll realize he doesn’t gaze at you the same way anymore

something inside hyunjin aches every time he spares you a glance, because every time he does it’s painfully obvious that he’s always been hopeless

in all honesty, hyunjin wouldn’t have shown his face at all if it weren’t for the tiny thread of patience inside ryujin snapping

so here he is, inside miroh a quarter before closing time

felix’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees him, so he sends a pointed look to his coworker,

“what did you do?” he murmurs. ryujin’s eyes are sharp when she looks at him, and he feels his blood run cold.

“what i needed to.”

no, she didn’t threaten to kill his entire family, if that’s what you’re wondering

she merely gave him… a warning

so one can imagine the surprise you feel when you emerge from the staff room, and felix drags ryujin outside to give you privacy

you both remain silent once they’re gone, neither one of you moving in place

until quiet words escape your mouth, and the familiar greeting makes hyunjin’s heart clench:

“hey, you.”

he doesn’t make a sound, so you continue, the tension heavy

“you owe me three dollars, by the way. i just wasted a perfectly good iced latte with the other day when you didn’t…”

when you trail off, hyunjin opens his mouth to let out an apology, and he realizes with a start that the words tumbling out are completely different:

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“what?”

“why didn’t you tell me about yeji?” hyunjin’s eyes begin to quiver when they meet yours, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

your jaw tightens, i told you. best friends. nothing more. “because you worry too much about everything; if i’d told you about us then you’d—”

“y/n, we’ve been together for a decade!” hyunjin intervenes, “we’re always going to worry about each other, whether you like it or not. and this— this is… i…”

every coherent thought vanishes as hyunjin grapples for more things to say. he knows he’s being selfish, undoubtedly so, but he wants you. he wants you so, so bad. the fight in him leaves until, eventually, all that’s left to say is the truth: “please, don’t go. don’t go… with her.”

your heart is close to breaking your ribcage when you stare at his face, you wait for him to say anything, to justify why he’s said it, but when the quiet settles, all you can see is red

“this is why i don’t tell you about these things,” you grit, trembling violently. “when i do, you say— say stuff that make me believe that you feel the same way i do when you actually don’t.

“and i hate you so much but in the end it’s all my fault because i’m the idiot who caught feelings for their best friend and—”

hyunjin doesn’t let you add anything else, because his lips are on yours and you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of him, him, him

the kiss doesn’t leave any room for doubt; he’s shaking, and his legs might give out, but he wants you to know that everything he feels is real

you’re both gasping for air when you pull away, but his hands still linger on your face and he traces the edge of your mouth, and you can do nothing but pull him closer by the waist

“still hate me now?” he asks, and you chuckle breathlessly, putting your forehead on his.

“yes, very much so,” you look at him tenderly, and he yelps when you pinch him gently, “this is all on you, y’know. if it weren’t for your godforsaken romcoms, we wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have ended up with a boyfriend, amirite? ow, shit— i’m kidding!”

bonus!

“oh, thank fuck,” felix exhales, looking through the windows one more time before ambling beside ryujin, who looks pleased with herself as she places her apron on the crook of her elbow. “so, spill: what did you tell hyunjin?”

she smiles, “i told him not to give up before he’s even tried anything; sometimes, there are people who are worth taking that risk for.”

just as felix is about to commend her for sounding the most wholesome he’s heard her, she adds: “and i threatened to revoke my tutelage—his ass is failing calculus so hard.”

[originalhybridloverfics]

Don’t Give Up Now - Ch4

The first thing Eda did when she got off work was go shopping for a new dress. She wanted something to knock Serkan’s ass off but also a dress that meant something. 

She wanted him to be unable to focus on anything but her. 

Serkan said he was here for work but she was not stupid. He is here for another reason. 

Work was just an excuse and Eda refused to let him crawl beneath her skin again with false pretenses. 

They have been down that road before and she was not going to let it happen again.

She looked at herself in the floor-length mirror. She straightened her hair. It flowed down her back in long dark strands. She wore a light red eyeshadow, her lashes long and dark, her lips painted a vivid red. 

She looked at her curves encased in the red fabric. 

When she saw the flirty red mini dress in the store, she knew it was the one. 

The V-neckline accentuated her chest, the criss-cross spaghetti straps bared the smoothed skin of her shoulders and back. The ruched and wrapped bodice clung to her every curve like a second skin, the short hemline stopped mid-thigh leaving her long legs on display. 

She paired the dress with a pair of gold strappy heels.

Eda smiled at her reflection in approval. She looked amazing and if Serkan didn’t think so he was either blind or stupid. 

Or a completely unfeeling Robot which was entirely possible. He was, after all, Serkan Robot Bolat.

She grabbed her long trench coat, slipping it on over her shoulders, then her bag, and headed out the door. 

Serkan had better come compared because she was not going to make any of this easier on him. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Serkan waited, his fingers tapping impatiently against the table cloth.

He looked at his phone contemplating if he should call her but something told him to look up. 

A feeling beneath his skin that made him aware of everything but most of all, aware of her. 

He looked up and she stood in the doorway dressed in a trench coat, her hair straightened to perfection and flowing down around her. 

She strode forward and he stood, straightening his jacket. 

“I was starting to think you stood me up,” Serkan confessed. 

“I said I would be here and I am,” Eda replied, trying to ignore how good he looked in his vest and suit. She swore no man could make a vest look sexy the way Serkan did. 

She hated that she was still so damn attracted to him and she hated him for still having that effect on her.  

Serkan fought the urge to walk around the table and wrap his arms around her. Instead, he gestured for her to have a seat. 

Eda slipped off her coat and Serkan nearly swallowed his tongue. 

God, she was so fucking gorgeous. A goddess standing before him in all her beauty. 

She was trying to kill him faster than the tumor pressing down on his brain. 

He forced the morbid thought of his impending death away. 

Eda slid into her seat loving Serkan’s reaction to her dress. 

“You look stunning.” Serkan complimented, re-taking his seat. 

“Serkan, keep your compliments to yourself, and let’s get down to business.” Eda signaled for the waiter. 

“I thought we could catch up before discussing the business details.” Serkan straightened his jacket. 

“You thought wrong. This is a business dinner, therefore the only thing we will be discussing is dinner.” Eda plastered a fake smile on her face as the waiter reached their table. 

“What can I get you?” The waiter inquired. 

“I will have the mozzarella chicken, and breadsticks,” Eda answered. 

“I’ll have the same, with added sauce for the breadsticks. And your best bottle of wine.” Serkan hadn’t bothered to look at the menu.

“Very well,” The waiter scribbled their order down and walked away. 

“Since when do you eat foods with so many spices?” Eda asked, surprised that he wanted the same as her. 

“I recently decided to experience all the things I denied myself,” Serkan answered. 

“I don’t believe it,” said Eda. “What happened to the man who was basically a hypochondriac? The man that checks his pulse whenever he so much as coughs?”

“He realized you had to live life minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. Moment by moment.”

His words surprised Eda. “And what caused this change?”

Serkan looked at not saying anything. He wouldn’t tell her the reason for his change in perspective. She did not need to know. Ignorance was bliss. 

He didn’t want her to suffer from the knowledge and a part of her didn’t think he could survive if her resentment caused her to not care enough about him that he was dying. Or worse, if she cared enough to try and convince him to seek treatment. 

He couldn’t do that. He refused to put the few people in his life who cared about him through that kind of pain. 

“People change,” Serkan said finally. 

Eda felt her stomach twist at the look in his eye. It was sad in a way she had never seen before. Defeated almost. There was acceptance on his face that for the life of her she couldn’t understand. 

She felt like she was missing something. Maybe it had to do with what she overheard from Engin and Piril. Eda couldn’t be sure. She didn’t know. 

She hated not knowing and it frustrated her. 

“Whoever inspired the change, I’m thinking I should thank them. They have made you more tolerable.” Eda said and regretted the words immediately. They were harsh and she didn’t mean them but she was angry. However, the look of genuine hurt on Serkan’s face had her wanting to take the words back. 

“I’ll be sure to thank them for you,” Serkan wondered how did one go about thanking a tumor for aspiring them to change. 

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” Eda knew when to apologize for her mistakes. “It was mean spirited. I didn’t come here to fight. It probably doesn’t sound that way but I didn’t. I came here to work.” 

“Do you enjoy working here in Italy?” Serkan asked. “With Efe?” 

“I do. Efe has been a great boss and an even better teacher. And Italy has been everything I dreamed it would be.” Eda answered, her anger slowly slipping away as she sat with Serkan. 

“Tell me about it,” Serkan requested. “Tell me everything you love about it.”

Eda found herself telling him everything as they enjoyed their food. How she spent her Sundays at the library in a quiet corner reading a book. How at night she would take walks along the park. She found an orphanage that she volunteered at on Saturdays, taking care of its garden. How she ate her favorite ice creams out on her terrace looking up at the stars. How wherever she had a bad day, she would walk by the waterfront, smell the sea, watch the waves. Some nights she liked to go to her favorite place. It was a cliffside, covered in flowers. She liked to sit beneath the tree and just watch the sea, especially when the sun was setting and the sky was full of pink dusky hues. 

“It’s unbelievably beautiful,” Eda said, her eyes shining with life and excitement. 

Serkan had been listening to her intently, feeling that warmth, that light surrounding him, her voice a soothing balm to his aching soul. 

“Yes, it is.” Serkan agreed, his vision consisting only of her. 

Eda smiled and watched as Serkan’s lips pulled into one, matching hers. 

And just like that, she realized what she was doing. 

She was having dinner with Serkan like it was a fucking date. They hadn’t even talked about the business aspects of this dinner. 

They talked about her and her life for the past hour. He had no right to know any of that. 

Her smile was gone as she glared at him. Serkan noticed the change immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, brow furrowing. 

“I see what you’re doing and you had me. I forgot how persuasive you can be.” She shook her head. “We are here for work. So let’s discuss business.” 

“Eda-”

“No,” Eda cut him off abruptly. “Either we get to the business portion of this dinner or I get up and leave. Your choice, Serkan.” 

Serkan stared at her quietly before finally saying. “Okay. Okay.” 

“Tell me about your house." Eda all but ordered.

“The guest room has the best view. I want to make it my bedroom. I want a terrace with pillows and curtains, somewhere I can relax outside and enjoy the star. I want a garden filled with flowers and beauty. I want a woman’s touch in my home.” Serkan listed off, his eyes never leaving hers. 

Eda looked at him, her glare deepening. “You are going to model your house the way I wanted my own home?”

“Yes.” Serkan nodded. “You have good ideas.” 

“Really?” Eda asked doubtfully. 

“Yes, really. You were always so talented.” Serkan praised. 

Eda wanted to believe his compliments were sincere but it just wasn’t that simple with him. She didn’t know why he was really there and couldn’t bring herself to believe his sweet words were anything but reaching whatever endgame he had in mind. 

“Stop, just stop, Serkan,” Eda said, pushing her now empty plate away from her. 

“What?” Serkan's forehead creased in confusion. 

“Stop with the compliments, the sweet words, the charm, all of it,”  Eda told him. 

“I was just being honest. I mean, look at where you are now. You’re a landscape architect and you did it all on your own. You finally got your degree and you wasted no time in making waves professionally. Your name has come up more than once whenever the topic of a good landscape architect in Italy was mentioned.” 

Eda's lips lifted into a smile, her cheeks flushing. She enjoyed her success. 

“You were always meant for big things, Eda. I hated that you left but I am so proud of how far you’ve come.” 

“You know why I left, the reasons haven’t changed.” Eda's smile was gone. “How long are you staying in Italy.” 

“Indefinitely,” Serkan answered. “I may never leave here.” 

“No, you can’t stay here. You have to finish your business here and then you leave.  Go home, back to Istanbul.” Eda insisted. 

“I won’t leave, Eda,” Serkan said. “I can’t.” 

“Why? What’s so important that you dropped everything to come here?” Eda demanded.” 

“You,” Serkan said without hesitation. 

Eda’s heart thudded in her chest at his words and she hated it. “I have to go,” she said abruptly. 

“But we haven’t had dessert yet,” Serkan protested. 

“I don’t care. This night is over. We have discussed the business part and that is all this dinner was meant to be. Nothing more. I told you that and I meant it.” Eda stood up. “No amount of sweet words or compliments is going to change anything with us. There is nothing between us anymore and I don’t want there to be.” 

“Eda.” Serkan stood. “Please just give me one night. One night to show you that things have changed. I have changed and things can be different between us.” 

“No,” Eda pulled out money from her clutch, tossing it on the table, not allowing Serkan to pay for dinner. “Goodbye, Serkan.”

“Eda,” Serkan moved to follow her but stopped suddenly, feeling dizzy. 

Serkan eased back into his seat rubbing at his temple as his head started to hurt. He hated that the pain had become quite familiar. 

Serkan signaled for the waiter and ordered something stronger to drink and called himself a taxi. 

A few moments later, the waiter had returned his drink and took a big swig from the glass. 

This was not how he wanted the dinner to end. He had hoped after dinner to invite Eda for a walk with Sirius. He wanted to walk with her underneath the stars, have her smile at him. He wanted things to be like old times when he knew nothing of his father’s mistakes and he was just a man madly in love with a woman who had changed his world and became the center of it without him even realizing it. 

Serkan down the rest of his drink. 

This was going to be harder than he imagined it was going to be. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Eda closed the door to her apartment behind her, she tossed her clutch on the end table and headed straight for her bedroom. She sat down at her vanity. Slipping off her shoes, she took off her jewelry before walking into her bathroom and shedding her dress. 

After a quick shower, she pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a zipped up hoodie. 

She heard the faint noise of the phone and retrieved it from her clutch. It was a text from Efe asking about the business dinner she had with Serkan. 

She texted him back that she got the details that Serkan wanted and would write it into a client dossier and would have it on his desk by morning. 

She walked out onto her terrace, her phone clutched in her hand. 

She wanted to know why Serkan was here but it was clear he was not going to tell her why that was. 

Maybe Ceren would know. If he was really here for business she should know. She was his lawyer.

Eda debated if she should put her friend in the middle of the issues between her and Serkan but ultimately her need to know won out. 

She dialed Ceren and pressed her phone to her ear. Her friend answered on the third ring. 

“Eda,” 

Eda could hear the smile in her friend’s voice. 

“Ceren, hi. I’m sorry if it's late.” Eda apologized, realizing it was almost midnight in Istanbul.

“No, it’s fine. How are you?” Ceren asked. 

“Good, Good.” Eda bit her lip. 

“Eda,” Ceren said. 

“Not so good. Serkan is here.” Eda confessed. 

“At your house?” Ceren asked, surprised. 

“No,” Eda shook her head even though Ceren couldn’t see it. “In Italy.”

“Oh. Why is he there?” Ceren inquired. 

“That’s what I was going to ask you? He says he's here for business but if that were true you would know, wouldn't you? You're his lawyer.” 

“Eda, I can’t discuss Serkan’s business ventures with you,” Ceren told her. 

“I know,” Eda sighed. “I just, something is telling me he’s not here for business. He’s using it as an excuse.” 

“An excuse for what?” Ceren asked. “To get close to you?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Eda said.

“Could it be he’s still in love with you?” Ceren suggested. 

“No. It’s been years, Ceren.” Eda argued. 

“So does that mean because of how long it’s been you no longer feel anything for him?” Ceren questioned. 

“No,” Eda said. “I mean, I feel anger and... And..”

“Eda, it’s okay if you still feel something for him. You were in love.” Ceren said. 

“This isn’t about what I may or may not feel for Serkan,” Eda said, she didn’t want to talk about her feelings. 

“Then what is this about?” Ceren asked. 

“I think there’s something more going on here. He didn’t come alone. Piril, Engin, and Leila are with him. Something else is going on here.” Eda said. 

Ceren was quiet for a long time that made Eda think maybe she had dropped the call. 

“Ceren?”

“Eda, I don’t think you’re wrong. Serkan has been making some changes lately.” Ceren said. 

“Changes?” Eda repeated. “What kind of changes?” 

“I can’t tell you. Serkan is my client and as my client, I cannot break his confidence.” Ceren told her, 

“What can you tell me?” Eda asked. 

“I feel there is something more going on with Serkan. I think it’s serious more than either of us could know. Eda, I’ve gotten to know Serkan over the years that you’ve been in Italy. He’s a good person at heart and I don’t think he’s ever moved on from you so I have to ask you something.” 

“What is it?” Eda asked, surprised by Ceren’s words. 

“Be kind to him, Eda. I feel you are right and Serkan is there for a reason and it’s not business. Let the past go, Eda, and give him a chance. Maybe then you can find out the actual reason he is there.” 

“Yeah, Okay,” Eda said her goodbyes to Ceren and ended the call. 

Eda stared out at the city lights decorating the night sky pondering over Ceren's words. 

After a moment of contemplation, she swipes her thumb across her phone screen and found Serkan’s number. 

Her finger hovered over the call button with indecision. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

When Serkan got back to the large condo he had bought for himself until his house was ready, he avoided calls from everyone wanting to be left alone. He moved out to his bedroom terrace with a bottle of alcohol and a shot glass. He took a seat on the lounge chair, pouring himself a shot. 

Sirius came to him, sitting at his feet, and rested the top of his head on his knee. 

Serkan ran his hand through Sirius's scruff, itching behind his ears. 

Since he had gotten sick, it was rare for Sirius to leave his side when he was home. 

Eda had looked so beautiful tonight. Her mere presence lit up his world. It didn’t matter that she was angry with him, just hearing her voice, looking into her eyes, being around her again, it was like being able to breathe again. 

It was clear she was not going to make any of this easy on him but again, he didn’t care. She was worth the effort. 

She was worth everything. 

And if he was going to die then he wanted to be surrounded by her. 

He lifted a hand to rub at his pounding head just as his phone ranged. 

He retrieved his phone from his pocket and a picture of Eda flashed across his screen. 

He was stunned for a moment that she was calling him, especially after the way she had walked away from him at dinner. 

He stared so long he realized any second now the call would go to voicemail. He quickly swiped the answer button and pressed his cell to his ear. 

Heart pounding hard in his chest he held his breath.

Waiting.

[larryfanficwriter98]

Chapter Nineteen

*Pictures will be included in the wedding chapter*

Fake It Until You Make it Real

Louis had a restless sleep the entire night. Waking up periodically to an empty bed and looking at his phone finding another 'still at work' text. Louis gave up on sleep around four in the morning and instead headed downstairs. He laid on the couch and turned on the TV watching the first thing he could find to fill in the silence. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he was woken up by noises and whispers. Sitting up he looked around only to be disappointed when it was just his mother and Anne in the kitchen with their husbands.

"He's not home yet dear go back to sleep." Anne said but Louis ignored her and grabbed his phone seeing it was a little past six.

"We're making breakfast. What are you in the mood for?"

"Anything." Louis said rubbing his eyes tiredly as he laid back on the couch, "I hate this."

"You'll get used to it." Anne told him though Louis doubt that very much. He laid there for a while listening to their mothers in the kitchen before he heard keys at the front door. He sat up and stared at it as it was pushed opened then he fought the blanket to stand up and he jumped over the couch jumping onto Harry making him stumble.

"I've missed you too." Harry said hugging him and lifting him to let Louis better wrap around him. Harry walked further into the house carrying Louis,

"Good morning ladies."

"Hello Harry."

"Hi sweetheart. You look exhausted."

"I'm fine." Harry said as Louis unwrapped his legs from around his waist and pulled away to look at him. Harry indeed looked exhausted, he had dark bags under his eyes and his movements were a little sluggish.

"You should try to sleep a little bit." Louis told him

"No trust me when I lay down, I want to sleep not nap. I will be fine. Besides I am not missing dress shopping."

"Just a little cuddle on the couch?" Louis tried

"No. However, I will make some tea."

"I will make it. You go sit."

"If I sit, I'll sleep, and I don't-"

"Harry. Go sit. Now." Harry grumbled as he turned and headed to the living room while Louis headed further into the kitchen to get started on Harry’s regular morning tea. He made it just that extra bit stronger for him then he sat beside him on the couch handing him the mug of tea.

“Thank you Lou.”

“Of course. Anything else?” Harry didn’t verbally say anything only shifted and spread his legs and arms giving Louis enough space to slide in between his legs and have a much needed cuddle. Louis laid his cheek against Harry’s chest and had his arms encircle his waist as he laid on his stomach feeling Harry’s free hand rub his back squeezing him every so often.

Again Louis didn’t remember falling asleep, but as he opened his eyes he was relieved to notice that Harry was still there, but now had a large plate of food in his hand instead of his mug of tea.

“Good morning Darling. Want some? They gave me extra for you for when you woke up.”

“Yes please.” Harry smiled as he got a large helping of eggs on his fork then fed it to Louis when he sat up but stayed pressed against Harry.

“How were the kids for bedtime?”

“Maddie was a little upset, but my mom told her a ridiculously false story about me as a child that had her giggling well past bedtime.”

“Oh really? I guess I’ll just have to ask them about this false story.”

“There really isn’t any need for that Harold.” They got through a plate and some seconds before Harry was getting antsy to see the kids.

“Go on. They’ll be excited to see you.” Louis said amused as he took Harry’s empty mug after his third refill.

Harry grinned kissing his cheek before he hurried up the stairs. Louis could faintly make out Maddie’s excited squeal a few seconds later making him smile as he could just picture the scene they were no doubt making up there. Freddie’s shouted was followed moments later then minutes later Harry came walking in carrying both of the kids in his arms. Maddie was latched on his torso and Freddy was hanging around his neck but his arms supported them both and his grin was bright. It was as if the lack of proper sleep didn’t matter anymore with the kids awake and with him and he didn’t let any of his tiredness to show as he helped get them plates of food and take one of the twins setting Dory into a highchair. He helped feed Dory while effortlessly keeping up listening to Maddie and Freddie’s tales of their day yesterday.

“Please stop the heart eyes. It’s sickening.” Lottie said sliding into a barstool across from Louis effectively blocking his view of Harry getting syrup on his jaw by Ernie as he fed Dory and told Freddie how amazing and cool his dinosaur jungle sounded.

“Well excuse me for finding my Fiancé adorable surrounded by children. I mean look at him how can you not think he is adorable?” Louis said grinning when he saw Harry blush and glance over at him with a piece of pancake being smushed into his face by Ernie of course.

Chuckling Louis grabbed a pair of wipes and headed to the table deciding to help out just this once as he pulled a wipe out from the pack and took Ernie. Giving Harry the wipe he took a new one and cleaned his baby brother off then he leaned down and kissed Harry’s cheek before heading back to the kitchen where he resumed the conversation he had been in previously before being distracted by Harry.

****

Despite most of the women’s dresses being for Louis’ sisters Louis absolutely did not care one bit and it was all on Harry. Well okay Louis had opinions, but he didn’t really care about certain shades being just right or ruffles or lace or whatever. Lottie, Gemma, and Harry were the ones doing most of the shopping with Harry showing up a dress to Louis and if Louis didn’t care for the it then it went back on the rack, but if Louis didn’t have an opinion or actually liked it then it got put on someone’s arm either it be someone of their group or a poor employee who had quickly gotten a rolling rack to hang the dresses on. Louis focused on the flower girl dress and keeping the potential dresses hidden from Harry who Maddie didn’t want to see her dress until the wedding day. Which Louis was all for. Someone had to make Harry cry after all. Color didn’t bother Louis however he did love the idea of Maddie in a white dress or a different color than the other dresses and the suits so she stood out. Yes this was his day and Harry’s day, but it was also the kid’s day and her little winter shawl could be Freddie’s main color of the suit and his secondary color could be her dress color. Okay so Louis may have it all planned out, but that doesn’t mean he can’t entertain other ideas just in case.

“Hey Lou do we care about them having the same dress?”

“Not one bit. As long as one isn’t like satin and the other I don’t know Chiffon or whatever. The colors have to be consistent though. Similar but not exact.”

“Alright just making sure. You better not be checking price tags over there.”

“Don’t worry Daddy I’m not.” Maddie said Louis shook his head chuckling softly as he took the hanger from Maddie and hung it up.

Despite what Harry thinks Louis had checked the website of the shop and knew the most expensive dress was well into the overpriced budget Harry had set because despite being obviously well off he had obviously only listed shops that wouldn’t make Louis’ family out of place or hesitant in. Harry of course knew he knew of this but it went unspoken between them after the first time Louis saw the list and googled each store then looked at Harry who pretended to not have a clue why Louis was staring at him while he had worked on something on his laptop. Louis had tried to stare it out of him for the better part of an hour before he gave in and just kissed his cheek and told him he would tell his family the game plan. Besides the extra money could be used in the family vacation they were still planning.

“What do you think LouLou?” Louis was pulled from his thoughts a few hours later as he stared at Maddie in the long sleeve white ball gown dress with a dark red fur shawl that stood out against the white beautifully making Louis tear up.

“I think it looks absolutely beautiful on you. Do you like it?”

“I do. I love it. I’m a princess watch me twirl.” Twirling the dress spun with her and Louis could almost see her all grown up twirling in a wedding dress and he had to quickly fight that back before those thoughts got the better of him, “Do you think Daddy with like it?”

“I think Harry is going to love it and will cry just seeing you in this. So is this the one my dear?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good I agree I love this one. Your dads will be the luckiest dads there to have a little princess to dance with.” The employee said grinning widely as she helped Maddie into another twirl.

“LouLou you’ll dance with me?” Maddie asked shocked

“Of course I’m going to dance with you, can’t let your dad have you all the time now can I? Your dad and I are going to have lots of dances for you and Freddie and as a whole together. We’re still outlining that part, but rest assured we will all dance together at least twice.” Maddie grinned hugging his middle

“You’re the best LouLou.” Louis grinned leaning now to kiss her head before he had her go change out of the dress while he went to find Harry.

“Hey Haz oooh having fun girls?” Louis said grinning as he saw his sisters in a few dresses, “They need you up there to schedule fittings.”

“Really? Already?”

“Already? It’s been a few hours Harry.”

“Yeah I’m shocked it didn’t take longer. I’ll be back ladies.” Louis debated on whether to follow Harry, but decided to stay with the girls.

“How is it going?”

“We have a few more to try on, but I think we all have our favorite.” Lottie told him, “So this is really happening huh? You’re marrying someone.”

“It was bound to happen one day you realize.” Louis said amused as he adjusted one of her scraps, “Besides I think I could have picked worse.”

“I don’t know you definitely could have also picked better. Seriously how did my brother get you?” Gemma asked making Louis roll his eyes playfully shaking his head.

“I think you’re wrong. You’re brother is absolutely lovely.”

“Ew if you’re about to start gushing love poetry about him let me get a bin for my vomit first.” Rolling his eyes Louis sent them back into the dressing rooms telling them he would torture them back at the house.

****

They were only back at the house for an hour when Louis saw Harry dozing off every few minutes while playing dinosaur jungle with Freddie. Smiling at the scene Louis slid off the couch then crawled over to Harry and straddled the back of his thighs as he wrapped his arms around his chest kissing his cheek.

“You should go to sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re falling asleep as you do very bad roars. If you were a T-Rex I’d laugh at you.” Harry huffed a tired laugh but otherwise remained where he was stubbornly refusing to give in, “Hey Freddie you know what would be really fun?”

“What?”

“If we convince Nana and Anne to take all the kids and grandkids to the indoor trampoline park.”

“Yeah! Let’s do it!”

“Okay go get Maddie and got to Anne because she’s the weakest. She’ll say yes if you give her those really big puppy eyes.”

“Okay Papa.” Freddie stood and ran to the playroom where most of the kids were and Louis grinned at Anne who had of course heard all of this sitting only a few feet from them.

“Come on naptime mister.” Louis said kissing Harry’s shoulder

“Fine. Mom you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll be fine dear you go nap. We’ll keep the kids out until it gets later, maybe take them out to dinner as a group.”

“Good luck.” Louis said standing up and helping Harry up just as the kids ran into the room.

“Kisses first.” Harry said grabbing Freddie and Maddie and kissing them both on their heads, “I love you two and If you two convince them you two be good.”

“We will Daddy.” Maddie promised kissing Harry’s arm that was around her before she and Freddie escaped his hold and ran to Anne. Louis took Harry’s hand and led him up the stairs into the bedroom where he immediately went about unbuttoning Harry’s shirt for him.

“I could have slept with them here. Trust me I can be a very heavy sleeper.”

“I know but this way they get to spend time with our family and we can nap in peace because I’m tired too. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I’m sorry. Unfortunately shifts like those do happen, not as often, but more than a few times a year it seems like especially around the holidays and weekends that are just a tad busier than usual due to a game or something.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Louis pulled down Harry’s pants then sat him down leaving him only in his briefs as Louis felt his hands grab his thighs pulling him closer, “You and I both know you don’t have it in you right now.”

“Oh I have it in me, it won’t be good and Ill never claim it ever in my life, but I could do it.” Louis laughed as he pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead, “It won’t be good but it would be done.”

“No. I would much rather have no sex than bad sex. Bad sex just ruins entire day.”

“We couldn’t have bad sex if we tried. We could have not good sex, but never bad.”

“Want to test that theory?”

“I do now.”

“No.” Harry chuckled as he gave his thighs a squeeze before he stood up and pulled the covers back while Louis quickly undressed himself. He climbed in bed beside Harry and curled up against his chest wrapping his arms around his waist and within seconds Harry was fast asleep breathing deeply while Louis laid there for awhile listening to the kids get packed up. When the house was silent and the last beep from the alarm was heard Louis snuggled deeper into the covers and Harry and fell asleep.

[nose-bandaid]

bloom ✿ pt.1 — daisies

Kino (Hyunggu) x (female) Reader | flower shop AU

february 6th daises — innocence, purity, and new beginnings

introduction | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | epilogue

=====

“Yes... yes, we’ll be able to deliver on Friday. So which flowers did you want?” You did your best to keep your tone as polite as possible and listened to the muffled voice list the various flowers they wanted. When you initially picked up the phone, you expected that it would be an easy task to complete — handling calls were a frequent part of your job. The customers usually knew what they wanted and for the most part, were pleasant to work with. However, for some reason, this specific customer was prepared to chew you out before you could even say hello. Six minutes and about a million skeptical questions and insults later, you were finally able to get to the actual ordering part of the process. But that didn’t stop the pounding in your head as you filled out the order sheet.

Pink Roses... Baby’s Breath... Snap Dragons — your heart froze for a moment. 

We’re out of snap dragons, aren’t we. 

You shuffled through some papers to confirm your suspicions and yep, the next order wasn’t due until two weeks from now. Already anticipating the grouchy response you were about to receive, you braced yourself before daring to speak into the receiver again.

“I’m really sorry, but we seem to be out of snap dragons at the moment and the next order won’t come in time for Friday...”

You expected some shouting, or even some cursing, but instead you received the most passive-aggressive tone you’ve ever heard, as they asked you to clarify what you meant. And honestly, that was probably worse than how the shouting would’ve been.

“We do have larkspurs though,” You offered desperately. As much as you wanted to hang up on them right then and there, you couldn’t afford to lose the order, or even worse, a customer. “They’re really similar to snap dragons and they’re just as beautiful, I can promise you that.”

While you tried your best to convince the customer to go with the alternate flowers, a hand tapping on the table you were leaning on caught your attention.

“Excuse me! Can I have some help choosing some flowers?” You looked up from the papers to glance at the old man requesting for you assistance and quickly assured him that you’ll get to that once you were finished with the call. He let out a quiet huff, but said nothing and walked off to wait at the bouquets. As your eyes followed his retreating figure, the splitting headache only got worse when you thought of all the requests and tasks you had to complete. It was just one of those days, every single thing just had to go wrong and you dreaded every passing minute. Being the only person manning the store that day also didn’t help at all.

After a few more minutes of trying to negotiate with the upset customer, you managed to finally convince them to agree with your offer (thankfully) and did you best to shake off all the negative feelings holding you down before approaching the old man. You were grateful that he was at least reasonable to work with, along with the other customers that came your way, and filling out their requests were a breeze. But before you even had the chance let out a sigh of relief, a loud CRASH — unmistakably the sound of a vase falling to the ground —  made you flinch, and your shoulders slumped once again.

You followed the sound of a child crying to see a little girl in the middle of a heap of dirt, obviously devastated over the fact that she was the cause of the accident. Her mother, recognizing her daughter’s voice, quickly appeared at the scene, concern written all over her face. But the moment she understood the situation, she immediately grabbed her daughter’s hand and ran off, exiting the store in a flash. You stood in your place in complete shock, not fully registering what just happened in front of you. The abandoned flowers that were once in the mother’s hands slowly rolled off the table she dropped them on, quietly adding even more to the mess. You turned to the other customers who simply stared back and you let out yet another sigh, finally accepting the fact that you were ultimately responsible for dealing with the mess on your own. 

As you went to grab the dustpan from the back, you silently cursed your coworker for backing out on their shift on the one day you could’ve used some help with. Typically, the store was quite peaceful and you could easily manage a shift all on your own, but now that Valentine’s day was around the corner, you were bombarded with work left and right.

The store stirred back to life once you came back out and began collecting the shards of the broken vase, people muttering to each other and feebly shuffling away to distract themselves with other things. The line at the register had also practically doubled in size since the last time you were able to get behind the counter and your stomach filled itself with stress at the sight of it. There was no way you could handle this on your own.

Stupid kid, stupid snap dragons, stupid vase, stupid line... you thought bitterly as you swept the scattered dirt into a pile to take care of later.

“Do you need some help?”

Out of habit, you almost replied with an “I’ll be with you in a minute!”, but you looked up in surprise when you realized that the voice was actually offering you help. A boy smiled at you and held his hands out to grab the broom and dustpan, but you refused, backing away slightly.

“Oh, no it’s okay, don’t worry about it. I was just planning on getting rid of the dangerous stuff first and deal with the rest later.”

He simply took another step closer to you. “I insist, really, you seem like you could use some help right now.”

You hesitated for a moment, eyes wavering between the kind stranger and the line at the register, which was becoming more and more irritated every time you looked their way. Perhaps just once, you could accept someone else’s help? As long as he swept the dirt and only did that, then you wouldn’t feel to guilty about it. Giving him a small nod, you held out the tools and hastily relayed a few instructions before rushing back to the cash. You swiftly worked through each customer, trying to reduce the amount of time you kept him working. Once in a while you would sneak a peak at him to see how he’s doing and he seemed perfectly content, scooping up the dirt and then leaving it in the old bucket just like how you told him to. He even put the deserted flowers back to their original place on the shelves without you telling him to, and your heart melted at that. You know that it was a fairly simple task to do, but you still felt bad about having to rely on a stranger to help you manage your own job. By the time you finished handling the overwhelming number of requests thrown at you, it was only you and they boy left in the store.

When you approached him, he tucked the phone he was playing with into his bag and started to tell you about how he completed the task just like how you told him to. You cut him off with a multitude of thanks, which he laughed off.

“Don’t have to worry about it, I wanted to help.”

“And I appreciate it a lot, but I still feel bad... is there anything I can treat you with?” You insisted, “If you’re here for some flowers I can give you some sort of discount.”

He looked around thoughtfully and placed his hand on a small bouquet of daises. “I was actually thinking about getting these ones, what do you think?”

“Daises are certainly a popular flower, but what exactly is the occasion?” You asked. “I think I need to know that before I can help you.”

“Why,” he gestured to his outfit, which consisted of a long coat covering a plain white tee tucked into his sunflower-printed pants. You also took note of the small flower accessories that he had decorated all over, from the flower hanging from his bag to the ones dangling from his ears. “It’s for my outfits of course! I thought that having some real flowers would make it look even better. If not, I guess they could always decorate my room.”

“Hmm... is that so? Then I think daisies would be a really good option, they seem to suit you. I would say sunflowers too, though they’re a little too big to use as accessories.” You both laughed when you pointed out the large sunflowers nearby. “Your pants are cute though.”

“Thank you,” The boy glanced down at your name tag before gazing into your eyes once again. “Y/n.”

“You’re welcome.” You nodded and paused for a moment before continuing. “May I know your name as well? I can’t say I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Yeah! My name is Hyunggu, I just found about the shop a few days ago and I thought I’d check it out.” He replied, following you to the counter.

“Well it’s always nice to have another customer.” You replied as you scanned the small bouquet and handed it to him. “Here, just take it, it’s on me. I know I’ve already said it a million times, but thanks for all the help back there. It means a lot to finally have something good happen to me on such a bad day.”

He smiled back at you, “It was no problem at all, and I’ll be back again for sure, someday — so I hope to see you soon!”

“I’m here for most days, so yes, I’ll look forward to seeing you again, Hyunggu.”

You waved each other goodbye and he left, the door making its usual chime whenever it opened. The store was at last, empty, and you could finally take a breather and wrap your head around the events of the day. Checking the clock, you were also happy to see that you had just enough time to sneak in a quick lunch before the next wave of customers was bound to come.

But first things first, you had to go deal with the bucket filled with the vase fragments and soil that Hyunggu taken care of. When you hefted it up with its rusty handle, you heard something soft fall to the ground and looked curiously at the small flower keychain that landed near your feet.

Wait a minute... isn’t that Hyunggu’s? It looks like the one he had hanging from his bag. You thought to yourself.

You picked it up from the ground and upon closer inspection, gathered that it was in fact, his keychain, and you giggled when you realized that the flower was a daisy, just like the ones he bought.

This guy... what’s up with him and flowers? He must really like them.

Not knowing how you could possibly get in touch with him anytime soon, you decided to keep it with you until you saw him again, and continued cleaning up the mess, feeling much happier than you were before. You didn’t know what it was about him, but the thought of how kind he was gave you enough energy to get through the rest of the day. You gently washed the keychain to get rid of the dirt that caught onto the fabric and then hung it on the corkboard behind the register. The small flower fit right into the theme of the board, as if it was designed for it, which made you smile. Giving yourself a small nod of approval, you carried on with the last few tasks you had to finish before lunch, all while humming some of your favourite tunes to yourself.

Despite everything that happened, today was a good day.

=====

part two will come out soon ! please look forward to it:)

~ tiny

[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 15

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___

The brothers looked at each other. Who would possibly visit them at this hour? Remus got up from the chair and walked towards the door and pressed the button on the intercom.

“Hello?” he said as Roman approached behind him to listen who had come for them.

“Salutations. It is Logan Fojtík. Excuse the disturbance,” the voice on the other end said with this unmistakably clear but dry tone.

Remus couldn’t help but smile while Roman frowned.

“No problem Tie Clip! What brings you here?” Remus asked happily.

There was a short rustling before there came the answer: “Well, Remus I wanted to make sure how you were doing and I do have something which might be of interest for you. Also-”

“I am here too. Good evening, Remus,” interrupted a second voice at which Roman yelped in panic.

Remus turned around and at once recognized the voice. With a wide grin and his eyes on Roman Remus said into the intercom: “Hey, hey Jazz Man! You here to check on my bro?”

When the confirming ‘yes’ came Roman spun around his own axis and disappeared in the bathroom, to probably freshen himself up. Remus only rolled his eyes and told them to come up. It was a good thing that Patton had already managed to get someone to fix their door in the morning, otherwise He would have had to let them in through the shop and that was just straight up inconvenient.

With not much else to do Remus opened the door and leaned against the door frame, watching how the two men climbed the stairs. Both looked up to him and Remus gave them a lazy smile and a wave. Janus immediately looked back down to focus on his steps while Logan waved back and promptly took two steps at once. Within moments Logan had come up and Remus let him enter while still holding onto the doorknob.

After a short while Janus had joined them on top of the staircase and Remus waved him inside with the words: “Sorry for not having an elevator or something. These stairs really must be the bane of you.”

Janus raised his eyebrows and huffed a little out of breath.

“Thanks for the worrying but at least you’ve got railing on which I can hold on. Other places are even worse. And I know why my and Virgil’s flat is ground floor,” Janus said and then looked around the room for a moment.

He could not find Roman and looked back up at Remus. The latter tilted his head to the side, his black unruly hair sticking out to all sides and making him look somewhat dispersing the vibes of a Shakespearean fool.

“Not to say that I dislike your presence, but I wanted to talk with Roman? Where exactly is he?”

Remus snorted and led the two into the living room as he said: “Aah, you know he’s a prideful guy, and didn’t want you to see him dishevelled.”

“Dishevelled?” Logan asked concerned.

With a grand gesture Remus pointed at his own face, little traces of barely dried tears and sniffling still very visible.

“Yeah. Dishevelled. Just like me Big Brain. Or whatever you wanna call what I am. But anyway, Ro’s here and he’ll come back any second now.”

And just as he said that Roman emerged from the bathroom and greeted both Logan and Janus with a welcoming smile. The false happy tone twisted the knot in Janus’s stomach and he had to force himself to not let his discomfort show.

“Hello you two! How nice of you to come for a visit!” Roman said.

Logan just pulled up his eyebrows while Janus readjusted his weight on his legs so he could overplay his worry.

“I assume you feel better and have had a talk with Remus?” Logan simply said unimpressed by Roman’s fake upbeat demeanour.

The smile dropped and Roman’s shoulders slumped. It looked almost a little like a child who had broken an expensive vase while playing. Logan sighed and then tried a milder approach: “I must have come off insensitive. I apologize. Let me rephrase my former question: How are you feeling? Was the afternoon off a good distraction?”

Roman gulped and looked over to Remus for a split second and then relaxed a little. He was pretty sure he could answer those questions. A little timid, quite unlike him, Roman looked down to his feet and took a little breath.

“It’s alright. I’m feeling okay. And we probably shouldn’t have opened in the first place today but the afternoon off helped.”

Logan was about to ask a little more specifically what Roman meant, when Roman looked up looking a lot more comfortable than before.

Quick Roman sidestepped his brother to get closer to Janus, without breaking eye contact with Logan and said to him: “Thank you a lot for just going with what I was asking today. I know it couldn’t have been easy without knowing what was actually going on.”

“It is quite alright, Roman. Remus was kind enough to elaborate the situation,” Logan answered.

“That’s what I feared. Anyway, you said you wanted to discuss something with him?”

Logan simply nodded and then witnessed a wordless conversation between the brothers consisting of a look, the ghost of a nod and a shrug. With a frown he wanted to ask what this had been about, when Roman cut him off before he even started.

“Cool, then I’ll leave you to it. Janus, would you like to come with me? I have something I’d like to show you,” Roman said taking Janus’s free hand and catching the latter completely off guard.

Almost flustered Janus answered: “I don’t mind coming with you? Where are we-”

“Downstairs. Let me guide you,” Roman said and walked with Janus’s hand still in his towards the door and the two were gone a moment later.

Perplexed Logan looked after them until he heard Remus exhale and looked up to him. The slim man crossed his arms in front of him and had a dopy grin on his face. With a slight motion of his chin towards the table he seemed to invite him to sit down with him. Wordlessly, Logan complied and walked up to Remus so they could sit down together. Just in front of the table Remus took a step in front of him and pulled out a chair for him to sit down.

“Do you want to drink something?” Remus asked while Logan sat down.

Logan asked for some water and just moments later Remus had come back with bottle of water and a glass for himself and Logan. He filled both glasses with water and sat down. Casually he took a sip and eyed Logan before setting his glass down and giving him a short smile.

“He noticed that you were uncomfortable. That’s why he almost fled downstairs with Jazz Daddy.”

Logan ought to be surprised that Remus had been able to read through his silence so well but was just stunned by the nickname Remus had just used for Janus.

“Jazz Daddy?” Logan repeated bedazzled and Remus laughed a little.

“I’m sure Janus would hate it, which is why I say it. But anyway,” Remus said and played with the glass in his hand, “what did you want to about with me?”

Logan blinked a little surprised but caught himself and fished a paper out of his as always present purse. It was neatly folded and he slid it over the table towards Remus who took and unfolded it immediately. Logan watched his eyes rush over the paper and saw how he began to frown.

“It’s a list of therapists which are highly recommended,” Logan explained when Remus said nothing.

Remus looked up and quirked an eyebrow up and asked suspiciously: “By which side?”

“By my therapist.”

Logan had thought about that moment since he had sent her the requested list of relatively close-by and good therapists in the late hours of yesterday. The moment when he would reveal this information, he had kept close to his heart to someone who was barely an acquaintance.

Strangely enough it made him not as nervous as he had feared. Not at all. Especially, since he saw the obvious recognition in Remus’s eyes. The florist did not take this information for granted. It would be safe with him.

So, Logan smiled and said further while pointing towards the paper: “Her number is on the bottom. She said it was fine if you would call her if you required further information.”

Remus nodded in a fazed way and after a few moments he asked: “Do some of them work with neurodivergent people too?”

“I did not ask for that specific information, so I sadly don’t know. But I am positive that some of them do, as my therapist often has neurodivergent people as patients. Why do you ask?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got ADHD. I was never diagnosed but It think I fit the general profile; losing my threat while talking, jumping around in stories, forgetting things very quickly, leg bouncing and other stims and Roman has it too, just even worse. And I am pretty sure that a lot of my problems come from that too or are at least influenced by it… so. It would probably be best if I went to a therapist who could deal with that, right?”

“That is a very good thought,” Logan agreed and folded his hands on the table. “I can ask her if she could point such therapists out for me, if you want to.”

“No, it’s fine. I can google them myself. Let’s not make your therapist hate me before she even heard my voice.”

Logan shook his head but grinned as Remus looked over the list again. He seemed to be interested. He asked questions. Maybe, this truly was helping him.

“Do you want to know anything else?” Logan asked and Remus nodded.

“Actually, what - what do I have to look for in a therapist? And how do I apply for one?”

Logan’s smile grew a little wider and patiently he started to explain the general process and rules Remus should know about, while the latter listened closely to the others clear and soothing voice

___

Roman had Janus brought down into the store and led outside into the backyard. Well, that was what Janus first had thought when Roman had walked to the backside of the building but then this door in the back led into a greenhouse. A magnificent greenhouse.

Flower boxes with Roses, Amazon Lilies, African Violets, Chinese Hibiscus and Orchids were orderly lined up, vines grew around the wooden pillars in the corners and the soft warm light of fairy lights enlightened the glasshouse when Roman had pressed the light switch. Everything was bathed in a dim but comfortable light and Janus could only watch in awe as his eyes wandered through the little outdoor structure. In the nearest left corner stood a little black metal table with matching chairs and Roman had offered Janus his arm to lead him there. Janus took the offer and soon was sitting on one of the chairs in this almost magical greenhouse. He watched as Roman walked towards a box near the table, opened it and realized that it was a mini fridge, and took out two cans of beer.

Quietly, Roman set one beer in front of Janus and sat down on the edge of one of the flower boxes, opening the beer left in his hand.

“You don’t have to of course, but I think I need one. And they’re alcohol free,” Roman said and held his beer up as if to say cheers.

Janus opened his beer and lifted it just like Roman did with the dry comment: “Don’t fright over me. I can hold my liquor.”

“That’s good because I can’t,” Roman laughed and took a sip. “I get tipsy very easily and I forget stuff very quickly, so, if you would remind me to not take another one if I were to try and get one? I’m not very comfortable with myself when I’ve got too much alcohol in my system.”

Janus rose an eyebrow but nodded before taking the first sip out of his beer. It wasn’t his beverage of choice but he had had far worse.

“This garden is beautiful Roman,” Janus said after a few moments and he heard the pleasant sound from Roman chuckle a little.

“I know, right? That’s what sealed the deal, actually. Remus always wanted something like this and that’s why we came here.”

“I should be grateful for this greenhouse then.”

Roman nodded lightly and looked around for a few moments. Janus studied him. Studied the how exhausted he was and how much more relaxed he seemed nevertheless while sitting down here. While having some distance to the mess that his life was right now.

“So, what did he tell you?”

Janus blinked. Roman was grinning and looked down to his beer can. Janus frowned and caught the mildly worried look from Roman. Only then it clicked in his head and he understood what Roman had wanted from.

“What Remus has told us about the two of you?” Janus asked carefully.

Roman nodded.

Janus sighed and drove over the brim of his hat.

“Yesterday night he told us how you fled from your parents’ house. And about the accident.”

Roman was grinning back down to the floor and nodded a little.

“I’m not even surprised,” Roman said after a few moments still not looking up but the grin clearly transferring in his tone. “He really needed to get that out. Did he also tell the part where I miraculously woke up after three days and wanted to walk around?”

Janus said nothing for a few seconds and Roman looked up. He seemed to be oddly relaxed.

“He did,” Janus confirmed while placing on of his hands on his cane to distract himself a little from the tension. “He also praised how you sacrificed everything for him to help him get proper hearing aids and learn sign language.”

“Figures. He always loved that part of the story. Where I’m the hero and not the guy who crashed the car.”

“… You seem to be oddly unaffected?” Janus said after Roman’s matter-of-factly comment.

Roman simply shrugged, back at staring down to the ground and answered: “Well, I don’t remember most of it. Like any of it. Before the crash; gone. And after I was pretty sedated for quite a bit so it’s all fuzzy. I’m sure he mentioned that.”

Janus despised this. He hated that Roman talked about something like this as if it was nothing more than a mediocre school trip from third grade. He hated that he didn’t get the sense from Roman that he was lying. He wanted Roman to be lying, wanted him to say how bad this had hurt him. And yet he didn’t. He just seemed fine in the soft light in this greenhouse and something turned and twisted in Janus’s stomach.

“He did, indeed,” Janus said reluctantly after a few seconds.

“You know what he didn’t tell you?”

Roman’s shoe scratched over the floor as he asked the question.

“What?”

Roman took a moment to catch his breath and Janus focused on the rapid changes of his mimic. But he was not fast enough to catch what it had been about, as Roman soon began to speak.

“When I woke up after the crash. In this bed, connected to all those fussy tubes and machines. I was … at ease. For the first time in months I was at ease when I woke up. Because for months I woke up every morning scared to death that our father would find out. That today was the day where he would throw us out of the house or hurt us even worse than he already did. And in this very moment when I opened my eyes, I knew that Remus had gotten us here. That he had executed the plan I set up. That he got me out, called the ambulance or whatever, because I would have been dead had it not been for him. I just knew I would have. And I knew he had stopped them form letting our parents get us. I knew. And I was right. They never got us. We were free, for the first time in years and I was so relieved.”

Janus just stared at Roman. Stared how he took a sip out of his beer and then finally looked up to him. With teary eyes but a smile which could not be fake.

“That’s why he’s my hero.”

 Oh.

Just oh. And at once Janus understood where exactly he had seen that look before and made a note in the back of his mind to call and check on Latona one of these days.

Janus forced himself to smile a little and nodded at Roman. He understood. There was nothing for him to add, nothing to say more. Not now at least.

They sat there for a bit longer. The air was warm and the evening relatively quiet. Just like a summer Monday evening should be, they supposed. Janus let out a drawn-out breath and Roman watched him do so. They exchanged a grin.

“What else did Remus tell you? He said he told you stuff at today’s lunch?” Roman asked now in a rather suspicious tone.

Janus grinned. He knew how much elder siblings liked to embarrass the younger ones with stupid stories. For once he was not the victim of those tales though and as of now, he was quite happy with that.

With a smirk he retold the two tales of the museum trip and the fight Roman had gotten in and watched how Roman visibly cringed at all the details and eventually just buried his head in his hands. When Janus finished Roman let out a mockingly pained groan. Dramatically he threw his head back to which Janus could not help himself but laugh at.

Roman got up and flustered walked a few rounds around the flower boxes while mumbling quietly to himself.

“I can’t believe him!” Roman said after a while clearly not as mad as he wanted to be and turned to Janus. “Dares to tell me that I need to let go of the past and then tell such silly stories about me! Especially the tooth one! It’s terrible!”

“I wouldn’t say terrible,” Janus argued with a smirk, “more like amusing. At least in retrospect. I can understand that must have been terrifying the day it occurred.”

Roman nodded vehemently and gesticulated quite a bit before he sat down right where he stood on the cold floor criss-crossing his legs as soon as his bottom touched the floor.

“You have no idea!” Roman said and continued gesticulating agitatedly. “I was so sure I’d get expelled that day, which would have been a guarantee for me having to repeat this miserable school year. If it hadn’t been for Mamá who somehow managed to get me out of this mess I-”

Roman broke off. At once he looked terribly sad. Concerned Janus thought about standing up and getting to him, as Roman suddenly continued talking.

“I haven’t… I haven’t talked about my mother for so long…”

Janus waited. But nothing came. He stood up, let his cane lean against the table and walked the few steps towards Roman. He stretched out his hand for him. Roman looked up. He was perplexed. He had not seen him walking up to him.

“What is up with her? You can tell me.”

Roman hesitated for a moment. Then he took Janus’s hand. Just felt the warmth and the comfort in it. The little bit of trust he had been granted.

“Don’t tell Remus, but I miss her.”

Roman stood up and let Janus hold onto him as he led him back to the table.

“She wasn’t the best Mamá but she loved us. I know she did. She should have tried to speak up to our father, I know. But she was scared too. She was also a victim. I know it doesn’t excuse the abandonment. I get that. And she never came to look after us after we were gone. So, I know I shouldn’t be hoping anymore. I know. I just. I just…”

“You just miss her.”

They stood in front of the little table. Janus looked up to Roman, his eyes filled with understanding. And Roman felt himself relax. He let Janus sit down on the chair and sat down on the floor in front of him.

“Can I hold your hand?” Roman asked.

Janus smiled.

“Of course.”

And then Roman held his hand while sipping on his beer and eventually leaning his head against Janus’s good knee, while letting his thoughts run wild for a moment.

___

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

Tagged for this fic:

@frawkeye

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[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Sixty Three

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 17th, 2000

Remy shook his head as he trudged around campus. He hated this. He hated this whole thing. The only thing that made college bearable was the idea that he might get a paying job from it, but he didn’t even have that job security for certain, so really, why was he here?

A familiar voice called his name from across the quad and Remy turned, rolling his eyes as Emile ran up to him excitedly. Yeah, college was annoying, and Emile could be a bit of a nuisance, but he was at least a familiar nuisance. And if Emile wanted to hang out with Remy, well, Remy wasn’t going to stop him, even if he didn’t see what Emile saw in him.

  May 20th, 2002

Remy kept the frustrated tears at bay for as long as it took for him to clock out at Starbucks and walk down the side, to the back parking lot. Once there, he punched the dumpster that was backed up against the building and a few tears slipped out from pain and from anger. He was beyond pissed, and he didn’t know why. He had seen this coming. He knew they weren’t going to pick him to become the new manager. And yet, when he heard the news, it still felt like his hopes shattered into a million pieces.

“It went that badly, huh?” Emile asked from behind him.

Remy turned swiping at the tears on his cheeks to find Emile standing there, hands in his pockets. “Yeah,” he settled on saying.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Emile said, closing the distance between them and hugging Remy close. “You don’t deserve to be overlooked just because you don’t want a degree.”

“They didn’t even pick from the store,” Remy said. “They brought in someone else who doesn’t know the system, just because they have that stupid Bachelor’s.”

Emile winced and Remy sighed. “I mean, I saw it coming that I wouldn’t get the job, but seriously? Outside? Not even from another store, just someone who’s never worked there before. We’re gonna have to teach him everything in the span of maybe two weeks!” He shook his head. “Emile, I’m really sick of this.”

“I know you are,” Emile said.

“One day, I can quit this crappy job and be my own person,” Remy said. “One day.”

Emile nodded as he lead Remy to the car. “And that day will be amazing,” Emile agreed. “Until then, we should probably ice your hand and make sure nothing’s broken.”

Remy sighed. Punching the dumpster was a dumb move, but at the very least, it beat punching brick wall. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

Emile drove them home and Remy leaned back into the chair, trying to stop crying. All he was getting for his troubles was a headache and more tears. “My head hurts,” Remy griped.

“Not surprised,” Emile said. “Do you need to take some ibuprofen when we get back?”

“I don’t think so,” Remy said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just need to get over myself.”

“Hey, hey,” Emile said, pulling into the parking lot. “You have every right to be upset, Rem, that’s an upsetting thing. You don’t have to ‘get over yourself.’”

Remy grumbled, “Then why am I getting so worked up over something I knew would happen?”

Emile shrugged. “I’m not inside your head, Rem, I can’t speak for you. If I had to hazard a guess, it’s because hiring someone from outside the company just adds insult to injury.”

Remy laughed hollowly. “Understatement,” he groused, getting out of the car and inspecting his hand. It was swelling a little, but didn’t immediately come across as “broken,” which was a promising sign. “You ever break a bone, Emile?” he asked.

“Uh...not that I remember. There were a couple close calls, but nothing ever broke. I did once dislocate my knee,” Emile said.

Remy winced. “Ouch. How?”

“One of my friends took martial arts classes, and taught me and some of our friends some of the moves, but we didn’t do much stretching before we tried it...and I wound up with a lot of pain the next day in gym class, to where I could barely walk.”

“Ooh!” Remy exclaimed, hissing. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Yep, six weeks of physical therapy, a knee brace, the whole deal,” Emile said. “You break a bone?”

“I fractured my wrist at like...age six.” Remy laughed. “I was running down the sidewalk, and I assume I tripped, because the next thing I know, my wrist feels like it’s on fire and I’m sprawled on the ground. Went to school the next day, couldn’t use scissors without pain, went to the nurse, and she pretty much knew it was broken within five minutes of seeing it. Called my mom, they took me to the doctor’s, got X-rays, and I got a sick-looking cast.”

“Your mom sent you to school with a broken wrist?” Emile asked incredulously.

Remy shrugged. “She didn’t know how to identify a broken bone, she just assumed I cried for half an hour because, y’know, I’ve always been a crybaby. You got sent to school with a dislocated knee!”

“Because it didn’t really start hurting until gym class,” Emile said. “If a six year old cries for half an hour over tripping on a sidewalk, something’s up.”

Remy waved off Emile’s concern. “Eh, she apologized about it later. It wasn’t the end of the world, and because it happened during the school year, I still had two months where I could swim in the pool after the cast came off.”

Emile squinted at Remy and Remy rolled his eyes. “What?”

“You’re excusing your mother’s actions again.”

“She didn’t know, Emile,” Remy said. As they got inside the apartment and Emile gave Remy an ice pack, Remy continued, “You don’t have to know everything about injuries to become a parent.”

“No, but I still think crying for half an hour over a trip should be investigated. And if a school nurse can identify the injury that quickly, shouldn’t the parent be a tad bit suspicious before the kid leaves for school? Because obviously there would be swelling.”

Remy shrugged. “Listen, this wasn’t too bad. She was just forgetful in this case,” he defended. “She’s done worse, you’ve seen her do worse.”

Emile pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did she dismiss other health concerns?”

“I didn’t tell her about other health concerns, like in high school when everyone was turning against me except Toby. She couldn’t dismiss what she wasn’t told about.”

“But you didn’t tell her because she would dismiss it?” Emile questioned. “That seems to be what you’re implying.”

“Okay, she brushed off some things in middle school, things that I don’t even remember because I blocked them out. They couldn’t be too severe if I’m still standing here, though,” Remy brushed off.

Emile sighed and Remy inwardly grimaced. He knew that sigh. It was the sigh Emile got whenever he thought Remy was dismissing key parts of his mental health. “Remy...”

“Can we just agree to drop this subject and let me return to bitching about not getting the manager position?” Remy requested. “I know my mom wasn’t on top of it. I know she was bad. And we just disagree about how severe this infraction was. I agree that she should have done something, at least asked me why I was crying so much, but she didn’t. It’s over. Done with. Has been for years. I just want to gripe.”

Emile sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s just talk about what’s going on in the here and now.”

Remy nodded his thanks. “I don’t think my hand is broken,” he said idly. “It would be swelling more if that was the case. Even with ice, it would look different.”

“Agreed,” Emile said. “You still shouldn’t have punched the dumpster.”

“It was that or the brick wall,” Remy said drily.

Emile shook his head. “Rem, you worry me, to this day.”

“Yeah, well. I’m getting better at controlling my anger, it just...needs an outlet, and I couldn’t hold it back further without risking lashing out, so I took it out on the closest inanimate object to me,” Remy said.

Emile rolled his eyes and took the ice pack off Remy’s hand to kiss the knuckles. “You may be an impulsive man, but you’re my impulsive man. And I’m proud that you’re working to control the more angry impulses.”

Remy offered Emile a smirk. “I thought you liked it when things got heated.”

“Not in this context,” Emile laughed.

Remy grinned, before looking at his hand and sighing. “Man, I wish I could be running my own shop right about now.”

“Hey, one day,” Emile said, squeezing Remy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but that’s going to take so long,” Remy sighed. “Too long. I’ll still have to deal with this new manager, and what happens if I can’t hide my resentment well enough?”

“Remy, I know this probably doesn’t help, but I’m fairly sure you can hide your disdain behind your customer service smile. You’re consistently way better at that than I am. He might know it’s fake, he might not. Regardless, he can’t hold you accountable so long as you don’t say how you really feel about him and you keep smiling.”

“I don’t want to keep smiling,” Remy sighed. “I want to be able to be mad, and to cry, and I want people to know that I’m human.”

“Unfortunately, the downside of working in food service or retail hell is that a lot of people won’t see you as human,” Emile said knowingly. “But you’re always free to be human around me, and our friends, and anyone else we run into when you’re not working.”

“I know,” Remy grumbled. Didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to put up with this.

“Rem, time will pass without you realizing it, and one day, you’re going to wake up, and realize you have the money and power to start your own coffee shop, and you’re going to absolutely crush it,” Emile said with conviction. “Trust me. It might be hard to see right now, but you’re destined for greatness.”

That, at least, got Remy to laugh. He both loved and hated when Emile got all storybook cliché on him. “I would disagree about the destiny thing,” Remy said. “I carve my own destiny.”

“Exactly why it’s true,” Emile replied smoothly. “You don’t wait around looking for your purpose, you go out and make a purpose that fits you.”

“I would argue that I wouldn’t make the purpose. Plenty of people have dropped out of college before. Many people have become entrepreneurs. It’s not exactly a unique path,” Remy brushed off.

“Yeah, but it still goes against the norms of what people expect of you. Instead of just going with the flow, you’re standing tall. And nothing can push you around if you don’t let it. Honestly it’s...pretty inspiring,” Emile said.

Remy laughed. “Please, Emile. I don’t have this heart-stopping origin story that you’re making this out to be.”

“I don’t know,” Emile said with a shrug. “I just think that you’re pretty impressive. If I were in your position, I wouldn’t have ever gotten this far.”

“I mean, I think you could have gotten out of my family situation before I ever did, and made a name for yourself however you wanted,” Remy said with a shrug in return.

Emile offered a slightly bitter smile, which surprised Remy. “Rem, believe me when I say that the only reason you believe that is because my parents taught me how to stand up for myself. You learned how to stand up on your own. No one taught you. If I had been in your position, I probably wouldn’t have lasted through high school. You’re impossibly strong.”

Remy shrugged. “I mean, I guess I’m strong. I’m taking you at your word on that, but I didn’t learn how to stand up on my own. You’re the one who taught me that.”

Emile shook his head. “No, Rem, I may have shown you where to stand tall and demand respect, but even before I met you, you were trying to make your own way in the world. Studying business over accounting, remember? That was all you. You’ve got what it takes to make your own place in the world. And if I were a betting man, I’d put all my money on you.”

Remy stood there, shocked into silence for a good minute. He didn’t know what Emile saw in him to cause that sort of conviction, but he knew that Emile was serious in this. And he wasn’t about to disappoint Emile. He smiled. He would get through this. He’d get through it and go his own way, sooner or later. “I love you too, Emile.”

[hookedonapirate]

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cabin on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.  

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

So a few things before we get started with this chapter.

You've probably noticed, I made Emma older than she is usually portrayed in fanfics since being chief of surgery requires an extensive medical background, education, training, experience, etc. Basically this is how old she would be ten years later from the OUAT pilot. With that said, I've made the other main and supporting characters older as well. Emma and David are 38-39, and Killian, Elsa, Anna and MM are 32-35. Just wanted to clarify that to avoid confusion, though I do mention some of their ages in the story. I'm doing my best to keep the timeline consistent but if anything doesn't make sense with the timeline, or in general, please don't hesitate to ask me about it either on here or Tumblr.

Secondly, I know some of you, or maybe all of you are hoping Emma will contact the police about Neal, but keep in mind, Emma's a suspect and yes, contacting the police would be in her best interest, but Emma's going to be paranoid about every move she makes because she overanalyzes and thinks everything through. And any move that could potentially bring more attention to herself regarding graham's murder could effect her career she has worked so hard to obtain. So please keep these things in mind before you get too upset with her.

Also, this chapter is in Killian's pov, so we will see the video footage of Emma's interview. To avoid a bunch of repetition this chapter shows different points of the interview so that's why different questions are shown in this one, except for a few that I included in both chapters..

You will find that Killian has to iron out some wrinkles in his relationships with David and Elsa, so this chapter and the next will include some angst, but I think all of you lovelies are going to like what I have planned for chapter 5, so please bear with me until then :)

Okay enough of my rambling and on with the story. Thanks for reading!

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1 I Ch 2

Chapter 3

“Uncle Killian!”

  With a big smile on his face, Killian watches his nephews charging toward him. He sets down his tackle box and fishing pole and wipes the sweat off his brow as he steps off the dock. “Oof,” he feigns a pained noise with a chuckle as Leo tackles him. Killian picks him up, drawing him into an enormous bear hug, noticing his nephew is heavier than the last time Killian picked him up. “You’re growing too fast. Soon you'll be taller than me.”

  “Nah-ah,” Leo laughs, shaking his head. 

  “Uncle Ki-wi!” Liam wobbles toward him and wraps his arms around Killian’s legs. 

  “Can you tell they missed you?” Mary Margaret asks as she catches up with her children, David hot on her heels, their hair rustled by the wind.

  “No, not at all,” Killian chuckles, setting Leo down to pick up Liam. “It’s been too long. Far too long.” The two brothers are four years apart, and though Killian is not related to them by blood, he’s like a brother to David, thus Uncle Killian to David’s sons. “I missed you too,” Killian says, dropping a kiss to the crown of Liam’s head. 

  The little lad will be three years old soon, but it feels like only yesterday when Killian cradled the newborn in his arms as the parents announced they were naming him after a man who died a hero—David’s best friend and partner, and Killian’s brother. 

  He sets little Liam on his feet and looks up at David, noting the laptop satchel strapped around his shoulder. He fooled Killian into thinking this was only a social visit by wearing his casual clothes—khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. And Mary Margaret is carrying a tote bag of beach supplies, ready to lounge on the beach.

  “Did you catch anything?” David asks. 

  “Fishing is not about the catch, mate.”

  David grins. “I know. It’s an excuse to drink during the day, right?” 

  Killian scoffs playfully and waves his words. “Like I need an excuse.”

  They share a laugh as they draw each other into a hug and pat one another on the back. They’ve been friends long before Killian joined the Storybrooke Police Department. David’s four years older than him and the same age as Liam would've been—thirty-nine—but the three of them were pretty much inseparable. And after Liam passed, Killian and David shared a heartache neither would ever fully recover from. “I’ve missed you, Jones.”

  “Missed you too.” After they break the hug, Killian turns to Mary Margaret, smiling warmly at her. “Thanks for bringing the boys.” 

  “Of course,” she says, throwing her arms around him. She’s six years younger than David and has been married to him for ten years. They met right after she graduated from college and moved to Storybrooke to take a teaching job. She is now the vice principal at Forest Grove Elementary. 

  “Sorry if I smell like fish and sweat,” Killian apologizes as he wraps his arms around her.

  “Oh wow, you do,” she laughs, pinching her nose but doesn’t pull away. “That’s okay. Wouldn’t expect anything less since you live in this fishing town.” 

  He chuckles. “You know, I could’ve just visited you all in Storybrooke if I had been given more notice. I could’ve saved you a trip.” He didn’t even know they were coming over until last night when David had called him out of the blue.

  Mary Margaret waves off his words as they break the hug. “Nonsense. The boys were dying to see their Uncle Killian, and they've been begging us to take them to the beach, so we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone.”

  “It’s nice to see all of you again.” He looks at David, narrowing his eyes. “Though I have a feeling this isn't just a pleasure trip for you, is it?”

  David gives into a grin and pats Killian on the shoulder. “Is it ever just pleasure with me?”

  Killian chuckles and shakes his head. “Never.” Outwardly he’s relaxed and cheerful, but inwardly, he has a bad feeling about whatever David wishes to discuss with him.

  “Uncle Killian, will you make sandcastles with us?!” Leo asks as his mother hands him and Liam a big sand bucket packed with sandcastle molds and a shovel.

  Killian opens his mouth to answer but David beats him to the punch. “Actually, we have some important things to discuss first. Then Killian can make sandcastles with you.”

  The boys groan their disapproval, Leo gets over it quickly and wastes no time racing off toward the shoreline, Liam wobbling after him.

  “Not so fast, you two! Sunblock, first, then floaties!” Mary Margaret calls out, following their trail of messy footprints in the sand.

  When Leo halts in his tracks and turns around, going to his mother as she spreads out a blanket on the sand and retrieves a bottle of sunblock from her tote, Liam trails behind his brother.

  “Anyone want something to drink?” Killian asks them.

  “Sure, I’ll take some iced tea,” Mary Margaret replies.

  “Do you have Capri Suns?” Leo asks.

  “Of course I do. What kind of uncle would I be if I didn’t stock up on Capri Suns for when my nephews come to visit?”

  “Yes!” Leo exclaims, fisting the air.

  Mary Margaret pulls off Liam’s shirt and rubs lotion over his back and arms. “Thank you, Killian. And you don’t have to worry about Liam, he has his sippy cup with juice in it.”

  “Okay.” Killian turns his head to look at David. “Want a beer?”

  “Sure, you got Lone Star?”

  Killian’s lips stretch into a wide grin. “Any other beer would be treason.” After he grabs his fishing gear and stores it in the garage, he and David head inside the house. 

  Killian goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of sweet tea, a fruit punch Capri Sun and two bottles of beer, setting them on the island counter. He pops off the caps of the beers before handing a bottle to David. “What important things did you have in mind to discuss?”

  David holds up his bag. “Take a wild guess.”

  Killian sighs as he pours Mary Margaret a tall glass of tea. “And here I thought you just wanted to catch up on old times.”

  “I do, but I also want to discuss a case with you,” David admits softly before taking a swig of his beer.

  Killian’s jaw twitches as he glares at his old friend. “Then you’re wasting your time. I came here to Port Lavaca to get away from that stuff.”

  “Which is exactly why I brought it to you.” David sets down his beer and places his laptop bag on the counter, unzipping it. “Just give me five minutes, okay?”

  “And why should I?”

  “Because you’ll want your hands on this case, trust me.” David pulls out his computer and sets it up on the counter.

  “How are Elsa and Camila doing?” Killian asks, deliberately changing the subject. He’s not interested in whatever case David is about to present to him, nor is he pretending to be. 

  “Why don't you ask them yourself?”

  “Because you see them and talk to them more often than I do. I didn’t even get invited to Anna’s wedding, which I’m positive the Maid of Honor had something to with.”

  David looks up from his open laptop, furrowing his brows. “Doesn't the bride and groom normally choose the people on the guest list? Mary Margaret and I chose our own guests for our wedding.”

  “True, but even if Anna and Kristoff wanted to invite me, you don’t think Elsa talked them out of it?”

  David shrugs. “Maybe, but if she did, who’s fault is that?”

  “David…” Killian mutters with a pained expression, his heart constricting. “You know my relationship with Elsa hasn’t been the best since Liam passed.” 

  David turns around and plants his hands on his hips, gaping at Killian. “Hasn’t been the best? It’s almost nonexistent.”

  “Aye, because of what happened,” Killian states bitterly. “Since then, she’s only ever let me stop by so I can pick up my niece and spend time with her.” He desperately wants to change that though. He wants his sister-in-law back, he wants the friendship they once had, and he wants to spend time with both her and Camila again. He’s tired of missing out on important milestones in Camila's life all because her mother and uncle prefer not to be in the same room together. He’s just been too much of a coward to tell Elsa that. To apologize for letting his temper get the best of him.

  “Do you blame her? You let her husband’s killer get away with murder,” David scolds.

  Killian slams his beer on the counter, anger surging through him. “I loved him too, okay?! I was only trying to prove—no, you know what?” He raises his open palms in protest. “I’m not doing this with you. Not today, not ever.” He gathers the beverages and storms out, the backdoor squeaking on its corroded hinges as he strides onto the deck and rushes down the steps. He doesn’t need this shite. His nephews are here to visit with him and he’s not about to waste the opportunity.

  “Killian, wait!” David calls out from the deck as Killian trudges through the sand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said that! I know you loved him! We all did!”

  Killian turns around, pinning him with a glare as David makes his way down the steps. “He was my brother. I’m the last person in the world who wanted that piece of scum to get away with ending his life.”

  “I know.” David sighs as he inches closer. “Which is why I’m here.”

  Killian narrows his eyes, his brows knitted in confusion. “I thought you were here to discuss a case?” 

  A pained expression etches David’s features. “I am. A case involving your brother’s killer.”

  Killian’s fists clench around the drinks, his jaw tightening at the thought of another innocent victim falling at the hands of—

  No, he can't do this. He’s not going down that path again; it only leads to anger, bitterness and vengeance. He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m done with detective work. I’m not interested.” He walks away again, heading toward Mary Margaret and his nephews.

  “What if I said there's a good possibility you could catch him this time? Then would you be interested?”

  Killian stops in his tracks, gazing out at the sea as David’s words slice through him. No, he shouldn’t care about catching Liam’s killer anymore. He gave up a long time ago. But somehow he finds himself turning around to face David again, curiosity clawing at his gut. “How?”

  A triumphant grin crawls across David’s lips. “I knew that would gain your attention.”

  “Just tell me,” Killian demands ardently.

  David steps toward him. “I'll tell you when you agree to hear me out.” He holds up the five fingers of his right hand. “Five minutes.” 

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” Killian mumbles and turns around, walking away. This time, David doesn’t holler after him or follow him.

  When Killian brings the drinks to Mary Margaret and Leo, she thanks him and lifts her sunglasses, perching them atop her head and squinting up at Killian. “What were you and David shouting about?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing important.”

  Mary Margaret frowns, not believing him. “You should hear him out, Killian. He really misses working with you.”

  Killian sighs and sips his beer as he watches Liam filling his bucket with sand and Leo walking along the shore, collecting seashells. “Will I really want my hands on the case?”

  A solemn expression creases Mary Margaret’s features. “Would David drive three hours to ask you if he thought otherwise?”

  “He would if it meant spending time with an old friend… or at least I would hope,” Killian grumbles.

  “Of course he would, but if he didn’t think you’d be interested, he wouldn’t have brought it up.” 

  Killian takes another swig of his beer, pondering David’s offer.

  Mary Margaret puts her tea in the beach cup holder she’d brought with her and gets up to walk toward her sons, giving Leo his drink and sitting across from Liam to help him make a sandcastle. 

  Killian misses spending time with them, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to head back to Storybrooke. He’d moved here to this fishing town, Port Lavaca, almost two years ago and bought this cabin on Lighthouse Beach. After Cassidy got away with murdering Liam, Killian blamed himself—everyone blamed him—and he couldn’t stand to be in Storybrooke any longer. He couldn’t live in a town that reminded him of his brother, a town that couldn’t bring his brother’s murderer to justice and pointed their fingers at Killian for the reason Cassidy got away with his crime. David knows he has no interest in going back. Not to Storybrooke, not to the SBPD, and yet he made the trip with his family three hours away from home. Nolan wouldn’t have bothered bringing the case with him if he knew Killian wouldn’t take the bait.

  When Killian heads inside and steps through the backdoor, David’s back is leaning against the counter, his arms crossed as he waits for a different answer. Or rather the answer he wants to hear.

  Killian knows he’ll regret this, but he can’t deny his curiosity is piqued. The detective in him is itching to know more about the case, or so he tells himself. He assents with an exasperated sigh. “Five minutes. That’s all you get.”

  David grins. “That’s all I need.” He brings his laptop to the table, and once Killian takes a seat next to him, David plays a video that’s ready to go on his laptop. “This was recorded yesterday.”

  The video feed takes place in the interrogation room. David and Detective Jefferson are sitting at one side of the table and there’s a man in a suit sitting on the other side who David says is an attorney. But what really piques his interest—or rather who—is the blonde woman sitting next to the attorney. She’s beautiful, with long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail and striking green eyes. She’s wearing a black blouse under a fire engine red, two-piece suit and red pumps on her feet. Bold color choice. She’s definitely not a woman who lacks confidence. 

  “Who is she?”

  “This is Dr. Emma Swan. She’s a surgeon at Storybrooke General.”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Killian comments, more to himself than to David.

  “She’s Anna and Elsa’s cousin. But this conversation and what I’m showing you has to stay between us. I’m only here to visit with an old friend, got it? I haven’t even told Mary Margaret that Anna and Elsa’s cousin is involved in the case.”

  Killian nods. “I understand, but what’s her crime? Dressing too nicely. Being too pretty?” he quips with a smirk.

  David rolls his eyes. “This is serious, Jones.” He reverts his gaze to the computer screen. “Her colleague, Dr. Graham Humbert, was murdered seven days ago in the Storybrooke General parking lot. They were rival surgeons who bickered and teased each other all the time. Both were vying for the Chief of Surgery position he was appointed to just a week before he was murdered.”

  “And you think she offed him for his job title?” Killian asks, unable to take his eyes off her. She doesn’t look like your typical suspect by any means. She’s calm and still, her arms and legs crossed casually, her face expressionless. Typically, people who were being questioned for a felony offense trembled, couldn’t sit still and would sweat profusely. But not this woman. He can't detect any sign of fear or worry in her eyes, her posture or her behavior. 

  “I think there’s more to it than that, but yes, I think she had something to do with his death. The night he was murdered, Dr. Swan was with Graham at the Rabbit Hole. According to other colleagues who were also there celebrating Graham’s promotion, the two surgeons were having an intimate discussion.”

  Killian lifts a brow. “You think they were lovers?”

  “According to Emma and everyone else, they weren’t. They often squabbled, but it was mostly friendly. They respected each other.” 

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Dr. Swan said he walked her to her car that night, and before she left, she saw him head back inside. According to the bar owner and his employees who were on duty that night, Dr. Humbert left the bar an hour later, around eleven o’clock and went home. His phone records show he received a call at 2:20 in the morning, but it was from a restricted number.”

  “And let me guess, the number was untraceable?”

  “Yep. But whoever called him knew the safety code.”

  “Safety code?”

  “Anyone who calls in hospital staff is required to supply the safety code. You know, like when parents give their kids a safety word for emergencies so they don’t get abducted by strangers.”

  “So, whoever called Humbert was someone who works at the hospital?”

  “Possibly, and either that person had something to do with his murder or it’s a sheer coincidence the phone call preceded his death by only twenty minutes. But no one I spoke with at the hospital knew about the phone call or why he would've been called in. He wasn't on call that night.”

  “Was Dr. Humbert married?”

  “Nope, never was. A few people I interviewed mentioned he once had a fling with Dr. Regina Mills, head of Cardiology, but it ended four years ago. She’s now happily married.”

  “Maybe they still had something together, but kept it secret so her husband didn’t find out? And if so, maybe her husband found out and is the one who murdered him?”

  “The husband, Mr. Locksley owns the Rabbit Hole, and he was closing the bar at the time Dr. Humbert was murdered. One of his employees was there to corroborate that.” 

  “Dr. Mills didn’t take his last name when they got married?”

  “No, I asked her about it during the interview, and she said she wanted to keep her maiden name to avoid confusing her regular patients.”

  “And where was she that night?”

  “She was tending to a patient with cardiac arrest.” 

  “What was the cause of Dr. Humbert's death?”

  David clears his throat and retrieves a folder from his bag, pulls out some photos and spreads them over the table. 

  Killian swallows the sizable lump in his throat. The photos are of the murder victim with a knife lodged in beneath his left arm. 

  “Massive hemorrhaging from the stab wound.”

  Killian picks up one of the photos, studying it. “And the knife’s untraceable as well?” he asks bitterly, though he doesn’t need to. He already knows the answer.

  “Of course. The knife is an average filleting knife that could’ve come from any kitchen. The blade went through clean as a whistle and popped Dr. Humbert's heart like a balloon. And no fingerprints. Whoever did this knew what he was doing. Or she.”

  “Like another doctor?”

  David shrugs. “Possibly.”

  “And you’re certain the cardiologist was with a patient? She would know exactly where to stab a person to make it fatal.”

  “I checked the hospital security footage for verification. She went into her patient’s room at the time of the murder. Her alibi checks out.”

  “Were there any witnesses?”

  “A security guard saw Humbert pull into the parking lot but never saw him go inside. When he left his post to check on Dr. Humbert, he found Graham’s body near his car. The murderer was like a ghost. Never seen, never heard. He left without a fucking trace.”

  The hairs on the back of Killian’s neck stand on end. “Cassidy...” He cringes from merely speaking his name.

  David nods. “Question is, who hired him?”

  “This Dr. Swan… is she married?” Killian doesn’t think Emma had anything to do with the murder, but perhaps a jealous lover who saw her with Graham that night hired Cassidy. He’s drawing straws though.

  “No husband or boyfriend to speak of. She lives alone. No kids, not even birth parents. She was shuffled around from one foster home to another until she was adopted at the age of ten—by Anna and Elsa’s aunt. I’m sure you've heard the story?”

  “Aye, after their parents died in a car accident, Anna and Elsa went to stay with their Aunt Ingrid and her adopted daughter.” Killian points at the computer screen. “That’s her?”

  David nods. “Yep. The aloof cousin.” 

  “Huh.” Why has he never met this aloof cousin? Of course, if he’d known she was so gorgeous, he’d have made that happen a long time ago, but he'd never seen a picture of her, at least not one of her as an adult. If he had, he would have recognized her on the video. Killian shakes off the thoughts and studies the photos again. “I don’t get how a good-looking, successful doctor like this man stayed single?” Or a beautiful, successful doctor like Emma for that matter.

  David shrugs. “He probably was by choice. Maybe he was too focused on his career and thought a romantic relationship would only distract him. Or maybe he was in love with Regina and knew he couldn’t have her, so he didn’t want anyone else.”

  “Or maybe he was in love with someone else?” Killian poses. If he were Graham and had a female friend like Emma, he doubts he’d have only platonic feelings for her. “You said he walked Emma to her car that night?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was there a kiss goodnight?”

  “When I questioned Dr. Swan, she said they hugged, and he kissed her on the cheek. I asked her if that was normal and she said no. It surprised her. But I checked the video footage in front of the bar. Mr. Locksley set up a camera there after someone tried to throw a rock through the door window a couple of years ago.”

  “To steal alcohol?”

  “Or cash from the till,” David shrugs. “Whatever their reason was, they weren’t successful. Probably got spooked by someone who saw them. Anyway, the hug between the two surgeons lasted too long to be friendly.”

  “How long?”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “How long is a normal hug?”

  “A few seconds, maybe more, depending on the relationship of the person you’re hugging. But ten seconds is too long if you’re only friends. Or frenemies in this case. So maybe, Graham had feelings for her but she didn’t return them? Maybe Graham made her feel uncomfortable or said something to her when he hugged her, and that, topped with him getting the promotion she desired was enough to want him dead.”

  Killian mulls it over for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, it’s too obvious. She’s smarter than that. She’s a doctor and has way more education than both of us combined. If she really wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have hired someone to murder him a week after his promotion. I don’t think she hired Cassidy.”

  David cocks a brow, a sly smirk curving his lips. “So does that mean you’re in?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Killian grumbles.

  “But it’s been over five minutes. Which means I’ve intrigued you. Otherwise, we’d be outside with my wife and kids right now.”

  Bloody hell. 

  David’s right. Killian is intrigued, and not solely by the case, but by the blonde woman on David’s computer screen. He wants to know more about her; he wants to find out more information. He has a gut feeling about her; he knows she didn’t murder Dr. Humbert. He doesn’t believe the whole rival surgeons scenario is a motive for murder. He and David also bicker and tease each other, but he would never murder David over a job promotion. “Okay, fine. I’m intrigued. But as I said, I don’t think she had anything to do with Dr. Humbert’s murder.” 

  David makes a noise of hesitance and appears to be unsure about Killian’s assessment. “There’s something else you should know that might change your mind.”

  Killian cocks a brow. “What’s that?”

  “Did you hear about Cassidy’s most recent trial?”

  Killian shakes his head. “I stopped watching the news or following any media regarding that arsehole,” Killian mutters. “Not knowing there’s yet another victim left in his path of destruction is the only way I can sleep at night.”

  “He was acquitted from another capital punishment.” 

  Killian scoffs. “So he got away with another murder? What else is new?”

  David sighs and fast-forwards through the video. “Just listen.” He hits play.

  “Dr. Swan, did you recently serve on a jury that recently acquitted an accused contract killer, Neal Gold?”

  Killian’s eyebrow jumps, and he reclines in his chair, crossing his arms.

  “What’s the relevance of the question, Detective?” Mr. Hopper asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  David raises his hand in defense. “I’ll get to that, I promise.”

  “Please do very quickly,” Emma says curtly. “Some of us don’t have time for unnecessary interviews. I have patients waiting for me.”

  David sighs. “The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can leave.”

  She expels a tentative breath. “Yes, I served on the jury that acquitted Mr. Gold.”

  “And were you or were you not the forewoman?”

  Killian swallows the lump in his throat. 

  “I was. But you already knew that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”

  “Feisty lass,” Killian remarks with a subtle smirk.

  David nods. “That’s for sure. Feisty but polite.” 

  They revert their attention to the video.

  “That’s correct. I’ve already interviewed the other eleven jurors.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I believe Dr. Humbert’s killer was hired. He wasn’t robbed, and he has no known adversaries… other than you, Dr. Swan.”

  Emma narrows her eyes at the insinuation. “Dr. Humbert and I were not adversaries. We were friendly colleagues.”

  “Yes, you were a colleague of his who wanted the promotion he got, and recently let a contract killer back on the streets.”

  Her eyes widen as she lunges forward in her seat. “I didn’t free him. The judge made the final decision. My job was to determine the facts and reach a verdict based on all the facts and evidence. In that case, the evidence was lacking.” 

  Her attorney puts out his hand to stop her from continuing to speak any further. “Detective, Mr. Gold’s crime was alleged and has no relevance to this case.”

  David pauses the video. “Some of the jurors said Cassidy and the doctor kept making eyes at each other.

  Killian quirks a brow. He doesn't doubt any straight, red-blooded male would be attracted to Emma, but he highly doubts a woman of her class, beauty and intelligence would be interested in a scumbag like Cassidy. “Did you question her about it?”

  “Yes, she claimed he kept staring at her, but that his attentions were very much unwanted. That’s as far as I got before Mr. Hopper stood and asked if there were any more unnecessary questions I wanted to ask her.”

  “So, you think the doctor hired Cassidy to eliminate her competition?”

  “The crime scene had his name written all over it.”

  “I’m not arguing that. But I don’t think someone like her,” Killian says, pointing at the paused screen, “would get involved with someone like that piece of scum.” The thought makes him utterly sick to his stomach.

  “He may be scum, but he’s clever scum. That’s why your brother coined his moniker, remember?”

  “Aye.” He remembers very well when Liam began calling him Cassidy. 

  One time Killian asked his brother why he called him that, and he said Neal’s father, a convicted felon Liam successfully put behind bars, was referred to only as his surname, Gold. To avoid any confusion, he didn’t call Neal by his surname too, nor did he wish to call Neal by his first name—Liam never called perps by their first name—so initially, Neal was the clever killer because he seemed to be an exception to Locard's Exchange Principle, which asserts, “the perpetrator of a crime will bring something to the crime scene and leave with something from it,” and that “both can be used as forensic evidence.” Dr. Edmond Locard was the Sherlock Holmes of France who came up with the basic principle of forensic science, “every contact leaves a trace.”  

  While Cassidy always leaves a weapon at the scene, he never purchases the weapons, or at least there is never a trace of the purchase. He also never leaves fingerprints. There was only one single time when Cassidy was sloppy and accidentally left something of his behind and that was when he murdered Liam. But he never took anything from his victims.  

  The name Cassidy was brought up when Elsa became pregnant with Camila and they were deciding on names. Elsa had mentioned Cassidy as a possible name for their daughter, and when Liam looked up the name to see what it meant, he discovered the origins of the name and that it meant clever. So it became Neal’s nickname.

  When Liam’s daughter was born, he suggested they call her Camila, which means perfect , and Elsa was immediately on board with it. Killian’s glad Liam and Elsa didn’t end up naming their child Cassidy. How ironic would it have been if Liam gave his daughter the same name he gave the man who eventually killed him? 

  Liam never mentioned Neal Gold to Elsa, he didn’t like bringing work home with him and he especially didn’t like to cause his wife any distress by talking about a notorious serial killer on the loose. He didn’t want Elsa to worry about her husband, and while she knew the risks that came with Liam’s job as a homicide detective, he made her believe he mostly reviewed old, unsolved cases. 

  After Liam died, Killian promised Elsa he’d find her husband’s killer. While no one was certain of who murdered Liam because there was no evidence, except for a single thread of fabric left behind at the crime scene, Killian and David knew. But Killian botched any chance they had of convicting Cassidy and failed Elsa and Camila in the process. Not only did he fail, but he’s the reason why Cassidy couldn’t be convicted. He acted on high emotions after Liam’s death. He was so angry and vengeful, he was willing to do whatever it took to put Cassidy behind bars. And that’s exactly why he failed. He didn’t think. He made a split decision, and several people have subsequently paid the price for that decision. Now a highly respected surgeon has been added to that list, along with who knows how many others.

  “So, how will you proceed?” Killian asks skittishly, afraid of what David’s answer might be.

  “Not me. Us,” David says. “I need your help.”

  “Why me? Why not Scarlet or Jefferson?”

  “Because I need someone with your instincts, someone good, and you're better than them or anyone else in our department. Besides, no one knows Cassidy like you do.”

  Killian shakes his head. “I can’t. Any case involving Cassidy is personal for me. After he killed—” His voice cracks. He can’t even force the rest of the words out. “I can't.”

  “Come on, Killian. I’m not asking you to come back permanently; just this one case, that's it,” David pleads. “If you won’t do this for me, do it for your brother.”

  Damn it, Nolan. Why did he have to go and use that card? 

  Killian sighs and stands up, pacing the kitchen. When he reaches David again, he stops and places his hands on his hips. “Let’s say I said yes, what would you want me to do?”

  “Search for any clues that will tell us if Emma and Cassidy are in alliance.”

  Killian furrows his brows. “Since you need probable cause, I'm guessing you don't have a warrant for Dr. Swan, so how do you suppose I do that?”

  David shakes his head. “Ah-ah, I’m not telling you until you say you’re in.”

  Killian sighs dramatically as he drags his hand over his face. He has a feeling he’s not going to like whatever plan David has up his sleeve. But he misses working with him again, and he has to admit, he still doesn’t believe Emma had anything to do with her colleague’s murder. So perhaps he can go along with David’s plan to prove that. He looks at David again and with a curt nod, he makes it official. “I’m in.”

  To that, David says nothing, just grins complacently.

  Killian gulps. What the bloody hell did he just sign up for?

Tagging some people who have shown interest so far. If you would like to be tagged or untagged, please let me know.

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[fairyshuuu]

wild valley pt7 | chanyeol

.summary. Park Chanyeol; sweat rolling down a naked back mixed with motor oil, you; white sugar sticking to your gums at sunset– ice cream flavored. Drugs, booze, money. He’s everything you’re not, the question is – for how long? .word count. 7k .mechanic!au | gang!au | car shop!au. .pairing. chanyeol x reader .genre. smut, fluff, romance

.warnings. mature language, sexual content, thigh riding, public fingering .author’s note. i’m posting the next chapter soon after this one, too (hopefully tomorrow). though the next chapter is the real deal, this one has it’s fair share of smut, so if you’re uncomfortable with that, i’m sorry. these two chapters won’t be for you ♫ let me set the mood ♫

teaser.  part 1.  part 2.  part 3.  part 4.  part 5.  part 6.  part 7. (m)  part 8. (m)

Red lights beam on the side of the jukebox, flashing in time with the beat of the music that plays through the speakers. Tiled floors, blue, faux leather seats and the smell of cooled coffee drinks. The place seems pulled right from 40s, and yet, it’s still his favorite place in the entire city. Besides the garage, maybe. The diner is never full, leaning more towards bankruptcy on most days with the lack of customers and yet, he comes here like it’s an unchangeable routine.

The lady behind the counter, Samantha, is a graying woman in her fifties, and she hates him smoking indoors. Normally he doesn’t care, since no one else does. But for once, it seems, he decides to be civil. The tall woman plops down the tray with a smile, though her eyebrows are stewed together. His diet seems to consist only of hamburgers and alcohol, but that’s just what’s easiest. He doesn’t have time to order in food, let alone do something healthy for his body like cook actual food.

“What is up with you today? Did you receive some bad news, or something? I’ve never once had to not tell you to put out your cigarette in my fine establishment.” She purses her red, painted lips out as her arms cross over her chest.

“What fine establishment, Sam? This place is just about as dead as your romantic life,” he sighs, grabbing his coke to take a large gulp. The older woman dramatically smacks him with the menu, before rolling her eyes.

“That’s rich coming from you, young man. At least I’ve had a romantic life before, my prince charming just slipped through my fingers. I don’t know what your excuse is. If you don’t soon start seeing someone, you’ll end up just like me, and worse.” She fans herself with the menu, blowing her artificial vanilla perfume his way. Without hesitation, he takes a big bite out of the hamburger, eyes flicking up at her as she talks. “Men can’t handle a life alone, you know. They get emotionally constipated.”

He snorts at that, and hums while chewing. She’s actually right, if he’s being honest. Sam is doing just fine alone, he can’t really say the same for himself though. “Well,” she sighs, cleaning off the wet side of the table for him, before straightening, “just get on it. You’ll be forty and alone sooner than you think, you’re already nearing your thirties.” With that she tosses her rag over her shoulder, and walks away. “Enjoy your meal now, young man.”

He’d find her advice bothersome, if he didn’t know what a genuine person the older woman was. It’s not easy to put up with him sometimes, he knows this too. As he eats, he looks out the darkened windows to the street, watching the light as it slips through the clouds and plays on the house fronts with a twinkling joy. Summer’s coming to an end soon, already indicated by the cooler winds that blow through. It’s strange. Even though he’s evidently slowed down compared to months before, so much more seems to have happened.

This time last year, he was pumping every bit of energy he had into the garage. Every fiber of his being belonged to that place, without second thought, without stopping. He needed something to tune his problems into, needed to distract himself from the real world by sinking into his work and while it worked back then, it’s noticeably different from how he deals with things now. He doesn’t know how much of that started when you jumped into his life head first.

As he eats in silence, sharing the diner only with one other patron, who seems too invested in the newspaper to notice anything around it, the familiar ring of the bell sounds. Soft steps make their way through the hall and into sight, making Chanyeol pause mid-bite. The woman who walks in is quite a bit taller than you, but shares a striking resemblance with you. As she walks towards the bar and closer to him though, he can make out some differences between you two. This girl is a bit older, eyes lined with black wings and hair dyed a soft honey color.

She waves at the woman behind the counter, and clears her throat. “Hello, neighbor.”

“Hiya, young lady,” Sam responds, wide smile on her face. “Don’t you look lovely today? You going somewhere, Yuna?” Chanyeol doesn’t mean to listen in on the conversation, but the diner is so abandoned that he can’t help but tune in.

The woman, who he can only guess is your sister, shakes her head as she leans on the bar with both elbows. “Not really, but thank you. I just wanted to hop in to ask if you’ve seen Y/N, by any chance? She was supposed to come into work today, but the shop is closed and I can’t reach her.” Yuna brushes her bangs out of her face with a frustrated sigh, hands continuing to play with the edge of her shirt. “Has she been here at all, today?”

At that Sam lifts her brows, and reaches over to offer her a glass of water. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help, dear. I haven’t seen her today, but I’ve been cooped up in here since the morning, too.” Yuna gratefully takes the glass of water in both hands, nodding. “You don’t think something happened to her, do you?” Sam asks.

“No, she’s probably just out with her friends,” Yuna sighs, “it wouldn’t be the first time that she doesn’t let me know where she’s going. But you know, she’s a really responsible girl, normally. After our parents divorced, she basically took all of the household chores on her shoulders, got good grades in school, even though she had to carry the weight of three people on her shoulders. It’s why I had no doubts, handing her the reigns of the store, but—” with that she pauses, and leans forward a little more, “I’m worried about the friend’s she’s made.”

“How come?”

“Dew’s a nice girl. She’s not much of a party goer, and when she does, she lets everyone know so that we don’t worry. At least, that’s how she was growing up. Now she’s spending every day and night with those boys, I just… I don’t know. There’s things that go on in this city that I don’t want her to come into contact with.” Though Samantha nods in agreement, she places a hand on the other’s shoulder, and sighs.

“You’re not going to be able to protect her from everything. It’s good that you’re concerned about her. But I think, in cases like these, where friends are involved, she’s going to have to make that decision for her own.” Chanyeol sighs as he stands from his booth, brows furrowed. It makes both women look over at him, as if only now remembering that there’s other people in the diner, but they don’t say anything. Chanyeol gives a small nod as he passes by them two, waving casually.

“You can put it on my tab, Sam.” The older woman hums in reply, and goes back to her business. As he rounds the corner, he can see her pulling your sister into a warm hug, patting her back comfortingly. As he opens the door, the sound of the bell rings again. When the door falls shut behind him, all the music disappears. The street is void, for lack of a better word. It might just be because of the conversation, but it’s startling. When he looks to his right, a cold feeling comes over his skin.

The ice cream shop is closed, indeed. He hadn’t really paid attention to it when he came. The normally bright colors of the interior are tucked away behind the ugly, metal shutters, and the soft instrumental music that plays from the boxes is disconnected, leaving behind the occasional sound of static. The place looks and feels cold. And he’s seen those same shutters about a million times before, but this was never a thought that crossed his mind before you came. It only serves to remind him again, that something needs to be done.

And that something might just have to be him, if no one else does anything about it. For once, Chanyeol’s determination seems like the right choice. As he crosses the street, he jams his hand in his pocket to pull out the ever familiar red and white box, and places a smoke between his lips. If he gets the chance, he tells himself, he’s going to get over his brooding and talk to you. Help you out. It’s all that he can do, but for the first time in months— he’s hopeful that he stands a chance. A chance at doing the right thing.

It’s funny. If nothing else, Chanyeol just wants Sehun to shut up right now. Baekhyun too, and if possible the entire room, for a while. As always, he’s left wondering why the hell he came out tonight, and drowning his unpleasant thoughts in scotch that definitely shouldn’t have been opened. Too bad. It’s stupidly hot in this house, leaving his clothes glued to his shape, and his thoughts brewing in the background. A girl he’s forgotten the name of sits on his lap, thighs warming his own and her soft whispers thumping on his eardrums.

His chest is tight and hands are heavy, and so when the girl takes his hands he doesn’t pull back, though he feels like doing so. Kyungsoo, despite all odds, seems to be enjoying his time for once, settled politely in the couch next to Yuta’s ex. His friend is normally too in his head about everything, to join in on the fun, too calculated to let loose like the others. But even though Kyungsoo says he doesn’t like the woman, Chanyeol would bet money on an eventual hook-up. If two attractive people spend a load of time together, it’s inevitable. When the shorter man sends his a questioning look, Chanyeol looks away, leaning back in the couch.

The room is a burnt amber because of the obnoxious lights draping down the walls like a curtain, and the floor sticks to the soles of his shoes when he moves them. And though a band plays in the other room, it’s not a good one. But despite all of the reasons that could possibly irk him, they aren’t the cause of the thoughts prodding at his brain. Sehun seems blatantly unaware as ever, though Chanyeol’s not sure if he’s doing it on purpose right now or if his friend is really that stupidly lacking in tact.

“I’m just saying— if you go for it, y’ should go for it,” Sehun slurs, tongue thick with some strong liquor that is starting to sound insanely appealing right now. “I— no, if you wanna go for it, you should— ‘s what I mean. Before that cherry wannabe or his bleached bimbo friend hop on the choo choo pussy train and leave you moping for the rest of your sad, sad life.” Jongdae, who looks none the wiser on the conversation he’s suddenly tuned into, just giggles brightly and shrugs at the older.

Without fail, Baekhyun turns to his friend, and leans forward to pat Chanyeol’s shoulder with a grin, moving the girl to the side to get a clear view of his face. “Yeah, Park. Go for it.” He smiles knowingly across to Sehun as he takes the last gulp of his bottle, before tossing it into the cooling bucket with the unopened beers. “I’m dying for another Beauty and the Beast remake,” he adds, laughing at his own joke with full force. His eyes turn into thin moons with the satisfaction he gets out of it, and for once Chanyeol’s not sure weather to punch his friend or join him.

It seems appropriate, doesn’t it? He’s the one who told you to stay away from him, yet here he is, glancing to the side every few minutes to make sure you haven’t left yet. He’s jittery like a young school girl, any time he catches your eyes. Staring, only to look away when you glance back with a smile that seems permanently glued to your lips. You’re particularly beaming today, radiating a pink, velvet aura that reminds him of cotton candy. Your hair pulled in a high ponytail that reveals the tattoo that you got on your neck not too long ago. Jongdae warned him, but clearly not enough, because the effect it has on him is weighted.

“She’s looking over this way,” Baekhyun grins again when he faces the other, his lips jutting out. “You know, for a grown man the size of a tree, you really can be a big bitch sometimes.” Without hesitating, he jams a cold beer in his friend’s hand, ignoring lap-girl when she sends him a glare at being interrupted for a second time. Such a small sized human, but such a blabbering mouth. The brunet leans back himself then, running his fingers through his hair. “And don’t even start to me about Dara. Yes, she fucked you up, and yes, she was a horrible, soul-eating piece of shit, but that’s not what’s holding you back here. Man up, Chanyeol.”

Though it’s obvious taunting, Chanyeol clenches his jaw, his shoulders tensing in the process. Several beats pass, before he’s turning over his shoulder for the nth time tonight. This time, you’re already looking at him. Your lips are curled at the ends, lashes dark but eyes playing with a daring glint, and for the first time in maybe— ever— does he allow himself to admit that you look undeniably attractive. He’d blame it on the alcohol, but you both seem to know better. Your lips move and though he can’t make out the sound of your voice above the music, the sentiment doesn’t pass him completely. His frown must be visible even from afar though, because you giggle. ‘What are you drinking?’ you mouth again, cocking your head at his hand this time to drive the point home.

It’s a subtle thing, but he swears your lips go from a grin to a genuine smile when he opens his mouth in understanding. It’s adorable, for one. But it’s also very you, and maybe that’s what warms his insides more. “Guinness,” he responds, making sure to face you as well as he can from across the room. You smile yet again, and hold out an ‘okay’ sign with your hand, before moving to stand up, presumably to get said drink. None of your friends follow, only his gaze following behind as your black skirt wraps around the curve of your ass.

And fuck it, if it isn’t the chance he’s been waiting for. He moves lap-girl into the side of the guy next to him, and stands from the warm sofa to make his way out of the little nook his friends have claimed as their own for the night, under the loud holler of Jongdae. Who, despite being the most sober, still can’t keep quiet at the best of times. Though lap-girl seems slightly upset, the guy who’s lap she is thrust into seems more than happy to make up the difference, and so Chanyeol quickly pushes past the couple blocking him.

The room sways just slightly as he moves through the sticky lump of people, long legs doing more damage than good in this tight a space. Of course, for all the teasing they can do, and all the jabs they might give, his friends are right. Even now, when he has a reason to talk to you and now he has a question to ask, do his nerves go flying at the single first chance they get. But with all of Baekhyun’s nagging, he can’t possibly let the night go on unresolved. He can just see you move through the crowd a bit ahead, swaying more than a bit yourself. Maybe tonight isn’t a good night, and maybe he’ll regret it in the morning, but for the first time in a long while does he feel like he has a goal outside of his own bubble. He’s not about to let it slip past.

You unknowingly lead him through the hall and into the next room of the house, before the people finally clear out enough to allow him a quicker pace. For how much shorter your legs are than his, you’re surprisingly fast. Your hair bounces with every one of your steps, swaying softly to alter between hiding your tattoo and not. He bites his bottom lip, and takes another two steps, before reaching down to grab you by your shirt. You veer back like a spring because of his grip on you, as his other hand comes to keep you from falling, hoping to avoid the typical clumsiness that that usually causes. In your attempt to turn, you stumble backwards, resulting in an equally suggestive pose.

You stare up at him for several seconds from your place squeezed against the wall, his body surrounding you on all other sides. With a little frown, Chanyeol lets go of your shirt, though the hand on your other side doesn’t have any intention of leaving. Before he can say anything, you let out a slight giggle, and press your hands against your chest. “You scared my goddamn brain out of me, Chanyeol, geez.” There’s a slight fog in your eyes indeed, the result of some kind of alcohol no doubt, and your lips are unnaturally red, which is probably a sign of Baron. But he doesn’t care, because you look intoxicating in the best way.

“Finally, here you are,” he just sighs, doing his best to keep the stubborn frown from crawling back to his brows. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for the entire evening.” For a second, he wonders if this is out of line. Just a split second, where it seems like it’s not his place to intervene, and another where he has to wonder if you’re bothered by his unending indecisiveness. But as if on clue, you laugh. Full, and genuine, with every fiber of your being you laugh, leaning your head to his chest in the process and with that he couldn’t give any less of a shit, even if it was his place to say jack shit. Because he wants to, anyway.

When you take a deep breath in, you look at him from under your lashes and smile. “Oh, ‘s that so?” Your mouth curves prettily in the shine of the purple spotlights. “Good. I was staring to think you’d gone completely mental, with the amount of times I caught you staring at me from across the room.” A mortified warmth spreads on his cheeks at that, though it doesn’t seem to bother you. “I’m glad you’ve finally caught me, then.” Your hand wraps around his larger, fingers cold against his warm skin.

With a deep breath through his nose, Chanyeol looks away from you to survey the room, at a sudden loss for words. The room is much more quiet than the main one, lacking in people too. It’s significantly colder here, which seems to make the warmth of your body more noticeable. Your eyes are on him as he moves back to face you, softly regarding him. “Listen,” he starts, “I wanted to— have a word with you without your friends, without everyone staring at me like I’m crazy. I might be, but I don’t need everyone pointing it out.” 

Though you don’t change your expression, he can tell your brain is turning it’s gears, lips softly opening. “If you’re gonna listen, that is. Because I won’t spend my time trying to explain something if you don’t wanna hear it.” The last part slips out before he can stop it, an explanation ready to flow from his mouth at all times. You nod though, wide eyed, as your tongue peeks out to wet your lips again. You must be thirsty still.

“Is it true?” you suddenly ask, leaning a little more towards him. Your finger softly taps the side of his hand, though he doesn’t know if it’s a comforting move or a concerned one. Though your fingers are noticeably colder than his, your touch is soft, like velveteen. Your words slowly filter in above the music.

His dark eyes bore into yours for an extended second, before the tenseness of his shoulders drops. “Is what true?” His eyes glide to your lips when you lick them, clearly holding something you want to say back. But gentle as ever, you just move back to press your weight into the wall, tilting your head to the side as you shake it.

“Nothing,” you mumble, barely audible over the cascading sound of the band across the house, “continue, please. You were explaining that you don’t like having pointed out that you’re crazy, I think. Not sure though, you weren’t making any sense.” Chanyeol’s laugh is one of surprise, slipping out like it’s been aching to do so for a long time and you also look surprised, if your raised eyebrows are anything to go by. It doesn’t last nearly as long as it should, but you seem to bloom at the sound, even joining with it after a bit. His laugh makes you flutter, and that almost sends him spiraling. Because it’s his laugh that is making you smile like that.

“I’m not crazy,” he brings out, forcing down the corners of his lips. Your own follow suit, your best attempt at being serious. “Look, Y/N. I know that I’m probably the last person you want to take advice from,” Chanyeol’s hand moves from your side to glide through his white strands, soothing his nerves, “but— I uh… I worry about you. Definitely lately.” His dark eyes find yours with more fevor this time, flicking over your face as you listen. Though you’ve done your very best to conceal them, there’s grooves under your eyes that weren’t there when you first talked to him, and even with your ever-lasting smile, your face has a tiredness that refuses to stand down.

“I’m not gonna tell you who to be friends with. Hell, I couldn't give less of a shit even if they were the shittiest people on earth, because you’re old enough to take care of that yourself. But I will tell you that this— whatever it is you’re doing— isn’t gonna last. And one day you’re gonna wake up and wonder how the fuck everything went so wrong.” His voice is deep when he talks, though this can’t be the only reason that you lean into his touch more, eyes moving from him to the floor multiple times. He sighs, and squeezes your fingers a little more in his own. “Believe me.”

It stays silent for a long minute, one where Chanyeol can see every breath you take. Eventually you bite your bottom lip. “That’s easy for you to say.” Though you smile, you look over to the bar with distant eyes. “Park Chanyeol,” you grin, mouthing it eagerly as if his name is something grand. Something to be proud of. “Chanyeol, with his white hair and tattoos.” Your lips look like pink candy floss as you speak. It’s distracting. “Stupidly hot. Like, it’s-insane-that-someone-looks-like-that hot. Infuriatingly fucking hot. You’ve had every pretty girl in this city, and if you haven’t, you could easily.”

When you really catch his eyes again, you pout. You’re a grown, cotton candy baby, pouting his heart into the next gear and he feels like leaning closer to you just so he can hold himself up on the wall. He almost feels like making fun at himself for how badly it renders him. Instead he chooses to take a step back, looking anywhere but your face. That’s why he notices your hands are fisted into your shirt, exposing a sliver of skin of your waist unintentionally. God, you look like you taste so sweet. This tiny piece of exposed skin makes his tongue heavy and belly drop. He looks away. “You- you think I’m hot?” he settles on saying, jaw clenching.

You huff out a small laugh, and place your hands on his chest, the pressure of your nails poking through his shirt. “I think you’re ridiculous,” you smile, eyes glinting with a playfulness as you glance at him from under your lashes, “that you even have to ask. I’ve had to keep myself in check since the first time I saw you.” The smile on your face drops when you realize what you just said, embarrassment coloring your cheeks for the first time tonight. Chanyeol revels in the shade that dusts your cheeks though.

Before you can bring out an attempt to cover up your confession, he leans closer, effectively trapping you between him and the wall. He would think it too forward, even for him, if you weren’t looking at him with the most blown out expression. Before he can think about it, his hand finds your chin, tilting it up towards him so that you can look at him, and oh— are you looking. He can almost see the pitter patter of your heart on your face, longing marking every inch of skin. With a firm hold on your jaw, he leans down to hover in your space, faces so close that he can feel your breath meeting his own. “You’re been wanting me for months, huh?” His words are confident, overly so. It would be presumptuous, if your breathing didn’t stutter as it did.

When you give the tiniest motion of agreement, he takes a step closer, the length of his body finally finding yours for what must have been an eternity of want. Your lips open to let out a small noise, so soft that it immediately gets swallowed by the room. But Chanyeol smiles at it, moving his thumb over the soft expanse of your cheek. “I could ruin you without trying, sugar.” Again, you nod at the words that he forms, warm and dark in the thick tension of the room. Within only two minutes, he’s got you in between his arms, and though he didn’t start the night with this in mind, maybe he’s wanted this for longer than he dares admit. Maybe he’s wanted you from the first time he saw you, as well. Marking your baby-blue clad body with blood-red hickeys. The tightness of his pants seems to prove so.

“You could,” you bring out feebly, fingers tangling in his black shirt to keep a hold on reality, “and I’d probably let you.” His free hand moves to grab your thigh, pulling you flush against him now, as the other goes to rest on the small of your back. Your eyes are dark like smoke now, and though he can’t check to see, he knows his are much the same. And then you move one of your hands to grab at the hair at the back of his head, willingly tilting your face upwards so that your lips almost brush his, and every string in his body is ready to snap. Every piece of clothing on his body seems to much, too warm. The friction is irritating. “Do you want to kiss me, Chanyeol?” you breathe.

Yes. Before the world can even continue spinning, are his lips on yours. Instinctive, like he’d snap if he didn’t. Mouth on yours. Hands on your skin and in your shirt and traveling up your back. It happens in an instant, so sudden that he might topple over, if he wasn’t already pressing you into the wall. Your lips are scalding, red hot like smoldering coals and maybe you could send him up in flames if you tried. Your hands grab him harder, closer, as if the non-space is still too much and he’d be inclined to agree. And his lips move harshly on yours, tongue meeting your own.

The kiss is hard and messy, fire surging from your body to his. He bends down more to tuck you entirely in his hold, while his hand grabs a handful of ass. When he squeezes hard, you squeak into his mouth, dissolving in a twirl of smiles and something more desperate. But you don’t ever stop kissing him, and in that moment he’s sure you two could keep going forever. Where your fingers were cold before, now they seem to trail sparks over his skin. You pull away for a second to take a breath, before kissing him again, his bottom lip, his jaw, under his ear. Your one hand moves to hold his cheek, while the other grabs desperately at his shoulder.

But he’s only just gotten a taste of you, so Chanyeol catches your lips with his again, sucking sharply on your bottom lip. It makes you melt into his hold, trying desperately to stay upright. The hand that is glued to the soft expanse of your back moves to grab another handful of ass, your hips pulled to his. Your tongue tastes like some candy flavored drink, melting with the barren taste of his scotch from earlier. He leans you into the wall completely, feeling your chest brushing against his own with every breath. Every part of you is piping hot, sweet and sour and holy fuck— his dick is so hard. Never once has a make out turned him on this much. As in retaliation for the interruption of your kisses, you pull his lip between your teeth, and bite it, hard. The sting only serves as a temporary line down to earth.

Mouths and tongues a blur as they melt together. Again, his hands are moving, as if automatic. His fingers tangle in the bottom of your hair, most definitely messing up your ponytail. You pull back to rest your head on the wall, allowing him a breath, before you blatantly moan at the feeling of his hands on you. When he opens his eyes, yours stay closed. Your breath is heavy, lips bright red and blurred at the edges. You look fucking heavenly, and the thought that it’s all for him to take makes every fiber in him shake. “Don’t be gentle with me,” you mouth, blindly grabbing at his neck to pull his face back to yours, “please.”

Your bottom lip seems to shake with how badly you mean it. “Have me, your way.” Your whisper is faint, bringing a small smile to his lips. You don’t see it, but it’s okay. He too, is overwhelmed with the undying urge to fade from the world. He kisses you as a response, softly this time, with a small hum to join. When his lips break from yours, you do open your eyes, looking just as smitten as he feels. “Ruin me, Chanyeol,” you beg, clenching your jaw. He stares at you for just a moment longer, before leaning even closer, and nodding mindlessly. Dragging his mouth over your jaw. Down your neck, hard, open mouth kisses pressed everywhere. And as soon as he adds teeth, you curl into his body, clinging desperately to his back. You moan, your noises sweet like honey.

The thought of fucking you over the bar crosses his mind briefly, but as fast as it comes, he knows that won’t sate him. He needs you on a bed, spread out for him once, or twice. As he works, the heat between your bodies seems to come to a boil, sweat dripping down his neck and chest and joining the ruined floor of the party. Your nails in his back, hands shaking. The tightness of his pants is almost painful, but the idea of taking his time with you is much too appealing. Every time he brands his mark on your skin, you whimper, tilting your hips to rub over him. It pulls a small laugh out of him, brushing over your shoulder. “Eager, baby?” he asks, though he’s not expecting an answer. Instead, he just digs his fingers into the soft skin of your ass again, and continues the trail of hickies, to which you mumble some incoherent words.

Finally, when the heat becomes too much to bare, and your whines turn into noises of clear impatience, he pulls back to check his work. Your shirt is pulled all the way forward, almost slipping off your one shoulder, and your mouth is open, one lip pulled harshly between your teeth. The hickies blooming on your skin only make you look more wrecked. He thought he was done, but fuck. Yet again, he has to lean down to grab your face in both of his large hands, and to pull your lips to his. You just whimper, and let him claim your mouth as his, looking too fucked out to make any understandable thoughts. And he hasn’t even used his hands on you yet.

Your glowing body presses to his again, in an attempt to move things forward maybe, fuck if he knows. At this point, he’d do anything if you just asked. But you’re letting him lead, so he’ll do his very best to ruin you like you need to be ruined. When he lets you drop back, his knee lifts to sit tightly in between your thighs, and you full-on moan at the small act. “You’re such a sweet, little thing,” he breathes, mouth at the nape of your neck to bite down there sharply, as your hips stutter to drag over his thick thigh. It sends an unbearable amount of pressure to his center, enough to make him pause. You don’t let him though, squeezing and grabbing at any skin you can get your hands on, as you successfully roll your hips on his thigh. A high pitched noise trembles from your tongue. “Aren’t you a desperate, little girl? Look at you rubbing yourself all over my thigh.”

You just nod harshly, opening your eyes to look at the white haired man with a black-dripping need. “Ch- Chanyeol,” you whisper, digging your nails into his bicep as he pushes his leg harder into your center, “fuck, holy fuck, please.” It’s the first coherent words you’ve spoken since earlier, and part of him longs to give in just at the effort. But your gorgeous expression right now is priceless.

“You’re soaking through your panties, aren’t you?” His one hand moves to slip under your shirt, under your bra, to grab your breast without shame. Your eyes shut with a sharp breath in. “Aren’t you, sugar?” he repeats, dark tone pressed to the softness of your cheek. You breathe a faint ‘yes’, probably, but Chanyeol’s not sure. He manoeuvres your chin sideways to access the untouched side of your neck, and sucks down there with a feverous breath of his own. He didn’t start the night with this in mind, but fucking shit, he wishes he’d done this three times over already. You leave him starstruck. As your hips move over his thigh in a punishing rhythm, Chanyeol squeezes hard at your soft skin, and rolls your sensitive bud between his thumb and index finger. It all seems too much for you, because you suddenly pull his head away from your neck, and quiver in his hold.

“I— I’m,” his free hand moves to wrap your one thigh around him, not bothered by the interruption in the slightest, “I need to…” You don’t finish your sentence when he ruts his hips to your core, making the both of you moan. God, he wants nothing more than to have you right here, have everyone see who you belong to. But you both seem to know he’s too selfish to do so. You try again, looking at him from under hooded eyes to jut out your bottom lip. “Chanyeol, please, fuck— I’m close.” The words alone make his dick even harder, if that’s possible. It might not be long or he bursts, with how tight his pants are wrapped around him.

The smile he gives you is a genuine one. “You wanna come? You wanna cum all over me, have everyone see how good I can make you feel?” You nod your head desperately, and wrap your hand around his forearm for support. The desperate roll of your hips to his clothed dick would be answer enough for him though. With a devilish smirk that fights it’s way to his face, he trails his fingers down the valley of your breasts and even lower, not letting your hips still on his thigh. His free hand dips smoothly under your skirt, and past your ruined panties. “God, you are soaked, baby.” Your wetness is sure to stain a dark patch on his jeans.

“Ah,” you whimper, “please,” at this point, you don’t even seem to know what you’re begging for. The leg that is pressed in between your legs parts them wider, giving him the space needed to slip his fingers under you to trail them between your lips, first one, then two. As he does so, you tilt your head back, allowing him the perfect opportunity to latch his mouth back on your neck. If anyone were to see him here, they might easily know where his hand is going, but most people are luckily too entranced by the alcohol to notice. And if they are not, he’s too entranced by you to give a shit. You’re effectively dripping, allowing his thick finger to slide in without any resistance. He doesn’t hesitate to add a second, enjoying your soft noises of pleasure above him as his lips suck a hickey at the top of your breast.

“Do my fingers feel good, sugar?” He thrusts them inside hard to accompany his words, sending you forward into a blubbering mess. The only thing he can make out is the word ‘yes’, that you chant a million times. You’re so responsive, it’s adorably attractive. His fingers move smoothly in and out of you with a come hither motion every time inside, allowing you the first feeling of stretch. But he doesn’t stay this kind for long, needy in his touches as much as you are. He pulls back to watch you squirm on his hand and lock your thigh around his body, fingers thrusting in and out with obscene noises and deliver a slap to your clit every time skin connects to skin.

You’re pinned to the wall under his sharp movements, arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close and breathing hot and heavy against his skin. And every time he jams them into your tight hole, thumb rolling over the sensitive bud with ease, you seem to clench harder around his hand. He adds a third finger, smiling at the adorable sound you make, and curls his fingers as much as possible, until the rhythm becomes too much to bear. Your body bends entirely under his will, as you whimper. “God— fucking shit, I’m gonna come.” A soft whine, before your face tilts towards him with two shaky breaths. “Kiss me, Chanyeol, please— oh, please, don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t stop even if someone paid him to do so. He gives in, moving his free hand to your jaw to grab it tight, and pushes his lips back on yours harshly. His thick fingers spreading you thin as you clench around him, and his thumb setting an unrelenting pace. It doesn’t take long until you’re coming all over his hand and thigh, moaning into his mouth with an iron grip on his shoulders. You dissolve in his arms as he doesn’t let up on your clit until you’re effectively shaking, body jerking with aftershocks. His hand stills in you for a moment as you come down from your high, mouth hung open.

And then you open your eyes at him, and send him the world’s sweetest smile, and he’s totally lost for you. For tonight, he’ll be yours, and just yours. He’ll make it worth the wait. “Good?” he whispers into your ear, covering your body with his as much as possible when he pulls his fingers out of you, and unwraps your thigh from his body. Your cum and arousal drips down your both thighs as you nod your head, still holding onto him for support. He nods in agreement once, before pressing a kiss to your cheek and pulling away from you. He slides his fingers into his own mouth to clean them off one by one, enjoying the shell-shocked look on your face as he does so.

“I can’t believe I did that in public,” you suddenly seem to realize, which makes him chuckle. Not so much in public, as in a place that could become public, really. You are backed into the corner of the room for his viewing pleasure for a reason.

“I can,” he says, “and you did perfectly.” He reaches down in between your thighs once more to swipe up the trails of your cum, and reaches up to hover them over your lips, to which you respond by eagerly taking his fingers in yours, and cleaning those off with your soft tongue too. The visual only reminds him of how hard his cock is, and how badly he needs you. You finish off with a soft pop, before looking down at the floor with coloring cheeks. “Good girl.”

He looks around for a moment to catch his bearings, before looking back over at you where you’re flusteredly fixing your skirt back over your body. “I have a room here upstairs, if you want.” Your big eyes find his with a dark burning desire, still. “Not to be overly direct, but you looked gorgeous coming around my fingers, and I can only imagine how you’d look around my cock. That, and there’s a private bathroom so if you want to clean up afterwards, you can do that too.”

This makes a smile play at your lips, as you nod at him. “That sounds good.” Your smaller hand links in his, as you cock your head towards the hall. Smile wide. “Lead the way, Park Chanyeol.”

next part is going to secure me a spot in hell, but let’s be honest. I’d be in my element there anyway. I really hope you liked this chapter, and that it sates some of the frustration you must all be feeling about our two idiots. Thank you so much for reading! I read all replies, comments and asks, and I have to bow down to you all for the continues support you’ve all shown me with this series.

tag list: not taking anymore tags for right now ^^ thank you for all the love! Please remember to read everyone else’s stories as well, they’ve spent so much time and hard work crafting the rest of this universe!! All my lovelies: @ninibears-erigom @suhoerections @kimjongdaely @kyungseokie @kpop—scenarios @yeoldontknow @baekwell–tart @skjdln @strongpowerhope @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @brie02 @baby-hands-x-x-blr @baek-byunies  @shxrl4747 @lucymheng @byunfirstlady @chanyeolol @snowflakesandkisses @you-know-bts @puppykangie @kkpoptrashhh @im-a-special-bebe @joolsreads @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @yoongnysus @itsjustyvie

[wincore]

easy to love | na jaemin

pairing: jaemin x reader

words: 3.1k

prompt: animejaem sent: jaemin + organizing a valentine’s party together when reader has the BIGGEST crush on him 🥰

genre: college!au, friends-to-lovers!au, a whole lotta fluff

warnings: uhhh does pining count?

a/n: i’ll be posting the requests in between my larger projects !!

You think Valentine’s Day isn’t worth the hype. Simple things like chocolates and flowers are way more expensive than on literally any other day, the only movies on TV are the ones that make you gag, you can’t go out without feeling awkward and the holiday is just generally pointless. If you’re in love, why do you need a specific day to show your love, and why does it last for only a day? How do you even convert an act of love into material commodity? It doesn’t seem to have any personal meaning, neither does it seem to make a relationship any better. To conclude you are not terribly fond of Valentine’s Day, and your plans only ever consist of binge watching and consuming a higher amount of unhealthy snacks.

But sometimes you have an exception to not going out on this day, and that exception is Na Jaemin.

You wake up groggy to a text from Jaemin asking you to help him organize the Valentine’s Day gathering you have among friends (and ‘friends’ also include friends of your friends who will inevitably barge in and ultimately, the entire student body will be there) followed by a series of smile emojis and pleading eyes emojis. You’d make up an excuse to refuse, but it’s Jaemin—Jaemin, whose smile alone makes your cheeks red, who you can’t help but stare at during classes, whose voice, even if it’s over the phone, is enough to make your heart warm and jittery.

I’ll be there in an hour, you text him as your feet touch the cold ground beside your bed. You sigh deeply, placing your face in your hands and curse yourself. If it weren’t for your overwhelming affections, you could be enjoying a few more hours of sleep. Everything still feels hazy as you rub the sleep from your eyes and weigh the pros and cons of your decision. It’s far too early to walk to Jaemin’s place but clearly he doesn’t have any sense of time. And neither do you, apparently, as you walk sluggishly towards your washroom to get ready.

The cold breeze brushes your cheeks as you make your way towards Jaemin’s place, fortunately only a few minutes’ walk away. The clouds, painted with the colour of the night, follow your steps and you know that they’ll be a watery red soon, when the sun decides to peek its face into your corner of the world. The only times you notice these things are when you’re alone, or when Jaemin points them out to you. He’s more observant than people give him credit for and while you’re glad you’re the one who mostly gets to see that, you wish he’d share more with the world. In a city where summer is yet to come, you can only hope for the best as the usual thoughts plague your mind. Should you try spilling your feelings to Jaemin this Valentine’s? Maybe with some chocolates to further sweeten the bittersweet aftertaste they leave in your mouth?

Don’t ring the doorbell, Jaemin texts you when you’re standing outside his door.

You don’t have to wait long before the door swings open with more force than Jaemin probably anticipated as he cringes at the sudden ‘bang!’ and pulls you in wordlessly. He places a finger over his lips, lets out a soft ‘shh!’ and walks up the stairs, with you trailing behind him.

“I would’ve come over, but your roommates would freak out,” Jaemin whispers when you’re inside his room.

“Anyone would freak out if they spot someone knocking on their window in the middle of the night!”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Jaemin grins, rubbing the back of his head.

The room is barely lit, but you can see his messy hair, the tip of his nose and the curved corner of his lips illuminated by the table lamp. He looks at you expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of response but you don’t know what he’s expecting. You don’t know the number of times you’ve found yourself in Jaemin’s presence when the stars are still shining bright in the night sky, but one of these nights made you realize where your emotions lie. The tempo of your heartbeat goes overboard if you look at him long enough, if you think about him long enough. That’s why you mostly resort yourself to acting as if nothing’s wrong, ignoring the unnecessary flow of thoughts and being a friend that didn’t make things awkward.

“Classes start in three hours,” you tell Jaemin, “Why couldn’t we discuss then?”

“Because there’s too many people then,” he complains, “And we barely have that many classes together.”

“So?”

Jaemin pouts. “So you don’t wanna help me?”

“Why should I, Na Jaemin?” your eyes crinkle as you lean back on his bed.

Jaemin hums, pretending to think. “Because of all the times I helped you skip class? Or because I give you my notes every time you ask?”

You sit back up, scrunching your eyebrows. Jaemin places a finger on his chin and continues his exaggerated acting.

“Also I helped you hide when you accidentally broke the window to the Dean’s office. Oh! Remember that time in high school when we first—”

“Okay, okay! I wasn’t actually asking for a descriptive essay,” you cut in.

Jaemin grins. You knew you’d listen to him from the moment you read his text, his winning smile means nothing to you.

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, tilting your head to one side.

“This year’s theme is,” Jaemin pauses to think. “Love yourself!”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Love yourself?”

“Yeah. It’s better for the kids who don’t feel loved or popular, you know?” he says. “Besides, I’m tired of couples making out wherever.”

“Okay, Mr. Class Rep. It’s all up to you,” you say, “But why do we have to plan at this ungodly hour and a day early?”

“They didn’t inform me earlier,” he frowns.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“And I had too much coffee so I couldn’t sleep, yeah.”

You smack your forehead.

“Jaemin, I warned you about your obsession so many times.”

Jaemin huffs. “We’re getting off course!”

“Jaemin—"

“There’s no time!” he presses.

“Fine. What do you want to do?”

Jaemin beams at you and you feel a soft drumming inside your chest. He starts to elaborate on his quick yet decent enough ideas for hosting the annual party ( “It can’t be worse than last year, Jaemin.” “Last year was Donghyuck’s fault. And Renjun’s.”) and while you’re planning a party which revolves around affections and love, you can’t get yours out in the open. It would be disastrous, no doubt.

You sleeping through your classes is entirely Jaemin’s fault. He promised he’ll make it up to you somehow, and you know he will because of the way he is. He’ll probably buy you ice-cream or take you to a café and while all that’s in good spirits, it makes you more frustrated, more annoyed at all the looks you get, all the assumptions that you wish were true.

“Why isn’t it in the dorms?” you ask Jaemin, following him into the student hall.

“Do you know how many people end up coming? It’ll be suffocating,” Jaemin says, his back turned to you.

“I mean, I’m not complaining,” you say, “But this hall looks creepy.”

“That’s why we have decorations!” Jaemin says, shoving a bunch of pink, golden and red streamers at you.

“Where- when did you even get these?” you ask, looking at the lively colours sprawled across your arms.

“Jeno bought them. Oh, and Renjun’s probably coming to help.”

“Okay.”

The occasion needs minimalistic decorations according to Jaemin (“Because love should be the main event!” “I’m not even going to tell you how dumb that sounds.”) and on the bright side, it reduces your physical workload. Jaemin rushes from corner to corner, your head following his movement as he gestures for you to give him the ribbons and garlands. The hall already looks a little brighter by the time you’re finished, all the little touches added by Jaemin standing out to you.

“I need those heart-shaped post-it notes,” Jaemin says, knitting his brows. His mouth is slightly parted and his eyes stare off into the distance as he looks like he’s processing all that he has to say. The sunlight that has snuck in plays on his cheeks and eyes and sometimes you wish you’d stop viewing him like that, like he’s a work of art. Sometimes you wish your miserable state of mind didn’t get any worse with each look, each word, each smile Jaemin gave you.

You end up telling Jaemin to make a shopping list and while he insists on going to the store himself, you tell him to sit there and wait for Jeno and Renjun.

You do the shopping, wanting to get out of the slow, smothering atmosphere, engulfed by your own leaking affections. You return not too long after, to see Jaemin leaning back on one of the chairs, his phone pressed to his cheek.

“What do you mean you’re not coming now?” his voice comes out in a low tone. “That’s not helping!”

Jaemin’s cheeks gradually turn pink at whatever the voice through the phone says. “No, you don’t understand. That won’t help!”

“Yes…I still get butterflies, Renjun- why are you laughing? It’s true- it’s not that cheesy!”

You think hard about Jaemin’s declaration, so much that you forget you’re holding a bag of stuff and almost trip into to the hall. Jaemin perks up at your sudden entrance and while you rub the back of your head sheepishly, Jaemin rushes to you and holds the bag.

“Turns out Renjun isn’t coming, after all,” he informs you.

“Oh, that’s okay.”

Jaemin adorns a broad smile as you try finishing up the extra details with him, and you don’t notice the soft looks he gives you every time you’re so focused, your tongue pokes out or when you try your hardest to scrutinise every corner of the hall.

“What’s this for?” you point at the stack of Valentine’s Day themed post-its in Jaemin’s hand.

“It’s for people to write what they love most about themselves. Or what they think is the best thing about them.”

“That’s nice,” you smile.

Jaemin takes out a pen to scribble something and sticks it on the wall beside you. You squint to read it (“My handwriting isn’t even that bad!”) but you only find your name written with a heart drawn beside it.

“Because you’re the best thing to ever happen to me,” Jaemin winks.

You hit your forehead against the back of your hand, and despite the cheesiness, your cheeks heat up at the look of glee Jaemin gives you.

Jaemin walks you home with the setting sun tracing your footsteps. You don’t speak all that much, like you do when you’re comfortable, but at moments like these, you wish you could hold his hand or do all the things you aren’t allowed. The shape of his lips change with each expression he makes, still rosy and looking soft despite how chapped they are, and his cheeks glow with a residual pink from running out of the hall and the honey in his eyes you get to see when faces you leave a sweet taste in your mouth. It’s difficult to not stare at Na Jaemin. Sometimes, you wonder how all his features came together to create something so incredibly lovely, something so Jaemin. When you reach, he thanks you, tells you to wear something pink, and runs back towards his own place after waving a quick goodbye.

You enter the party to find some additions by Jeno and Renjun like the fairy lights and a huge banner saying ‘Welcome!’ with a lot of unnecessary hearts. There’s also doodles which suspiciously resemble you and Jaemin which you wouldn’t have noticed unless Renjun specifically pointed them out to you. Oh, how you wish you could deck someone in the face in public.

It’s actually enjoyable being there, though. People did write the notes, you notice when you see the wall almost filled with fluttery pink notes, Jaemin’s one lost in the bunch. Most of the guests are engaged in their own little world or shoving snacks into their mouths—an accurate representation of what Valentine’s Day is like around the world. The place isn’t overwhelmingly pink, there are mostly different shades of it, sure, but they remind you of Jaemin and the effort he put in.

People have unanimously decided the dress code is pink and while you couldn’t find anything suitable in your wardrobe, you ended up with the pink beret Jaemin gave you for your birthday last year. Speaking of whom, you don’t see him anywhere for a good ten minutes after arriving, mostly following Renjun and Jeno around to help them set the chocolates at the snacks table, or eating said chocolates at the snacks table. Donghyuck makes a face at the old love songs playing as soon as he enters the hall and brings his phone to undoubtedly change it to some other weird playlist.

You find Jaemin in a pink corduroy jacket, surrounded by a bunch of people from uni, looking a little more than flustered. His hair looks soft albeit a little messy although he must have styled it before coming, and overall, his presence seems to be the core of the celebrations. He looks like an angel when he meets eyes with you, and the hearts your brain makes you see floating around him don’t help.

Jaemin excuses himself with a polite smile and jogs over to you, wreathed in smiles. You smile back and there’s an unexpected silence before either of you speak.

“You look cute,” Jaemin points to the pink beret.

“Th-thanks,” you manage to say through the sudden awkwardness.

Before Jaemin can say anything else, he’s pulled by the arm by some guy who points to a girl looking shy in the corner. You can already tell she’s going to confess her undying love for Jaemin and while you know he’s going to reject her with the sweetest no, you wish you had that kind of confidence too. If you tell him, would he laugh at you? Would he even grace you with his sweet ‘no’?

The ‘what if’s swirl around your head and you take a seat at the corner of the hall. Suddenly, all you see are people in love—people tucking flowers in their partners hair, or talking while holding each other’s hands, or showing affection in simple acts of kisses or hugs or feeding each other. They all have someone to belong to, someone to protect, to cherish, to experience things with.

“Hey.”

You look to your side to see Jaemin already sitting beside you, a curious look on his face. You push your feelings aside to shoot him a playful smile.

“Broke another heart, Jaemin?”

Jaemin’s cheeks turn as pink as the streamers and you almost instantly regret saying that.

“I felt bad,” he starts but trails off.

“I know,” you reassure him. Jaemin isn’t paying a whole lot of attention, though, and you think maybe you should tell him too. You should tell him that you’ve liked him since high school, when he found you hiding from your friends on your birthday to prevent getting caked in the face, you liked him when he offered to walk you home the first time, you liked him when he told you he’s relieved that you’re both going to the same college. You like him when he’s thinking quietly, you like him when he says something stupid to annoy you, and you feel like you’ll like him endlessly with every passing second you spend with him—every passing second that pronounces the voice of his existence.

“Jaemin.”

“Yes?”

“We’re friends, right? How would you feel about being more than friends?” you rush through your words, getting redder by the second. You’re not one subject to impulsive actions, but maybe, maybe Na Jaemin is an exception to this too. His lips are pressed into a thin line, pink with the chapstick you had bought him a long time ago.

“What?”

No. You’re not saying that again. If you have to, you’ll pretend this conversation never happened.

“You like me?” Jaemin freezes, his eyes scanning your face for a response.

“I- uh- yeah. Wow. That wasn’t how I was planning to tell you. I mean, there were chocolates in the initial plan.”

“Are you kidding me?” You flinch at the sudden rise of his tone. “We could have been going out all this time?!”

“Huh?”

“I wouldn’t have had to do all this.”

“What?”

“In my defence, this wasn’t my idea,” Jaemin makes a sour expression.

You didn’t expect planning for a party to be your friends’ grand idea to get you and Jaemin together, and you don’t know how that works either. While that was a total failure, the dawning realization that maybe you’re not spending this Valentine’s alone makes your heartbeat quicken and your face warm.

“Will you go to the café with me this Saturday?” Jaemin smiles the brightest of smiles at you.

“I’m not having your poison coffee.”

“You ruined a perfectly nice moment.”

You smile and lean forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder, both of you shaking with silent laughter.

“Let’s leave before Donghyuck shoots us another look,” Jaemin tells you, taking hold of your hand and glaring at the sudden change of music.

The skies are pretty (or are you saying that because you’re happy?) and even more so when the late afternoon paints it orange and pink.

“You’re mine? You’re really mine?” Jaemin asks when you’re outside the gates.

You nod as you try to process the words yourself, a slow red rising in your cheeks.

Jaemin smiles the warmest smile before leaning in to peck your cheek. It’s a simple gesture—couples do it often, but it leaves your cheeks burning red and hot more than ever. Calling yourself a couple doesn’t make it any better, neither does the way Jaemin looks at you, or his fingers playing with yours.

Jaemin leans in again, and right when you feel his breath on your lips, he pulls back, shaking his head. When you continue looking at him with doe eyes, he laughs.

“That’s for Saturday,” he says, “If I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to stop.”

There’s a lot to look forward to on Saturday, you think. Besides the fact that it’s a weekend, you’re going out with Jaemin, someone who you thought you’d never be able to ask out. Someone who makes your heart explode into stardust but someone who puts it at ease.

There’s a lot to look forward to on Saturday. Cheaper chocolates, your choice of coffee, Jaemin’s lips—all of them, at the top of your list of favourite things.

[raywritesthings]

What Have They Lost? 3/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow, The Flash Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Connor Hawke, Ted Grant, Barry Allen, Iris West, Barbara Gordon, Wally West, Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow, Joe West Pairings: Barry Allen/Iris West, Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel Summary: “I can definitely tell you that there’s a way we’re going to bring [Laurel] back and she’s going to be alive and well. And Flashpoint might have a little bit to do with that.“ -Wendy Mericle AKA: The AU where that wasn’t a blatant lie, and Flashpoint has bigger repercussions for Barry’s friends and allies than he first realized. Notes: Much thanks to @colorofmymindposts for beta-ing as well as to the Lauriver discord server for helping with world-building and character histories. Anyone interested in joining the server should follow this link: https://discord.gg/gp9ANVr  *Also can be read on my AO3*

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Damn age getting to him.

As it was, Ted woke on his couch to the sound of a key trying to find the lock and muttered curses. He got to his feet just as Dinah pushed through the door and slammed it behind her, glancing back through the window.

“Alright, we expecting company?”

She looked at him. “Ted, it happened again.”

He sighed. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what it is,” she burst out. “I mean I do, but — I mean, why me, right? Babs is fine, Helena’s fine, and Pam—” she drew up short. “Well, nobody’s really sure what’s wrong with her. But at least it’s consistent.”

“Not getting worse?”

Dinah chewed her lip. “Harley says they’ve had to up her dosage again, or that rash keeps coming back. If that stupid explosion hadn’t knocked her back into that ivy…”

“Or hit you when you were holding the mic?”

“Yeah.” Dinah looked down and sighed. “I just need to, I don’t know, take a breather or something.”

“Stuff’s in your room.”

“Thanks, Ted.” She touched his shoulder distractedly as she made her way down the hall into the spare room she used whenever they stopped here. A few minutes later, he could hear sounds of a familiar melody on the guitar. Ted shook his head.

It wasn’t any wonder she’d gotten worked up and that this whatever-it-was had activated again. Dealing with that washed up excuse for a father, being back here…

He found his phone on the coffee table and went through the recent contacts. His call was picked up after a single ring.

“Hey, Ted.”

“Barbara. You got any time?”

“Yeah. Dad’s got another night shift. He won’t be back for hours.” He could hear fingers clacking away at a computer’s keys rather than a keyboard’s. “What’s up?”

“Dinah’s had another accident. She’s a bit shaken up.”

“Put her on. I’m switching over to video.”

Ted went down the hall and knocked on the door. It wasn’t completely shut, so it swung in a few inches.

“I tried to look for you in the dark water, but I got lost along the way,” Dinah was half-singing, half-saying under her breath. She really wasn’t giving that one up, was she?

“Hey, it’s Barbara.”

Dinah smiled up at him and set the guitar aside. “Thanks, Ted.”

She took the phone and set it up so she and Barbara could each see each other’s faces.

“So what happened?” Barbara never was one to mince words. Probably got it from the old commissioner.

“There were some creeps trying to force a woman into having their sick idea of fun. I didn’t like the look of it, so I said something.”

“And then screamed something, huh?”

“He was running at me. It was, I don’t know, instinct. Something like that.” Dinah dragged a hand back through her hair. “I thought for a second somebody else saw — but nobody was there. I must be getting paranoid.”

“Well, we do need to talk about what to do going forward, Dinah. This clearly isn’t something you can ignore or force to stop happening.”

“I know. But what do you want me to do, announce to the world I’m a metahuman? The Flash would just zip up onto the stage and have me in handcuffs,” Dinah remarked, the humor in her tone only barely masking contempt.

“Who says you have to tell people you’re the metahuman?” Ted asked. Dinah turned towards him and it was clear that Barbara was listening as well. “Nobody knows who the Flash is. That’s why he isn’t in prison.”

Dinah looked back at the phone screen. “What do you think, Babs? You’re the masked crusader expert.”

“Don’t remind me,” Barbara replied with a grimace. “But I do think you need to find a way to separate your identity from the woman who can knock down walls with her voice. If only so the latter can do some good.”

Dinah stood, her arms crossing over her chest. “You sound like dad. He was just reminding me tonight how I used to want to do something for the world with my life.”

“Well, don’t you?”

Ted held his breath, watching and waiting.

“I can barely do enough for myself,” Dinah said. “I’m not some hero, Babs, or even a guy in a bat suit with an ax to grind. I just got dealt a bad hand.”

“And why let that stop you?” Ted asked. “You climbed out of poverty with your music, Dinah. You got yourself out of the foster care system. You’d be free of the abuse if you’d cut the old man off.”

She scoffed.

“I know you feel you haven’t done what you set out to do,” he continued, placing his hands on her shoulders. “But don’t you think you might find out more about yourself if you look to the future instead of the past?”

“I can’t stop looking, Ted,” Dinah said, her eyes wide and pleading.

“And you won’t. But tell me, where did that little girl who snuck into my gym ‘cause she kept getting into scrapes go? Where’d that young lady who kicked guys in the head for harassing women in the crowd go?”

“You know I’d be out there if the answer had come back different,” Barbara offered.

Dinah scowled. “Who cares if Batman said no? You could still do it.”

“Maybe now that I have some money behind me,” Barbara allowed. “But I don’t have the kind of power that accelerator gave you, Dinah.”

“I could hurt someone,” Dinah stated. It was the fear first and foremost in her mind ever since they’d learned what she could do, after all the months of worrying that the accident had stolen her voice. Maybe it had in a way; it was making her hold herself back.

“With the right kind of training, I don’t think so,” Barbara countered. “But that’s gonna take practice, the same as all our other lessons.”

“So where am I supposed to practice? I don’t exactly have my own city lying around somewhere unless you two are surprising me this Christmas.”

“Well, you are home,” Barbara said.

Dinah raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t Star already have a guy?”

Babs shrugged. “Just Green Arrow. Batman never took him that seriously. Thought he liked to make speeches more than get anything done.”

“Forgive me if I don’t hold Batman’s opinion that highly,” Dinah said with a cool tone, “considering he clearly doesn’t know talent when it knocks on his door.”

“Things might have been different,” Barbara said not for the first or probably the last time. “Just my dad being the GCPD liaison with him...it complicates things.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that involved of a discussion with Batman would necessitate you knowing who you were talking to,” Ted remarked.

“Nope, not falling for it, Ted.”

He grinned. “Worth a shot. I really am starting to wonder if I should make the rounds and get these new boys into shape.”

“Yeah right,” Dinah said, some of her old bite back in her voice. “You like us too much to go over to that boys’ club.”

“All the more reason to get you out there, Dinah.”

She sighed, looking down at her guitar. “Just...let me think it over, okay?”

“Sure thing.” He retrieved his phone and headed for the door.

“It’s not that I don’t want to help,” Dinah said before he had quite left. “It just feels like every time I try...someone gets hurt.”

“That’s just the growing pains. But I think you’re ready to fly now, Dinah.”

She nodded once, and Ted shut the door behind him as he left.

“You think I might have pushed too hard?” He asked Barbara, who had stayed on the line.

“She doesn’t think she’s the right person to be a hero,” Barbara said. “But that’s exactly why she is.”

“Right you are, Babs. Think I’ll go air out the old gym here. We might be needing it soon. You feel like joining in?”

“Give me two weeks. I promised my father we’d spend some time together.” Barbara gestured around the empty apartment she currently sat in. “You can see how that’s going.”

“Well, you hang in there. We’re gonna get you your chance, too.”

“Thanks, Ted.”

He hung up and smiled to himself. Much as he liked his role with the band, he was looking forward to being a teacher again.

—-

Combing through the old family papers was easier said than done. Back when he’d first returned from the island, he had found out that they’d all been boxed up and stored in a warehouse. Walter had been meticulous about the organization of it all, but Oliver had just gotten out what was necessary to declare himself alive again and then looked for a new place to live. Even if the old Manor hadn’t been sold, he couldn’t have gone back there. Too many empty rooms.

Now, he was looking for something entirely unrelated to him, something among his mother’s things. He had to stop every now and then, smiling with watery eyes at her handwriting or an old photo. She’d kept every one of his school pictures, notating them on the back: Oliver, 6th grade.

God, why’d she let him have that hair?

Eventually, he came across an old lock box. Walter must not have touched it beyond moving it here, though he clearly hadn’t found the key.

Oliver looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry, mom.” He broke the lock.

Inside were a number of yellowing papers, some looked to be about financial matters while others were of a more personal nature.

There was also a checkbook tied to an account number Oliver didn’t recognize, nor was it from their family bank. It recorded monthly payments to one of the local orphanages, up until the last month before they all got on the Gambit.

Heart thumping in his ears, Oliver reached a birth certificate at the bottom of the stack of papers. Mia Dearden, was the name given to the child, born January 21st, 1995. She was ten years younger than him. He had a kid sister?

There was a photo paper-clipped to the back of a tiny baby sleeping in a nursery. It was irrational, maybe, but he felt a fierce longing for this tiny life he’d never known.

But he should have. How had his parents kept this from him?

The birth certificate was from a hospital whose name he didn’t recognize. A quick search on his phone showed that it was out of state. He tried to remember that year. Had his mother been away on a trip? Had she hidden the pregnancy that way? His father’s name wasn’t on the certificate. Did that mean…?

There was nothing to indicate if his father had known, or what he had thought if he had. But there had to be some reason Mia Dearden hadn’t been raised alongside him in their home. Never mind that his mother must have purposefully brought her back to the city and kept up payments that must have seen the orphanage well outfitted. At least until 2007.

She would have been twelve, or around that age, Oliver realized. What had happened to her after? Would the orphanage know? Had she found another family, someone to provide the love and care his parents had either been unwilling or unable to give?

“Dad?”

Oliver looked up from his desk, spotting Connor in the shadows by the door. It had gotten late, and the single lamp he had on was the only source of light in the room.

“Hey. Sorry. I got, uh, caught up with all this. You eat yet?”

“Did you?”

Fair enough question. Oliver set the birth certificate and the photo of his baby sister aside, standing up. “Okay, what do we want? Chicken? Chicken tacos? Think we still have some wraps.”

“We could order a pizza,” Connor suggested. “You look tired.”

Oliver looked down. His son was probably right; he’d been at this for three days now, only stopping for meals or to go out on patrol.

“Okay. You pick the toppings.”

They settled out in the main room to wait after Oliver called the order in. He looked Connor over during the silence. He had failed to be the father this boy should have had for the first several years of his life, and now he was finding that was an all too common mistake of his when it came to family. Even if he really had been a kid in the case of Mia Dearden.

“So,” Connor began, “what did you find out?”

Oliver grimaced. “Uncle Barry was right. Sort of, anyway.”

Connor’s eyes were wide, in excitement or worry he couldn’t tell. “So there is a Thea Queen?”

“I don’t know about her, but my mother had a daughter she never told me about. Her name’s Mia,” Oliver said, his voice cracking slightly on the name. He cleared his throat. “Mia Dearden. She has mom’s maiden name.”

“How come your mom never told you?”

“Well, if I had to guess...my parents were partners in the business sense. They built the old company together, as equals. But in their relationship, it wasn’t exactly like that.”

Connor nodded sagely. “She had an affair.”

“Seems that way. Not exactly the best example us Queens are setting for you. Don’t get any ideas,” Oliver quipped when Connor made a face. He was definitely glad that his son still seemed uninterested in the dating scene, and prayed it would last at least a little longer.

“What are you gonna do about Mia?”

That was a question he hadn’t let himself contemplate yet. “She’s a young woman now. Probably out on her own. I don’t know how happy she’d be to learn the truth now.”

“But you wanna meet her.”

It was remarkable how well the kid could read him.

“It’s hard not to wonder. How different would things have been, you know? The way Barry was talking...it sounded like he thought she’d be here.”

What would it have been like to return after those five years to family, to someone he knew had missed him and cared about him? Someone who could’ve been the listening ear he’d needed when Connor had first arrived, who could’ve helped him.

“You know, she’s not the only one Uncle Barry thought should be around.” Connor’s voice pulled him out of that wondering, and when he looked up his son was grinning. “How are you supposed to know the lead singer of one of the hottest bands in the country?”

Oliver shook his head. “That’s maybe the one thing hardest to buy.”

He’d been vaguely aware of his parents’ infidelity. The idea that one of them had had a child in that context was not unthinkable. But where would his path have met up with someone like Dinah?

Barry had said something about the team. “Laurel’s still — I mean, Dinah. Dinah’s still…”

Still what? Singing? Way out of Oliver’s league? Barry had been worried about Thea’s — or Mia’s — existence. Had something about Dinah not been right? And who was Laurel?

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Oliver got up to get their food and tip the delivery man. When he came back over to the couch, Connor held up his phone. It was displaying a social media page of some sort. He could never keep the sites straight.

“Think this could be our Mia Dearden?”

The profile picture was of a young woman with short brown hair and delicate features, almost like a pixie if he had to put a word to it. But her eyes...those were his mother’s eyes.

“Says she’s a bartender on 4th and Wells in the Glades,” Connor continued. “We could go check it out?”

A part of Oliver wanted to throw his coat on and take the elevator down to the lobby right now. But he looked down at Connor.

“Are you sure? I still feel like you and I are figuring out how we work together now, and this would be a lot. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pushed aside in favor of the next surprise relative I have.”

Connor put his phone away. “I came to Starling to get to know my family. All of it. If this lady is your sister, then that makes her my aunt. I’ve never had one of those.”

Oliver felt himself smile. Trust his kid to look on the bright side.

“And anyway, it’s not like you’d just forget about me,” Connor joked half-heartedly. There was only the slightest hint of vulnerability there, but it was enough for Oliver to read.

He dropped a knee onto the couch and wrapped his son in a hug. “No. Never.”

They settled back in to enjoy their pizza, another night as father and son. Maybe in a week or so, they might have more company. Oliver eyed the armchair across from the couch, trying to imagine the small girl in the photo sitting there. Would she be happy to join them?

Barry had been right about his sister. Could he really be right again about Dinah? Oliver sent Connor to bed and went back to his office, shifting his mother’s old things aside to unearth his computer keyboard. He scrolled through articles and photos alike.

No one knew the woman’s full name. It was likely she came from Gotham, as the rest of her bandmates had. And Gotham was hardly his territory.

But the more he stared at her photo, he thought he should know her. Was it the old paranoia, the placebo effect resulting from Barry’s words, or was there something more than wishful thinking to his wondering if those lips had smiled up at him once before?

—-

Barry sat on the information he had about Dinah for a few days, nervously turning it over in his head. The trouble was, he didn’t really know who to go to.

If he alerted the police, they wouldn’t really be prepared for the kind of power that sonic scream held. If he went to Oliver and his team, he wasn’t sure what they would think. He’d already probably said way too much to Oliver in his distress.

Truthfully, Barry wasn’t sure what to make of this new version of his friend. Oliver wasn’t as different as some of the others had been in the Flashpoint timeline, but there seemed to be a subtle sort of change to him hard to pin down. And Barry just didn’t know if he should trust this Oliver to handle something like a Black Siren. If that was even what they were dealing with.

It was up to his team, as Iris kept nudging him into realizing over the week. They knew how to manage a metahuman, even if the weapon they’d used against Siren wouldn’t work against a Laurel of this Earth. But he needed Cisco and Caitlin’s help if he was going to brainstorm a backup.

With some trepidation, Barry entered the lab that afternoon to the now-familiar sounds of Laurel’s voice on the speakers. Since learning Barry had next to no knowledge of Birds of Prey, Cisco had taken it upon himself to play the band’s entire discography, along with anything and everything he could find with Dinah’s vocals attached. This particular song didn’t even sound like rock at all, come to think of it.

“Uh, dude?”

Cisco swiveled around in his chair and seemed to understand Barry’s confused point up towards the ceiling at the music.

“Oh, hey. Yeah, this was released a year or so after the accident, all studio-recorded. She did an album of the Great American songbook sort of stuff, sort of for the slower crowd, you know? People still went nuts over it.” Cisco’s sigh had a dreamy quality to it as he added, “She could sing the phone book.”

“Is everything alright, Barry?” Caitlin asked, watching him carefully. He must not have hidden his nerves as well as he hoped.

Joe came through into the cortex, followed by Wally, and he knew it was now or never. He was going to need his team behind him for this, however willing they were to be.

“Okay. Guys, um, I really hate to bring this up again, but we’ve got to talk about Flashpoint.”

Immediately Cisco’s shoulders hunched, and Caitlin grimaced. Joe shifted a bit on his feet. Wally alone seemed ready to talk.

“Alright, what about it?”

“It’s not really to do with anything here,” Barry was quick to reassure. “Not exactly. It’s...it’s the Arrow Team.”

The others looked at each other. “They’ve been affected? How?” Caitlin asked.

“Well,” Barry hesitated, looking to Iris for support. She gave him an encouraging nod. “It’s about Dinah from Birds of Prey,” he admitted.

“Oh no, what did you do to her?” Cisco immediately said.

“I — nothing! I mean, it’s confusing, but she is different because of the timeline changing, yeah,” Barry admitted. “I tracked her down the other night and saw her knock a guy down with sonic waves. From her mouth.”

There was a long beat of silence as the others digested that bit of news. As before, Cisco was first to react.

“Dinah from Birds of Prey is a meta? Barry, this is the best news you’ve given us in forever!”

“No, not great news. Because we’ve already met a Laurel — I mean Dinah — who was a meta, and she was evil. Does nobody remember Black Siren from Earth-2?” Barry looked around but received mostly quizzical looks from the group. He should’ve expected it; Cisco would’ve said something if the rockstar he idolized had a double he’d met.

“So, you’re worried that this timeline’s Dinah is also evil,” Joe surmised.

“I don’t know,” Barry admitted. “I mean, when I saw her use her powers, it was to help this other woman. But then what’s her goal long-term? I’ve seen her powers in action when Siren used them. They’re powerful.”

“Tell them about Laurel,” Iris spoke up unexpectedly. “The one you knew, Barry.”

“Who’s Laurel?” Caitlin asked. “And why do you keep correcting yourself by calling her Dinah?”

“Because that’s how I knew her before. How we all knew her. As Laurel.” Barry looked around the room, watching their intrigued but otherwise blank faces. Not for the first time, he wished somehow he had the power to show them what they had once lived along with him rather than just tell them. But he couldn’t.

“Dinah Laurel Lance was the ADA of Star City, and at night she was part of the Arrow Team as a vigilante called the Black Canary.”

“That’s her real name? Dinah Lance?” Wally asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Barry blinked, though it occurred to him a moment later that in this timeline he’d had yet to hear anyone else use her full name. Thea — or Mia — had even been surprised to learn who Laurel’s father was. What was Dinah’s story, really? What could’ve had such an effect on her past?

“She- she died last spring. Before Flashpoint. There was a sorcerer they were fighting, and he killed her. But now none of that ever happened.” Barry was aware he was pacing, but he couldn’t really stop himself. “She’s a singer instead of a lawyer, Oliver and the others don’t know her, Oliver’s son showed up a whole year early and is Connor—”

“Whoa, what’s wrong with my man Connor?” Cisco demanded.

“Nothing, just, you know, he’s different! Oliver had a whole different kid named William who apparently doesn’t exist anymore!”

“Oh, Barry,” Caitlin sighed, disapproval inlaid in every syllable.

“I know,” he ground out. “This is not good. I just don’t know how to fix it.”

“Don’t.”

The single word came from Cisco, and Barry blinked in surprise. “Don’t?”

“Yeah. Trying to ‘fix’ things was what caused you to mess everything up in the first place. So just live with it like the rest of us.” His friend stood and walked out of the cortex, likely heading for his workroom.

“Cisco’s right, Barry,” Caitlin added. “Your time travel never seems to put anything back fully the way it was. It’s better for you to just leave it alone.” She, too, turned away. He could tell by the look on Joe’s face that he was thinking something similar, even if he’d probably say it in a gentler way.

Barry looked to Iris. “We still need to be prepared to deal with- with Dinah if she’s more like her Earth-2 counterpart was.”

“Give the others some time, Bear,” was her advice. “You’ve just dumped a lot of information on them. It’s going to take some time to process.”

“We’ll be ready when it counts,” Wally added with a confidence Barry wished he felt. “And hey, maybe she is on our side.”

“Maybe.” Barry sunk down into Cisco’s abandoned chair and felt Iris walk up behind him, her hands massaging at his shoulders.

“We could start with some recon,” Wally was suggesting, using Joe as a sounding board just as much as he was using Barry and Iris. “Most of the band’s from Gotham.” Wally snapped his fingers. “Maybe Batman knows her!”

Barry’s head lifted sharply in bewilderment. “Bat-who?”

At the same time, Joe gave a sharp shake of the head. “Oh, hell no. Not that nut job.”

For someone extremely used to the feeling of deja vu, Barry seemed destined to find himself unaccountably lost.

[kamino-ink]

Behind The Mask | Lee Felix

✧ Genre: Spiderman!au, fluff, angst

✧ Summary: You’ve started to notice how your friend has begun to show up to class absolutely exhausted, always falling asleep - he claims it’s just his schoolwork and his internship, but what you don’t know is that his so-called “internship” is actually his duty to serve the people of Queens as Spiderman.

✧ Word Count: 3.2k

✧ Check out my masterlist!

                                         ✧

 “So, class, as you can clearly see on the board, there are about four key reasons why water is so vitally important to us, as human beings, and the planet itself-”

 “Do you think this is how he dirty talks to his husband in bed?” Jisung whispered to you across the lab table, leaning dangerously close to a stray beaker on the edge of the desk.

 “Dude, I didn't need that image in my mind. Thanks a lot.” You groan sarcastically to the amused boy, discretely reaching over to slide the beaker closer to the middle of the table so the clumsy kid would (hopefully) not somehow manage to break it.

 Jisung sticks his tongue out at you before turning his attention to a very dazed looking blonde beside you. “Come on, it was funny - right, Lix…? Felix? Hellooo?”

 You tilt your head slightly in curiosity as to why the boy next to you wasn’t answering his other friend, your gaze drifting over to his slumped over form. He was just barely holding his head up with his chin resting on the palms of his hands, though his legs drooped down to the floor, the bottoms of his shoes swaying above the ground. His black turtleneck was covered up by the plaid shirt draped over it’s material, though spots of the coal colored cloth was made visible by the odd tears in the overlapping shirt.

 Lately, you’ve begun to notice something... off, about your close friend. He was mostly quiet, unless he was with you or Jisung, choosing to crack stupid jokes around the two of you instead of trying to amuse a larger crowd. That hadn’t changed, really, but Felix was starting to make weird excuses to not hang out with either of you after school some days - this didn’t happen every single day, of course. Though, whenever you saw him again either at school or outside of it, the teenage boy would be covered in spots of dark bruises or little cuts protected from the outside air by bandages (usually Star Wars or Hello Kitty ones, curtesy of his aunt.)

 Needless to say, you were starting to wonder if maybe Felix had somehow managed to have a run in with a bad crowd - perhaps he had been influenced by them, hence the cuts and bruises.

 “Yo Felix, wake up,” you grunt, noticing how your teacher had paused for a split second in his lecture to send a heated glare to the dozing boy, “what’s up with you? This is the third time you’ve nearly fallen asleep in class just today. It’s not even eleven.”

The blonde slowly adjusted his position on the stool, now choosing to let out a whine as he let his tired body lead him to lean on your shoulder for support - mostly for his head. “s’ the Stark Internship, Y/N, I already told you guys like a miiiilion times.”

 “I am going to personally beat Tony fucking Stark up if he keeps making you work so hard. Does the man have his head so far up his ass that he can’t see how exhausted you are?”

 “Look, I swear he isn’t overworking me. I’ll be on a break soon, promise.”

 “Pinky promise?”

 He lets out a soft sigh, begrudgingly bringing up one of his hands from his lap to link his pinky finger with your own.

 “Pinky promise.”

 “Fuck me!” Felix screamed into his pillow, completely ignoring a smirking, amused Jisung sat at his own desk just a mere few feet away.

 “Eh, I think I’ll pass,” the cheeky teen snickers, dodging a pillow that the younger had thrown violently at him from his spot on the bottom bunk, “you kind of did this to yourself, Lix. You pinky promised Y/N that you wouldn’t let Stark overwork you-”

 “But it isn’t Mr. Stark telling me to do all these jobs, Jisung! I’m the one who keeps putting myself in these shitty situations.” The blonde shot back almost too quickly in his hero’s defense, throwing his legs over the edge of his bed so he could properly sit up and face his friend.

 An entire week had since passed the day in chemistry class where you had made Felix pinky promise to take a real break from his “internship.” What you obviously didn’t know was that Tony Stark had little to no time to direct Felix’s superhero antics each and every day or night; it was all him, for the most part. In fact, you weren’t even aware of Felix’s superhero alter ego - Spiderman. Only Jisung was aware of his otherwise secret identity, not including the amazing scientist himself. Sure, he sort of felt guilty about not telling you of his secret, especially since he knew you would support him through thick and thin, no matter what - the only thing that might change or, well, increase is your babying of him. You already worried enough about his consistent injures, why should he put that burden of knowledge on your head?

 But now, the injures had gotten worse - he had a run in with some ragtag gang of robbers at a convenience store a couple nights ago, and one of the bastards had managed to slash through his suit deep enough to leave a mark on his arm. The following day, he had neglected to wear longer sleeves, which meant that his bandaged wound was open for anyone to see - and boy had you seen it.

 “Felix, what the fuck happened to you?” The burning question had been on the tip of your tongue the entire day at school, only you had decided to wait to confront Felix about it until you both began to walk home.

 “I uh - nothing, I swear - I just got... mugged?” He lied to you through gritted teeth, the following laugh stained with awkwardness.

 “How the fuck were you mugged in broad daylight?”

 “Well, um it was actually like... around eleven, I guess?”

 “What - Lix, why in the world were you out so late? There is no way in hell May would’ve let you out at that time for no reason.” You whirled around on him now in the middle of the otherwise deserted sidewalk, crossing your arms over you chest impatiently.

 “S-Stark Internship? Yeah! I was supposed to get some field work done before the next morning and I forgot the other half of the day, s-so I had to finish it really late.”

 Needless to say, you had quickly snapped in a blind, chilling rage, badmouthing the multi-millionaire in front of his nervous intern, who first came to you as your best friend. You brought up the fact that Felix had promised to take a break from the exhausting internship, to which the already perplexed, panicked teenager had then snapped at you of all people, saying that this internship was basically his duty - his life. Since then, you had been silent towards the boy all week, refusing to speak to him out of pure agitation, worry, and hurt.

 “Listen, I know that this entire ‘I’m a superhero’ thing is really, really important to you. But you have to take a step back and look at the bigger picture sometimes; clearly you’re working too much, and between school and your spidey-shit, I’m honestly surprised you haven’t collapsed yet.” The brunette admitted bluntly. “This isn’t healthy like, at all. I doubt Stark would appreciate you getting hurt so often just because you feel obligated to make him proud.”

 Before Felix could even get a word of retaliation out, he heard his phone’s ringtone faintly going off somewhere on his mess of a bed. He was about to just ignore whoever was calling at such an ungodly hour, but after a sharp glare from Jisung, he tossed a pillow and curled up blanket from the corner of his bed onto the floor to reach his still ringing phone.

 A picture you had taken of all three of you huddled together during Christmas last year displayed itself on the bright screen, showcasing your bright smiles and red cheeks from the cold day last year. The time read one-thirteen in the morning.

 Why were you calling so late?

 “Hello-”

 “L-Lix?” Your voice comes out as a stuttered whisper, immediately grabbing his rapt attention as he presses a button on his phone and puts you on speaker.

 “Y/N, why are you calling?” He notices Jisung shake his head from his seat, clearly wanting you to keep talking considering the dangerously low, nervous tone you were using.

 “I fell asleep on the train and m-missed my stop a while ago. I started walking home, b-but now these two people are following me. I - I think I’m close to the bank down the street, could you - could you come get me?”

 Felix shoots out of his spot on the comfy bed, tossing his phone onto the comforter while he darts over to his closet in a hurry. “Y-yeah, of course! Just don’t stop walking, okay? And stay on the phone-”

 “-Felix!”

 The line cuts off.

 Jisung throws himself up from his seat by the desk and grabs Felix’s phone from his bed, turning his back to the boy as he starts to slide his suit onto his body in a rush. “Felix, she won’t pick up the phone now!” He says quickly, continuing to spam your contact even when they run out of the apartment - not bothering to see if May was awake or not.

 “She said that she’s by the bank, right? I’ll swing over there and take care of the creeps, you call the police and meet me there.” The superhero tells the following boy his plan, already shooting out a splatter of webs onto the side of the building so he can swing into the air.

 He knew that you wouldn’t hang up on him, especially after calling him for help. It was likely that you had already called the authorities beforehand just in case, but he was too worried that they wouldn’t be able to get to you in time. Felix had already lost too many people that he loved in his life, he wasn’t about to risk losing you too.

 The city of Queens was relatively peaceful during the darkest hours of the night, with a good handful of its otherwise lively residents choosing to stay in the comfort of their homes rather than walking around at that vulnerable time slot. While everyone was more than aware of the superhero presence in their world and, specifically for them in the case of the web-slinging hero, city, the rising danger of criminal activity pushed them to refute from stepping outside when the villains might be lurking about in the shadows. This left the city of Queens to be oddly silent during those particular hours, which is why Felix would so easily hear your desperate screaming even before he had turned the next corner that led to the closed bank.

 “Let go of me, you assholes!” You shout at the perps, your voice coming out strangled in taut pain from how the manicured nails of the woman dig into the skin of your neck, her wrist pressing down harshly onto the front of it to regulate your pained breathing. Fighting back had proven useless, as each time you even tried to swing a leg at the powerful woman she would only further intrude onto your sensitive skin, drawing copious amounts of blood that dribbled down your neck and onto your exposed shoulder, the sleeve of your shirt having been ripped in the initial struggle.

 “No one is coming to save you, angel,” the man taunts you from a few feet away, cracking his neck, “not the cops or whoever you called. They won’t be able to piece your damn body back together - you see, my sister here has an acquired taste for blood, but mostly from pretty little girls like you.”

 “-Hey now, isn’t that cannibalism or something? Cause’ let me tell you, drinking human blood is not normal. Dude, that is so messed up.”

 In sync, all three of you twist your heads to look to wherever the sudden voice had come from in the dead of the night, the nails digging into your skin in the back of your mind the second someone else had suddenly appeared.

 Perched on top of a dimly lit lamppost was a figure you never would have thought you would be able to see in person - or in a sticky situation like the one you were currently tied into.

 It was him - Spiderman.

 The young superhero casually hopped off of the lamppost and onto the sidewalk, the pads of his covered feet soundless even then - it was no wonder that none of you had heard him approaching. “Alright creepy lady, if you could let my fr- erm, my little buddy go it would be greatly appreciated. Kinda makes my job easier.” He hums nonchalantly, his bug-eyes seeming to move with his suit as he analyzes the situation at hand.

 The redhead practically strangling you lets out a growl, sounding eerily similar to a wild dog, and easily releases her grip on your neck. Your back slumps against the brick wall as you take deep breaths, your throat sore from the strong pressure, stinging pain from her long nails ringing in your head.

 “A spider, huh?”

 “Everyone has a gimmick these days.” The brother retorts sourly, twisting his neck to make it ‘pop’ again while his sister steps up beside his shorter form. “Come on, Spiderboy, I would love to dissect your organs and the girl’s!”

 “I mean, you guys totally brought this onto yourselves.” He quips, not even hesitating to sling out four splotches of his webbing onto the creepy criminals, effectively ensnaring them into the sticky substance.

 But it could never be that easy, and Felix probably should've been expecting that much.

 While he had been making his way towards your shaking body still leaning against the wall for support, he had left his back turned to the two perps. Because of his keen focus on making sure you were still, you know, breathing, he hadn't noticed that the woman had tore through the web - not until he felt an all too familiar tingling sensation run up his arms, sending his hairs flying under the tightness of his suit.

 Before he could spin around and protect the both of you, she had snagged her nails - more like claws - underneath the hem of his mask, pulling it completely over his head and slinging it to the ground. The next few seconds were like a blur to you as Spiderman turned on his heels and threw the woman back onto the concrete with a sickening thud, splaying his web all over her from head-to-toe, including her entire skull so she couldn't catch a glimpse of his exposed face.

 But it was too late - you had already seen him.

 “F-Felix?”

 Said teenage boy whips his head around the second you utter his name in a shaky, bewildered tone. He sees the confusion, hurt, and complete awe in your glazed over eyes; you had seen him, you had figured it out without even needing to try.

 Lee Felix was Spiderman.

 “... so what you’re saying is I have even more reason to beat the ever living shit out of Tony Stark?”

 The blonde hisses a word of protest at your monotone grunt, accidently pressing down a bit too hard on the gauze he was using to wrap up your bloodied neck, which made you whimper softly in pain - almost immediately the boy bandaging you up paused in his movements, the tips of his cold fingers grazing your skin midair.

 “You’re fine, Lix. Keep going.” You uttered to the cautious boy quietly, watching his every hesitant move in the reflection painted on his bathroom mirror.

 When he had heard the sound of police sirens and the frantic shouting of Jisung approaching the bank a few minutes ago, Felix had panicked and grabbed his mask, slipping it over his head before he had scooped you up into his arms and swung back to his apartment. Luckily May had been in a deep sleep, so she wasn’t there to pester you two about your shared injuries.

 Jisung was on his way back, of course, since Felix had texted him a quick sentenced summary of what had happened.

 “Are you not - how are you not angry at me right now, Y/N?” Your best friend questioned you, guilt seeping into his soft, broken voice so much that it made your heart squeeze in your chest.

 “I’ll admit, I’m kind of ticked off that Han fucking Jisung knew before me, but I suppose I can forgive you for, you know... saving my life.” You laugh weakly, blinking slowly at the reflection of the boy, still clad in his blue and red suit, carefully finishing off the bandaging on your neck. While it most certainly was not the appropriate time for your pitiful heart to start racing in your chest at his close proximity and soft breaths fanning out onto your chilly skin, you couldn't help but fall into a short-lived daze when the boy grabs onto your thighs and turns you to face him.

 “I - I did want to tell you Y/N, I swear,” he mumbles, “Jisung found out on accident, and uh, obviously Mr. Stark knows because he gave me this suit n’ all. Don’t - don’t be pissed at him for encouraging me to do this, please? I was already sort of doing this stuff before he found me.”

 “But why, Lix?” You huff a bit selfishly, looking down at the floor of his tiny bathroom. “You could seriously get hurt doing this - we’re just kids, we’re supposed to be doing stupid shit like - like falling in love, going to the arcade with friends, and going to dumbass parties just for the free food.”

 “Because I’m the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, Y/N. I want to protect the people of Queens, and outside of it - I wasn't able to save my uncle, but... I have helped so many other people doing what I’m doing. I mean... I was able to save someone else I love, for once, tonight.” He whispers to you softly, lifting your chin with a single finger so you can meet his steady gaze.

 In all your time being friends with him, you don’t recall ever seeing Lee Felix looking so serious.

 “I was actually able to save you, Y/N - god I was so fucking worried when you called because y-you sounded so scared and I wasn’t there to prevent any of it from happening. I’m so thankful that I got to you before something terrible happened.”

 “I-”

 “Please don't interrupt, for once I’m actually talking about how I feel without chickening out like I usually do,” Felix laughs quietly, watching as your lips twitch into a small smile at his truthful words, leaving him to keep speaking, “I like you - love you, so much, Y/N. S-so, if you don’t mind, could I - could I possibly kiss you?”

 You nod with no hesitation, feeling your cheeks heat up when he gulps and starts to lean in, closer and closer until you lips are brushing against each other.

 “... so should I shut the door before May inevitably wakes up and potentially sees you two kissing? It might weird her out since Spiderman is kissing her nephew’s best friend.”

 “Jisung-”

 “I’ll take that as a yes.”

                                         ✧

[just-whelmed]

A Long, Rambly, Incoherent Rant Regarding TWD

!WARNING!: a lot of complaints, a lot of tangents, specific shipping of specific pairings, wishful thinking and weird ideas, probably unpopular opinions -- all up ahead.

[i just needed to get my thoughts out there; i’m not looking to fight anyone over things i think/believe/like or don’t like about the show. i’m aware my opinions are not fact, nor are they the end all, be all for the walking dead. i’m just a fan who has no one to talk to about all this junk. nothing more. ignore if you want.]

I love The Walking Dead. It’s been a huge part of my life, my family’s life, for going on 5 years now. I’ve sat down every Sunday (when the show is airing) since the season 4 premiere to watch live, I’ve argued with family members after episodes, I’ve analyzed and defended characters, spent time making stupid edits and writing fluffy fanfics and just generally thinking about this show for an admittedly unhealthy amount of time.

I’ve never liked zombie entertainment. I didn’t even want to watch this show initially, but I’d been convinced by my sister one day and so we sat down in my room and watched season 1, which we rented from a video store before it went out of business. Right away, during 1x01, I realized that this wasn’t a zombie show—it was a show about survivors. It was a show about one man waking up to a dead world and wanting nothing more than to find his family. It was about seeing all these characters with all their complexities, whether you liked them or not, trying to keep themselves afloat while anyone could die at any moment. But that was never the point. The point was to follow these characters we meet right alongside Rick and root for them to conquer the threat of the world, no matter the cost. Because amongst all the loss and sadness, there was survival and hope. That’s how I convinced my grandparents to watch, too. 

And so it makes me sad, mad, frustrated, that I can barely recognize the show anymore. That I can rarely even enjoy it. Where’s the fun in watching characters you’ve cared about for years get killed off without any payoff (especially when it’s falsely promised that it’s for some type of “reason”)? Where’s the fun the show either being so predictable that it becomes stupid, or so outlandish that you have to laugh at the ridiculousness of it?

I know the common arguments, just as I know my opinions are purely my own. This is a show that’s created by a team who can do whatever they want with it. They don’t have to take the fan’s wants and desires into account (they rarely do, anyhow). They don’t have to cater to anyone. However, why should they then expect the fans to keep watching when they (Gimple) consistently flush everything we love about what made TWD what it is right now down the drain? Actions have consequences, and while yes, this is a show and what happens shouldn’t revolve around whether or not people are going to get mad, I do think TWD deserves a little more care and common sense.

And I’m in no way saying that this show should not evolve every season, that it should only be about 5 people and no one else, that threats can’t be bigger and greater or that main characters can’t eventually die. I know all these things, I accept all these things, I even like some of these things. But there’s a time, a place, and a way to do all of this, and the way it’s been done recently… it’s just frustrating.

Of course, no matter what happens on the show, someone will always complain. There’s too much plot, not enough character moments; too many character moments, not enough action; too much action, not enough plot. Etc, etc. Nothing can please everyone 100% of the time and that’s fine, but where’s the balance? Where’s the forethought? It seems like Gimple plans a season without thinking about the future of the show, and now said future is far too bleak—in terms of TWD itself and the state of how long AMC can keep this train running before it completely wrecks.

And everyone has an idea on when this started happening. For reference, my favorite seasons OVERALL are 1, 2, and 6. S3 had a lot of great episodes, but too much focus on Woodbury too suddenly. S4 had some stand out episodes, but was slow a lot of the time and had weird plot moments intertwined. S5 might be my least favorite, really, though it contains a couple of my favorite episodes in the series. The first half with all that hospital shit? No thanks, but the second half was pretty good. A lot of people disliked s6 and cite this as the season that things started to fall apart, but aside from the completely random obsession Rick had over Jessie and the fakeout dumpster with Glenn (also, Denise’s too-soon death), I think the season was strong. It had a lot of little character moments where most everyone got to shine and essentially helped change the course of the show in new and interesting ways.

Unfortunately, s7 took those changes and ran in the wrong direction. The pacing was off, half the focus was about Negan when we had three communities (two of which were extremely new) to learn about, and practically all the deaths were for shock value. (Also, the whole “blame Daryl” bullshit really blew up here in full force, stopping Negan from taking accountability for anything because he’s so ~charming~.) Now, I have a lot of individual episodes in this season that I actually really like, for various reasons (7x02, 7x03, 7x05, 7x08, 7x13, 7x14, 7x15, 7x16; obviously, 7B was better than 7A in my eyes). And there were a lot of things in the other episodes I enjoyed, too, but overall? S7 was kind of a big mess.

Why did Glenn need to die, honestly? What was the point of the dumpster bullshit if he was going to get his comic death anyways, only this time as an afterthought and therefore the exact opposite of the huge show-changing event they’d claimed it would be? Abraham dying, alongside maybe a surprise someone else, would’ve done the same damn thing that s7 showed us, except Maggie wouldn’t have lost yet another person she cares the most about, Daryl wouldn’t be persecuted for something Negan did on solely his own will, and we’d still have some fucking hope for a little bit. TWD immediately started feeling less like TWD when Glenn was killed off. 

Why is Negan’s characterization so flip-floppy? He was, to me, a threat in 6x16 and 7x01, as well as 7x03, and then for the rest of the season (as well as 8a) he’s just a joke-cracking, lame ass leaning cartoon who likes to pretend he’s not coercing his “wives” into being with him and who seems so obsessed with Rick’s dick that I’m not sure how he thinks about anything else. His relationship with Carl also falls flat. Yeah, I can see maybe if he had some kind of fatherly feelings towards him, but he just seems like a sociopath. He makes fun of Carl and then apologizes when he starts to cry, only doing so to gain control. He carts Carl around to show him the workers he treats as slaves, the “wives” that are only with him because they want to avoid a worse fate, and tries to emasculate his father by propping himself up as some kind of God to his “Saviors,” as if Carl will think that’s cool. He used Carl to break Rick in 7x01 and then was ready to bash his head in during 7x16, but it’s okay because he feels bad, right? Negan is a villain who has no empathy, who makes excuses for his actions the same way his fans do; there’s nothing to make the audience connect with him in a way that even the Governor, as whiny and dumb as he was, had. His s8 tragic backstory? Cheated on his dying wife. Okay. But it’s alright because he’s funny sometimes, yeah? In my opinion, Negan is a weak villain who’s plot armor is so obvious that so much of the show has become stupid. He controls so many people and yet you’re telling me that only Dwight hates him? That no one can just freaking shoot the guy who strolls around without a care? You’re telling me that Rosita is suddenly a shit shot and hits the small surface of baseball bat instead of Negan’s forehead? You’re telling me Sasha couldn’t take the knife from the rapist in the cell and stab Negan? She was going to die anyways, so why not just do it? You’re telling me they had Daryl on the B-Team in 8x01 because… why? He had a bike to lead walkers to Sanctuary? No, it’s because he would’ve popped Negan between the eyes if he’d been in that crowd, instead of shooting out windows too many stories up to even matter. Like… not to shit on Rick’s plan, because it’s pretty clever when you take the whole thing into account, but really? They could’ve killed Negan in 8x01 and the show would have been more interesting with Simon as the new main villain.

Also, what’s the deal with introducing characters (Heath, Sherry) that suddenly just disappear? I get actors have other things going on, but then there’s literally no mention of them again. Tara finds a sheet of paper, which we have no clue what would even have to do with anything, and hopes Heath is okay. Dwight gets Sanctuary’s doctor killed so he can lie about Sherry being dead. That’s it. And then what’s the deal WITH BRINGING BACK A CHARACTER FROM SEASON 1, SOMEONE THAT COULD HAVE HAD POTENTIAL TO SHOW MORE TENSION WITHIN NEGAN’S RANK, SOMEONE WHO COULD’VE HELPED DWIGHT TURN ON THE SAVIORS AFTER RECONNECTING WITH RICK, SOMEONE WHO COULD’VE AT LEAST FILLED THE EMPTY SPACE MORGAN WILL BE LEAVING ONCE HE HOPS SHOWS, ONLY TO KILL HIM AT THE START OF THE VERY NEXT EPISODE??? The most random shit you have ever seen, right up there with scavenger freaks that talk like robots even though the apocalypse has only been around for like 2-3 years.

It really pains me to complain about a show I love so much, but maybe it’s because I have such strong feelings for it that I have to air my grievances.

But wait, there’s more!

So, sure, season 7 had a nice finale, with Sasha at least going out on her own terms and Glenn finally really being acknowledged by newly appointed leader Maggie, plus the cool visual of seeing Rick, Ezekiel, and Maggie give rousing speeches to their followers, but we then get s8.

It had a strong start. Rick’s plan is confusing and, for some reason, not fully explained when it’s the ONE thing that should be talked about. But, essentially: Rick teams up with other communities to trap Negan inside until they can no longer survive, with the threat of walkers looming, rather than outright killing anyone because he wants them to surrender. Then, with Dwight’s information, they go to every outpost to clear them of outside Saviors and to arm themselves with more weapons. His back up plan, in case something goes wrong, is to call upon the group that already betrayed them. Then, they just need to wait it out.

Except a lot of things go wrong, as they usually do, and this makes up a lot of the plot. Great! I enjoy the fact that many of our favorite characters are disagreeing. Daryl, Tara, and Morgan want revenge at all costs; Rick and Maggie are struggling with morality; Ezekiel loses nearly all of the Kingdom and needs Carol to get him steady; Jesus, the new moral compass, has taken prisoners because he’s thinking not just about the present, but also the future and what the cost of winning will do to everyone; Rosita’s learned her lesson, Michonne is on neutral ground, Carl once again won’t stay in the house, Eugene’s become an asshole as well as a coward, and Aaron is dealing with the loss of Eric (which was unnecessary, but whatever).

But within these neat little things are several problems. For one thing, Tara in s7 seemed to care about the innocent workers, even after she learned about Denise, Glenn, and Abraham. Now, she wants them all dead and is kind of manipulating the fragile state of mind that Morgan and Daryl are in. Like don’t get me wrong, crashing a truck into Sanctuary was Daryl’s big idea (and it was NOT a bad one, entirely, just morally incorrect, which he even knew and seemed to struggle with at times), but after Michonne tried to talk some sense into him and we saw that he’s once again suicidal, Tara is right there to make sure he goes through with it, just like she said Morgan was right after he had a breakdown and nearly killed Jesus. As for Eric, I get that we need casualties in war, and considering that they never developed the background characters (Tobin, Francine, etc) like they should have, Eric is the only one people would have cared enough about. It’s all about impact. (Note: If it wasn’t clear, I do not ship Aaron and Jesus on the show. I don’t read the comics, I don’t like the comics, and I don’t care if they’re a thing in them. On the show, they’ve not spoken ONE WORD to each other on screen. They’ve never interacted, which is a shitty setup if the plan is to then try and convince us later that a relationship can form there, especially if they killed Eric just for that. Why does Aaron need to be with Jesus when he was already in a perfectly loving relationship? Tom Payne said it best: it would be lazy plotting. Aaron is grieving. Give him the random baby, since Ross mentioned that he’d clung to that bit of life in the wake of losing Eric, and leave him alone.)

Now. Daryl. Obviously, he’s my favorite character, so no matter what I say it’s going to seem like I’m defending him just because. But what you don’t know about me is that I actually like to see both sides to a situation. I don’t think one character is always right or wrong, I’ll admit to anyone if something happens that I don’t agree with, and then I try to see the other side if I can. So… Daryl’s been a popular character since his first appearance. Like him or not, he’s a mainstay and a huge part of the show. Daryl has always been hot-headed, violent, and emotional. He’s also always been caring, loyal, and an outsider. In 6x16, he goes out to find and kill Dwight, despite the fact that it would probably get him killed in return. Why is he doing this? Dwight, who he’d helped in the woods, betrayed him and stole his stuff. Then, he killed Denise for no reason and showed zero remorse. Rick, Michonne, and Rosita followed him out because they cared about him and thought what he was doing was stupid. People act like Daryl is the only character who does stupid shit. Yeah, he’s not, but anyway. Instead of realizing Glenn, Michonne, and Rosita have their own minds and make their own decisions, people want to blame Daryl for them getting captured instead of blaming Dwight and the Saviors for acting on Negan’s orders. In 7x01, when everyone is in the lineup, after Abraham is murdered, Negan taunts Rosita. He’s looking for an excuse to kill someone else. He’s purposefully going around, trying to see who he can rile up. When he starts shouting at Rosita, Daryl snaps and punches him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. BUT look what happens after. The punch, which Daryl no doubt thought would get himself killed, backfires and makes Negan like him because he’s not a “bitch” like Rick. Immediately, Negan turns to Glenn, who’d already spoken out of line, and beats him to death. Aside from the fact that the writers wanted Glenn to die, if we’re looking at it in the scope of canon, do you really think it was random? Do you really think Abraham was random? Abraham, who’d straightened up as a challenge to Negan when he first went down the line? He was a threat and Eeenie Meenie Minie Mo was a farce. He picked Abraham for a reason, just as he picked Glenn—because he saw how Glenn reacted to Negan suggesting he would kill Maggie, and then with Daryl’s outburst on Rosita’s behalf he realized how much pain it would cause everyone if he killed someone else (someone who already showed strong ties to another in the ine) instead of the one who punched him. This is behavior he carries out constantly: choosing someone at random to hurt when someone else acts out because it’s cruel, because the person who defies him is doing so thinking they’re going to die, which means they’re ready to die, and killing someone else leaves that person living with pain and guilt. He tries to make Rick cut Carl’s arm off to get him to break. He was going to kill Dwight for when he, Sherry, and Tina escaped, leaving Sherry alive to ive with it. He burned Mark’s face for seeing Amber. He killed Spencer when he sucked up to him about hating Rick. He told Arat to kill someone random after Rosita shot at him. On and on. This is a pattern. Would people be less pissed if it had been Glenn who punched Negan and if someone else died in his place? Is it only Daryl (who has always been portrayed as impulsive and angry in hard situations) that elicits this reaction? It continues into season 8. Daryl goes against Rick’s plan, just like pretty much everyone else has been going against his plan, and he’s actually got sound reasoning. He wants to blow a hole into Sanctuary to let Walkers inside, furthering the threat and shortening the timeline of their surrender AFTER they’ve lost many of their Kingdom fighters. Rick cites the innocent workers and Daryl tries to make himself feel better about the plan by saying the workers could possibly escape (showing he cares, but not enough in his mindset to back down). Rick pretty much tells Daryl he cannot do it, which is a bad idea, and Daryl decides to disobey. But honestly, Rick’s plan is to recruit the trash people that betrayed them and have shown not to care about anything other than themselves, so how is Daryl’s plan, as ruthless as it is, any worse? Then, when he carries it out, with the help of Tara and Morgan, it succeeds in what he wanted it to. BUT THEN PEOPLE WANT TO BLAME THE WALKERS ROAMING OFF ON DARYL, WHEN HIS PLAN DID THE EXACT OPPOSITE. AND EVEN AFTER IT WAS STATED TWICE IN ONE EPISODE THAT EUGENE WAS AT FAULT, I STILL SAW PEOPLE BLAMING DARYL. It makes no sense. But neither does the show half the time, so whatever.

Sorry. I needed to get all that Daryl stuff off my chest.

Let me talk about Jesus for a minute.

Jesus had one of the best introductions on the show in 6x10 (which is my all-time favorite episode ever). Tom Payne is strong in the role, which, from what I understand, is quite different than the one from the comics… and that’s okay. And no matter what people say, I actually think Jesus has been characterized consistently since he’s been introduced, we’ve just seen it expanded on in unexpected ways. The issue comes with the fact that we haven’t seen enough. Gimple has underutilized him constantly, for no reason. After a good start at the end of s6, he was a background piece for a lot of s7, which is a shame since he shined whenever he was on screen. We established that Jesus is pretty much the only real fighter at Hilltop, the only scout, the only person who’s out more than he is in. But when we see him in s7, he’s just hanging around Hilltop like no big deal. If the point was for him to be there for Maggie and Sasha, then maybe more than a couple of little scenes was necessary to show that. And in 7x16? They took away his big Negan moment without giving a single fuck. That moment would’ve solidified him immediately as a member of Team Family instead of being just on the edge of it, but nope, give it to the cgi tiger (i love her, but let’s be real). And in 8a? We’ve seen his morality, his philosophy, and some of his many capabilities as a fighter, but there’s so much more to explore and I have little hope that they will in 8b, especially in the right ways. I so hope I’m wrong because I love his character and there are countless possibilities for him (one of which is a relationship with Daryl, but maybe I shouldn’t get into that. Yet).

I’ve liked a lot of little moments in 8a. I like the action, the conflict, the spotlight on multiple characters in an episode, the dynamics. But Negan’s plot armor is still around, the trash people are still around for no reason, shocking deaths are still around, and it’s exhausting. For as good as the pacing has generally been, the little details of the overall plot are convoluted.

The show that’s been about survival and hope no longer has either.

As bad as Glenn’s death was, even with the way he’d been slowly phased out before that point, Carl’s impending death is somehow worse. Carl, who was Rick’s reason for living since the start; Carl, who we’ve watched go through so much, who’s grown up so fast, who was just a kid who kept losing himself and is now a man who is capable of so much compassion; Carl, who is the future of the show, literally and figuratively. It’s all gone. For nothing.

For all the talk about “anyone can die at any moment,” no one ever really thought that Carl would be an option, and it’s precisely this reason they did it. I don’t care what excuses Gimple and Kirkman give. I really don’t. There will be no payoff for this, just acceptance from those who haven’t yet already quit. There are people who might think this is overdramatic or who don’t care or who are happy because oh how shocking or because maybe they didn’t like Carl, but this is legitimately a huge blow to the show. Not even simply because TWD is losing Carl himself, but because it’s losing everything he represents to the show and to the other characters. This is a big impact and it’s entirely negative. The trailer for 8b has Carl mentioning Lori telling him he would beat this world, which is sad and poignant, but why does it have to be? Why couldn’t she be proven right? Why does Gimple have to ruin the very foundation of the show with dumb stunts like this?

Deaths are no longer shocking or a good idea. Killing off main characters when you have so few remaining is no longer a good idea. Focusing on the horrors of their world with so few moments of happiness and love to counteract it is no longer a good idea. (How many couples on the show are there at this point?) Watching the characters we actually care about get kicked down over and over again, without getting to see them stand all the way back up, is no longer a good idea.

We have 8 episodes of the season left. A lot of things can happen, good or bad, we can only speculate right now, but based on the course season 8 has taken so far? I’m not too hopeful. We’re going to lose Carl, we’ll lose Morgan in some way since he’s crossing over to the other show, and I would be majorly surprised if Negan dies. It’s hard to be excited for whatever else might happen when most of the possibilities are disappointing. Even with Angela Kang ready to run s9, right now I feel kind of apathetic. Will she have as much control as Gimple had? Can she mend whatever else s8 breaks and create a new, interesting story with our remaining characters for s9? Or will it just be more of the same—maybe even worse—because AMC can’t get it together?

I complained about Gimple sticking far too closely to the comics during 7, which forced the show in awkward directions that it hadn’t been on track for (Spencer becoming a random douchebag for the guts death, for example), but instead of finding a middle ground between adapting and tweaking storylines from the comic for the screen and creating original ideas in s8, Gimple’s now strayed so far from not only the “source material,” but also from what the show has been and what it should.

How can it get back to its roots while becoming fresh in a way that’s actually logical and interesting? Maybe one day we’ll see. Cross your fingers.

You guys probably don’t care about my undeniably optimistic desires for the future of the show, but maybe I can list them anyway, since I’ve rambled enough as it is. 

One: Get rid of Negan. As much as I love JDM and think he’s a fantastic actor, Negan’s run his course. I vote for Rick not sparing Negan, but instead sparing the workers and those like Siddiq who he would have otherwise ignored, if not for his son’s interference. If Carl wants Rick to be merciful, it should be a side effect of Negan’s death, maybe make him feel guilt about how he went about the whole thing, but don’t keep him alive. Heck, Gimple recycles plotlines so much, why not have Rick take the workers into Alexandria like he had with the Woodbury citizens? It’d make more sense than the mustache-twirly villain living while Rick’s own child dies. At least the Governor had some humanity.

Two: Slow down on the character deaths. Seriously. How many nameless Alexandrians are left? How many nonfighters at the Kingdom? Oceanside has already been touched by Negan and Rick, and while the Hilltop is currently intact, I doubt they won’t suffer some damage by the end of this season. No more main or side characters should die this season; no more mains in s9, either. There’s barely anyone left. The characters we’ve already established are what make this show worth anything.

Three: Time jump for season 9? I think the show needs it, at least a couple of years. We’ve got a new showrunner, now we need a fresh slate. If a few years pass between 8 and 9, more options for what to do with the plot will open up. (Will they do the Whisperers? Will it be some big remix, like turning Lydia into a boy for Enid, having Lydia develop a mother/daughter relationship with Carol, having no kid at all? Will Jadis live to become Alpha by finally shaving off that horrible haircut? Maybe we’ll get an original villain? Who knows.) But people will be healed up, rebuilding can be under way, and we can explore storylines for characters that could have started during the jump, making things feel natural.

How about some little things I’d love to see, but that we probably won’t? Buckle up for some major wishful thinking and maybe exit the vehicle if you aren’t on the same page as me for certain things... like desus, carzekiel, etc.

Maybe we can recycle Rick not knowing if he should lead or not, still struggling with the loss of his son and trying to live on for him and Judith. Maybe Michonne is more driven after the initial mourning of another son and takes a more active role in getting Alexandria back on its feet, since she didn’t want to leave it for the Saviors in 8x08. She and Rick are stronger together and can focus on raising Judith to know her roots, like Lori’s sacrifice and how much Carl loved her, keeping his spirit alive. Maybe they recreate the council from the prison and any new characters (Siddiq, perhaps the introduction of Magna and her crew) can be part of it, alongside the oldies like Rosita, Aaron, and Gabriel (if he survives).

Maybe Daryl has decided to stick around at Hilltop. Not only did he never fit in at Alexandria, but perhaps he feels an obligation to look after Maggie and the baby. Maybe Enid’s come into her own (with the help of Maggie and Jesus?) and can have a critical role within the group, maybe as kind of a runner like Glenn had been at the start?

Maybe Jesus is more secure in his position in the community(ies), more secure in himself, and gets a personal story… like, say, developing a relationship with Daryl. And maybe this, too, can be a new start/story for Daryl; a departure from all the self-sacrificing and depression he’s been getting these last few years. Daryl’s sexuality has been ambiguous since the beginning, basically, as we usually know or see who a character is interested in fairly quickly (Rick with Lori and then Jessie and then Michonne, Glenn and Maggie, Tara and Alisha(?) then Denise, Sasha and Bob, Abraham with Rosita and the Sasha, Eugene’s interest in Tara and Rosita, Aaron and Eric, Carl with Beth and then Enid, Jesus coming out to Maggie...). And the fact that it has continued to be ambiguous, and to be covered as some kind of mystery as of late, leads directly into a chance for one final, organic reveal. Daryl has always been a character that’s formed unique and important bonds with others. He was integral to Jesus being introduced into the show and they’ve shared some very important scenes since; plus, it’s easy to pick up on signs that Jesus might have a bit of a crush on, or is at least attracted to, Daryl. (There are so many desus scenes, shots, parallels, etc. that have already been talked about, so I won’t here, but you know. you know you know.) Showing a bond between Daryl and Jesus that turns into romance would be an interesting story, a new one for both characters, it would make sense in a myriad of ways, and it would also be groundbreaking. (Also, Daryl deserves some freaking happiness and dialogue for once, just as Jesus deserves to be pushed to the forefront, and something like this could do just that.)

Maybe Tara can make the move to Oceanside. She needs a break, some time to get herself together, and she’s closely tied to that community already… which is full of women. Give Tara a girlfriend that isn’t murdered. (Cyndie? How even old is she, I don’t know.)

Maybe Rosita can find happiness again, now that she’s more chill and humble. Her bond with Tara can be further explored. If they want to throw her into a romance like in the comic, it sure as hell isn’t going to be with Eugene (either kill in in redemption or do something other than this back and forth confliction), so how about Tara or Siddiq? Dwight seems likely, given their interactions thus far, and while I’m still salty about him I see that he’s trying to redeem himself and Rosita would be someone who would understand that. There’s also Gabriel, but I would rather see him continue to sort of mentor her.

Maybe Ezekiel can rebuild Kingdom and maintain his more active role as a King, letting his people know the drill instead of feeding them an image. Maybe Carol can be his queen, his second in command, and they can be themselves together as they know exactly who the other is. A romance between them already seems perfectly set up; we’ve seen that they clearly care for each other and have a deep connection. 

I could go on, but I’m just spitballing here (and probably also revealing some things i’ve planned for my fic’s sequel so oops). There are tons of things this show could do in place of constant tragedy. Yes, deaths can still happen. People can still be shitty, walkers can still bite and eat people, that’s how it’s always been. Conflict and angst have to there. But after a war this big, with so many losses from s7 and s8, we need something else. We need to bring back that feeling of survival in the face of certain death, those little rays of hope than shine after dark times. The show needs this if it wants to be good again and not just become another thing on TV that’s wasting away. 

The characters deserve better, the actors deserve better, and we deserve better.

I’m so close to quitting before we even get to what Angela might be able to do, and you don’t know how sad that makes me. It doesn’t matter that all of this is fiction; it’s such a big part of who I am at this point, and to have it screwed around with by someone who clearly doesn’t give a shit is something I still don’t understand, and I’m not even as critical about TWD as some people are! I can overlook a lot, find enjoyment in certain things that might otherwise be bad or annoying, and like… I don’t even know if I have an episode that I hate. I’m just done with wondering about what we could’ve gotten if things had gone differently. I still really wish they will, but it’s up in the air at this point.

So… Please, 8b, don’t burn that final straw. I want to tune in for s9 with real interest and investment and excitement again, not just because I’m loyal to the characters that are still standing.

Sorry.