#alfie is lying to his parents | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

charlie-pippin-faraday · 1 year ago

Note

About Jerome’s mum yeah the way Poppy and Jerome talk about her isn’t great and they explicitly state that she wants nothing to with helping their dad even though it clearly means a lot to her kids and that Jerome went to Poppy’s recitals when their mum couldn’t be assed so she’s definitely not the nicest.

[warning: this kind of turned into a long post]

Yeah none of the things anyone ever says about her or the context clues they give about her paint her in a good light. I'm trying to think of anything good Poppy or Jerome ever said about their mother and I'm drawing a blank.

Tbh I'd go as far as to say that she's probably the WORST parent of all the parents ever seen or mentioned. Or at least has the worst relationship with her kid(s). And that's saying something, given what some of these parents are like and some of the things they've done

Let's assess these parents, shall we? I'm gonna go from best to worst (in my opinion, at least)

We never hear any kind of mention of Fabian's or Willow's parents. Amber never once mentions a mother, and Nina's and KT's parents are all deceased, so we're not gonna include them, I'm only touching on the ones I know for sure exist.

Eddie's mom - A lot of this is just me drawing my own conclusions, but there's no way Eddie doesn't have a good relationship with his mother. He never mentions a step-parent, so I'm left to believe that she raised him by herself and it was just the two of them in their house. He got into trouble a lot in school in America but he never implied that caused any issues between him and his mom. He calls her boring at one point during his first date with Patricia but tbh I think that's just him lying to look cool. I think she has the best relationship of any of the parents with their kids, and I have two pieces of evidence for it: 1) Eddie brought his girlfriend across the ocean to meet his mom, who seemingly loved her, and 2) She actively helped Eddie plan a date and even called him (repeatedly) to see how it was going. A teenage boy consulted with his mom on girl problems, and one of two things happened. Either he asked her to help him plan a date/tell him what he should do to woo Patricia and she did, or she offered the date idea unprompted and he took it. That boy loves his mama and she clearly loves him right back. Absolutely none of the other kids are calling their parents and willingly letting them get THAT involved in their love lives like that.

Mara's parents (Francis & Mrs. Jaffray) - We never see them, but we hear about them a number of times, and Mara never says anything bad about them. She appears to be on very good terms with her parents. Despite not sharing their interests/passions/career choices, Mara in my estimation probably looks up to them a lot. They're both professional, gold medal-winning athletes, and I'll bet that's where Mara gets her competitiveness and her drive to be the best at everything. She probably feels a lot of pressure to achieve the same success as they did, and she does mention them being pushy, but it's probably more Mara pressuring herself internally than them pressuring her. Mara says more about her dad than her mom, describing him as normal and a little silly (he apparently dances like SpongeBob lol). Never a bad word about either of them, leading me to believe she has a very good relationship with her parents, though not on the same level as Eddie and his mother.

Alfie's parents (Philip & Marsha Lewis) - We see Alfie's parents once, when they visit the house after the play. And like, they obviously have a pretty good relationship, otherwise they wouldn't even bother visiting. Alfie's mom clearly adores him. And yes, Alfie's dad is very strict and has high expectations, but he never gave any indication that he didn't care. A lot of that comes from his desire to see his son succeed. And Alfie clearly wants his father to be proud of him and tries hard to impress him. I think Alfie's mother probably spoils him, but his dad is very hard on him, and that might have the potential to cause them conflict later in life when Alfie expresses that he doesn't want to go into the family business or even work in that field at all. Alfie describes them as strict and control freaks (his dad being strict in the "I am a businessman and in charge" type of way, and his mom in the "oh that's my baby I won't let anything happen to my baby!!!" type of way imo), but they clearly care a lot, and despite all the pressure Alfie feels from his parents they are definitely on the top end of Anubis parents. (Though tbh it's more Alfie's mom than dad that gets them this high on the list.) And since we know nothing about Fabian's dad, I think I can officially declare that Alfie has the best relationship with his dad out of all the boys in Anubis House, despite how strict he is and the potential conflict they could have.

Mick's and Joy's moms - I'm lumping these two here together because both of them are mentioned maybe once in passing and nothing is ever said about either of them. I know that they exist, and that's it. I know nothing about them or their relationships with their respective kids. So I have to assume that as moms they are just Fine, otherwise Joy and Mick would have talked about them more. And tbh I have nothing else to say about them, so moving on.

Amber's dad - Amber's dad feels like the classic "I don't know what to do with my child or how to connect with them so I'll just buy them everything" type of rich parent. Do they have a strong relationship? I wouldn't say particularly so, probably. But it's not a bad one. The main knock on him is that he doesn't have a lot of faith in her to achieve things in her life and probably doesn't think she's very smart. Does he know his daughter? No, it doesn't look that way. Does he love his daughter? Yes, he never gives any indication that he doesn't. The main thing putting him this high on the list is that Amber seems to adore her dad. She is definitely daddy's little girl. He absolutely spoils her. And she seems to revere him almost, and she believes he has the power to solve almost any kind of problem, which is probably how it went during a good portion of her childhood. He was very worried when he didn't see Amber for awhile while she was trapped in the tank room, and I'm pretty sure part of the reason he let her go to fashion school was concern over her well-being. While they have their tension and certainly their distance, this is definitely a good relationship, for the most part.

Mick's dad (Rory Campbell) - This is the point where we get into the more complex relationships. Mick's still got a good relationship with his dad, but it feels a lot more strained compared to the relationships above just because of the vibes I got while watching. Like Alfie's dad, Mick's dad is very hard on him. They're both rich and important and expect a lot. I think the main difference is that Alfie's dad was more like "I want you to take advantage of your potential so that you can succeed" but he's less particular about what success looks like. I don't believe he ever explicitly stated that he wanted Alfie to follow in his footsteps or take a particular path, it felt more vague and he would likely be more flexible with Alfie's future. Mick's dad, on the other hand, had a VERY particular plan in place that he expected Mick not to veer from, and seemed disappointed when Mick expressed that he wanted to do something else. And tbh one of the bigger transgressions in my mind is that he doesn't listen to Mick, and he doesn't take him seriously. It takes Mara's convincing to get him on board with the exact same things Mick was trying to tell him, and tbh that doesn't sit right with me. He doesn't seem to have a lot of belief in his son, and there also seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding of his son if he doesn't know that he's very talented at sports and not skilled at math and science and is pushing so hard for him to be a doctor specifically and not veer from the "plan" they probably made when he was like eight. Mick expresses a lot of frustration with his dad, both during this incident and when they're taking him out of school to Australia. Another difference between Alfie and Mick: Alfie is actively trying to impress his dad. Mick feels that he's already disappointed his. I imagine the frustration decreased a lot when his dad finally accepted his son's ambitions. So overall I'd say this is a mostly good relationship, and his dad definitely cares about him, but there is tension here that I can FEEL.

Jerome's dad (John Clarke) - I'm gonna have to do the cliffsnotes version of this one, since we got basically a whole season touching on this particular relationship. They didn't make it super clear when exactly he went to prison, but there was definitely a good amount of time where he was at home with the family. Poppy said she barely remembers him, so it couldn't have been THAT long, but it was long enough for Jerome to collect a substantial amount of memories, and none of them were good. Before he went to prison, it feels like John was a pretty crappy father. And not only did his parents put Jerome in boarding school at age 5, essentially abandoning him, but it seems like being at home was awful too. So Jerome had to deal with his dad being a terrible father during probably about the first five years of his life, but he also had to deal with the trauma of his dad leaving them and disappearing. Jerome held onto that resentment for a very long time, as is warranted. And yes, John was a bad dad and disappeared on his kids, but when season 2 rolled around he truly did have a change of heart and wanted to make amends, which is the only thing keeping him from being lower on this list. You can't erase the years of bad treatment and subsequent abandonment, but he looks to have recognized that he did wrong and wants to fix them and be better moving forward, which is more than can be said for some of the parents on this list.

Patricia's parents - First of all, regardless of whether or not they are good or bad parents, it feels very clear to me that Patricia HATES her parents. And since this list is about 75% relationship with their kids and 25% how good of a parent they are, that jettisoned Patricia's parents almost all the way to the end. I'd be willing to bet that they are almost always at odds with Patricia, and that, since she's a handful, they just don't know what to do with her. And they either don't believe her, downplay her concerns, or are convinced she's always making things up for attention (probably a combination of all), because they essentially brush off Patricia's concerns when she calls them after Joy's disappearance, thinking she's talking crazy. Patricia never says her parents were BAD to her, necessarily, but I don't ever remember her saying anything good about them. Just about everything she says in reference to her parents is a negative light. Probably the biggest knock on her parents is their very obvious favoritism of Piper, whom it sounds like they raised as the golden child. They gave her all the attention, put a lot of their time and energy into her music career, and left Patricia feeling very much like the least-favorite daughter. And you know that just has to hurt like hell and also make her so very mad. She obviously still has a relationship with them, since she threatens to call their father on Piper when she ditches music school, but it's clearly not a good relationship, and she definitely doesn't LIKE them or feel respected by them. So I wouldn't say they're bad parents, but they give their daughters unequal treatment and an unequal amount of love, and tbh that's a pretty shitty thing to do. Atrocious relationship with Patricia.

Mr. Sweet - Being the right hand man of the immortality cult was already bad. And then we learned this man abandoned his son on the other side of the ocean for 16 years. My personal hatred of Mr. Sweet might bleed into this a little, but tbh I don't care. It's never made clear when exactly Mr. Sweet left Eddie and his mother, whether he left before Eddie was born or stuck around for a little bit after. If he did, he didn't stick around long, because Eddie didn't know him and he didn’t know Eddie. (Which is arguably better than Jerome where he had bad memories of his father instead of none at all?) It's also unclear what his relationship with Eddie's mother was like, whether they were married (possible but doubtful, given her different last name), or planning to build a life together, if he left without warning or had some kind of excuse for going back, if they were on good terms when he did, and also what his relationship with her is like now. (Also we don't know what he was doing in America, or when and why he decided to reach back out to Eddie and how exactly that all happened, but that's for a different post.) Either way, Eddie grew up without any kind of a father, and depending on what his mother told him, he could've hated the guy, ached to meet him, resented him, and probably every single emotion you can think of. And it undoubtedly led to a lack of trust and feeling unwanted. Not to mention that once Eddie DOES come into his life he has no clue how to be a father, and he's a pretty crap one, especially at first. On repeated occasions he acts like he hates Eddie, says he's disappointed in him (ex. the conversation in Eddie's room that Patricia overhears), and doesn't approve of him or his actions, which is not the best way to connect with your son or help him feel good (and he wonders why Eddie doesn't want to call him dad). Oh, and there's the whole "constantly putting his friends in danger" thing. And being on team evil. The ONLY saving grace here is that by the end Sweet is ACTIVELY trying to build a relationship and be a dad (I'd argue he never really succeeds at the whole being a dad part), and he seems to care and never purposefully tries to put Eddie in danger. But the two of them do not have a good relationship, I would say. And tbh I don't think Eddie should ever forgive him, after all he's done, but that's just my personal opinion.

Joy's dad (Frederick Mercer) - I feel like we sometimes forget just how awful Joy's dad was. Not only was he in the evil immortality club, he willingly used his OWN DAUGHTER for cult activities and ceremonies. Like, he essentially gave her up and said she's cult property now, intending to use her as a pawn. And he kept her locked up and isolated from the world and from her friends for MONTHS. MONTHS!!!!! And for lack of better words he was making her help them kill their friends. Like sir you have traumatized your daughter for LIFE. And it is YOUR FAULT. I have no idea what their relationship was like before all that went down; Patricia seemed to indicate that he was a pleasant guy, and even while she was locked up Joy was convinced that her dad was doing this because the others were "making him," bless her heart. Before all that, they probably had an okay, normal relationship. But tbh, none of that matters anymore. I imagine that absolutely shattered Joy's relationship with her dad. I can only imagine the heartbreak and hurt and betrayal she must've felt, especially if indeed they'd had a good relationship before, and now she probably won't ever trust him again. At one point Joy says she's trying to work on her relationship with her father, which is more than he deserves tbh. This relationship is absolutely not a good one anymore, and it may even be irreparable. The literal only thing saving him is that he at least ACTED like he cared. He repeatedly calls her darling and princess during his appearances onscreen, and he tries to assure her it'll be okay. At the very least, he cares, even if he cares in the wrong way.

And now, last and certainly least, we come to Jerome's mom. "But Liz," you say, "you're rating her worse than the two parents who were literally in the immortality club?!" Yes, and here's why.

We don't see her at ALL, but what we do hear about her paints an ugly, ugly picture. And what makes her the worst is that she does not care and does not even ATTEMPT to care. Alfie's and Mick's dads have high expectations and are hard on their kids, but they both show that they care. Amber's dad doubts her but loves her and protects her. Patricia's parents certainly have the ability to care, even if they need to reallocate their resources to BOTH daughters. Eddie's dad and Jerome's own dad, throughout all their transgressions, expressed interest in mending and building relationships with their kids. Even Joy's dad seemed to care.

Joan Clarke does not care. You said so yourself up there, anon: she refuses to help her kids with their dad in prison and never attended any of Poppy's recitals. And she sent Jerome off to boarding school at age five and left him there to rot, in Jerome's words. Throughout the entire show, I can't recall Jerome ever once saying one good thing about his mother. And he implied that his home life is bad and doesn't go home a lot, which would all be her fault, since she's the only parent there. Based on Jerome's comments and context clues, she just sounds like an unpleasant woman all around. I said this in the tags of the post that inspired this ask, and I'll say it here: I'm pretty sure Alfie has met Jerome's mom, based on clues (and if he hasn't met her, he's met her in my headcanons). In the episode with Alfie's parents, he says to Jerome "yours are WAY worse" when discussing parents, implying that he's met them. But as John Clarke is in prison and Alfie doesn't know anything about him, and also because he's definitely been gone since before Jerome and Alfie met, there's no way Alfie's met his dad. Which means he's only met Jerome's mom, and the comment was just about his mom. And if Alfie's saying it like that, you know she cannot be a pleasant lady. I'm trying to think of any redeeming things Jerome ever says about his mom, but it's difficult. Alfie makes a joke in s1 while they're "contacting Joy's spirit" that Jerome once stole Mrs. Andrews' scarf and snuggled in bed with it because he was missing his mom, but that's about it. Yes, she was technically there for her kids (unlike some of the dads on this list), but it sounds like she wasn't really there mentally. She made it clear to her kids that she doesn't care and doesn't seem to be making any effort. So if I'm Jerome, I'm going home almost never so I have to see her as little as possible [I have a headcanon that Jerome never goes home for Christmas and in fact starts going to Alfie's house for Christmas]. Because not only does he have a bad relationship with her, he has practically no relationship at all.

So, in conclusion it may be a controversial opinion, but I truly believe Jerome's mom is the worst of the parents. In their relationships with their kids, at least.

#sry anon this went in a slightly different direction to your original ask #but i had a good time going in depth with this #even though it took me FOREVER #anon #asks #house of anubis #eddie miller #mara jaffray #alfie lewis #mick campbell #joy mercer #amber millington #jerome clarke #patricia williamson

54 notes · View notes

ladysophiebeckett · 3 months ago

Note

I just binged Emily in paris for the first time and let me just say Camille's family's obsession with Gabriel is kinda creepy and her mom is deranged. I love Gabriel but does he really deserve all this drama...

I haven't done a full rewatch but i did go back and watch some old scenes bc i forgot a lot of stuff and.....ooh boy. yeah, sorry gabriel but do deserve all this suffering.

I think the biggest mark against gabriel is when he drunkenly confesses to her that he fell for her when he met her and then the next day says he doesn't remember what he said (lying!). obviously Emily was never gonna hold him to it, but still. Or when she helped him pick out engagement spots (alfie's fault for volunteering gabriel). but Gabriel accepted (!!!!). so yes, he deserves to lose Emily. he deserves to be on the sidelines pinning while she makes out with Marcello on a vespa. its equality.

Camille's family is weird. her dad is by far the only nice person but he's still weird. camille's brother has a weird obsession with Emily that needs to die. Camille's mom IS deranged and one of the reasons why Camille is Like That (not the sole reason tho). Something I thought was interesting was in 3x10, there's a throwaway line fm Camille's mom that implies she didn't always like Gabriel, implying she thought he lacked ambition. And before that we learn that Gabriel's grandmother Gigi, doesn't like Camille, like at all. Camille even confirms it by saying 'She hates me'.

At some point Camille's mom warmed up to Gabriel, like she saw his value\potential. But I also think Camille's parents are supportive of what their daughter wants to the point where they'll do anything help her get what she wants. Remember they wanted to loan Gabriel the money for the restaurant in S1 and he rejected it. It was something he and Camille were fighting about bc she saw it was him choosing to struggle\pride getting in the way. And he tells Emily that he can't accept it bc then they'd own him. I also think he couldn't accept it bc it would like an Official Commitment to Camille (And her family) and he was unsure about his relationship with her even then.

Gabriel's been indecisive for his entire arc, proving yet again that he deserves to lose what he wants most. like sorry, my guy but I dont think a plane ticket to rome is going to fix all this <\3.

#anon #ask #emily in paris

2 notes · View notes

whentommymetalfie · 8 months ago

Note

God I can just imagine when tommy and alfie welcoming their first child after such a gruelling and life threatening birthing (because obviously there needs to be a situation where tommy also dies giving birth because we love drama!!!) and alfie just can’t keep his eyes away from how tommy dotes and cuddles to their newborn. alfie is unable to keep the water works under control because he’s just so happy that they’re both healthy and alive!!! just thought I’d add to the omegaverse conversations because all your thoughts and ideas are amazing! take care ❤️

You're so welcome to join the omegaverse conversations 🥰 and thank you! Really, I can only take half the credit, since I've been proving with so many ideas to expand upon. Got a whole little collection now!

The thought of Tommy dying during labour is enough to make me want to retreat into a pile of blanket 💔 And Alfie sitting there with him in his arms, refusing to leave his side. Being left alone to care for their child. Oh but the angst. There'll always be a part of me that loves the suffering.

But to end on the fluffier side:

Tommy and Alfie being the happiest new parents ❤️ Tommy lying in bed with their newly delivered baby in his arms, exhausted and completely wrung out but still so happy. And Alfie holding both of them, unable to fully comprehend that he's a dad now. So proud of Tommy, who's gone through this long and difficult labour. Which he keeps telling him, over and over, how strong he is, how much Alfie loves him, and their baby. The entire Shelby clan hovering by the door, and eventually Tommy sighs and tells them to stop creeping and come in instead, so they all bundle in and they're absolutely on their best behavior, no loud noises, (using The Inside Voice), as they gather there around the bed. And surprisingly (but still not surprising at all), Arthur's the one who cries the most ❤️

#tommy x alfie #omegaverse #requests and inspiration

4 notes · View notes

ellynneversweet · 4 months ago

Text

Right???

El’s absolutely a pessimist who would take the worst case scenario numbers and assume those are the most accurate, but where is she getting these numbers from? Scholomance history textbooks? Wizard newspapers? Wizard puberty pamphlets (she gets one)? Who is producing these texts (enclavers, presumably) and why? To push that the scholomance and enclaves are the best and only solution for survival, so that any ends to build any number of enclaves justify the means?

I mean. It makes sense for El to be an only child, because her parents were star crossed lovers and her father died before they could produce a second baby (and Gwen had stepfather trauma and little El probably scared the piss out of any wizard man interested in Gwen). It makes sense for Orion to be an only child, because he was turned into an eldritch abomination in the womb, which sort of indicates his parents aren’t super broody and sentimental, and he was high needs in a very specific way, and maybe Ophelia did some damage to herself in whatever ritual she used. You can make the case that it kinda makes sense for Liu, because she was born before the official end of the one child policy (2016), although in practice that policy had softened dramatically in the 2000s so if you paid a fine or were an ethnic minority or a rural family or had a disabled child you could get around it, so I don’t see how wizards aren’t falsifying paperwork like they do passports. Because 1. we know from Liu’s grandmother that magically extending out fertility has a cost and 2. she is supposed to come from a big family, and I’m sorry but one uncle and two cousins do not a big family make. You can also make the case that Aadhya’s parents were so traumatised by her sister’s death that they didn’t want another baby after she died, but it makes less sense for them to have a five year age gap between baby one and baby two, and a three year age gap between baby two and the non-existent baby three, assuming their cultural values are for large families. You can make the case that Liesel is an only child because she’s illegitimate, because we don’t know when her mother was cursed, so maybe her mother was in a similar situation to Gwen’s, but in a less lovelorn way (and we also don’t know if she has half siblings on her father’s side).

But it makes no sense for Chloe, Alfie, Magnus, or any of the enclave kids to be only children. Given Alfie is Alfred, descendant of Sir Alfred, we might reasonably assume he is his family’s oldest or only son and has younger siblings coming through the Scholomance.

But okay, let’s play this out some more. Financially, wizarding parents have no disincentive to not have children because they’ve hacked the mundane economic system and can magic themselves up a do-nothing, moderately well-paid job and forged banknotes, so long as they don’t do so to a degree that it makes life difficult for the enclaves (who do stock and housing market manipulation instead). They do have a housing security issue, because although they can and do buy mundane housing, that’s no protection against mal incursions (and, off topic, I am massively and continually enraged that cost of living estimates deliberately exclude housing costs, at least in Aus, which is just lying with numbers). We know that some of the Beijing enclave kids offer to give up their places to Liu’s clan, so maybe those born into enclaves are only granted replacement-level inheritance of enclave spots, and there’s a risk that your third, fourth, fifth child have to become indie wizards, join another enclave, or you or they have to pay for enclave space for them in an expansion or a new satellite/outpost enclave.

Then there’s the question of when the population boom El mentioned happened. We know that modern enclaves are only modern by the standards of ‘made after the golden stone enclaves were destroyed’ so that covers iirc two or more thousand years, well before Industrial Revolution. But, the building of the Scholomance itself happens in the late IR, and contributes to the population boom. And it’s stated that enclaves, while safer than out in the wild, are still not particularly safe places for teenage wizards to be. We know the methods of modern enclave building have been industrialised (see: the mana brick stamper), and that the Scholomance was built in flatpack form in Manchester, and that modern enclaves have skyscrapers, so, possibly the IR contributed in that enclaves have a footprint area and found themselves suddenly able to build up when previously they’d been limited by building out.

We also know that magic doesn’t produce reliable contraception, that they go to science for that, and while forms of contraception have been around forever, reliable contraception that is minimally impactful on a woman’s body (ie, actually holeproof condoms, cervical caps that aren’t made of half a hollowed out lemon, the pill, IUDs, abortifacients that aren’t moderately likely to poison the woman taking them) starts in the 1960s. And on a related note we know that wizard healers who aren’t Gwen with her speciality of spiritual healing tend to go to medical school post-Scholomance and use a presumably more effective and mana-efficient blend of scientific knowledge and magical boosters, which indicates there also might be a greater survival rate among the very young and very old (since Scholomance students don’t have access to doctors, mundane or wizard), thereby increasing the population but also increasing the average age of the population.

So…we might say that the population boom took place between the mid-twentieth century and the 1960s, and by the 1970s the same cultural issues were coming into play in the magical world as in the mundane world — an existing population boom putting strain on resources, the ability to choose when and if to have kids pointing prospective parents towards a quality over quantity mindset, women’s lib (Deepthi’s parents wouldn’t have planned to send her to the Scholomance even if they could have got her in at the age when she predicted she would go, because she was a girl, while in El’s era the head of the most powerful enclave, New York, and her prospective heir are both women), and an aging generation with limited sympathy for the young except as a resource they can extract. Maybe even a sort of environmentalism in which mals (produced by humans) are a stand in for pollution.

In conclusion: ???

Also, the TFR in the scholomance books does not…make sense. Or possibly all the characters we meet are massive outliers for not having 6-10 siblings to account for what’s apparently a population boom in a population with a 20-80% child mortality rate. Or possibly El’s an outlier in just about every way possible (or possibly it got handwaved away by Ophelia’s speech about the increase in the mal population and the corresponding increase in mal attacks). Speaking of Ophelia, what a terrifying evil matriarch, I love her and want all the fic about her.

#mals as a stand in for environmental damages raises the intriguing proposition that we could understand Ophelia as magically akin to #the sort of people who join PETA and happily euthanise animals they ‘liberate’ from people PETA disagree with #on the principle that it’s better to be a dead dog than the beloved dog of a homeless person (fuck PETA by the way)#the scholomance #full disclosure I’m presently lightly fascinated by the fertility discourse that is happening in which #millennials and older gen z’s who are of baby having age who have been told their entire lives that they shouldn’t have children if they #can’t afford it have gone ‘okay then! I won’t since I can’t afford it’ and governments are going ‘but we need children as a society?!’#I feel like the wizard world is 5-10 years behind this current real world discourse in which sometime in their near future someone will go #‘actually. current stats indicate a population decline and that ALSO threatens our economic forecasting’

39 notes · View notes

hughiecampbelle · 2 years ago

Text

Imagine your father Alfie thinking you're out of control:

Your faces were inches apart, your voices loud enough to shake the foundation of the building. The both of you were impossibly explosive, but it got even worse when your father was particularly upset with you. He was furious, hearing you'd been skipping school to go to London with the youngest Shelby and his friends. You were running around town like you owned the place, sneaking out at night and coming back in the early morning. You were disrespectful to him, to his people, and he couldn't take it anymore. You were going to school. When you weren't in school you would be home, studying. No more friends, no more films, and no more fucking lying. You thought you were so good at it, that you were making a fool of him. No one made a fool of Alfie Solomons, especially not his own child. Your fists balled, pounded against the table beneath you, screaming at him about how unfair he was. He could do as he pleased, forgetting all about you for days at a time, but when he decided it was convenient for him to actually be a parent your life was over. Sometimes you were an adult, other times you were a child. Pick one, you dared him. It was one or the other, not when he decided to switch. As far as you were concerned, what he wanted was unrealistic. Hypocritical. He could disappear all he wanted. You had that same choice, regardless of your age. Screw him. Screw this.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader

139 notes · View notes

hedgy-hog · 3 years ago

Text

Let Yourself

Charlie Barber x F! Reader

Words: 12.3k

CW/Tags: Reader has a child, Mentions of food, Alcohol, Implications of Masturbation, Reader is referred to as “mom”

Read on AO3:

A/N: This fic was written for the @adcuficexchange Fall 2021 Exchange and inspired by a prompt that @kittensmctavish sent to me. Thank you for the amazing ideas!

When Henry befriends a boy at the park, Charlie finds himself gaining a new friend as well in a single parent. But as the days pass, and the text messages grow in abundance, so does Charlie's apprehension. He can't afford to lose a good thing. But when you smile at him like that, the risk may be worth it.

His sneakers skip through the mud, reminiscent of the rain that happened last night. Rain in California is a rarity. So when, to your surprise, you heard the crack of thunder and the pounding of heavy rain against the roof of your home, you thanked Mother Nature and cradled your son tightly to you. The thunder rattled him, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to you. Now you wish you purchased rain boots. The mud is going to be torture to get out of his sneakers fully. But for now, you let him play, hopping over the puddles and splashing about in the enclosed playground.

His father canceled again, stating he had to take care of business and would make it up to him. Little by little, you watch your pride and joy become crestfallen, head slung as he hears your harsh whispers over the phone. Alfie doesn’t deserve this. No child does. Your arms cross over your chest as you watch him play without a care in the world, distracted for the time being by the pain you know he has to be feeling. He doesn’t understand what an asshole his father truly is, rather spending time on his escapades than his own child. He uses the excuse of business; he’s just too busy to take him to lunch today, loads of meetings. But you know, and he knows you know. You hate lying to Alfie, but you are not going to tell your nine-year-old son that his father would rather be with another woman than him. You sink in on yourself at the thought. Sometimes he gets it, he’s a smart kid, but the times he curls in on himself, eyes glazing over with unshed tears asking why Daddy doesn’t want to see him, you wish to cradle him close and punt your ex into the sun at the same time.

You should have seen it coming -- he had grown distant the moment you announced you were pregnant. He tried to be a dad, at least you think he did. But it was just too difficult for him to handle. The marriage had already been on the rocks when you found out, your husband leaving earlier and staying out later. You did all you could to make your home more appealing to him: having meals prepped and set although you had to go work all day -- which left you exhausted, making sure the space was clean, appealing to his every desire in hopes he’d be satisfied to stay around. But it was never enough for him, slowly morphing away from the man you had fallen in love with. You thought maybe the pregnancy would save all of this, your combined love for this human you created soaking into one another. Even Alfie wasn’t enough to make him stay. You two separated by the time he was four, the divorce finalized two weeks before his sixth birthday. You believed there would be a silver lining with it landing like this. Alfie would get two birthdays, twice as many gifts, twice as much cake. His father called the day before, apologizing that he had to cancel so late. No gift had been sent, not even a card. Already broke from the divorce, you took Alfie to Disneyland in hopes of making it up to him with the money you received from your last paycheck, your mind clear of any thought that would cause your chest to cave in as you witnessed your pride and joy giggle more than he ever had in his entire life

You’re pulled from your thoughts at the familiar sound of his giggle, eyes refocusing to capture what has grabbed his attention. Coming into view, you see he’s not alone. There’s another boy at his side, scratching his head in curiosity as to why he would be splashing around in the mud. He’s nine, yes, maybe too old to be hopping around like this, but who are you to deny him. You listen keenly as he explains that he finds it so fun and that this new friend should try it out. The new boy is still hesitant, waiting to see if his dad would let him play.

Charlie’s long legs help him navigate up the minuscule hill, the charm of his car locking behind him. Henry insisted on getting a head-start, afraid the playground would be occupied by the time they got there. Charlie doubted, most of the parents not wanting their child to get dirty from the recent rainfall. But it is his day, and who is he to deny his son? He huffs, shoving his keys in his back pocket opposite his wallet, fingers escaping from the fabric holder to brush the hair that fell into his eyes away from his face. The damp earth slightly gives way beneath his soles, making his steps a bit quicker to avoid sinking. Cresting over the hill, his gaze finds his son almost instantly, Henry’s shoe digging into a wet patch of grass. But today, he’s not alone.

“Dad, can I play in the mud?” Henry inquires, eyes alight and brow raised.

“Honey, mom just got you new shoes. Don’t dirty them,” he vetos, “go play on the jungle gym instead.” Henry turns to this new friend of his, eyes just as wide.

“Wanna go on the swings?” he asks. The other boy is hesitant before he looks over at his mother.

“Mom, can I go on the swings?” He has to be a bit younger than Henry, voicer soft and less assured, Charlie observes.

“Sure. Just stay where I can see you, okay?” he nods, looking over at Henry before dashing towards the unoccupied swing set. That’s when Charlie’s eyes span over to the sound of the voice, locking on your slouched-in form on the bench. Even like this, curled up on yourself, Charlie can’t seem to look away. Your eyes are captivating, tired smile soft as you make room for him on the bench.

The first thing you notice about him is how large he is. Large and wide, the man practically casts an exaggerated shadow. He dresses nice, dress shirt buttoned and tucked into his slacks. It fits him well, nothing too loose or baggy except for where his stomach would dip. He towers over you even when he sits, bending his knees further to accommodate his size.

“What do you have against mud, huh?” you quip, sitting up a bit straighter to meet his eyes. On anyone else, they would seem too small. His features are a mismatch of slopes and angles, yet they all seem to work for his long face. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, afraid you have come off a bit too strong. But when he huffs a laugh, the corners of your mouth turn upward coyly.

“Well, it’s dirty and wet and it bullied me as a kid,” he leans towards you slightly, pointed canines peering out from curled lips. The tip of your tongue presses up against the back of your bottom lip to quell the grin from breaking out on your face. Only a line in and this stranger’s already got you smiling.

“Oof,” you force a sigh once you finally regain some composure, “that must have been hard for you. I’m sorry.”

“I survived -- narrowly, but I did,” he nods, reaching a hand out after a few beats, “Charlie.” You take it, the heat from his palm melding into yours, and give it a firm shake. You can’t help but notice his hands are incredibly soft. You give him your name in return.

Charlie can’t help but notice how soft your hand is. Your grip is strong, self-assuring. He pulls away first, hand finding its proper place upon his lap.

“What brought you to the park today, Charlie?” you ask, and oh, his name sounds so nice on your lips. His name is spoken constantly; by friends, by students, by Nicole. But there is something about the way you say it. It’s light, carefree, even if it’s such a simple question.

“Henry’s been talking about wanting to come here all week. I thought on my day with him, it’s the least I could do,” his hands run down his thighs, squeezing his knees slightly before working his way back up. Had he thrown caution to the wind? Spoke openly about the normalcy of divorce so casually with a stranger? You had only told him your name.

“You too?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“Divorced,” you complete your thought. He nods, pushing a sigh through slightly parted lips. His fingers tap in his lap, a rhythm of anxiety making its debut. Did he really have to say that? Put it out so freely that he was divorced? He pulls it together, the words that were just spoken bouncing off his brain.

You too.

It seems so common now, this way out. What once had stirred scandal had become as normal as breathing. It really makes him think. How many people have fallen in love just for it to crumble to dust? How many people believed they would spend the rest of their lives together just to sign the dotted line and continue on? How many had their own days with their children meeting strangers in the park? At least one.

“You’ve got a pretty cute kid,” you chime in, taking in the sight of the two of them conversing on the swings. Henry had said something funny, watching the smaller one cackle wildly as they both pump their legs to continue on the swings, “how old is he?”

“Ah, thanks. He’s ten. Got his looks from somewhere .” So many say he looks like Nicole. The lighter hair, the doe eyes. But Henry has his lips … and his ears, hidden away by his long hair as he does. “How about yours?”

“Alfie’s turning ten next month. It’s a big thing. I want to throw a party for him but I haven’t even begun to plan yet. I fear it’s going to be a disaster being so last minute.” He’s got a cute name to match his cute demeanor. The way he beams at Henry, curious eyes not leaving his son as they continue with their muted conversation.

“If you play into his interests and get him his favorite cake, I’m sure he’d love it. I will never forget when I got him a cake with strawberries in it for his fifth birthday and he suddenly came to the conclusion that he didn’t like them. He didn’t let me live it down for a good three days.”

You discover rather quickly that you like his laugh. You like his laugh a lot. It’s deep and hearty, originating from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re certain if you look over at him, you can witness his chest rumble from underneath his buttons. Strawberries in a cake have never been so funny. You can only imagine Alfie giving you the cold shoulder for something so simple.

“Don’t get a cake with fruit in it. Noted,” you laugh along, tearing your eyes away from the kids to take in the way his eyes pinch at the side when he laughs. It’s endearing, the redness pushing against his swollen cheeks, lips stretched wide. His arms cross over his chest, slinking further down into the bench. That’s when it hits you. This feels … comfortable. Usually, the back and forth about kids is so mechanical, asking their age, what school they attend, if they have any hobbies. Parents take the time to boast of their kid's successes, most of the time a reflection of themselves which the other parents have to question. But this is refreshing, even for being two questions in. Your index finger inches forward to scratch at the dip of your nostril, sniffling between your laughter. You don’t pick up on the way his eyes flicker down to witness the gesture.

It’s another hour and a half before the sun starts to set. The park is bathed in gold, twinges of deep oranges and pinks beginning to peek through. Charlie checks at his watch, mumbling to himself that it looks like dinner is going to be late tonight. Peering up, he takes in the sight you have been watching for the last few minutes. Alfie cheers Henry on as he swings from handle to handle on the monkey bars, lurching himself to the other end and landing smoothly. You and Charlie have rattled on about the most mundane things. You find out he’s extended a residency at UCLA for theater, originally a director back in New York. You find out he enjoys classic films, has more records than any other forms of music, and enjoys cooking. You share your interests, and how you seem to have no time for them between work and taking care of Alfie. You discuss a new film you’ve seen recently, how although it’s been over a month, you can’t seem to get it out of your head. Charlie gives in to your pleas to get him to see it, even if it’s just pretense. He excuses himself from your banter, the body that had been slung in on itself, and turned towards you returning to its previous state to look over at the boys.

“Sweetheart, we gotta get going! Say goodbye to Alfie!” Charlie calls out. Both of the boys’ faces fall knowing their playtime is over, your lower lip jutting out at seeing your little boy so disappointed. He stands, a human-shaped cloud shading you from the setting sun. “It was nice meeting you.” You peer up at him, neck almost straining to take all of his form in.

“You too. We’re here all of the time, so if you ever have more days with Henry that he wants to come and play, you know where to find us.” Charlie nods, hands coming to rest upon his hips.

“Well, I could always take down your number so we definitely know when you’ll be here.”

He really just said that. So openly and with a practical stranger. He wasn’t asking you for his own sake, no. Definitely not. It was for Henry. Henry could use more friends and people to rely on when neither he nor Nicole can fully immerse themselves in his creative world. Nicole has grown busier with her show going into its third season. It’s won more Emmys than originally expected, so the broadcaster wants to keep it on for as long as they can milk it. Charlie’s got his long rehearsals and monologue evaluations that take him late into the night. Henry deserves time with kids his age to explore and learn.

You quirk a brow at him, lips pursed at the offering. You’re silent too long for him to be comfortable, bearing his weight from one foot to another. Has he made you uncomfortable? He parts his lips, readying himself.

“Or-”

“That would be nice. I think Alfie really likes him.” He breathes a mental sigh of relief, giving you a slight nod. You reach for your phone in your back pocket, navigating some tools and whistles before gesturing for him to start. He gives you his number slowly, making sure you give a noise of affirmation at every digit spoken. “Got it, thanks. I’ll shoot you a text soon.” He gives a kind smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up ever so slightly.

The boys trek back to the bench, hugging each other before parting. Finally close, he’s able to take Alfie in. There’s no doubt that he is your son, he shares so many of your features. Your eyes, your nose. His lids appear droopy, seeing that Henry has taken all of his energy with their playtime. You part ways with lingering eyes and lingering smiles, pulling your boys close as you make your way to your cars.

It’s during dinner that Charlie’s phone vibrates in his back pocket. A quick buzz, the reminder of a text waiting for him. He waits to open it. Dinner is finished, the table is cleared and the dishes are washed, and Henry is safely tucked away in bed before he finally checks his phone. A photo from an unknown number. His brows furrow, believing it to be a mistake before he sees the context. Before him shines a photo of a professional cake sliced open. Inside, the moist sponge is stained with red, giving way to the giant chunks of strawberries.

Charlie smiles.

Hey, it’s Charlie. Is Alfie there? Henry wanted to say hello.

Hi, it’s Charlie. I’ve got a day with Henry tomorrow and wanted to know if you wanted to meet up at the park.

“Hey, it’s Charlie. I was wondering if you and Alfie wanted to come over for a movie night? Henry and I are watching Jurassic Park.”

“Charlie, you know you don’t have to say ‘it’s Charlie’ every time you call, right? I have Caller ID,” you chuckle, the phone pressed up to your cheek as you finish the final touches on your son’s peanut butter and jelly.

“Oh. Sorry, just force of habit,” he explains on the other end of the line. You wonder what he’s doing. Is he also preparing lunch for Henry? It’s quiet where he is. Maybe he’s alone.

“It’s okay. Let me see if Alfie wants to go,” you pad into the small dining room, plate in hand. Alfie peers up at you with eager eyes, licking his lips at the sight of his sandwich. It’s become his new obsession, having to have it for lunch every day for the last two weeks. Who are you to deny him? You place the plate down just for him to snatch up the sandwich, grabbing a half and shoving it into his mouth. “Do you want to see Henry tonight? His dad invited us to see a movie at their house.” Charlie waits patiently, the hand not occupied by the phone sliding into the back pocket of his slacks.

“Yesh pwl-”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, sweetheart,” you warn, watching as he struggles to chew his too-large bite. Charlie’s chuckle fills your ear, knowing those words all too well. The corners of your mouth tug up at hearing the sound you’ve grown rather fond of these last few weeks, your teeth pressing into your bottom lip to quell the impending smile. It takes Alfie a few more moments to chew, taking one large swallow before reaching for his glass of milk. “So you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” he reaffirms before relieving his previously stuffed mouth with his ice-cold drink. You shake your head, laughing again before shifting your focus.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yup,” he beams, reaching down to pick up a pair of shoes that sat neatly by the door to place in his room, “I was thinking around 6:30. I can order a pizza for dinner.”

“Pizza sounds great. We’ll see you at 6:30.”

He ordered two pies just in case. You offered to reimburse him for them, much to his rebuttal. You let him win just this once, promising to treat the next time. You have never seen someone eat like him before. Even though he tries to restrain himself, he can’t help but devour slice after slice like a man starved. It’s still not as good as pizza in New York, but he’s found a place that’s close enough.

Both of the boys are sleeping before the T-Rex shoves its nuzzle through the glass roof of the truck, the volume of the television set low enough that they will not awaken to screams. You and Charlie finish off the last of the pizza, the slice you occupy now cold. There’s always an upside to it, though. The sauce always tastes sweeter when it’s not piping hot.

“So, you’ve directed stage productions,” you begin, tearing off a piece of crust from the corner, “have you ever thought of breaking into the world of film? Direct a movie or a show? Commercials, even.” Charlie ponders at the thought, his slice moving like a hand puppet’s mouth as he folds and unfolds it. Nicole can’t seem to stop raving about the times she gets to direct. But she grew up with the screen. Charlie grew with the stage. It had always been his home, his space. Behind a camera would seem so incredibly foreign. He’d have to learn from the ground up. But he knows he could take on the challenge. He’s more than competent.

“Hm. I don’t know. I never really gave much thought to it. Theater was always sort of my thing, you know?” he takes another large bite of his slice, questioning as to why this tastes better colder. You nod with a hum, following him in popping the broken-off piece of crust between your lips. You make a note to ask about when he has an upcoming production.

“Understandable,” you reply after you swallow, “never hurts to try though.” Charlie hums, working on scarfing down the rest of the pizza. “I wanted to be an actress when I was younger.” His brow quirks, settling the remaining scrap of crust on the plate in his lap.

“What stopped you?”

“Life stopped me,” you snicker, leaning over to grab your glass. “I was a little kid, asked my parents. They said no. I didn’t ask again.” He scoffs, finishing off his slice and wiping his hands on a napkin.

“You should’ve kept asking. I bet you’d be an incredible actress.” Now he’s just running his mouth. There’s no way for him to know that unless he sees it for himself. You would probably never speak to him again if you had the guts to do so. He’d have to control himself from giving you notes. There is always a vision, always more work to be done.

“I doubt that,” you take a sip from your glass, inwardly scoffing at the irony that the colder your pizza becomes, the warmer your drink. It finds its place back on the table, rotating your front back to its previous state.

“Well, how about this: I direct a film, and you be the lead? That way, we’d both do something new and I could ultimately prove you right.” The back of your neck grows hot, a shiver tinging upwards from the base of your spine. You know it’s just banter, but why is your skin burning? You rub at the back of your neck, sending a grin in his direction.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Charlie shares in your smile, grateful his hair covers the bright red tips of his ears. He scratches at one of them, his gaze unyielding from your face. Your smile only grows, wishing you can tear your eyes away. The soft hum of Dr. Sattler gives you the strength, shifting to the screen and finishing your slice in silence. As the movie drones on, Charlie daydreams of viewing you from behind a lens.

Maybe you’re as bad as you let on. Maybe it would be torture to work with you. But what if it wasn’t? Sure, playful words will go nowhere, but that does not allow his mind to cease. He watches you intently, wondering what it would be like to thank you as he stands with an Academy Award clutched in his hand for best director. He pictures how you would beam at him, your clap the loudest in the room as you cheer him on for his accomplishment. Every other face is blurry except for yours. You blow him a kiss, and his dream state shares the same burning ears as his real-life counterpart. In the now, he studies as your fingers gently massage Alfie’s scalp, his head slumped against the front of the couch.

And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to …

The four of you take a walk together the next time you’re in the park. Alfie’s birthday party is tomorrow and all of the finishing touches have been completed. You were the good parent, opting for a cake with no fruit in it. Charlie, upon hearing this, snickered with a shake of his head. The boys race in front of you, playing a game of two-person tag. They’ve grown closer, the time they share is cherished every few weeks when Charlie has a weekend with Henry. You find yourself reaching for your phone more these days, the man semi-inept with technology sending you texts and photos almost every day. Sometimes they’re subtle things: passing by the coffee place you said was your favorite, the stage that is prepared for the theater majors’ monologue assignments, a screen of his television showcasing a movie you recommended to him.

You send him the meals you make, asking for advice on how to spice things up (literally and figuratively). You send him photos of dogs in sweaters that they don’t need (“They do”, Charlie counters every time.) You send him party plans, asking for his opinion. You send him his song recommendations, a little too modern for his tastes, but he gives them a listen anyway to humor you.

You send each other photos of your children, some with wide smiles, others with pouts. Charlie forwards them to Nicole, letting her know his friend Alfie misses him and can’t wait for him to see the photo. When your schedules are too busy, photos are sent of your time together, selfies of you and Alfie sharing fried calamari and a blondie from Connie and Ted’s. Charlie shares photos of Henry asleep in an audience member’s chair from later nights at the theater, helping out the students with their showcase.

“Did he really puke?” your eyes shoot open, mouth agape at the story Charlie is recollecting. He laughs, running a hand through his hair as he nods.

“He really puked. First thing, he was slating. Next thing, blech,” he mimics the sound of the upchuck, the sound causing shivers to run up your spine in disgust. You tremor along with it, shaking the feeling from your system.

“God, that sounds awful .” Charlie’s laughter calms, looking ahead to take in the smaller boy running after his son, a hand shot out and ready to strike.

“It all turned out fine in the end,” he reassures, “he was able to reschedule and after settling his nerves, the monologue went smoothly. He also got new shoes.” You wrap your arms around your middle as you continue your stroll, smiling once your eyes follow the path that Charlie’s have taken. Henry groans in defeat, Alfie giggling as he breaks off in another sprint to begin the game again.

“Well, that’s all that matters, right? New shoes? Who needs to ace a monologue when you got new shoes?” you jest, gaze landing upon Charlie once more. His smile only grows, the pointed tips peeking out again that you’ve come to adore.

“Oh, definitely. Words don’t matter when you’ve got new shoes.” You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent the growing smile at his response.

“When I puke on my shoes when I make my film debut, will you buy me a new pair?” Is this what flirting is like? Are you flirting? No, this is simply bantering between friends, right? Two friends where one finds the other extremely handsome. Two friends where one does not wish to admit that the other has been in their dreams on more than one occasion, two friends that will never admit the way their one’s stomach flips when the other friend’s name is the first thing they read in the morning and the last thing they read at night. This isn’t a crush. No, this can’t be.

“Pick out the designer and it’s yours,” his smile morphs into something you had never seen from him-- a smirk. He squints his eyes when he does, only one cheek bunching up and swelling. Your heart jumps against your ribs, banging against the bones like a feral lion in a zoo.

“I’ll take a pair of Louboutins, please and thank you,” you pray your voice remains steady, your arms tightening around yourself in the hopes of steadying your frantic nerves.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

It’s one of those nights; the night where he’s slumped in on himself in a too-quiet apartment. He stares at nothing, eyes glossed over and growing blurrier with every tick of the clock. Blinking does no help, not when his gaze is so focused on this spot on the wall. His chest feels empty, yet weighs a ton. His fingers twitch for a cigarette, yet there’s close to no strength to grab them off the top of the drawer on the other side of the room. He sighs, clearing out his throat in the dead silence of his room. The bed he occupies is too cold; the sweats he wears are not comfortable enough as he lays on top of his cleanly-made sheets. He picks at the material, trying to focus on the soft feeling between his fingers, yet nothing alights in him. With another sigh, almost on instinct, he reaches over to the bedside drawer to reach for his phone. His eyes finally focus as they look on the screen, fingers tapping a few times before he finds what he needs.

“Hello?” your voice fills his ears, an instant calm washing over. He continues to toy with the bedding, something to occupy his other hand.

“Hey,” his voice is gravelly, the sound of his voice foreign to his own ears. There’s silence for a moment, afraid he’s lost you.

“Are you okay?” you sound concerned, voice raising in pitch by the end. Had his voice given it away without having to say anything? He sighs again, taking in the solemn sight of his room. There are constant reminders everywhere, yet his home is still empty.

“Yeah. I just,” he pauses, trying to find the right words, “I miss Henry. Today was supposed to be my day but something came up and I won’t be able to see him for another two weeks. I know we FaceTime every day, but it’s just �� it’s not the same.”

“Oh, Charlie ,” you coo, causing his stomach to do the tiniest of flips, “I’m so sorry. I can’t begin to imagine how awful that must feel.” He can explain it. It does feel awful. It hurts everywhere, consumed by this all-encompassing emptiness. Part of his brain screams at him that he’s doing the right thing, seeking out a comforting voice in hopes of being less alone. The other half screams to hang up and toss his phone out the window; he doesn’t deserve comfort, doesn’t deserve anything.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbles, “just wanted to see what you were up to.” You’re quick to jump at the opportunity, the sound of raising from wherever you are evident by the squeak of the floorboards.

“Actually, I don’t have Alfie for the night and I was thinking of seeing a new movie that just came out. Why don’t you join me?” Charlie hesitates, fingers stilling. Sure, you’ve had alone time together, but the children were never far away. You texted before, called before, but this would be different. It would just be you and him -- alone, no kids.

“Eh, I don’t kno-”

“Oh, come on! I am not going to let you sit and mope around when you can be sitting in a ridiculously cold theater eating overpriced popcorn and sodas that will cause your bladder to burst. Come on. Please?” Although your arguments as to why it would be better are awful ones, what could be worse than sitting here alone? Charlie swings his legs over the edge of his bed, sitting up and running his finger through his hair again to neaten it.

“Let me come pick you up. Give me half an hour,” He doesn’t need to ask for your address. He’s driven there enough times that he could do it with his eyes closed. He can practically hear your smile on the other end of the line.

“You’re not even going to ask me what movie it is?” you observe, “you must be down bad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, fumbling with getting out of his sweats to put his slacks back on. “See you in thirty.”

“If you’re a minute late, I’m leaving without you!” you threaten. Charlie rolls his eyes in response.

“Then I’ll only be forty-five seconds late.” It’s such a bad joke, something his students would call a signature ‘ dad joke ’. Still, you laugh. He likes your laugh, likes it a lot. Maybe he should tell more of these dad jokes if this is your response.

“ Goodbye ,” you sing, a forced vibrato causing Charlie to laugh before the line goes dead.

He’s too large for the theater chairs, he always is. Still, if being scrunched upon oneself in a freezing room means spending time with you to help with his loneliness, he’ll take the sore muscles and the crook in his neck. The movie is rather interesting, a drama with much-needed comedic breaks. Otherwise, it would be too much. He takes it all in, the expressions, how it would translate to the stage if he were to take on something like this. He laughs at the right moments, knowing you made the right choice in your selection. In particular, one moment strikes him, a moment between two friends who know they have to go their separate ways. He feels it before it comes: an ache in his chest and sinking to his stomach. His sinuses go first, stuffing up at the tears well up in his eyes. He breathes a heavy sigh, shooting his head up in hopes the tears somehow get reabsorbed by magic. You see him out of the corner of your eye, the light of the screen illuminating off of him. You turn to head to look upon him in time that he brings himself to look back at the screen.

“You okay?” you lean over to whisper to him, making sure he meets your eyes. He nods, swallowing a forming lump in his throat in hopes of fighting it off for longer.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay,” he lies, the dam breaking with a quivering lip. You cock your head, taking him in. He knows he’s lost, the tears making their descent down his cheeks. You mouth an ‘aw’, reaching for the napkin you had for the buttery residue on the popcorn and pat just below his eyes to soak up whatever remnants remain.

“Got to you, huh?” you implore under your breath, continuing to dab at his cheeks. They burn under the paper, nodding with a breath of a laugh. “You’re passionate about this stuff. You’re cute. .” Suddenly, the breath he holds hitches in his chest. Cute? You think he’s cute? God, why do his cheeks burn even harder? Why do his ears feel like they’re on fire? He’s not fifteen anymore. “It’s alright. You’ve got me to comfort you.” Your hand drops the napkin in your lap before taking a hold of his, giving it a reaffirming squeeze.

He hasn’t touched you like this since you first met. Sure, you gave each other hugs in passing, but to feel your soft skin against his is unlike anything else. Suddenly, his eyes widen. This isn’t a date, right? Like a date date? This is just two friends watching a movie and holding hands. You ask if it’s okay, if you can continue holding his hand. He doesn’t stop you. He would never refuse you, he concludes.

Later in the night, when he takes himself into the hand you held, your name on his lips, spilling all over himself with the thought of your soft hands and kind smile occupying his mind, he knows why his body burned so bright.

You think of him often, too often. You’ve memorized his work schedule throughout the last few months although you tell yourself you haven’t. You know when he wakes, know the exact time when he sends his good morning text. During one of your outings a few weeks ago, he told you that he was never the one for texting when he could call, but you changed his stance on it. You speak whenever you have the chance, reaching out to Charlie rather than banging your head against a hard surface at work like you want to. He’ll check in during his day, pointing out things that caught his eye: a performance, good or bad, images of your favorite animal that he comes across. You ask him what’s for dinner, he tells you. Your dishes, even when he’s cooking just for himself, never amount. When you can find someone you trust to watch Alfie, you’ll offer to meet him for a meal. It’s the perfect time to decompress and just be . No work, no kids, just venting and enjoying one another’s company. It gets harder to look him in the eyes the more you spend time with him. You find Charlie, your friend , attractive. So what? Friends can find their friends attractive, right? Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with looking into your friend’s eyes and getting lost in them. Nothing wrong with holding your friend’s hand when you take a walk. Nothing wrong with thinking of a friend before you drift off to sleep.

You find yourselves this time at Du-Par’s, way too late for the rest of the world to be awake. Alfie is with someone you trust, Charlie leaving work way too late for his own good. You sip on your respected coffees, Charlie indulging in his dinner as you pick at a muffin.

“So, I don’t mean for this to be intrusive, but you never told me why it never worked out for you and Nicole,” you pop a ripped-off piece of the confectionery into your mouth, large flecks of sugar pieces coating your tongue. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I get it if it’s overstepping, but I can’t help but be curious.” Charlie chews slowly, for once. The chicken pot pie he ordered is far too hot for him to devour like he usually does.

“Hmm,” he ponders, swallowing once the meat is cool enough on his tongue. “No, it’s okay. It just … wasn’t working anymore. We both wanted different things, not just for ourselves but for one another. Nicole wanted to go to LA and get back into film, I wanted to stay in New York and expand Exit Ghost. Our visions for one another in these scenarios just didn’t line up and it hurt us.” You nod, idly sipping at your coffee. He hesitates for a moment to speak about Mary Anne how a slip in judgment and a need for affection led him to her bed. You admit, it’s a bit of shock hearing of this revelation, but it makes sense. The number of times your chest would ache when you were sharing a bed with someone who felt like a stranger to you after you believed they were your soulmate, wishing for a pair of comforting arms to pull you close and keep you safe. You never entertained the thought as he did, but there were times your mind would wander. His brows furrow when you take it all in, appearing to be without a single thought. But you can’t help to feel the way your stomach flips, a fear ingrained in whatever … this is. Nothing is what it is.

You share what you haven’t already about your divorce. You share how you kept holding on longer for the sake of his family, finding out you enjoyed their company more than his. His siblings always made you feel welcome, even when he didn’t. Not having that support other than in regards to your son scared you. You share how at first, you felt as though it was your fault. You feared you weren’t pretty enough, weren’t giving enough. You would bend over backward for him to receive nothing in return.

“It wasn’t your fault. He just didn’t know how good he had it,” Charlie casually lets slip between bites. Your throat is suddenly dryer than the Sahara, controlling a few coughs with another sip of your coffee. Your eyes shoot down, afraid of how he would react if he saw your eyes bulging like they are threatening to do. It was simply a compliment, nothing more. Your other friends had said just as much.

“Well, it’s not my concern anymore,” you murmur once you regain some composure, eyes honing in on the seasonal pie presented behind the glass dome, “he’s got others to deal with his issues now.” Charlie nods, his forkfuls becoming more plentiful now that the filling has cooled down considerably.

“You ever think of maybe going back out there?”

“Hm?”

“Dating again,” he clarifies. You ponder it, how at times you long for a pair of arms around you and a set of plump lips to ease your worries. You don’t want to be alone, not really. But right now, your focus is on Alfie. If someone comes along with sparkling eyes and a charming demeanor, perhaps you would entertain them.

“Maybe,” you admit, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know. Having to sit through all of those awkward conversations again and hoping something sticks is not really my forté.” Charlie chuckles, teeth flashing you. You respond with a smile of your own, fingers toying with the paper wrapping of your muffin. “You?” Charlie hesitates, thumb and forefinger pinching the corner of his eyes to keep them in focus.

“No, I don’t think so. Like you said, those awkward conversations aren’t for me, either. It’s too much trouble. But there’s also so much to focus on. I’ve got this residency, I’ve got my company back in New York. There’s just not enough time to focus anywhere else.” For some reason, his answer makes your heart fall into the pit of your stomach. It’s a shame, truly. Charlie is a great guy and anyone would be lucky enough to have him.

“And what if someone came along? Just stumbled into your life sans awkward ice-breakers,” the crumbs of the muffin break off from the paper and stick to your fingers, rolling them off with the friction between your fingertips. Charlie ponders again, taking another bite of his potpie.

Would he? Hell, even he doesn’t know. What would happen to him? To Henry? Would both of their lives spiral into something completely new? Nicole has a boyfriend and Henry seems to be doing fine. But for both parents to be seeing someone else, the fear of Henry not liking them or vice versa? Perhaps the risk is too much. It’s still a struggle to look upon you fully, a one-time promise becoming a regular occurrence when there are no prying eyes around. There’s nothing wrong with having a face put to fantasies -- better someone he knows than a faceless, nameless person, he argues with himself every time he cleans himself up. Maybe it would be good, dating again. But Henry and himself were no longer the only factor.

What would happen if they didn’t get along with you?

“I don’t know. I still think I’d be too busy,” he disregards. You nod, the ache only growing stronger as you empty your cup. Suddenly, the muffin is too sweet, the room too stuffy. Half an hour later, you part with a hug, making him promise to send you a text that he got home safe. He promises only if you do so in return. Calm returns once you slink into your home, kicking off your shoes and padding over to get ready for bed. The notification distracts you from washing your face, skin still soapy as you read over the message.

Home safe. Thanks for coming out with me. Sleep well.

The ache returns. You also forgot to text him.

I just stepped in too. Goodnight.

You hate him. You may actually hate him. If you could have spoken to your younger self all of those years ago, you would have screamed at yourself to run far away the moment he started speaking to you in the lunchroom. The way you had been so foolish to accept his advances, his touches, his kisses. The way you had been foolish to accept his proposal. You regret so much, regret close to it all. There is only one thing you don’t regret, his head propped in your lap as you run press your fingers into his scalp. Alfie has always enjoyed scalp massages; it was one of the things that put him to bed after a nightmare when he was a toddler. You will never stop, even when he comes to you in his teens with a broken heart, in his twenties when his job is too rough on him. You will always be there, unlike him.

He didn’t call, didn’t text. Nothing. Alfie was supposed to be picked up six hours ago. Now it had grown dark and with no sign of his father coming, you stop yourself from letting the tears flow. You have to be strong for him, have to be the protector. How can someone not care about their own child enough to bail again without a single mention? It is when you put Alfie to bed that you check social media, discovering a post that makes your blood boil. You close out of the app and rush to your texts.

Can you come over? Bring something strong

He responds quickly, almost too quickly. Doesn’t even ask if anything is wrong. It’s sudden and affirmative.

Be there in 20.

He’s at the door earlier than you expect him, a bottle of wine grasped in his paw that is far too expensive for a late-night crying session. You let him in, arms instinctively wrapping around yourself. Everything hurts, yet the warmth of Charlie’s presence is more than welcome. It soothes you almost as good as the wine will.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, “Alfie’s asleep, so make yourself at home.” Charlie slips off his shoes, nudging them with his foot to press up against the wall.

“I thought your ex had him today,” he remarks. Your eyes meet his, chocolate and whiskey observing how you try to blink the formation of your tears away. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he carefully places the bottle down before reaching out for you. You welcome it as he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You sink into his embrace, arms unraveling from yourself to wrap around him in return. Your head rests against him, eyes shutting and breathing in his comforting and familiar scent. It’s clean, fresh, yet deep. It feels like an eternity, standing there in each other’s arms. Charlie has become the safe haven that you never wish to lose. The physical being of all-consuming comfort holding you close, letting you cry if you chose to do so. His hand rubs calming circles into your back, you drawing in a shuddering breath as you try to quell any tears. He would let you cry if you wished to and without judgment, you know this. But you don’t feel like crying right now. His chin rests atop of your head, eyes searching for the familiar cabinet in the kitchen. “Let me get some glasses.”

You don’t wish to part from him, not when his embrace is the closest thing to home besides your son. Reluctantly, you nod, sliding out of his arms. You find a spot on your couch, letting Charlie rummage through your drawers for a corkscrew. Your kitchen is too small for him, the image of him hulking around in it when he offered to make you dinner one night bringing the slightest of smiles to your face. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, holding everything he was looking for in one hand. He’s quick going through the motions, settling down next to you before uncorking the bottle of red and pouring you each a glass. You grab for it like a lifeline, impatient to let the ruby liquid coat your insides. You down almost half of your glass in the first sip, hoping it will loosen you a bit.

“Do you wanna talk?” he pipes up, swirling the wine in his glass before bringing it to his lips and taking a few sips. You white-knuckle your glass, allowing yourself a calming breath before beginning.

“My fucking ex. I have never met someone so inconsiderate,” the ache finds itself reemerging without you. “I’m used to this, him bailing. The way he thinks he can send some money every month and believe he’s being a parent when he rarely sees his son is beyond me. He rarely calls, rarely texts. He constantly bails on our son,” your breath hitches in your chest, your teeth gripping onto your lip to prevent it from trembling. No crying. Not now. “It takes two people to make a child from what I remember. I don’t understand how he can see this perfect boy that he helped create and treat him this way. It’s not fair to him.” Charlie nods, letting you speak. His chest is hollow, stomach tightening with what can only be described as rage. Charlie does anything he can to spend time with Henry. Hell, he even asks when it’s not his day in hopes Nicole will say yes. Henry is his world and that will never change. To see this gift of a child, your son, one that Charlie has come to care for so deeply, and brush him aside like he is nothing? It rattles him to his core, twists his guts to the point of sickness.

“I’m sorry. Some people don’t deserve their children. He sh-”

“But here’s the real kicker,” you don’t mean to cut him off, but it must be said before you swallow it away forever. “After he didn’t show, I was just scrolling through social media. He didn’t even bother to text because he was at a party … for his girlfriend. I’m sorry, his fianceé , now” the last word is seethed through gritted teeth. Your dam breaks, your jaw quivering as the tears overflow your tear ducts and pour down your cheeks. “They’re getting married. They’re getting married and there he is holding her, and kissing her, and looking like he’s on top of the goddamn world with no regard for someone who already is his family. He didn’t even invite Alfie to the party, and that’s going to be his stepmother. I just--” you sniffle, the back of your hand rubbing the moisture into your skin. “I hate him. I love him for our son, but I hate him.” You down the rest of your glass, reaching clumsily for the bottle with your tear-obscured vision to pour yourself another glass filled to the brim.

He says your name so quietly, his own voice breaking. His heart shatters into a million pieces for Alfie, for you. Your second glass is gulped down, rarely coming up for air. You don’t give yourself time to savor the flavor, the deep fruit and spicy notes skipping over your tongue and sloshing into your belly. You shake your head, trying to do anything you can to make the tears stop. Your shoulder wrack, blubbering sobs causing you to fumble at putting your glass down. Charlie does it for you, once again doing all he knows he can. Placing down his glass, he scoops you into his arms and sits you down on his lap. You cry into his chest, two splotches on his shirt deepening in color with the absorption of your tears. How could he do this? How could he deny your pride and joy so adamantly and gush over this new marriage? Your heart hurts for Alfie. What will become of him in this new chapter of his father's life? It is almost non-existent as it is, but now? Now you just don’t know. You don’t want to know.

Charlie says nothing for a while, doesn’t shush you. He just lets you be, lets you cry until there are no more tears left. His hand rubs your back again, lips that you have dreamed of but never wish to admit pressing kisses into your hair. When he does say things, they are only affirmations.

I’ve got you. You’re okay.

You re-emerge from his chest with burning skin and swollen eyes. You clear your sinuses, wiping at your nose haphazardly in hopes of clearing it.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” you mutter, voice hoarse. Charlie shakes his head, his hand not ceasing their movement.

“It’s what I’m here for. But … is it alright if I share my opinion? You can say no.” You snuffle again, nodding at his request. Your fingers pinch at the fabric of his shirt, twisting the dry material laying at his collarbone into pinwheels before unraveling and starting again. “He never deserved you and never deserved Alfie. I never met the guy but I don’t have to to know he’s a piece of shit.” Peering up at him, you try to clear your nose again with another sniffle. His eyes find yours, his other hand hesitantly reaching out to cup your cheek. Your face feels so small in his palm, so fragile. He scans every inch of your countenance, trying to take in any detail he could. “I’m glad I haven’t met him. I could never imagine knowing I have Henry and not wanting to see him. The next time he bails, you call me whether Henry is around or not. We’ll all go out and do something. My treat. It doesn’t even have to be when he does. Just whenever you two want.” You thought there were no tears left until a few fresh ones roll down your cheeks. The pad of Charlie’s thumb collects them, wiping them away.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, ready to burst through and tear through your chest. Uncertain if it’s the exhaustion settling in or the wine beginning to hit, but you take a hold of his hand in your own. Charlie’s lips part, the impending dialogue never arriving. You slowly examine his hand, unraveling each one of his fingers until his hand lays completely flat. Without a second thought, you bring his hand to your face, pressing a kiss to the meaty part between his thumb and palm. His breath hitches in his chest, pupils dilating at the first feeling of your lips. They are as soft as he imagined, more swollen than usual from biting down on them.

“I don’t get it,” you utter against his skin. You give him one last kiss before releasing his hand.

“Get what?” he talks lowly, his palm burning with your lips on his skin being the only remedy.

“You’re just -- you’re amazing. If you were my husband, I’d never let you go.” Every inch of his body tenses; it’s like he’s being thrown into an ice-cold bath. You must be drunk, a lightweight, unsure of what you’re talking about. You’re tired, so tired, he surmises. There’s no way you would mean such a thing. He finds the fantasy in your eyes, you propped up on his lap just like this in the park, Alfie and Henry running around like usual. His dream self plants a gentle kiss against your cheek, his thumb tracing the smaller version of identical bands on your finger. He whispers sweet nothings for only you to hear. You respond with a nuzzle into the side of his face. The words are never heard, but he can read them from your lips. The tidal wave of reality that washes over him is chilling, jolting him into full sobriety. He clears his throat, pulling himself away as much as he can with you still propped on his lap.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he asserts, arms sliding themselves from you. You ache all over, but you nod, realizing this time has come to a close. Did you say something wrong? Did he really see how this cry took a toll on your body? You slide yourself off him slowly, steadying yourself as you stand. His hand finds the small of your back, helping you into your room. Thankfully you are already in your pajamas, changing into them when you decided it would be a movie night to make up for your ex’s flakiness. You sit on the edge of the bed, your arms finding their previous position around themselves.

“There’s a key under the mat. You can lock it from the outside,” you murmur, body feeling too heavy to move as you sink deeper into the mattress. He nods, stopping himself from crossing the threshold of your space.

“Goodnight,” his tone borders on bleak, shuffling out of your space and doing as he was told. His heart is racing as he stands at the door, unable to focus on anything but the grain of the wood.

If you were my husband, I’d never let you go.

He doesn’t send his good morning text the next day. No photos either. It’s odd. Ever since you had each other’s numbers, there has always been an exchange of messages. You start it this time, or you hope to. You’re the one who sends the messages, the photos. He never responds. You brush it off for the day, as much as you feel your heart nestling in the pit of your stomach all day. He’s a busy man. He has other priorities. He doesn’t text you the next day, nor the next. He’s gone radio silent. Every text goes unanswered. You resort to calling him. His phone rings and rings and rings. At least it’s on. But it goes to voicemail every time.

Charlie, I hope everything’s okay. Please let me know if you need anything.

Charlie, please let me know that you’re okay. A call, a text, anything. I just need to know you’re alright.

Did I do something wrong? Charlie, please talk to me. If I did anything, I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you.

It’s been weeks since you’ve last heard from him. Time and time again you have thought about showing up on his doorstep and demanding an answer or traveling to UCLA to ask what happened in the middle of one of his classes. He’s been in your dreams, almost every one of them. You wake up with your chest hallow, limbs too heavy. It’s when Alfie asks why he doesn’t see Henry anymore that’s the final straw. He can hate you all he wants for something you didn’t know you did, but to deny his son a friend of his makes your blood boil. You reassure that they must be busy and you bet you’ll see him soon. When he leaves the room, you scroll for his number again. You pull up your messages, all of them the last few weeks only being flushed on the right.

I don’t care if you don’t want to see me right now, but it’s not fair for the boys to not see each other. Please talk to me so we can settle this for them. Meet me at the park tomorrow at 12. With that, you slide it into your pocket, hoping for once he reads this.

You sway on the swing, rocking on the balls of your feet as you search for any sign of him. Charlie’s not the one for being late, so you know if it was anywhere beyond 12:05, he wouldn’t come. You check your phone for the millionth time, glossing over the time and if you have any messages. 11:58 and none. You release a quivering sigh, your palms clammy as you grip onto the chains and swing yourself further, hoping the rocking movements will calm you. It hits noon before you know it. With another sigh, you go to push yourself off the swing when a broad frame crests over the small hill. You see a tuft of dark hair first, then wide shoulders in a too-pressed button-up shirt. Your breath hitches in your throat, grounding yourself to the swing. Charlie came. Your stomach flips as more of him comes into view. You find yourself in a natural state, your teeth quelling your trembling lip. Fuck, you’ve missed him. You have missed him so much. Even the sight of him is enough to send you into a spiral like this.

You want to rush off the seat and throw your arms around him. You want to rush off the seat and scream at him until your throat goes raw and you see red. You want to cry at him, you want to hold him and be held in return. You want to-

“Hi,” his baritone tears you from his thoughts. You blink him back into focus, tilting your neck up to take him in fully.

“Hi,” you try to retain your composure, your moist palm gesturing to the swing beside you. “You wanna sit?” His lips purse as he contemplates, giving you a nod before joining you. He’s too big for the swing, much like he’s too big for a lot of things. The bottom of the seat squeezes his hips and legs in, looking out of place.

“So,” he begins, palms laid flat on his lap. “You wanted to talk.” You hum an affirmative, hand returning to the chain and holding on tight.

“I do.” You can’t stop your leg from bouncing, as much as you try to dig your foot into the ground. “Why have you been ignoring me?”

“I’ve been busy,” he lies, unable to meet your eyes. You shake your head. It’s not good enough.

“You’ve been busy before. I know when you’ve been busy. You always warn me if you’re going to be busy, Charlie.” You’re right, he knows you’re right. If he knows he can’t come to his phone that day, he warns you in his good morning text. You always tell him to have a good day regardless with a heart. Even then, he’s always made time for you. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Charlie pauses, drumming his fingers on his thighs. It’s so hard to explain without having to admit it. He doesn’t want to avoid you, not really. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. He doesn’t wish to admit that Henry has asked for Alfie as well. He knows he’s being selfish, but was there ever another choice? Did he want to do go down the path of the other choice? The one of constant pain and longing?

“It’s complicated,” he tries to explain, truly. But the words won’t come.

“I’ve got all day. Alfie's going to a friend’s house after school. I’ll stay here as long as it takes.” You’ve always been a spitfire. He loves that about you. One of the many things he loves about you. It’s why he had to go. “Did I… Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Charlie’s quick to counteract. “I just didn’t handle something well. I thought putting space between us would help.” Your brows furrow, wondering what would have been the factor in which Charlie wanted to leave.

“Why didn’t you tell me you just needed space? Why was that so difficult?” you ask. Charlie runs his hand through his hair, gently tugging at his roots to keep him in check.

“I would have never been able to do it. You would have asked what was wrong and I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.” You shake your head, sighing in disbelief. Go through with what? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

“You have to understand, it’s fine if you hate me,”

“I don-”

“But it’s not fair to the boys to be kept from one another. Henry is Alfie’s best friend. He’s been devastated not seeing him recently.” He knows. So many hearts were hurting because of him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he murmurs. You push yourself up from the swing, rounding out to face him.

“What did I do to make you avoid me, Charlie?” you inquire, arms folding over your chest. “I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. I just …” he huffs, “I got scared.” Your head cocks to the side, approaching him slowly.

“Scared?”

“The last time we spent time together, you said this… thing . I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and it scared the shit out of me.” You raise your brows in hopes to get an explanation from him. Now his knee bounces. “You told me that if I was your husband, you’d never let me go and I just--”

“Why did that scare you so much?” your stomach flips, inching closer to him.

“Because I had this thought, okay? We were there and we were -- fuck, we were married, and that scared me because the thought itself wasn’t so bad,” he finally lets loose. You stop dead in your tracks, unable to breathe. Charlie had thought of marrying you? You? You attempt to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You had not been the only one with the thought, then. If you could freely share the dreams you wake up from, growing lonelier each day as you wake in your bed alone.

“Why?” you manage to croak, fingers digging into your side. Charlie bends in on himself, exhaling all puffs of air left in them. He practically folds in on himself, fist pushing against his bottom lip.

“Loving someone is scary, okay? Things can be great. There’s love and happiness, and in a second, that could be ripped away. People get married, and then they get divorced. Everything that was once good gets broken and destroyed. There’s nothing but pain and loss and-” He’s silenced by the feeling of your hands on his shoulders. He shivers at the contact, missing your touch. Looking up at you, your hands run upwards to cup his cheeks. He could die right here, your skin on his. How he burns for you.

“Will you not let yourself love?” your eyes take in every inch of him, heart wracking against your chest. “Will you not let yourself be loved?” His lips part at that. Not only is it a question, but an admission. You … oh god , you-

“I don’t know,” he swallows, pupils blown wide and following your own. You don’t give him time to think. Pulling him towards you, you slant your lips against his. It is euphoria, the feeling of your lips together. His lips are soft, slightly chapped in the middle. He tastes of spearmint gum and hints of cigarettes. His lips move against yours like a man starved, large paws coming to rest upon your hips to pull you in further. This is bliss. This is months in the making. This is right. Terrifying, but right. You pull away with a heaving chest, both pairs of lips kiss swollen and glistening.

“Let me love you, Charlie. Allow yourself to be loved. I know it’s scary, I’m scared too. But you deserve love.” Half of him wants to run, the fear of inevitable heartbreak looming in his mind. The other half wants to kiss you and never stop. He wants this. He’s always wanted this. One half decides, hands running up your sides to mimic the placement of yours on his face. When he joins your lips again, he makes his choice.

Charlie practically inhales his falafel sandwich, parts of the balls clumping off and falling into his to-go tray. He’ll never stop eating like a man starved. You can’t help but laugh, grabbing a napkin at the pooling white sauce at the corner of his mouth.

“For someone so uptight about their appearance, you sure do eat like you have nothing to lose,” you tease before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Blegh! Gross” Alfie groans, palms pressing into his eyes to prevent from seeing anything else.

“Better keep your eyes closed, then, buddy,” Charlie reaches for you once he swallows, hooking his fingers underneath your chin to pull you in for a kiss. Henry is the next to groan, draping over his friend to bury his face in the back of his shirt. You laugh against his lips, chasing a few more pecks before pulling away.

“Okay, boys. The kissing is over. You can look now,” you chuckle, reaching for your boba tea. Your friend had recommended Berlin’s, neither of you expecting to see falafel and boba on the menu, yet you won’t complain. You’re still on cloud nine in his company, your free hand reaching over to take a hold of his.

“When you’re older and with someone you love, you’re going to want to kiss them too,” Charlie remarks. Alfie makes another exaggerated gagging sound, Henry’s head cocking to the side, lost for words. It didn’t take the boys a long time to accept either of you into their lives in this sense. If anything, they saw it as a plus knowing they would see each other more. Even with their farce at your affection, the transition had gone smoothly. Your fingers lace with him, shooting him a knowing smile before bringing the thicker straw between your lips. Charlie hones in on the tapioca pearls along their journey through the straw and into your mouth. He’d make your last words a lie if your mouth wasn’t occupied.

“When I love someone, I will never kiss them!” Alfie argues. You laugh as you swallow, leaning to the side to rest your head against Charlie’s shoulder. His lips find the top of your head, lingering to take in the scent of familiar shampoo. The last shower you took was at his place, insisting on using his shampoo. Warmth floods him and the tip of his nose nudges at your scalp.

“We’ll talk about it when the time comes,” you smile, squeezing Charlie’s hand. He squeezes back, a gentle reassurance of his presence, his awareness. During your time together, you’ve come to learn more things about him that you love. You love how he looks when he first wakes up, hair dark and disheveled, practically sticking out in all directions. You love how specific he is about his eggs for breakfast. You love how he takes his coffee and how he blows on it to cool it down before taking a sip. You love how he’s an incredibly safe driver, even when it drives you up the walls when he can go faster and chooses not to. You love his awful dad jokes. You love how attentive he is with Alfie. You love how he holds you when you have time to yourself. You love how his heart still races when you press your ear up against his chest after all of this time. You love how he loves.

You love him.

There are so many things he loves about you. He loves how you’re always there to wipe his tears away during movies. He loves how you support him in any way you can, showing up to his work with lunch when you can, showing up to his shows and residencies. He loves how much you love New York after he takes you there for a week to follow up with Exit Ghost. He loves how your hand feels in his, so much smaller than his own and so very soft. He loves how you feel in his arms when he holds you close. He loves the way you smell, the perfume he gifted you settling perfectly into your skin. He loves how you love.

He loves you.

His previous fear seems foolish looking back. Why would he deny himself something so pure and whole? Of course, the fears are still there. He knows losing you would crush him beyond compare. But he lives for the now, the now in which you love him wholeheartedly and he loves you in return. Fears be damned, he will live in the now.

“What do you say?” he murmurs into your hair, “should we give them one more thing to lose their minds over?” You shift your head to take him in, a soft smirk spreading across your lips.

“Lay it on me.” Who is he to deny you? His lips slot over yours, and all is right again. In the background, the boys groan again,

“Love is weird,” Alfie comments before popping a fry into his mouth. You laugh against his lips, pulling away to lean your forehead against his.

“And yet deserving,” you whisper, just for him to hear. For the moment, it is only the two of you, love surrounding each other like a bubble. Neither of you wants it to pop. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, sharp canines peeping out from his lips. The wrinkles on the edge of his eyes crinkle with his smile. Right there, you fall in love all over again.

“Can we go to the park after?” Henry chimes in before taking a fry from his own. Charlie sits back to his normal height, the loss of you causing a slight twinge in his chest. But there will always be more time.

“Sure, honey. But the swings are ours.” Henry doesn’t question as he chews on his fry. You squeeze his hand again at the thought.

“Only if you push me this time,” you smirk, bringing your joined hands up to your lips for more adoration.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber/reader #charlie barber x f! reader #charlie barber/f!reader #charlie barber x femme reader #charlie barber/femme reader #charlie barber x female reader #charlie barber/female reader #charlie barber #marriage story #marriage story fanfiction #adcu fanfiction #adcu fic #adcu fic exchange #child oc

234 notes · View notes

hood-ex · 3 years ago

Note

Emily, any thoughts on Dick released stuff today?

Yeah, just one:

Actually, here's a few more scatterbrained thoughts:

The Bats of Christmas Past had me chanting "I am sick of the batfamily, I am sick of the batfamily, I am sick of the batfamily" for a little while so that's fun 🙃.

Honestly, I fucking loved it when Dick thought, The house doesn't smell like Alfred's cooking. For a moment, it really throws me.

That was hands down the best part of the story for me. The acknowledgment that Alfred isn't there. The acknowledgment that Christmas feels different because Alfred isn't there. The food Dick's used to smelling when he walks into the house isn't there, and it completely derails him for a second.

That grief, that pain, that nostalgia... it's all there. I love the fact that it's hard for Dick to want to get together with his family because of that. The holidays can be really hard to get through when you're missing the people you used to celebrate with, and that is obviously the case for Dick in this story.

I also got emotional over the last lines when Dick thought, So we make new traditions. Someday, when I see him again, I'll tell him all about them.

😭 Like, please. He's gonna have so much to tell Alfie when they meet again 😭🥺.

Whew. Okay. So anyway.

I wasn't all that happy with the ghost Babs part (or really any of the Babs parts but especially the ghost part).

The whole point of that was basically for her to be like, "You ruined Christmas for Bruce, Alfred, Jason, and yourself because you didn't come out of your room."

And Dick was like, "Omg it's all my fault because I didn't come out of my room."

Oh my godddd. Get fucking bent. Especially if this is supposed to take place during the 18 months that Dick and Bruce weren't in contact with each other. And if it happened after the events of Batman #416 then I don't buy the idea that Dick would be lying around in bed waiting for Bruce to call him. Would it have made sense for Dick to be really sad during the first Christmas he spent away from Bruce and Alfred and for him to be waiting around expecting a phone call from them? Yeah, absolutely. Because Bruce pushed him away during that time and never reached out to him. Dick had to reach out to Bruce 18 months after Bruce wouldn't be partners with him anymore, remember?

But it says in this issue that Bruce called Dick a few days earlier and that things were fine between them, so they've clearly been on decent enough terms in this story. And if they're on decent terms then why doesn't Dick just call Bruce and Alfred instead of waiting for them to call him? If things were fine between them a few days ago then why is Dick acting like Bruce and Alfred don't care about him?

I think the writer just kinda fucked up the timeline of events during that time. So then Dick gets all the blame for fucking up a past Christmas for some damn reason.

And he would have gotten all the blame for ruining this year's Christmas for everyone else, and he gets blamed for ruining every future Christmas because ghost Cass shows him that he dies on Christmas.

It's just like... what the fuck. If Dick doesn't want to go to the party, he shouldn't have to go to the party. And his absence shouldn't be the reason he gets blamed for ruining the Christmas party.

So. Yeah. That was basically my thoughts on that story. As for A Carol of Bats... well. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. So. Pass.

I liked the first part of Robin & Batman #2. Even if it was way out of line, I like that the headmaster asked, "I wonder, if Mr. Wayne is so busy, why he chose to take Richard in as his ward?"

Because if you were the headmaster or any other adult, you probably would feel bad for Dick if you saw his butler picking him up every day, and if the butler was always coming in for parent-teacher conferences and things like that. You'd be like, "Where the hell is that Wayne guy? He can't even make time for his kid?"

I also like that Alfred got Dick a new journal and that he specifically told Dick that what Bruce did was wrong. It was a good way for Alfred to validate Dick's feelings over Bruce invading his privacy.

Moving on to Dick's introduction of the Justice League and the other members of the fab five. I'm gonna be honest... I didn't like it. I didn't like how Dick was treated like some random new sidekick. And I understand that it has to be like that in this story because Dick is only just now getting to be Robin, so he doesn't have his longstanding reputation of being the first sidekick yet (which is a problem). There is no Robin legacy at this point, and that sucks. No one has the respect for him that they should.

Roy is dismissive of Dick and makes fun of his name. Garth looks like he couldn't care less to be meeting Dick. Wally and Donna are clearly the most inviting but even they don't seem super interested in who Dick is. And I hate that. It's just not the vibe I would've hoped for upon their first meeting.

I also hate that Bruce turned what was supposed to be a birthday gift into a mission (I mean, not really surprised because it is Bruce we're talking about, but c'mon). At least Alfred's gobsmacked reaction upon finding out that information was hilarious.

Same, Alfie. Same.

Honestly, the only thing this comic is proving to me is that Alfred is clearly the better parental figure. He's trying to raise Dick to be a happy and healthy child and then there's Bruce coming in hot and fumbling the ball into a flaming wormhole.

#i said i had a few more thoughts but i lied. i had many.#and they were not nice thoughts. evidently. well. most of them.#Dick Grayson #Batman: Urban Legends 10 #Robin & Batman 2 #spoilers #anon

146 notes · View notes

nutellaneedsanap · 4 years ago

Text

Almost a Dream

Jason awoke with a start, the senses he honed as a street kid warning him that something was wrong. It wasn’t a noticeable shift, something a more normal person wouldn’t notice, but to a person with his training it was glaringly obvious. The slight shift of the blankets, the dip of the bed…a quick peek confirmed what he already knew. There was someone else in his bed. The blue-eyed boy kept his eyes lightly shut, feeling the warm body next to him shift ever-so-slightly. Discreetly, he opened his eyes and peered at the figure that appeared next to him, gauging her threat level.

She was a smaller girl with blueish-black hair, likely of asian-descent, and a wiry-muscular frame not unlike Dick’s. Deciding that she was asleep, (therefore not much of an immediate threat), Jason went to move, planning on getting Bruce. He had only just begun to sit up when she pounced.

She gave no warning before lunging forward, giving Jason’s throat a quick jab that left him gasping for air. Taking advantage of the moment it took for him to catch his breath, the girl grasped his hair at the root and brought his head down on her knee. A telltale crack sounded throughout the room and internally, Jason groaned.

“Ahhh, Alfie’s not gonna be too happy about that.” His voice had a slight lisp, another sign pointing towards a broken nose. His assailant scrambled to get off the bed and backed towards the balcony, her hands quickly touching her ear lobes. She did not seem to like what she found, her face quickly settling into a scowl.

“I don't know who you are or what you want from me,” she began, settling into a (rather good) fighting stance. “And I don't care. I will be leaving and you will not stop me.”

Jason looked at her, grasping his nose that had begun to leak a small trail of blood.

“What the hell?” He wasn’t screaming but he sure wasn’t whispering.

“I’m not exactly sure how you do things in France, but I'm pretty sure most parents teach their children to not break into someone’s house, sleep next to them like a weirdo, and then break their nose!”

There was a chance that the bluenette couldn’t understand him(there was no shortage of immigrants in Gotham), but Jason hadn’t learned more than basic French yet. Technically, learning the more common languages was a part of his training as Robin, but he had kind of forgone those specific lessons. And why would he put in all that time and effort learning French when he could be reading more books from the Manor’s library?

She blinked at him. “What do you mean, I broke in? I apologize but sir, you are not pretty enough to pretend to be so stupid.”

The black-haired boy blinked right back. He may not know French but he does know an insult when he hears one, so he fires one back. “Well fuck you too.”

The girl scrutinized him, her expression screaming “Is that the best you can do?”

“Oh? You want to go? Fine. My middle finger salutes you and your assholeishness. Calling you an idiot would be an insult to those who truly worked hard for the title.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“There is a special place in hell for you, ya know that?”

The girl cocked an eyebrow. “I’m aware there is a special place in hell for me, it's called a throne. And those are bold words for someone who literally kidnapped me, but go off I guess.”

It didn’t take much more for the pair to dissolve into a screaming match, the bluenette yelling in French and what he thought was Cantoneese and Jason using more than a few of the Spanish phrases he had picked up from his dad and other folks on the street. Jason was in the middle of one of his more strongly worded combinations when the door slammed open, Bruce and Alfred standing in the doorway.

The both of them took a moment to examine the situation, Alfred accessing Jason for injuries while Bruce switched on the Batglare™. “Who are you, and how did you get here?”

The poor girl looked exasperated.

“I don’t know how I got here!! Last thing I remember was collapsing into bed and the next thing I know I wake up to the face of this,” she pointed at Jason, “creep who doesn’t even have the decency to talk to me! I keep on asking him how I got here and why he took me but he just won’t answer. He’s pretending that he doesn’t know French, but who in Paris doesn’t know French?!? I mean, sure, there are immigrants, but who the hell would immigrate to Paris nowadays? What with Hawkmoth akkumatizing people day and night.”

She paused before flopping down on the floor, dejected. “Today was supposed to be perfect, the day I finally got my soul mark and got one step closer to finding my soulmate, but no, I just had to get kidnapped the night before my 16th birthday!” She put her face in her hands and her shoulders began to shake slightly.

Jason looked from the girl back to Alfred and Bruce. “Is she?” he mouthed, thoroughly bewildered. Bruce exactly as Jason felt, while Alfred’s face was twisted into something that resembled pity and understanding.

“Master Bruce, may I have a moment with you?” Bruce sighed and turned to leave. Not wanting to be left alone with the now sobbing girl, Jason followed.

Alfred handed Jason a handkerchief for his nose before he began. “Masters, this young girl has been through quite the ordeal and I will not have either of you using your vigilante intimidation tactics on her, understood?”

He waited until he got a nod from the two of them before continuing. “Good. You know, Master Jason, I read a very interesting book recently about Kate Goodwill and her studies on soulmates. And before you ask, Master Bruce, I do have somewhere I am going with this. The book was absolutely fascinating, the theories, the experiments, simply everything. However, the one thing that stood out to me the most was Dr. Goodwill’s research on the different types of soul bonds, specifically the one that she and her wife shared. Her research was kick-started because no one had heard of their type of soulbond before and it had caused quite the panic for both the young girls and their families.” He paused, making eye contact with Jason. “Their soulbond caused the younger of the pair to teleport into their soulmate’s bed in the middle of the night on their sixteenth birthday.”

•••

Marinette was not having a good day. First, Mlle. Bustier assigned her to work with Lila, Lila of all people, for the end of the semester project in summer school (which she was attending due to her absences as Ladybug and Lila was attending because she was constantly absent for “charity work”), then in the middle of the night, Hawkmoth sends out 1 and ½ akumas (long story), and now she wakes up to find that she was kidnapped by a psycho in her sleep? What the actual FUCK?!?! Where was Tikki’s luck when she needed it?

And ok, sure, she wasn’t necessarily proud of how she handled the situation, but she was under a lot of stress, ok! She woke up in a random kid’s bed with no earrings and no Tikki. And yeah, she probably could have done without antagonizing the boy, but it was so easy and fun to get him riled up! How was she to know that the yelling would bring scarier other people? Ok yeah scratch that she probably should have figured that out herself (I mean the boy obviously had money so it makes sense that he’d have more people around his house) but in her defense she was like, really tired.

She glanced at the closed door that the men had just exited, wiping a few stray tears from her face.

“If only I had Kaliki,” she mused.

But no matter. She already had the beginnings of an escape plan forming in her head. I’ll just need a handkerchief, a piece of twine, and maybe a hairpin to pick the lock on the balcony door, but then how would I get out of the property? A house with a room like this must have crazy security measures… She went on like this for a couple of minutes, formulating her plan before she checked out the window. Three stories up...could normal civilian Marinette survive that jump? I would transform, I still have my earrings, but without Tikki I can’t... She went on like this, thinking of different plans and contingencies. The bluenette was so lost in her head that she almost didn’t notice when the three re-entered the room.

“Miss,” the older man who looked like a butler began. “I deeply apologize for the earlier behaviour of Master Jason.” He gestured to the now apprehensive boy who gave her a little wave. “He has not yet learned French and had no way to comprehend the situation. I was able to hear both sides of the story, and I believe that there has been a large misunderstanding. You were under the impression that Master Jason kidnapped you, correct?” Marinette nodded, more than a little confused. “Master Jason was under the impression that you had snuck into his bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“So what are you suggesting, someone put me here without either of us knowing?” I swear to all things holy if this man accuses me of lying…

“I am getting there, Miss. I assume you are familiar with the soulmate story of Dr. Kate Goodwill?” Marinette nodded yet again.

The man took a deep breath. “I believe this is a similar situation, and that the two of you are soulmates..”

Her jaw dropped. “You mean I...we...what? N-no way.”

She racked her hands through her hair. She... she wouldn’t overlook something like that, right? You were supposed to feel a sense of belonging the first time you met your soulmate and she...had kind of felt that. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. From a logical standpoint, it would explain so much! Why he spoke English, why Tikki wasn’t with her, why her earrings weren’t on… Her face turned crimson as she realized the full implications of the statement. She turned to face the newly named Jason.

“Oh Kwami I’m so sorry Jason! I didn’t mean to, I swear, I was just so surprised and kind of scared and oh Kwami, the first time I met my soulmate I broke his nose and called him every name that I knew,” she smacked herself on the head. “Only you Mari. Oh gosh I totally understand if you never want to talk to me again I’m probably the worst soulmate in existence I just-” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two adults leaving the room.

“You can speak English?” Jason exclaimed, looking equal parts amused and exasperated. “You spent this whole time yelling at me in French and Cantoneese and you can speak English? So much of this could have been avoided if you had just talked to me!”

Marinette gave a nervous chuckle. “Uhhhhh, surprise?”

At his incredulous look, she rushed to elaborate. “Well I thought we were still in Paris and no one has immigrated to Paris in literally two years so I thought that you knew French and the choice to speak English was conscious? Like maybe it was some weird interrogation tactic or something? I don’t know, I was just confused.”

“You thought I kidnapped you?” He whistled through his teeth. “Yeah, I can see why you reacted the way you did. No worries though, my nose isn’t too horribly fractured and I probably would have done the same thing.” They both chuckled.

He has a nice smile, Mari noted. (She wouldn’t know until much later, but Jason thought the same about her laugh.)

“I think we should start over.” Marinette held out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I live in Paris, France, today is my birthday, and I think I’m your soulmate.”

Jason smirked, holding out his hand. “Hello Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m Jason Todd-Wayne and I think you are my soulmate too,”

They shook, and that was that.

The End.

Bonus:

Jason: You know, Ethiopia can wait for one more day.

Marinette: It can wait FOREVER.

Bonus 2:

Alfred: Would you like to stay for dinner?

Jason: Would you like to stay forever?

#maribat #jasonette #jason todd x marinette dupain-cheng #jason todd x marinette #fluff #soulmates #soulmates au #jason and marinette being disasters for 2121 words straight

157 notes · View notes

jackson--t · 3 years ago

Text

Sleepy Head

Short one shot. 🖤

Tommy rolled his eyes.

"I'm not tired. And I want to watch this movie. It's my turn to pick!" he grumbled, and Alfie clicked his tongue. They were lying on the sofa, and it wasn't the first time Tommy's eyes had fallen shut that night. He usually fell asleep, and today, though, Alfie really wanted to watch a war movie on TV.

"Look, honey, you fall asleep after at least twenty minutes, always. Please let me watch my movie today," Alfie said, but Tommy shook his head firmly. He took the remote and jutted his chin slightly. Alfie snorted.

"I'm not falling asleep, what do you think," Tommy snarled.

But Alfie was right. When he looked down at his belly twenty minutes later, where Tommy had snuggled his head, his eyes were shut tight, and he was breathing quietly. Alfie grinned.

At least he could watch his movie that way.

• • •

Tommy had a real talent for falling asleep almost anytime, anywhere - Alfie had caught him many times by now. In the car, when Alfie was driving, at Charlie's kindergarten theater performance, very quietly sitting there he had nodded off next to Alfie - and while reading, how often did he fall asleep while reading?

It was nothing new that evening either, when Alfie came home late from work, that Tommy had fallen asleep with glasses on his face and a book on his stomach. Alfie gently grabbed Tommy's shoulder, then murmured softly, "Tommy honey, off to bed."

Tommy stretched slightly, then opened his eyes, blinking. "What's... what time is it? Where... Alfie?" he hummed completely sleepy, and Alfie laughed softly.

"I'm not tired, that's what you said, we were on the phone half an hour ago. Off to bed."

"Hmm."

• • •

The next time he fell asleep was on the sofa at Alfie's parents' house when they had been invited to dinner. He had been cozy with Alfie's father, talking happily, but not half an hour later he had fallen asleep, and Alfie's father was laughing.

"Told him about the war," he said, and Alfie grinned broadly.

"He thinks wars are a yawn when he can't shoot for himself."

"I thought so."

The two looked at Tommy, and a few minutes later he woke up completely confused, running his hand through his hair and pretending his nap hadn't just happened.

• • •

Alfie started teasing him about it. You're getting old, he used to say, usually earning a soft smack to the back of his head or else a pissed off look. Some days it was so bad that Tommy wouldn't even talk to him, averting his eyes proudly every time. Even Charlie thought it was funny to stick his chubby little fingers in Tommy's face when his father would nod off while reading to him. Or Tommy would fall asleep at the airport gate because he found the wait too boring. Sometimes he'd even sleep with his mouth open while doing so, forcing Alfie to delete the evidence photos again every time.

• • •

"Fuck."

Tommy breathed in and out deeply, his hands buried hard in Alfie's neck, his legs wrapped tightly around Alfie's waist. They were naked, and Alfie almost couldn't take it anymore, he wanted to fuck Tommy so badly, damn it. The friction of their cocks against each other was too intense, and Alfie had only prolonged this foreplay because Tommy was sensitive today and had had a migraine.

"Let me fuck you, Tommy... come on... ", Alfie growled against his neck, biting into the soft skin, and Tommy moaned.

"Lube." he whimpered, and Alfie reached into the drawer beside the bed. He rummaged around, but couldn't find the tube.

"In the bathroom, maybe?" Tommy hummed, and Alfie looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Why would there be lube in the bathroom?"

Tommy rolled his eyes. "We were in there last time... well, you know?"

"Oh, sure, right," Alfie purred, and Tommy grinned.

"Give me a minute honey, I'll get it," Alfie added, and Tommy let him go.

Alfie walked as fast as he could to the bathroom, almost slipping on the expensive carpet. He rummaged through all the drawers, looked in the cabinets, but he couldn't find the tube. So he went into the kitchen, into the living room, and finally found it in the farthest corner, with Tommy's sewing things. Of course, they had last fucked on the table when Charlie had been at his grandparents'. Alfie usually made no secret of fucking Tommy like that, without any lube, too, but today he was really far too sensitive, and that's where Alfie liked to look, just to get himself to cum at all. Once he had the tube, he stormed up the stairs, and went back into the bedroom.

Throwing himself on the bed, Tommy had his eyes tightly closed and his head pressed into the soft pillow. Alfie stared at him.

"You're not fucking serious now, Thomas Shelby," he growled, snorting in annoyance. For a moment Alfie was deeply disappointed and rolled onto his back, when suddenly two fingers crept across his chest, and a low chuckle came from the side.

"You seriously think I'm going to fall asleep when we're about to get down to it, don't you?"

"Tommy! Fucking bastard!" Alfie grinned, pulling Tommy into a deep kiss.

That night, Tommy didn't fall asleep until after Alfie was done with him.

#peaky blinders fiction #tofie #tommy x alfie #sleepy head #modern #short fluff

43 notes · View notes

joysmercer · 3 years ago

Text

someone is on your side, no one is alone

a 3x21 patricia/eddie fic.

It’s weird, this semi-friendship they have right now; she knows exactly how he’s feeling, every thought that’s probably running through his head, but she’s not allowed to acknowledge it.

Read on Ao3

“Hey, Patricia, are you done unpacking? Trudy’s been baking,” Mara says, peeking her head into their room.

Patricia slams her wardrobe door shut. “Yup, just finished.”

She looks around. It’s strange that, despite spending all but two of the last seven years in this room, it feels far less like home than the triple. Especially since half of her belongings are still in boxes stuffed haphazardly under her bed.

She briefly wonders if KT would be open to swapping but immediately rejects the idea. Willow somewhat scares her, and Joy’s barely said a word since the eclipse that didn’t have to do with her expulsion. At least Mara stays out of her way when she’s got Sibuna stuff to do.

“C’mon, smile.” Mara laughs, grabbing her by the elbow. “We won! Let’s go celebrate!” Patricia groans but lets her roommate drag her down the stairs and into the living room.

Avicii blasts from a speaker and Jerome and Alfie are engaged in a dance battle of epic proportions (epically embarrassing, that is) with everyone else gathered around them, filming or cheering. Everyone, but one person.

Patricia nudges Fabian with her shoulder. “Where’s Eddie?”

“Hmm? Probably still sleeping. I couldn’t unpack because I didn’t want to disturb him,” Fabian says, before turning his attention back to Alfie’s feeble attempt at The Worm.

Sleeping? It’s not like him to miss a party, especially with sugary desserts involved. Patricia looks around the room, but Fabian’s right—there’s no Eddie in sight.

“Someone should go check on him,” she says, but no one seems to pay attention.

Sighing, she grabs a plate of brownies and ventures out into the hallway herself. Just as she suspected, the first door on the right is closed, though a light faintly shines through underneath it. Patricia walks up and knocks twice before gently turning the handle.

She walks in to find Eddie lying face-up on his bed with his arms crossed. He lifts his head slightly when she peeps in, only to grimace and flop back down again when he sees her.

“Hey,” she says, setting the plate on the edge of his bedside table. “I brought you some food.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay. Well, Fabian left his light on, do you want me to turn it off?”

“Nope.”

“Eddie,” Patricia starts, but she doesn’t continue. It’s weird, this semi-friendship they have right now; she knows exactly how he’s feeling, every thought that’s probably running through his head, but she’s not allowed to acknowledge it.

There was a time, many moons ago (really, just a few months back), when she would have immediately laid down next to him, knowing her mere presence would be enough of comfort at this moment. Now, she stays rooted at the front door instead, one hand gripping the handle in case he asks her to leave.

“’Tricia,” Eddie murmurs.

She kicks her shoes off and joins him without another word.

The bed is much too small for the both of them, and it takes most of her strength to not fall off, but when he turns his head to face her (wearing an expression full of sorrow no seventeen-year-old should have to bear) she knows she made the right decision.

“Do you think it was dad’s idea? Letting us stay?”

“I don’t know,” Patricia responds, somewhat untruthfully. In all the time she’s known Mr. Sweet, he’s rarely admitted to a mistake, and reversing an expulsion would definitely amount to doing so.

“No, it probably wasn’t.” Eddie sighs. “I wish I could tell him, let him know what we know.”

Patricia doesn’t respond. How could she, when the fact of the matter is that his father simply will not believe his own son over his friends?

“If it’s any consolation,” she says instead, “We can’t tell mine anything either. All of our parents are in the dark, not just yours.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It’s not funny, Yacker.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Eddie’s gaze softens with her words, and she immediately looks down and away from him, embarrassed. Every one of her instincts is telling her to run. They’re not together anymore, he’s not entitled to her thoughts and feelings, and she’s under no obligation to provide them.

Then, Eddie brushes his index finger against hers (barely a graze but still generating enough contact for her to know it wasn’t an accident), and all notions of fleeing disappear.

Memories of breakups and men in tanks have almost completely left her head, leaving behind a badgering, vague idea at the back of her mind urging her to stay right where she is. She squeezes Eddie’s hand without thinking, trying to convey everything she cannot say out loud. I’m glad you’re here—we’re here. Together. She swears he squeezes back, just for a second.

Despite their precarious positions in relation to each other (both physically and otherwise), Patricia’s oddly and completely at ease in the calm silence that now envelopes them.

Eddie eventually sits up and reaches for the brownies she’d forgotten she’d brought for him. “Want one?” he asks through a mouthful of the dessert, precariously holding the plate toward her with one hand.

“That’s alright. There’s more in the kitchen,” she says, shaking her head and quickly hopping off the bed before he drops all of them on top of her.

“Oh, yeah. I hope Trudy’s made a cake, too. I’m starving.”

Patricia laughs as she pulls her shoes back on. She feels his eyes on her as she walks toward the door and tries to force down the blush slowly creeping up her cheeks.

She’s about to exit when the nagging feeling in her head finally forms itself into a coherent thought. She stops and turns around. “By the way, Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

Patricia purses her lips for a second, choosing her words carefully. “Everything that happened today—it isn’t your fault.”

“Ha, sure. All I do is ruin my dad’s plans or make him upset. Or both. No wonder he wants me gone,” Eddie replies hollowly.

“That’s not—Eddie, I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Then why—”

“He’s been under a lot of stress lately. His life’s work just failed, remember?” Patricia shrugs, though privately, she doesn’t think this hypothetical excuse of his father’s is as valid as she wants him to think.

“Mhmm.” Eddie nods, but it’s clear that he doesn’t fully believe her words, either.

Patricia’s heart sinks. She hates that he feels that way. Time to switch gears.

“Still, him not showing up today was a dick move, and you’re allowed to be sad about it.” She takes a deep breath. “But you also don’t have to hide that. We have your back, you know? All of us.”

Eddie smiles faintly. “Thanks, Yacker. You go, I’ll join in a bit.”

Patricia nods and returns his smile, then turns and leaves the room, feeling both lighter and more grounded than she had all day.

Everyone she cares about is safe. No one’s going anywhere. Now, they just have to figure out how to keep it that way.

#house of anubis #hoa fanfic #peddie #patricia williamson #eddie miller #myfics #my writing #myposts

9 notes · View notes

dibs4ever · 4 years ago

Text

Family photo

17-year-old Barbara Gordon was practically skipping up the steps of Wayne manor. Too excited to contain herself over what she held in her hands

Giving the door two knocks and only waiting 5 seconds when Alfred opened it

“Ms. Gordon, you and Master Dick have been walking to school together for 6 months now. I told you to just come in.”

She smiled, stepping into the manor “Sorry Alfie, my dad taught me to always knock, guess it’s a habit” she shrugged

Alfred nodded

“Where is the Boy Wonder?” She asked glancing around the foyer for her friend

Alfred sighed “It seems the young lad is tired and sluggish this morning after last night's patrol. He is still sleeping in his bed. I have been trying to wake him for 30 minutes. Perhaps you may have better luck?”

Barbara nodded “I have something to show him anyways.” She began up the stairs

“And Ms.Gordon,” Alfred spoke

Barbara nodded, continuing up the stairs “I know, I know-keep the door open.” Not like Alfred had anything to worry about. Furthest they’d ever gone was kissing. Once on a dare at his birthday party than a few weeks back for an undercover mission

She reached Dick’s bedroom door and smiled at the lump in the bed. There Dick lay, face down in his pillow, the blanket covering only the left side of his body. Dressed in only his white boxers with red polka dots.

She strutting into the room, clutching the paper in her hand. “Grayson get up” she sat on the side of the bed and patted his butt “Come on up and at em” she repeated resting a hand on his muscular calf

He let out a grunt

Barbara smiled but rolled her eyes, sitting on her knees she leaned forward so her face was next to his. His eyes still closed. If she didn’t know any better she’d think he was still fast asleep

“Dick wakes up I have-“

She was cut off when Dick used his arm to pull her down, so she was laying next to him. Pulling her flush against him, hugging her tightly “You are such a cuddle bug when you’re tired” she mumbled into his chest, his body heat radiating off of him to her

He nodded, nuzzling his head into her neck

She could feel light butterfly kisses from his eyelashes grazing her skin. Creating butterflies of her own in the pit of her belly. Lately, the Boy Wonder had been having that effect on her and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She definitely wasn’t going to let him know that.

“Dick comes on- we’ll be late for school and like I said I want to show you something I found.” She patted his back encouraging him to move

He did, but not to get up. Shifting himself so she was lying on the mattress and he was hovering over her. Leaning on his elbows to keep a respectable distance, his dark locks hanging messily around his face, almost like a small curtain, she noted. He was awake now. She knew because his bright blue eyes bore into her green ones and he was giving her that goofy smirk that could make her say yes to anything.

“Hey” he whispered huskily, his throat dry from sleep

She smiled up at him “Hey” she spoke softly. Those Damn butterfly’s coming to her throat. She had decided to just attribute these new feelings to teenage hormones and NOT to Dick. There was no way he felt the same, besides. They were friends and she was finally starting to gain Batman’s trust as a vigilante. How bad would it look if she made a move on him?

“Whatcha got to show me Babsy that’s got you so excited on a Tuesday?” Dick reached down tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

She lifted her arm and passed the photo she’d printed to him.

Dick looked at it and sat up once he realized who it was off, Barbara followed in suit, both sitting side by side on the edge of his bed.

“Babs, where did you find this?” He practically gasped

She smiled “I’ve been doing archival research of newspapers in my free time”

Dick looked toward her “For me?”

Barbara shrugged “Ever since we did that genetics assignment in Chem class a few months ago and you told me the only photo you had of your parents was that faded wedding picture and that there are no pictures of you before you were 8 I got to thinking there had to be at least one more published by a newspaper. I mean you guys traveled to so many different cities ya know.”

Dick nodded still in astonishment of the photo

He placed a finger over them then read the newspapers caption out loud

“Haley’s circus was in town this weekend. Among the many acts, one crowd favorite was the Acrobats. The famous flying Grayson’s. Here they are pictured above with their 8-month-old son Richard. Who travels with them. “

She smiled “You were such a cute baby.”

He grinned “I guess I was Huh?” He looked up from the photo

“Babs this is amazing not only do I have a better picture of my parents I have a photo of me as a baby to show my- I mean I well “

“Future kids? If we don’t get killed or become infertile from injuries before that ?”

Dick nodded “and given I find a partner willing to have babies with a vigilante.”

She laughed lightly “That’s true”

Dick was looking back at the photo again “Babs I’m taken back I could kiss you right now.” He paused “I didn’t mean to say that, I’m so focused on this beautiful family picture you found it just -Thank you so much for doing this for me”

Barbara leaned over placing a peck on his cheek “Your welcome Grayson”

#dickbabs #dick grayson #barbara gordon #nightwing #batgirl #batfam headcanons

63 notes · View notes

make-me-imagine · 3 years ago

Text

Oblivious

Request: "All I've ever wanted is for you to see me" + Maybe reader and Alf grew up together and the reader has a crush on him but he's oblivious? Requested by: @magravenwrites

Pairing: Alf Arless x GN!Reader

Warnings: There is mentions of kissing, but that's it.

Word Count: Almost 2.6k

Everything Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000, @imaginesfire <I'm sure none of you have ever seen this show lol, let alone heard of it lmao Requested Taglist: @bazaretcompagnie

*I am prepared for this to get no notes since this is such a small fandom it is nearly non-existent lol. But I hope whoever happens to read it likes it. **I am unsure of how old Alfie was in the series, but in this fic, I intend for it to be a few years later, or whenever he is older than 18.

(gif made by me)

A familiar excitement rushed through you as you made your way from Candleford to Lark Rise. You were excited to see your family, but more so your friend Alfie. He was your best friend, and in the past few years, as you had grown out of your childishness, you began to see him as more than just that. The excitement due to seeing your childhood best-friend, slowly became that of butterflies due to seeing your crush.

Sometimes you thought, that he had begun to experience the same development in feelings. Especially over the last few months, when you'd sometimes catch him watching you for no reason. But you tried not to focus on those hopes too much, for fear of causing yourself disappointment.

As you entered into the familiar village, you smiled and waved at Queenie as you passed on your way to your home. You had been working in Candleford at a local store for just over a year now, but you never stayed too long from your home of Lark Rise.

After spending about an hour with your family, you left to wander around Lark Rise, mostly too seek out Alfie, but on your way, you stopped and talked to Queenie and Twister, as well as Emma.

As you began down a familiar path towards the fields, you stopped in your tracks when you saw Alfie talking to a girl you knew from a nearby village. You were about to continue on towards them, until you saw Alf reach up, and move a lock of her hair from her face to behind her ear. The girl blushed and continued to flirt with him.

You weren't expecting their interaction to be of such, and you felt your chest tighten from a mix of jealousy and hurt. Before you could see anymore, and before Alf could see you, you turned and walked back home. You noticed the watchful gaze of Queenie and Emma as you hurried past them. They shared a look of confusion, that would be answered, only a few moments later, when they saw Alfie walking by with the young girl, clearly lost in each others presence.

It was no secret to either Queenie or Emma of your feelings towards Alfie, in fact they encouraged them ever since you were children. Thinking you two were fated to be together. But now, they worried for your heart, and the prospect of it soon being broken.

Your parents and siblings questioned your not going to see Alf, but you continued to evade further questions by either telling them he was busy in the fields and you did not wish to distract him. Though you knew your now melancholic demeanor made them suspect you were lying.

You managed to go without seeing Alfie for the rest of the day, but you knew you could no longer avoid him. For the main reason you came back to Lark Rise today, was to celebrate your fathers birthday. And since the people of Lark Rise are so closely knit, every ones birthday was celebrated publicly, with an evening party.

When everyone had gathered and began to talk and dance with one another, you spotted Alf across the road. Seeing him alone, you felt relieved, and giving into your feelings, did not avoid him when he spotted you. When he had he grinned and walked quickly over to you, "Y/n! There you are, I've been wondering where you were at"

You tried to disregard the way his smile made you feel, and quickly covered your actions with a lie, "I had looked for your earlier, but could not seem to find you."

"Oh, well-" He began, but stopped when from behind, someone grabbed him, before the girl from earlier appeared at his side.

Seeing Alfie smile in surprise, you felt your heart drop, but kept the smile present on your face, though it was not nearly as bright as before.

"Hey! Oh, Y/n, this is Clara, Clara this is Y/n, my best friend." Alfie introduced the two of you, with no idea how much the introduction hurt you.

You smiled at the girl and nodded in greeting. She smiled at you, and grabbed onto Alfie's arm, causing a pang of jealousy to shoot through you. "Thank you for inviting me Y/n." She said with a cheery voice.

You quirked your brow, but kept your voice kind, "Oh, I didn't know I had." You looked at Alfie, whose demeanor now changed to being a bit more uncomfortable than before.

He let out an awkward chuckle, "I had looked for you earlier to ask if Clara could come, but I couldn't find you, so I just assumed you'd be okay with it."

You smiled, but Alfie had begun to pick up on the change in your demeanor. "Of course. The more the merrier. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go be with me family. Enjoy the party." You smiled, and without looking at Alf, turned and left.

Alfie watched you go, confused before looking down at Clara who looked at Alfie with as much confusion. "I thought you said they were really nice?"

Alfie was a bit startled at this comment, but pushing it down, made and excuse for you, "Of course they are! Y/n's the best, something must have happened, maybe with their work." Looking back up and, and finding you, now sitting by the fire with your father, noticing your face full of sorrow that made his heart twist. 'What had happened?'

As you stared into the fire, you were perfectly aware of the concerned look Queenie gave you from where she sat. Finally looking up at her, you gave her the best smile you could, but you knew she could see through it no matter what.

When the sky grew darker, and the music had began, you forced yourself to push down your feelings, to be happy with your father. You danced with your family, and laughed with them, but could not ignore the pang of hurt that rocketed through you every time you saw Alfie and Clara together.

Throughout the night, you had not once dance with Alfie, which was peculiar to everyone who noticed. But after seeing Alfie enjoying the company of another, they all understood why that was. They also began to understand why you appeared to be much more quiet than normal.

Alfie, having noticed your determined avoidance, began to grow anxious for you, and irritated with Clara, who was determined to keep him from you. Finally finding an excuse to get away from her, when he spotted you going to retrieve a shawl for your mother, followed you.

"Y/n!" He called your name right as you entered your home. Looking back, you spotted him, but continued into the house. Alfie followed you inside and stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Are you alright Y/n? You seem to be hurting in some way, did something happen in Candleford? Are you ill?" He questioned with an air of his familiar fondness for you. The fondness that had helped you to fall for him, and now softened your contempt.

You let out a sigh as you grabbed your mothers shawl before turning back to him. "I am fine Alfie, just a bit out of sorts. I had no intention of telling you of them, as I would not wish to ruin your fun."

He let out a dry chuckle, "Alfie? You never call me that...did I do something?" He asked now worried, it was only ever 'Alf'. It was not so different than 'Alfie', but it still sounded odd coming from you. It felt formal, distant.

The look on his face softened you even more, and you found yourself falling into the effect of his dark round doe-eyes. "It doesn't matter right now. I don't wish to make this evening any....I want it to remain as it is. Go back to Clara, Alfie, have fun, don't worry about me."

Alfie was alarmed by the lack of emotion in your voice, but the overflowing emotion behind your eyes. Why would you not tell him what was wrong? Was it because of him? Before he could ask anything further, you pushed past him and quickly returned to the fire, giving your mother her shawl. He followed a bit before watching from a distance, as you whispered to your parents something that made them give you a look of concern. But after nodding at you, Alfie watched as you left the party and wondered into the darkness outside of Lark Rise.

'Surely you weren't returning to Candleford in the middle of the night?' Following after you with concern, he was unaware of the many watching him follow after you, as well as the hopeful smiles of Queen, Emma and your parents.

As you breathed in the cold night air, walking down the path into the wooded area nearby, you were unable to stop the tears that welled up in your eyes. You had not understood how much you had begun to fall for Alfie. Not until you saw him with another, not until you saw him so interested in someone else. And you now understood, that those hopes you had about him feeling the same, had more weight over you than you thought. The times you caught him looking at you must have been nothing for than a fond familiarity.

You were suddenly startled by a voice coming from the darkness behind you. "Y/n! Where are you going? You can't think of walking back to Candleford tonight?"

You turned back, and seeing Alfie approaching you, stepped back a bit, hoping the darkness would cover your face, so he would not see your tears. "of course I'm not!" You said suddenly "I just wanted to take the air." You said, hoping he would be relieved with your answer, and leave you to yourself.

But as he continued to approach you, you quickly went to wipe your eyes, to hide the real reason you had run off into the darkness.

Alfie, seeing you do this, halted a bit in his steps, and you saw how his face fell, and was replaced by worry. Walking up to you, he reached out, grabbing your shoulders as he peered at you, "Y/n, what is it, please tell me what's wrong?"

You let out a hurt scoff as you pulled yourself away from him, you ignored the hurt that crossed Alfie's face as you did this. Turning away from Alfie, you felt your chest tighten when Alfie spoke, "Y/n?" His voice was soft, hurt, and you couldn't help but fill guilty.

Turning back to Alfie, he frowned when he saw a tear slip down your face. You saw him begin to move towards you, but he stopped himself, and just watched you, waiting for you to speak.

"Alf." You began, and Alfie felt a little relief at the sound of his name, the way you always say it. "I'm sorry, all of this, what I'm feeling, I- I don't know how to explain it. It does...have a lot to do with you, but the reason behind it, is my fault."

He frowned and shook his head a bit, even more confused. But waited for you to continue.

"We have been so close, for so long Alf. I can't stop- I couldn't stop the way I thought of you changing. From... childhood fondness for a close friend, to...." You saw Alfie's face change, as he realized what you meant.

Not wanting to face the rejection sure to follow, you continued, wanting to finish what you started. "Because I see now Alf, that the hope I felt was for nothing. I found myself falling for you with a hope that you would do the same. But seeing you with Clara, the way you looked at her, I see now that it was stupid of me to think you would see me as anything other than your clumsy childhood friend." You let out a desperate sigh as another tear fell down your face. "All I've ever wanted was for you to see me. But now I know, you never will."

Alfie, felt his heart pounding heavily as you spoke. The realization of the pain he had caused you, rushed through him. He felt guilt for hurting you, and anger towards his own stupidity at missing it. Stupid for pushing his own feelings down when you had felt them too. He had fallen for you years before, seeing how you had grown into a young adult, mature but still sweet and kind. Of course he could not stop himself from falling in love with the person you had become.

But he was determined to think less of himself, he was determined to think you would move on, fall in love with someone else, someone more worthy for you than he was. He never imagines that you could ever love him the same way. But now he knew just how wrong he was, as you cried for him, as you were hurt by him.

Feeling a swelling of emotion in your chest, and knowing you could not face Alf's rejection, you spun around, intending to run away.

Alfie, noticing your intention to run, quickly darted forward, he grabbed your elbow and spun you around. before you could protest, you were caught off guard when he pulled you into a kiss. His lips slammed against yours, in an awkward yet determined kiss to prove you wrong.

Pulling yourself away from him, you avoided his eyes, and asked in a desperate whisper, "Why did you do that?"

"Because I love you." He responded, softly.

Your eyes shot up to meet his, laced with surprise and confusion at his confession. "I have for so long Y/n." He began with a smile, but it quickly fell when he continued. "I never thought you would see me the same way. I've always thought you'd find someone in Candleford, I...convinced myself of it and broke my own heart. I sat around here, waiting to see you every time you came back, tortured myself with the knowledge that you'd never want to be with me. I do see you Y/n, I have seen you so much that it hurt. I only entertained Clara because I wanted to distract myself from you. But I see now, that even thought I saw you for everything I loved, I never saw how you felt. And I have never felt more the fool."

You took in his words, and let tears fall freely down your face now. Letting out a laugh you shook your head, "I think we're both the fools. Oblivious to nothing but each others feelings."

Alfie chuckled, before pulling a bit closer to him, "I'm sorry I hurt you, I promise I have no intention of being with anyone but you. If you still want that I mean."

"Of course I do Alfie."

He smiled at you, fondly and lovingly. Noticing his eyes glancing back to your lips, you smiled softly at him. Locking eyes for a moment, you both leaned in slowly, before your lips met in a softer, more delicate kiss than before. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he wrapped is own around your body as he pulled you closer to him, nearly lifting you off the ground as he did so.

All of your previous pains and worries washed away as you held onto each other, and knew with pleasure, that this was the first kiss of many, and only the beginning of your joint happiness.

xx End xx

This is such a small fandom, that if you enjoyed it, please consider reblogging it. That way it might reach more people than it might otherwise.

14 notes · View notes