#and then after a while she and her friends shot him! and then claimed self-defense

[birdmenmanga]

holy shit I just went back 2 dig up an old project at my mutual's request and by god. we served so much cunt on that oral history project

[brodieland]

.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 he's not just a man, mom.. ´ˎ˗

Luke Castellan x Fem!Athena!Reader Synopsis: Reader sneaks on a cruise ship with Percy, Annabeth and Tyson. Guess who she has a run in with !!!! Warning(s): slight angst. and uh swears ig Word Count: 1833 A/N: part 2 was requested😘 and I skimmed over a lot, I didn't want to copy and paste most of Sea of Monsters so yk Part 1

Months, well actually, an entire school year has past since your boyfriend, well ex boyfriend now, Luke turned to Kronos. And yes, the rumors are true! Time heals all wounds!! Sure you needed some more time but you were starting to get back to your normal self slowly but surely. And the Athena head counselor position was rightfully handed right back to you (until Annabeth comes back for the summer).

Normally time isn't real for a year rounder like yourself, but there's been an issue. The magic barrier that protects camp Half-Blood is held up by Thalias tree, except her tree has been poisoned. No one knows when or how it happened, but you decided to keep your guess to yourself. Well that doesn't matter now. With Thalias tree slowly getting worse and worse, the border surrounding camp is weakening, allowing monsters to start slipping through and find the camp. Defenses are thinning, and even with summer around the corner enrollment numbers are at their lowest.

Thankfully you weren't on Charisse's bad side so she didn't mind joining forces. And don't get it twisted, you love Annabeth, but you've never loved her more than when you watched her and Percy (and a cyclops??) run up the hill and help fight the monsters.

After the fighting was over, you weren't injured yourself so you went to help out at the infirmary. It helped keep your mind off stuff, and now you had Percy and Annabeth to keep you company. You were currently checking them for burns.

"Wow, 13 and no body hair?"

"THE MONSTER BURNED IT OFF."

You and Annabeth just laughed at the boy. After you both calmed down you started to explain whats been happening the last couple of months at camp while they've been away. Grim expressions washed over them as you finished, Chiron being fired and being replaced with TANTALUS was truly the cherry on top in your opinion.

"Well, time to eat right?"

This might've been one of the most interesting dinners yet. The cyclopes, also known as Tyson, ended up getting claimed by Poseidon (Percy wasn't the biggest fan of this particular development), and we have an upcoming Chariot race coming up (something Tantalus decided to start doing). You weren't planning on participating in the race, but Annabeth and Percy got into a fight so now you had too.

Finally the day came and instead of a friendly race, everyone was attacked by killer birds that were just barely shot out the sky. Maybe some help on Clarrise's end would've been nice, but she thought winning was more important, while you, Tyson, Percy and Annabeth just got punished.

The four of you were stuck washing dishes when the two younger campers got to talking. They were smart ones, basically we needed the Golden Fleece, simple as that. Except who did Tantalus give the quest too? The winner of the race. Clarisse.

"But Grovers my friend!"

"Yeah you guys wouldn't even have the quest if it weren't for us!"

Your yelling didn't help matters, the Ares kids just accused Percy of wanting the spotlight. They just never liked Percy after he beat up their dad, the fact he did that still amazes you. You and Annabeth just accepted the defeated and walked yourselves to your cabin.

"So Annabeth, how's it been in the outside world?"

"Cooler than I thought but please, how's it been with.. you know what?" You averted your gaze slightly and swallowed. You were getting better, but that certainly didn't mean you were over him.

"I haven't heard from mom in like eight months." Annabeth looked at you confused. You never told her about the last conversation with Athena.

"What? I thought you were like, her favorite or something?"

"To be fair I basically told her to fuck off," you shrugged like it wasn't that serious but your sister looked at you like you were crazy. "It was about Luke, you know she never liked him." She just nodded as you both walked back to your cabin. When you got there neither of you couldn sleep and decided to stay up late studying maps of the sea of monsters, where Grover and the Golden Fleece were. Suddenly Annabeth stood up.

"Annie whats wrong?" You asked, looking between her and the maps.

"You didn't hear that?" you just shook your head slowly.

"Maybe it's just time to sleep-"

"No it was Percy, he was screaming for help cmon!" You decided not to bother questioning it and started chasing after her. Annabeth was following the sound and you just followed her. You guys made it out to the beach, where you saw Percy, just fine and not screaming. Tyson came running out too.

"Percy are you okay? Why were you screaming?" Annabeth questioned.

"I wasn't screaming, but I'm glad you guys are here." Percy explained how he had a run in with Hermes. The thought of Hermes just makes you think of Luke. That kinda sucks.

"Anyways, we need to use this," Percy held up a jar and pointed to the cruise behind him, "to get over there."

"Seems... reasonable. We have to hurry the harpies are getting close." you urged.

"Yeah ask your dad for some help" Annabeth pushed Percy toward the ocean. Why did Percy start with small talk, we're on a time crunch. Never the less a bunch of hippocampi came forward and we were off.

"I've never been on a cruise before, I wonder what it's like." You said.

"Probably won't be like any normal one if Hermes sent us." Percy pointed out. If Hermes sent us you, you hoped it meant what you thought it did. And you hated that you were hoping for that. Luke. Ever since your last conversation with your mom, it's like you've been seeing things differently. The gods really did just use their kids, but could you really turn your back on them?

You were cut out of your thoughts when you finally made it to the ship. You all snuck on and wandered through the cruise. Everyone here was like a bunch of lifeless zombies. Now if that didn't raise your suspicious nothing would. You guys were sneaking around until you found an empty suite on the 9th floor. Sleep was a must right now.

"Us girls will be next door alright?" You said.

"Yeah, don't eat or drink anything either," Annabeth added. She was right, something was off here. You and Annabeth left to your side of the suite to change for bed. Annabeth was knocked out in seconds but you just couldn't sleep. You knew why Hermes wanted you guys here, and it kept you up. While your sister was snoring beside you, you took the chance the sneak out the room. All you had was an oversized t-shirt that hung to your mid thigh and a dream.

As you started walking around, there were no lights to be seen. You started from your floor and made your way up. When you got off the elevator on the 13th floor, you saw the room at the end of the hall had a light on. It was nearing 2AM, most people should be asleep. That's when your gut told you this is what you were looking for. You thought it was time to listen to it. You made your way to the door, and saw that it was unlocked. You slowly opened the door and saw a certain someone with his back facing the door, looking off into the ocean through his window.

"Hey Luke," you said. Luke didn't move for a second, but when he turned it was slow.

"Y/N.. I didn't think I'd see you again." Your lip quirked ever so slightly, and you walked up and sat down on the bed in front of you, now just a mere few feet away from him

"Likewise."

"Lemme guess, Percy and Annabeth are with you? Were you sent to kill me?"

"Yes, and no. We weren't sent here, or anywhere in fact."

"Wow, look at her. Ms. Rule Breaker. What would your mother think?" You swallowed at the mention of your mother. What would she think?

"Well, we haven't spoken in eight months." You looked at the ground.

"Hmm, what happened?"

"You happened, that's what." You looked back up at him, he had a shit eating grin on his face. "Wipe that smile off your face Castellan."

"Or what? You're already here, why waste our time together fighting? We both know you're not here for the gods," Luke teased. He was right, so why fight?

"Just come here," you lunged up and jumped in his arms, kissing him like the starved woman you were. You missed him more than you were allowed to admit. Luke was a sore spot at camp, but hey, right now that was not your problem. You knew you were probably disgracing your family by being here doing what you were doing, or WHO you were doing, but you didn't care. You just needed Luke, even if it was just one last time.

When you woke up after a few hours, you wouldn't say you regret it, but maybe it wasn't the best timing. You were facing the window while Luke held you close. You slowly moved his arm from your waist and sat up, seeing the little clothing you had scattered across the room. Crazy night. You untangled yourself from Luke and got redressed. You truly didn't want to leave, but despite everything you couldn't stand with Luke and the war, too many lives would be lost on his behalf. As you made your way to the door Luke woke up,

"So this is it?" You had your hand on the doorknob and turned back to face Luke.

"Yeah," you made eye contact with him, a single tear falling. "It is."

"Goodbye Y/N."

"Goodbye Luke." You made your way out the door and shut it behind you. You took a deep breathe before rushing back to your shared room with Annabeth on the 9th floor. You opened the door, making sure not to make too much noise, except Annabeth wasn't in her bed. You continued walking into the room when the bathroom door opened from behind you.

"And where were you?" Annabeth questioned as she walked out the door.

"With no one!" You said quickly. Annabeth scared the shit out of you. She slightly frowned.

"He's here isn't he? That's why Hermes wanted us to come here?" You just nodded. "Guess it explains the hickies," Annabeth yawned and headed back to her bed. Your face flushed as you ran into the bathroom. Wow.. awkward!!!!

"It was just a goodbye, I'm not joining him," you walked out the bathroom and laid down next to Annabeth. "I can't stand for a war, no matter how much I love him. Or loved."

"Glad you made up your mind, but it's 6AM, can we sleep a little longer?"

You chuckled, "Of course."

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

I think ZKs are projecting Sokka onto Katara. Since let’s think about it, how much of their claims applies more to Sokka?

1. Being one of Zuko’s foils. 2. Being a “Parent” of the group. Sokka does want to be seen as the leader and he often behaves as the Dad Friend. 3. X Has irrational hatred for the Fire Nation, which Zuko and a few others helps him with. 4. Their stories making it make sense to pair them together. As mentioned, Sokka does want to be the Leader. 5. Zuko understands Sokka better than Katara.

Sorry to disappoint, anon, but I STRONGLY disagree.

On them supposedly being narrative foils

Zuko has three narrative foils: Aang, Ozai and Azula. The show goes out of it's way to make that clear through tons of episodes directly highlighting how simmilar Zuko is to Aang, designing Ozai to look like an older version of him that doesn't have the scar, and Azula is a look at the tragic fate he would have had if he had stood by his father's side until the bitter end.

Sokka wanting to be a warrior is not that special in a series about martial arts/war, and him wanting to be the leader is constantly shown as being about his relationship with Hakoda. At most, the "I want to make my father proud" thing would be the real parallel here (and one paralel does not make characters true foils to each other), with Hakoda being a good dad that is worth admiring and taking inspiration from, while Ozai is the cautionary tale his son needs to use as the exemple of what NOT to do.

Leader/Parent

Sokka is not the parent of the group, and neither is Zuko. Katara is the mom friend, and she has mixed feelings about it exactly because, while she naturally takes on that role, she's the ONLY ONE to do so, and thus she sometimes resents her own motherly nature because she fears her friends see her as "mom friend" first and "one of us" second.

As for the leader of the group, that is very clearly Aang, with Katara taking charge/co-leading sometimes because, duh, he's the main character and the whole show is about HIS mission, of course he calls the shots.

Sokka, at most, has moments of frustration when people are being stupid or disregarding a plan, and the show constantly makes fun of him for taking himself too seriously and trying to pretend he is the "adult in charge". Not at all the same as being the dude in charge of changing an entire nation's philosophy on war - which is ALSO very different from being the dad friend or a leader of a small squad.

Racism VS Righteous Anger

Zuko was indoctrinated from birth to be an entitled, selfish, racist prince, and he also experience emotional and physical abuse, as well as victim blaming after it, and it all made him prone to lashing out at people who have done literally nothing to deserve it. He is trying to help his family, and Fire Lord, commit genocide.

Sokka meanwhile hates the Fire Nation for the DECADES of raids on his tribe that killed his culture and his mother, and forced his father to leave. Still, he speaks out against things like Jet's plan to kill a bunch of innocent people to "free" them from the Fire Nation, doesn't have anything against Piandao, is horrified by Hama's actions, and accepts Zuko into the group once he proves he truly has changed and doesn't want to harm them.

He wasn't eager to save the guy that was constantly chasing him, his friend and his sister around the world, and was willing to kill a tyrant to save himself and others. That is not the same as "irrational hatred" - no, I don't care what a spirit that will not be killed if the Fire Nation wins the war has to say on the matter, it's really easy to say "violence is always bad, even in self-defense" when you're not the one in danger.

"They understand each other more, so it makes sense to pair them together"

Does it? Does it though? Because The Boiling Rock makes a running joke of how much of a not ideal match they are. Awkward silence during their conversation followed by an equally awkward "that's rough, buddy", and Sokka CONSTANTLY not understanding what in the fuck Zuko is talking about when trying to give advice.

Sure, they managed to make it work in the end, but that's not the same as the effortless pair up of Aang and Zuko in the Blue Spirit episode, or Azula always knowing how to get to Zuko so he puts himself in vulnerable position during a fight (and him then using her own tactic against her in the finale) but also working as a great duo with him in Ba Sing Se without having to say a word, or even the time he and Iroh fought against the earthbenders in book 1.

Just because Zuko reacted when Sokka said the word "honor" and they talked about girlfriend trouble doesn't mean they have some deep understanding for one another. Sokka is legitimately one of the few characters that has even LESS of a connection with Zuko than Katara. They're on the same side and they're friends, but they're not as close to each other as they are to literally everyone else in their friend group.

[wario-speedwagon]

Dave and Old Sport Adopt a Kid: Chapter 12

Hello! Greetings! I hope you're ready for an angsty one >:] Full chapter below the cut <3

Chapter 1 Chapter 11

Chapter 12

The two uncostumed employees were disgruntled that their friendly competition was cut so prematurely, as they'd only just gotten out of their suits fifteen minutes ago after a couple hours of dicking around—er, performing in them. And now they were already heading back to those smelly things again.

But Jack wasn't quite as bitter as Dave was, considering that regardless of Dave's cheating scandal, he'd left off with the higher score.

“Maybe we can at least spend some time looking for Pruny while we're costumed again.”

Oh, he was still hung up on that?

“You sure are a worrywart. She'll be fine, she's a big kid who's fine on her own.”

“Yeah, but you never know if someone'll snag her while we're not watching or something…”

Jack just shot him a judgemental look in the eyes that said ‘are you serious?’

Dave had always had a glaring blind spot for his own hypocrisy. Jack had come to notice this over time: that instead of maliciously unfair and double-standarded, Dave was just more often horrendously self-unaware.

Case in point was him having the gall to adopt a kid he was just about to murder with zero sense of irony.

While it sometimes made it a little bit easier to forgive some sleights of his, it was far from a source of comfort.

The two had marched down the shabby maintenance hallway, and at the end of it, Dave casually pushed open the hidden Saferoom door.

The puppet reacted immediately by standing itself squarely between them and Pruny in the latter's defense. Though Pruny was visibly excited by the new visitors. At least for a moment.

“Oh not you again.”

“Dave Miller. This child and I were just on our way out.”

“You were on your way out. Leave the kid alone, comprende?”

Pruny’s excitement immediately dissipated upon seeing how the two were reacting to this puppet with such stern demeanors. And as she “listened” to what Dave said, she realized that this was a two way conversation they were having with it.

“No, you ‘comprende,’ Miller: you and your loser friend will give up on claiming your fifth victim. If you do it nicely, I might even let you both live to see another day!”

“I'm telling you, creep-ass, the girl stays with us—”

“And you, Jack.”

Empty eyes filled with a child’s soul were suddenly piercing through Jack’s own racing thoughts. Jack had not said a single word, and it was because he was busy sorting out how to feel after this unexpected and sudden reunion. He’d not faced her personally since he’d…

“... Yeah?” he feigned nonchalantly.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“...I have nothing to say to you.”

“Because the last time I saw you, you and I were in agreement about Dave.”

Jack was silent for a good few seconds, carefully measuring his next words.

“…From now on, this won't be happening again,” he cautiously negotiated.

“Ha! Is that right!? Now that’s not what you would lead me to believe after your actions yesterday!”

“A lot has happened since then.” His voice continued to carry an uncanny calm, but—

“…But is that a promise, Kennedy?”—the only thing Pruny could see was how tense Jack’s composure was and how tightly he clinged to his own wrist.

“I’ve since sworn off making promises.”

“Then your word is only as good as your soul.”

“I have no soul, Dee.”

“Is that a confession or an excuse?”

“—Sorry, but I’m lost,” Dave interrupted, looking to Old Sport. “What's up with you and this thing? You two got history?”

“I'll, uh, fill you in later…”

“No, Jack Kennedy, there won't BE any more ‘later.’ Not anymore.”

“Watch it, pal. I may not’ve designed you, but I sure as hell know how to disassemble you…the right way, and the fun way.”

Pruny finally gathered the courage to dash toward them, but a dark, clawed arm held her back.

The Puppet slowly creaked its head back to face Dave.

“I don't fear you anymore, William. Not after all you've done to me, and not after all you’ve done to everyone after me. And certainly not after what you've done to Jack.”

“Mind jogging my memory who Jack is again? One of yer kid friends I took or something?”

But the nausea in Jack’s stomach was only growing worse, and he could feel his face growing pale.

“You don't even remember what you did to Jack Kennedy. And apparently neither does he.”

“‘Kennedy’ huh? I'll sleep on the name tonight, alright?”

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of ‘sleeping’ for you after I'm finished with the both of you.”

Pruny had carefully snuck her way over to her protectors' sides after seeing how threateningly tense the situation had gotten, and she huddled up between both their sides, one hand on each shirt.

That helped to ground Jack back down from a rising panic.

“Prune,” he voiced silently, his usual comforting tone failing to come out. “Get out of here.”

The Puppet returned her attention to Jack, but said nothing.

Meanwhile, Pruny's nerves had turned to fear, and to that she responded by gripping both of their shirt-tails closer to her.

Jack immediately moved to shove Pruny out of the Saferoom door, only to feel claws bore into his shoulders with enough force that he himself was pushed against the wall next to the door. The claws didn’t release, and in his ear:

“I won’t let you hurt another child.”

But before he could think to respond—

“You asked for it.” And before they knew it, the Puppet itself had been shoved onto the floor by Dave who was now standing over her.

She quickly moved back to her feet, but a forceful aubergine arm immediately pushed her back down and kept her pinned her to the floor.

“I’m gonna enjoy this, you right pain in the ass! Here's to years of gettin' in my way!” And with his other free hand, he whipped out a crowbar, arm raised and poised for a strike—

—and forcefully hugged back by Old Sport…?

“Don’t, please—...”

“Wha…?”

The Puppet took this brief window as an opportunity to retreat.

And the aubergine and tangerine just traded bewildered and bewildering looks, raised arm still trapped by the other’s desperate embrace.

But a set of claws flashed across Dave’s face, followed by his shout in pain and the loud clattering of a dropped crowbar.

“Shit—!!!”

Dave staggered back a few steps, giant hand pressed tightly against the side of his face, and without thinking, Jack ran to intercept the Puppet’s next lunge toward him—

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

Where is he where is he—

“Hey youngster, don’t run so fast!”

Please, where is he—

She felt someone running behind her, and to her relief, it was exactly who she needed!

And…

And then…

Then it started to sink in…

She froze up in panic.

“Are you okay, miss?”

He was staring at her, probably waiting for her to say something, she needed to say something—!

“He—H-He…”

It wouldn’t come out, it never does, why not!?

“Plea— the— I—” She couldn’t decide what sound to start with, so her wasted voice turned into panicked gasp for air.

“Kiddo, slow down, one word at a time.”

The Phone Man lowered himself to one knee down to her level. That was good, it meant she still had his attention despite saying nothing yet.

So she really needed to—!

She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him along, and thankfully he got the message right away to follow so she ran for the Saferoom.

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

He’d done the right thing, but he’d done a horribly wrong thing.

It was only one strike. That’s all it took for the gravity of his impulse to crash over him.

That he’d attacked her.

The loud clatter at his feet startled him. The crowbar had apparently slipped from his shaking hands.

“Jack, why do you defend him?” said the now-malfunctioning Puppet with an open gash to its newly-cracked mask revealing damaged circuitry inside. “Do you not care what he did to us?”

He didn’t have an answer. He’d hoped up to this point that he’d never need to come up with one. Getting to see her again was the one wish of his he never wanted granted after all this.

“Why…? Why would you join him?”

Jack still stared back in short supply of an adequate response.

“Did my death really mean so little to you that you'd befriend my murderer?”

He couldn’t take this anymore, this was too much—

“Dee, I’m sorry…”

The Puppet remained silent, as if waiting for Jack to continue.

But that was the only thing he could find in himself to say.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say about it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re a coward.”

“...Sportsy, don’t go apologizin’ to that thing.”

Dave had gotten to his feet, hand still pressed against half his bleeding face but otherwise not at all deterred.

“I dunno who she is to you, but I don’t care. Anyone who threatens to hurt my partner can die before they get the chance.

Congrats, kid; you’re finally done with that freaky body.”

“No, Dave, don’t.”

Dave was careful not to turn his gaze away from the puppet this time when asking, “Why?”

“Disable her all you like, but don’t you dare do anything to hurt her.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she challenged bitterly.

“Challenge accepted—” but Dave’s threat didn’t land as the puppet immediately scrambled to swipe at his feet and tripped him onto his butt.

“Stop it, both of you!”

That ended up being far more effective than Jack expected as both combatants quickly paused their violent scrambling to give him their attention.

“Dave, I’m dead serious. If you lay another hand on her, I’ll make sure you never walk again.”

Dave was stunned to complete silence by the seriousness behind that threat.

“And you, Dee. I know you have no reason to believe me ever again—”

“Save it, Jack. I’m not interested in what you have to say anymore.”

“Dee, just listen to me—”

“You listen to ME, Jack Kennedy! If I see you or Dave with that girl or any other child ever again—”

But her threat, too, fell flat when Pruny ran up out of nowhere to hug Jack’s legs.

“Prune, what’re—!?”

“What on earth is going on in here?”

All faces turned to the Phone Guy in the doorway. Well, all except for Pruny’s teared up face that was pressed against Jack’s thigh.

No one said anything in answer, so Scott spoke up again. “I see the ‘Puppet’ is out and actively trying to kill you. I warned you you’d regret it if you let its music box run out.”

Again, no one had a response to give.

“Alright; Dave, go ahead and do your thing and disable it, we all know how much you love to do it.”

“You think we haven’t tried!?”

“Then dismantle it the messy way, whatever it takes!”

But Dave nervously glanced toward Jack whose hard stare back was not permitting. Yet before Dave could utter a word in response, the puppet had already made a sudden dash for the Saferoom entrance, pushing aside the Phone Guy in her path.

“Dee, wait—!”

“‘Dee’?” But Jack ignored him to walk after her—but remembering he still had an aubergine child clinging to him, he stopped his pursuit.

“You two have a lot to explain in the office.”

Although what Scott secretly wanted to know most was why the names ‘Dee’ and ‘Kennedy’ were being thrown around.

(Chapter 13)->

[dailyunsolvedmysteries-movedd]

PRANKS GONE WRONG THAT ACCIDENTALLY KILLED PEOPLE

Adrian Broadway, a 15-year-old girl from Little Rock, Arkansas, was with her friends toilet-papering, egging, and throwing mayonnaise on a car, in retaliation for a prank someone else had pulled on her group. Unfortunately, a 48-year-old man came out of the house and opened fire on them in their car, killing her and injuring one of her friends. The shooter, Willie Noble, was later sentenced to 30 years in prison for Broadway's death.

What seemed like an innocent jump-scare became fatal in 2013 when an 18-year-old girl named Premila Lal hid in a closet at her house, knowing that a family friend was there watching over the property. She planned to surprise him by jumping out of the closet, but the house sitter, 21-year-old Nerrek Galley, was packing heat at the time — this despite playing video games with her 15-year-old brother. When he heard the noises of her entry, he grabbed his gun to investigate. Believing her to be an intruder, Galley shot the girl when she opened the door, and she later succumbed to her injuries at an area hospital.

One man's decision to suit up as Bigfoot to summon a few scares cost him his life. 44-year-old Randy Lee Tenley impersonated the elusive beast in 2012 by donning a military-style ghillie suit on the side of Kalispell, Montana's Highway 93, to spook travellers on the road into thinking they'd witnessed the sought-after animal. Instead, he was run over by two teen drivers and died as a result of his injuries.

A traffic sign antic in Circleville, Ohio became the site of a horrific crash scene in 2011 after a pair of local teens decided to wrap an intersection's stop sign in plastic and petroleum jelly, rendering it invisible to drivers. The pair, 19-year-old Seth Stonerock and 18-year-old Derek Greenlee, apparently thought their roadside ruse was funny and bragged about it on Facebook. Sadly, two elderly women — 85-year-old Mary Spangler and 81-year-old Jeanne Shea — died after driving past the concealed sign and being struck by another vehicle. Stonerock was sentenced to four years in prison for being the central culprit, while charges were dropped against Greenlee, who claimed he tried to talk his friend out of it.

"Ding, dong, ditch" was a common source of young amusement at one time, but when 16-year-old Mark Drewes engaged in the old door-to-door pastime in Boca Raton, Florida in 2003, it proved to be a deadly game. Drewes was shot to death while walking away from the home of Jay Levin, who claimed he thought Drewes was an armed intruder. 

Wedgies might be an ordinary part of childhood roughhousing, but in 2013, an underwear escapade became fatal. During an argument, 33-year-old Brad Lee Davis pulled his 58-year-old stepfather Denver St. Clair's bottoms so far up, the elastic band slipped around his neck and asphyxiated him. Davis claimed that the act was in self-defense

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

PRANKS GONE WRONG THAT ACCIDENTALLY KILLED PEOPLE

Adrian Broadway, a 15-year-old girl from Little Rock, Arkansas, was with her friends toilet-papering, egging, and throwing mayonnaise on a car, in retaliation for a prank someone else had pulled on her group. Unfortunately, a 48-year-old man came out of the house and opened fire on them in their car, killing her and injuring one of her friends. The shooter, Willie Noble, was later sentenced to 30 years in prison for Broadway's death.

What seemed like an innocent jump-scare became fatal in 2013 when an 18-year-old girl named Premila Lal hid in a closet at her house, knowing that a family friend was there watching over the property. She planned to surprise him by jumping out of the closet, but the house sitter, 21-year-old Nerrek Galley, was packing heat at the time — this despite playing video games with her 15-year-old brother. When he heard the noises of her entry, he grabbed his gun to investigate. Believing her to be an intruder, Galley shot the girl when she opened the door, and she later succumbed to her injuries at an area hospital.

One man's decision to suit up as Bigfoot to summon a few scares cost him his life. 44-year-old Randy Lee Tenley impersonated the elusive beast in 2012 by donning a military-style ghillie suit on the side of Kalispell, Montana's Highway 93, to spook travellers on the road into thinking they'd witnessed the sought-after animal. Instead, he was run over by two teen drivers and died as a result of his injuries.

A traffic sign antic in Circleville, Ohio became the site of a horrific crash scene in 2011 after a pair of local teens decided to wrap an intersection's stop sign in plastic and petroleum jelly, rendering it invisible to drivers. The pair, 19-year-old Seth Stonerock and 18-year-old Derek Greenlee, apparently thought their roadside ruse was funny and bragged about it on Facebook. Sadly, two elderly women — 85-year-old Mary Spangler and 81-year-old Jeanne Shea — died after driving past the concealed sign and being struck by another vehicle. Stonerock was sentenced to four years in prison for being the central culprit, while charges were dropped against Greenlee, who claimed he tried to talk his friend out of it.

"Ding, dong, ditch" was a common source of young amusement at one time, but when 16-year-old Mark Drewes engaged in the old door-to-door pastime in Boca Raton, Florida in 2003, it proved to be a deadly game. Drewes was shot to death while walking away from the home of Jay Levin, who claimed he thought Drewes was an armed intruder. 

Wedgies might be an ordinary part of childhood roughhousing, but in 2013, an underwear escapade became fatal. During an argument, 33-year-old Brad Lee Davis pulled his 58-year-old stepfather Denver St. Clair's bottoms so far up, the elastic band slipped around his neck and asphyxiated him. Davis claimed that the act was in self-defense

[omnibused]

Do you have any headcanons about Em?

Okay, sorry this took me so long but I have so, so, so many and tried to trim it down. Hope this gives a little look into her character, and maybe gets me writing more about her!

General Tid-Bits and Miscellany

◇ Emerald or Em. "Gem", affectionately by her father and brother, perhaps a romantic partner. Never Emmy.

◇ She has an older brother, by three years, named Carnelian; they were inseparably close, and protective of one another, as children. She would consider him her best and closest friend.

◇ Her father gave both her and her brother their names based on how dearly he adored calling their mother, Helmi, his "little pearl".

◇ Adores muggle literature, particularly fantasy and the emerging sci-fi genre. Her current favorites are the short stories of Edgar Allan Poe and "Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus".

◇ Adores muggle music, particularly Chopin. She's not entirely convinced Chopin was a muggle, but it's a little fantasy she keeps to herself.

…little Em absolutely believed Chopin was a wizard, fooling muggles all along. ♡

[I've had a WIP one shot about these two for weeks I wanna' finish.]

◇ Speaks slightly-above-conversational Finnish, learned from living near her maternal grandparents in Finland, off and on. She has a noticeable accent when speaking English, as well.

◇ Prefers Italian style coffee; if not available, she'll sip cup after cup of unsweetened peppermint herbal tea.

◇ She's left-handed, and has a bit of an altered wand style for it. Her brother and father accredited her edge in dueling to it, but she pays it no mind - aside from bumping elbows at desks and dinner tables.

◇ A naturally introverted and inquisitive child, she learned much of what she knows about magical theory and history from isolating herself in the MacDougal manor library. Even if she was too afraid to put much of any of it into action without guidance.

◇ She went through a degree of homeschooling with her father, Hephaestion, and paternal relatives for a short time. However, kind as her father was, her uncles and grandparents tended to keep her at arm's length, as if she represented a break in the family's lauded pureblood status.

Family and Story Related

◇ She and her brother were both late to show any sign of their magical abilities; the latter hadn't begun to show any magical talent by the age of 9 or 10, shortly before he would have begun his formal magical instruction. Fearing there was another squib, and disappointment, in the family, their mother's brother, Aleksi, attacked the boy to hopefully "provoke" his latent abilities. While it left Carnelian with a permanently scarred face, his magical capabilities were awakened when he inadvertently propelled his uncle through a wall, in self defense. Emerald began showing proficiency in protective and defensive magic shortly after, with his help.

◇ Helmi, their mother, was born a Squib into a pureblood family - her bitterness was passed off on her kids, especially her son. Her family let her stay, but weren't particularly proud of her, and rarely spoke of her in any company.

◇ Carnelian was sent to attend Durmstrang, nearer their maternal grandparent’s home, at 11 - rather against their father’s wishes. He cited his discomfort with their admittance of the dark arts in their curriculum, as reason for his hesitance.

[I HC Durmstrang is somewhere in western Russia, myself, since there’s no absolute canonical location.]

◇ Their grandfather claimed to "know the headmaster" when pushing for the children’s enrollment at Durmstrang, whether or not that was true was never really uncovered. He was, most likely, lying.

◇ Emerald attended Durmstrang for her first year of formal magical education, but was swiftly withdrawn by her father afterward. Her regular owls home confirmed his fears at what the school taught its students.

◇ Hephaestion attempted to withdraw Carnelian as well, but Helmi and her family protested strongly and thwarted his efforts. Em and her father returned to Scotland, where her mother and brother (presumably) stayed with her family in Finland.

◇ Em's father paused her homeschooling to meet with his wife and in-laws to speak about her, and their son, returning with him. He was gone for several months, and still returned alone - talk of Em enrolling in Hogwarts began, then. Her father always had a defeated sort of air about him, after that. 

◇ Em and Carnelian wrote to one another nearly every day when he went off to Durmstrang, and even after her father withdrew her and they became separated. They remained in consistent contact up until her enrollment at Hogwarts. After a single letter of congratulations, she hasn't heard anything from her brother in months.

◇ She wrote to him, nevertheless, through her fifth (and first) year at Hogwarts - including the trials and tribulations regarding the discovery of her new ability. Even if the owl would always bring them back unopened, or she never sent them at all, it helped her to process her feelings as so much began happening around her at once.

…that and she always wrote that things would be so much better handled were he in her place, instead. Her confidence and skill more than quadrupled over the course of the year, thankfully.

~◇~ I also have this headcanon where her brother would return to Scotland around 3 years after finishing his formal education, and apply to be a professor (even just an assistant at first) at Hogwarts. It would be during his sister's 7th and final year in school, and the beginning of their happy reunion. Because I absolutely want them back together and part of one another's lives and happiness forever. ❤️

Whether or not there'd be any interest in reading it is one thing, but I so want to write it.

Thank you so, so much!!

[sunder-the-gold]

Why wouldn't Lemuen and Mostima let Andoain have the Lock and Key?

Did Andoain make any attempt to convince Mostima and Lemuen to let him take the staves?

He never shared his questions with anyone else after he returned from Iberia, before he met Lemuen for the first time. Even as late as [GA-6 Before], Lemuen is unsure of his goals despite being the person who best understands his motivations. Even after the bells ring, even after she makes a phone call to ask Andoain questions, she's only making her best guess about his issues.

But Mostima, even when Fiammetta asks her for anything to explain what happened that day, never once says a word about Andoain's intentions, goals, motivations... Mostima doesn't care to think about it, but she also doesn't seem to have a clue.

Almost like Andoain didn't bother arguing at all. As if, after he made the decision to take the staves, the moment that he felt Mostima didn't want him to have the staves, he struck Lemuen down without a word.

But why didn't they?

Andoain's Motives

Whatever I accuse Andoain of, I cannot accuse him of simply wanting to kill Lemuen, of completely despising her, or of entirely discarding her value as a person or her trust as a friend.

He remains unrepentant that he made the righteous decision, and his only regret is that this decision necessitated hurting someone else. He seeks out and receives Lemuen's forgiveness, and while he admits no fault, he does gracefully accept her demand to never come to see her again.

I can accuse him of self-righteousness and having a messiah complex. At worst, I can accuse him of valuing the concept of humanity over the value of real human individuals, such that he would murder a friend right in front of him for the possibility of helping people he'd never met, without even trying to convince his friends first.

But at the root, he only wanted to save the world, and to that end he wanted to take the Lock and Key staves for himself, and he only attacked his subordinates because they opposed that immediate goal.

So, again, why did they?

Mostima's Decision

[GA-6 After] "I didn't think he was worthy, that's all. If you ask me, he's a poor little guy."

Mostima didn't come to that conviction because of what she felt from Andoain. In [GA-4 After], when Fiammetta asks why Mostima shot him despite pitying and forgiving him, Mostima says:

"That has nothing to do with this. It didn't matter how... out of it he was, I couldn't let him take the Lock and Key."

Mostima never claims to have shot Andoain in self-defense; if she and Lemuen had not wanted to oppose him about taking the staves, he never would have attacked them. He doesn't want to kill anyone. Before Mostima fell and lost her halo-empathy, she could feel this from him for a certainty. If Andoain had wanted to kill her, Mostima would have felt it, but she didn't, and therefore she had no reason to fear for her life until she opposed him.

Also, Mostima never claims to have shot Andoain out of revenge for attacking Lemuen. Fiammetta certainly would have sympathized greatly with such a reason, but Mostima never once even suggests such a motive.

Mostima only ever insists that keeping Andoain from taking the staves was more important to her than anything else. She decided that goal was worth falling, potentially being executed for breaking the laws, and living as a virtual exile. She threw everything away without hesitation simply to keep Andoain from taking the staves.

Again: Why?

Mostima's Reasoning

Setting aside the question of why Mostima didn't think Andoain was worthy of taking the staves, why did Mostima even care if he was worthy?

I may think someone didn't earn a fancy sportscar that their parents bought them, and I might not think that they'll take good care of it, but that's not reason enough to shoot them if they try getting into the driver's seat.

The only rational reason to shoot the driver is the fear that they will certainly harm or kill others by driving the car.

Given that Mostima previously trusted Andoain enough to obey him as a superior officer and follow him into life-or-death missions in Kazdel, it seems likely to me that she only became concerned about his worthiness to wield power after feeling him have a mental break when confronted by the staves.

Yet Mostima never claims that she viewed the staves as a nefarious influence that she needed to save Andoain from. She certainly doesn't treat the staves as something she needs to be saved from, either. Even after years of carrying, using, and familiarizing herself with the staves, she hasn't changed her mind about Andoain being less worthy to wield them than herself.

Her criteria for worthiness doesn't seem to include "loyalty to Laterano", either. She didn't hesitate to throw away her life by shooting to kill Andoain for taking the staves, but at least twice she casually entrusted Yith to take one of the staves from her. Whatever Yith is, I doubt his first loyalty is to Laterano.

So, WHY?

Lemuen's Reasoning

Lemuen never talks about opposing Andoain's desire to take the staves for himself. She doesn't give a reason, no one else attributes a reason to her... no one ever suggests that she cared about the staves or who held them.

When Andoain explains why he struck Lemuen down first rather than Mostima, he doesn't say it is because she opposed his desire more strongly than Mostima. He and Mostima agree that the only reason he took out Lemuen first is because he stood a chance of defending himself from Mostima afterwards, whereas he had no confidence in his ability to defend himself from Lemuen.

Perhaps Lemuen didn't care at all who got the staves.

Perhaps, where Mostima apparently shot Andoain without any thought of revenge for Lemuen, Lemuen absolutely would have killed Andoain solely out of revenge for attacking Mostima, without any concern about the staves.

Lemuen's Decision

After coming out of her coma and thinking back on that day, Lemuen decided to forgive Andoain.

She doesn't excuse his actions. She doesn't trust him to never hurt her or the people she cares about again if he thought it would advance his goals. At best she trusts that he's not going to run across another situation where he needs to murder someone to gain devices of great power, or else I don't know why she didn't sound the alarm about him having snuck into Laterano.

But she's confident in this: "I want you to trust me on one thing, Fiammetta. If he really wanted to do harm to Laterano... I'd never forgive him."

Secret Orders?

One possibility is that Andoain's team was sent to retrieve the Lock and Key staves all along, and only Fiammetta was kept in the dark about it.

If the three sankta arrived in the Kazdel mansion knowing exactly what they were after, with the intent to take it back to Laterano, then of course Andoain couldn't take them for himself. If he took them back to Laterano, they would be confiscated as state property. In fact, that would probably happen anyway, even if retrieval hadn't been their specific mission.

If so, Lemuen and Mostima couldn't let him take the staves because it was their mission to retrieve them for Laterano, and in that moment it became apparent that Andoain wanted them for himself even if he had to desert his nation. So they couldn't let him have them.

Thus Mostima can't explain her reasons to Fiammetta in terms of "I had to oppose him because he was acting in direct contradiction of our orders", and we know for certain that there are state secrets about the staves that Fiammetta hasn't been told.

But in that case, why send Fiammetta on the mission at all?

Even taking for granted that their superiors decided to risk sending Fiammetta with her team, and further supposing that her team set up the false distress call as an excuse to send her away from the mansion, I can still provide completely unrelated reasons why Andoain would have wanted to send Fiammetta off on her own.

Most importantly, she's the only one without a glowing halo to give away her position in the night.

Almost as importantly, Fiammetta's Mobility and Physical Resilience evaluations rate higher than Mostima's; perhaps she was simply the swiftest long-distance runner on the team, and the sankta would only slow her down. In fact, if Fiammetta can turn her arms into wings like Olivia Silence, perhaps she could even travel as the crow flies.

[thebadboyfanclub]

It’s Alright Darling (Sherlock x Reader)

Ok... Was this requested? No. Am I writing it cause anything Henry Cavill related makes me feel happy? Yes. Enjoy!

Being Sherlock Holmes assistant was something a lot of people would kill for and that makes it even better if you think about the irony of it. However, since Sherlock wasn’t a normal person to mostly everything he did, he had decided to hire a woman as his assistant, Mycroft called him mad and unhinged almost every time he brought up her name. (Y/n) was one of the most intelligent people he had ever been around, combining that with a charming personality was the recipe to success.

“Well, well, well I see my brother is full of surprises”

“Hello there Mycroft is so nice to see you again as well”

She spoke in an clearly ironic tone as she took of her gloves, she was never a fan of hats other than the occasions she knew she would be under the sun for hours. As she walked in the living room area for what seemed like their childhood home, Sherlock had requested for (y/n) to arrive a day later than the brothers, knowing that her and his older brother were like oil and water he chose to “prepare the grounds” first.

“Where is the young little Holmes?”

“Inside, talking with miss Harrison”

“Alright... who is miss Harrison?”

“Miss Harrison is an excellent teacher and a friend of mine, come to think of it maybe you should go in and ask her to take you as well... you might be a bit old but I’m sure she can make an exception”

Mycroft found (y/n) intolerant, she was dismissive, unladylike, mouthy and a feminist, he still does not understand what asset do she brought to his younger brother. She only smiled while sitting at one of the chairs

“I will let you know I was an excellent student in all my academic achievements, although I suppose you were one as well that doesn’t really prove someone’s intelligence or manners, right mister Holmes?”

Sherlock let a laugh be heard at (y/n)’s quick response, even though he would never take sides and sometimes wanted them to get along, he had accepted that it would never happen and simply enjoyed the situation.

“Amused brother? Of course you are as mad as her since you didn’t only hire her, you kept her around and brought her in my home”

“Now Now mister Holmes, what type of gentleman would you be if you threaten to through out not just a lady but your younger brothers guest, unfortunately you are just further proving my point about our little quarrel”

Before he had the chance to respond a young girl walked in, wearing a white undergarment dress and looking disheveled. The girl who (y/n) could only assume was the infamous Enola didn’t even notice her being in this room.

“No, don’t do this to me. Let me remain happy, I am happy here”

“You are a young woman now Enola, you need an education”

“Test me, on anything you think I need to know in order to be sufficient for this world”

“If she taught you so well, you wouldn’t be standing in your undergarment in front of me”

Silence fell in the room for a quick second. His disgusting answer to his own sister made (Y/n) get on her feet, Enola quickly let her gaze fall on the young woman that was now in her house.

“Why is that a problem Mister Holmes? Undergarments are scandalous for the men when a woman they are interested in wears them, she is your underaged sister”

“This is a family matter, it does not- I repeat- does not concern you”

“Of course it does not concern me, but it does concern me when a young girl is being held accountable for walking in her home, to her brothers, completely covered and still being shamed for it”

Enola understood by that quick argument the lady was not here because of Mycroft, so it only meant she was Sherlocks company, she is not his wife since if not invited he would have at least informed their mother, so perhaps a girlfriend?

“Enola you have no hopes of making a husband out of your state, neither do you... miss (y/l/n)”

“I don’t want a husband”

Enola claimed, raising her voice at the ridiculous claim her brother made. Even though they haven’t been properly introduced they had developed a mutually liking for each other, at a brief look they seemed to have the same outlook on life.

“And that is another thing you need to have educated out of you”

At that Enola turned to look at her other brother, Sherlock, who had remained radio silent throughout this entire conversation. Enola kneeled in front of him, as Sherlock looked at her and then broke eye contact to look down at the book he was holding.

“Sherlock, Don’t let him do this to me”

“You are his ward”

“Make me yours. Guide me. Teach me. For him I am nuisance. For you-”

“Enola. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands”

“Just like his cruelty to our mother was out of your hands”

Cruelty to their mother? No, Sherlock would have never allowed his mother to go through anything, he is a man of honor... isn’t he? (Y/n) felt her stomach tighten as she saw this tragic scene unravel, she hoped Sherlock would have accepted and took her in.

“She is not dangerous. She is remarkable and always has been. And if you still can’t see that then shame on you both”

“So remarkable she left you in my care”

Mycroft shot back. (Y/n) could almost feel the pain the young girl felt, you could see it in her eyes how that was an arrow straight in her heart. (Y/n) decided to step up and try to help, she approached the young girl with a kind smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here to calm down. Seems like your brothers don’t share the same love and admiration you do for the woman that made them who they are”

“I am a self made successful man”

“but you wouldn’t be no man if the woman you frown upon had not broken her hips and went through hours of painful labor. Take that as some food for thought before you school me on my manners”

Sherlock looked at her in awe, as she stood proudly next to his sister and became the shield he should have been. Standing up for a girl you haven’t even spoken to or knew before this.

“Let’s go young Enola, seems like a woman’s presence is wanted here only when she does as she is told”

-

“Come in”

“Can I open this door and be promised that I will remain safe or are you holding a dagger and you are ready to take me out of this world?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dagger you in your own household? I would probably wait to poison you a few days after we leave and write the paperwork of you firing me”

He smiled at her plan as he closed the door in her room. It was already nightfall and the only light here were a few candles, he had let her take a breather after the unfortunate event that had occurred previously. Even though he wasn’t the one that she went toe to toe with, his silence was as obnoxious to her as his brothers loud ignorance towards the female gender.

“You are upset”

“Of course not, why would I be? It’s not like you let that man embarrass his own sibling and talk down to his mother without her being in the room”

She had remained sited in the chair next to the table, a book open that seemed like she was writing on rather than reading it. He was aware she was holding a journal, he didn’t blame her for it, having a job like she did she was in desperate need of something to keep her sane.

“This is a very wary subject”

“I am aware of it, I just can’t seem to understand why not comfort her, try to change your brothers opinion, anything that will show you care for her, you do care for her, right Sherlock?”

“She is my baby sister (y/n), that’s a given”

She closed her book. She ran her hand through her  through her hair and got up from her sit, her hands going in front of her torso at a defensive demeanor, even when Sherlock should be cold or show his higher position to her, he couldn’t help but seek some type of truce with her, how could he not? She looked so beautiful even when she mad at him, the eyes he was so caught up in looked at him with fury, her delicate feature went harsh and she was dressed more... lightly now.

“I spoke with her earlier, she was in the garden”

“I know, I saw.”

“She asked me about you, asked me if you were my lady”

Her eyes went wide for a split second before regaining her composer and turned her back to him. She approached the window before she spoke.

“If you think of how she became familiar with me, she was probably certain I wasn’t even friends with your holier than God brother”

“You mustn't be angry at me”

“And why is that?”

“Because other than my sister and mother, I care for you and for your opinion about me”

She remained silent. Not only because she was caught off guard by his comment, she also didn’t know what he was talking about. Sherlock stepped closer to her, his steps making her heart flutter and her palms sweaty. He stopped when he was right behind her, he wanted to hug her, caress her, kiss her, still he was uncertain of how she would react.

“I still remember the night you got kidnapped”

Someone that Sherlock had helped uncover had escaped prison and kidnapped her. Luckily, she was retrieved safely yet again she was still shaken up by the scary experience, when Sherlock found her awake next to the fireplace she was so vulnerable and grateful to be alive she launched at him and kissed him passionately.

He shared his bed with her, in the middle of the night though she had gotten up and left, when morning came she acted like nothing had happened, barely even looked at him in the eyes for a week.

“Please Sherlock don’t pick at my brain”

“Why did you leave that night? Did you regret it that much”

“That night... was the most blissful I have ever been.... However you are still my boss Sherlock”

“That’s all I am to you? Your boss?”

(Y/n) turned to look at him, tears welling up in her eyes. Those eyes would be the death of him, it was with no doubt the window to her soul, that pure gentle soul of hers.

“What am I to you then Sherlock? This wasn’t just about me”

“You are.... what I never knew I needed”

His hands went up to her forearms instinctively, a soft caress that made her think his hands were made out of the finest silk, she felt goosebumps as he touched her. Her lips parted slightly as she took in a heavy breath, her eyes searching for a hint of a lie in his words.

“Sherlock”

“Shhhhh, It’s alright darling. You don’t have to say anything”

At that he slowly leaned in, his lips on top of hers at a shy and gentle kiss. Her hand went to his neck, bringing her torso to touch his as the kiss deepened, her entire body felt a rush go through it as they should the passion they held for each other with this kiss. As she pulled back her fingertips traveled to his face, taking in his attractive features

“I had almost forgotten how good of a kisser you are”

“Oh love, you will never forget it ever again”

[multi-fandom-imagines-stuff]

Smaller Than This

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/daughter!reader, Peter Parker/platonic!reader, Wanda Maximoff/reader

Description: The reader is Natasha Romanoff’s daughter, best friend of Peter Parker, and girlfriend of Wanda Maximoff. Growing up in the spotlight is hard enough, but things cross a line when people start commenting on the reader’s weight.

Warnings: eating disorder, swearing, threats of violence

Word count: 3,282

A/N: I know it’s not easy to deal with eating disorders, but please know that you are beautiful and amazing and you don’t deserve to have to suffer through that. Please, if you are struggling with this, reach out for help. <3

✩❀✩❀✩

Black Widow’s daughter spotted in Central Park with new best friend Scarlet Witch and Stark Industry intern Peter Parker! Could Parker be y/n’s new boyfriend?

You laughed and rolled your eyes as you clicked on the tweet. Stalking paparazzi twitter accounts had to be one of your favorite pastimes, simply because the so-called facts they were giving out were false 99% of the time. For instance, this situation? You had gone out for a picnic with Peter and Wanda when those photos were taken, and the paparazzi completely twisted things. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend, he was just your best friend. And Wanda wasn’t your best friend, she was your girlfriend. You chose to ignore the false headline as you went immediately for the replies.

‘Do you see the way y/n’s looking at Wanda? It seems more like there’s something going on between them than there is between y/n and Peter’

You smiled and liked that tweet. You liked messing with people just a bit. Whenever someone would tweet about there possibly being a relationship between you and Wanda, you liked the tweet. It wasn’t enough information to actually confirm the relationship as true, but it was enough to keep people speculating.

You scrolled through several more replies. Most of them were people using the heart eyes emoji or saying how much they loved your mom, but there were a few in there that stuck out more than the rest. That was because they were harsh and hurtful.

‘I don’t understand how someone can live with the Avengers and still look like that. Does she ever even exercise?’

‘She could stand to lose some weight. Instead of going out for a picnic, she should try to skip a few meals’

You read through replies for a few more minutes. Similar comments would pop up now and then, and while there wasn’t an overwhelming amount, there was still enough to make you close down the app and shut off your phone, averting all your attention toward not crying. 

“Miss y/n, dinner has been called,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rang through your room.

Pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind, you got off your bed and made your way to the dining room. There, Peter and Wanda were setting the table while Steve and Bucky carried out the food.

You walked up behind your girlfriend and wrapped your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder. You felt her jump slightly before she realized it was you and relaxed into your touch. You placed a kiss on her cheek.

“I love you,” You whispered in her ear.

“Hey! What did we talk about?” Tony directed at you, raising an eyebrow at you and causing you to roll your eyes.

“No lovey-dovey shit at the dinner table,” You mumbled.

“Language!” Steve scolded you as Clint joined the conversation.

“Oh, come on, Tony,” He said. “It’s young love. It’s harmless and adorable.”

“It makes me want to hurl,” Tony retorted.

To onlookers, it may have sounded like Tony was being a real dick, but you knew he was just teasing you. He’d never admit it, but secretly he loved how happy you and Wanda made each other.

“Watch it, Stark,” Your mom shot him a glare. “That’s my kid you’re talking about.”

Your head whipped up at your mom’s voice. She had been on a mission for the past week and wasn’t supposed to get home for another three days.

“Mom!” You yelled as you ran toward her, wrapping your arms around her as you squeezed her tight.

“Hey, kiddo! I’ve missed you!” She said, hugging you back and kissing you lightly on the forehead.

“I’ve missed you, too!”

“As much as I hate to break up this reunion,” Bucky said, causing you to pull away from your mom. “Steve and I slaved over dinner and it’s getting cold, so let’s eat.”

You took your seat at the table—in between Peter and Wanda—and filled your plate with the spaghetti and garlic bread Steve and Bucky made. Everyone was silent as you all dug into your food and, you had to admit, it tasted amazing. 

When Steve and Bucky first moved in, neither of them were allowed near a stove without supervision. They had started too many accidental fires. But after lots and lots of practice, the two of them easily became the best cooks in the tower.

After dinner, you excused yourself to your room. Your phone was still lying face down on the bed, so you grabbed it and opened it up. Right away, you noticed several notifications from twitter. Upon further investigation, you found that the rude comments people were saying about you had extended to your messages. Now, you had complete strangers messaging you about how you needed to ‘lose weight’, or ‘eat less’, or ‘exercise more’. A few of the messages even called you a ‘disappointment to the Avengers’.

You deactivated your account and deleted the app from your phone, but the damage was already done and you knew it. So you came up with a plan and decided to set it into motion the next morning.

✩❀✩❀✩

You woke up in the morning to your alarm blaring. Checking the time, you saw it was 4:30, and you wondered why your alarm was going off so early before you remembered the plan you had made the night before.

You got out of bed and quickly dressed in athletic attire before running out of your room. You knew Steve liked to run in the mornings, so you sat in the kitchen waiting for him.

When he finally sauntered in at 5:00, he was more than surprised to see you sitting there.

“Y/n?” He asked. “What’re you doing up so early?”

“Can I run with you today, Uncle Steve?” You asked him, a pleading look on your face that you knew he couldn’t say no to.

“Yeah, sure,” He said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be sleeping?”

You nodded. 

“I want to start running. My mile time in P.E. class has been slacking lately and I don’t want to fail the class.”

You were surprised yet proud of how quickly you were able to come up with that lie, and you were happy to see that Steve believed every word of it.

So that’s how you spent your morning: running laps with Steve.

The two of you finally called it quits around 6:15 and parted ways. Steve went off to do whatever he did during the days, and you went off to squeeze in a quick shower before school.

By the time you were done with your shower, it was nearly 7:00, which meant you had to rush to get dressed. You finally made it to the kitchen, where Wanda was already waiting for you. The two of you yelled a quick ‘bye’ to whoever was listening before you started the quick walk to the bus stop.

You felt Wanda’s hand interlock with yours and a smile arose on your face as you squeezed her hand. You two didn’t want to publicly disclose your relationship yet, so you knew the minute you reached the bus stop you’d have to let go.

✩❀✩❀✩

At lunch, you sat at a table with Wanda, Peter, MJ, and Ned. You skipped the food line and instead opted to sip at a bottle of water.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Peter asked you.

“What do you mean?” You shot back, not quite sure what he was getting at.

“You’re not eating.”

Shit. You had to think of a lie, and you had to be extra careful since your girlfriend could read minds. She promised you she’d never read your mind without your consent, but you were still wary.

“Uh...I’m just not feeling well,” You said. “My stomach is feeling a little flip-floppy and I don’t want to push it.”

To your luck, they nodded it off and changed the topic, not questioning you again for the rest of the day.

That night at dinner, you pushed the food around on your plate, eating a few bites here and there. It wasn’t hard to pretend you had eaten, especially since your family was so big. Everyone seemed to be so caught up in conversations with other people that they didn’t notice when you got up and scraped your food into the trash.

✩❀✩❀✩

These habits carried on for a few more weeks. You’d wake up every morning to run with Steve, make up some excuse for why you didn’t eat lunch, and you’d have a few bites of dinner before sneakily trashing it. On most weekends, you chose to spend your time training with your mom. You claimed it was so that you could stay sharp with your self-defense skills, and while that wasn’t necessarily a lie, it wasn’t the full truth, either. But your mom never questioned it, and you were glad.

You seemed to fly under the radar, until one Sunday afternoon.

You walked into your room after training with your mom to find Peter and Wanda waiting for you.

“Hey, guys,” You greeted, throwing yourself into a chair and downing half a bottle of water. “What’s up?” 

“We know,” Wanda said, a stern yet concerned look on her face.

“Know what?” You asked her, although you could feel your heart rate rising. You knew what she was talking about.

“That you haven’t been eating,” Peter joined in.

“What’re you talking about? Of course I’ve been eating.”

That was a lie. Your stomach hadn’t been properly filled in weeks and you couldn’t remember the last time it wasn’t rumbling. But that wasn’t important. What was important was the fact that you were finally losing weight. There’s no way you could stop now.

“Cut the crap, y/n,” Peter said, catching you by surprise. “We’ve been watching you. I can’t even remember the last time you bought a school lunch.”

“And you pick at your food at dinner every night,” Wanda added. “I haven’t seen you eat more than three bites. You think no one notices, but you’re wrong. And I can feel you, love. You feel...empty.”

Wanda rested her hand on your knee as you tried to process what was happening. You had been so good at hiding this, how had they found out?

“You guys, I’m—” You started before Peter cut you off.

“Don’t say you’re fine, because you’re not. We know it, and you know it, so please stop lying to us, y/n. We just want to help.”

“I have it under control, I don’t need help,” You protested. “Just...please don’t tell my mom.”

“Y/n—”

“Wanda, please,” You begged. “My mom has enough to worry about as it is. I don’t need to add this to her stress as well. I promise, I have it under control. I’m alright.”

Wanda and Peter shared a look before turning back to you. 

“We’ll keep this between us for now,” Peter said, and you felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“But, if things get any worse, we won’t hesitate to bring your mom into this,” Wanda warned.

You nodded and the two of them left, Wanda kissing you quickly before walking out of the room. 

‘I just need to hide it better’ you thought to yourself. ‘This is all my fault for being too obvious about things. I need to do better.’

Wanda and Peter had dropped the topic for the time being, until a week later, things took a turn for the worse when your P.E. teacher announced that your class was running the mile that day.

Thanks to training with Steve, your mile time had improved and you were one of the fastest in the class. However, due to malnutrition, any sort of exercise made you extremely lightheaded. 

You ignored the part of your brain that was telling you to make up some excuse to sit out. You convinced yourself you just weren’t drinking enough water so you drank an entire water bottle and went to class.

You were about halfway done with your mile when the corners of your vision turned black. You blinked a few times, trying to edge it away, but it was no use. By now, you heard a loud ringing in your ears and the world started spinning around you. You slowed down a bit, trying to regain your composure when you felt your knees buckle underneath you, and you were plunged into a world of darkness, not feeling it when you hit the ground.

✩❀✩❀✩

When you awoke, you were still laying on the field, your entire class swarming around you. You were trying to sit up when you felt something attached to your hand. 

You looked to the right and saw Wanda sitting there, looking scared as hell.

“Miss Maximoff, Mr. Parker, please escort Miss Romanoff to the nurse’s office,” Your teacher ordered.

You felt Wanda help lift you to a standing position and once you were up, you felt the world start spinning again. You shut your eyes tight as two arms, you assumed they belonged to Wanda and Peter, wrapped around either side of your waist. Soon enough, the dizziness ceased and you opened your eyes, signaling for Peter and Wanda to start walking with you.

You made it to the nurse’s station where you saw your mom already waiting.

“Mom?” You asked, wondering how she had gotten to your school so quickly.

“Peter called me the second he saw you fall,” She explained.

You, Wanda, and Peter were dismissed from school early, and your mom led you all back to her car. You sat in the passenger seat while Peter and Wanda sat in the back.

“What happened?” Your mom demanded.

The tone of her voice scared you a little bit, but you knew it was filled more with concern than it was with anger.

“I must’ve just gotten overheated or something,” You lied, knowing exactly why you passed out. “I was doing fine one second, and then the next I was on the ground.”

“That’s not true, Ms. Romanoff,” Peter interjected.

You whipped your head around to him and shook your head, silently pleading him to not tell her.

“What do you mean?” She asked. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Peter, stop,” You said, panicking at what was about to be said.

“Y/n hasn’t eaten a proper meal in a month,” Wanda admitted.

You shot your girlfriend a look of betrayal before turning back around to face forward.

“You, what?!” Your mom blared. “Y/n, is this true?”

Your silence was enough of an answer for her to understand that yes, it was true.

“Y/n, baby, why?” Your mom said.

You could tell she was trying to be strong, but her voice was cracking.

“Because I’m not like you guys, okay?!” You finally snapped, letting loose all of your pent-up emotions. “I don’t have a super-human metabolism like Peter, and I don’t have a perfectly in-shape body. I’m not an avenger and it sure as hell shows. Even people I don’t even know were making comments about it on twitter.”

“Is that why you disabled your account?” Peter asked, realization hitting him.

You nodded and looked down at your fingers, not wanting to make eye contact with any of them.

By now, you had reached the tower and your mom put the car into park, turning to face you.

“Y/n, I know it’s been hard for you to grow up in the spotlight, constantly being compared to us but this isn’t healthy,” She said, cupping your chin and lightly pulling your head up to meet her gaze. “If I had known all of this, I never would have let you do all those extra training sessions with me. It’s not safe for you to keep exercising like this when you’re not giving your body proper nourishment.”

“I can’t—” You sniffed. “I can’t stop. I need help.”

You felt a tear roll down your cheek as your mom brushed it away, pulling you in for a hug before the four of you got out of the car.

Once inside, your mom told you to sit down in the living room while she left for a few minutes. When she returned, she had the rest of the team with her and you could only assume she had given them the run-down on your situation. 

You were slightly hurt that she had shared your personal life like that, but you knew it was for the best.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Your mom said once everyone was settled. “Y/n, you’re going to help with dinner every night. I know it can be hard once you’ve developed a food phobia, but when you’re in control of what we eat every night it makes things a little easier. No more throwing your food in the trash, okay? As for school, I’ll be making you a homemade lunch each day, and Peter and Wanda will be keeping an eye on you and will be reporting back to me. First thing tomorrow, I’ll call and set you up an appointment with a therapist. Bottling up your emotions will only make things worse, trust me. You need to talk to someone, and a therapist will help to give you healthier coping mechanisms.”

You listened as your mom laid out these new rules before telling you to go lie down. As you got up to leave, you were bombarded with your family hugging you and telling you they were there for you. You honestly had never felt more loved and supported in your life.

You finally made your way to your room, lying down in bed. A few minutes later, you heard a knock at your door.

“Come in,” You said weakly.

The handle turned and Wanda walked in, using her powers to levitate a tray behind her. You sat up and she put the tray down in your lap. On the tray, you saw there was a plate of cheese and crackers.

You looked down at the tray before looking up at your girlfriend. You forced yourself to pick up one of the crackers and take a bite, your mind screaming at you the entire time. But you were sick. You knew this. You wanted to get better.

“I’m sorry for telling your mother,” Wanda spoke. “You were slowly killing yourself and I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. I’m so sorry, y/n. Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t blame you, Wan,” You told her. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I never should have forced you and Peter to keep this a secret.”

Wanda wrapped you into her arms, squeezing tightly. The two of you stayed like that for a long time before you pulled away and, bite by bite, finished the snack she had brought you.

✩❀✩❀✩

You had been in recovery for about a month now, and while things were far from easy, you knew you could do it. Your family was your support system and they were right there by your side every step of the way.

You were sitting on the couch with Peter and Wanda, you and your girlfriend tangled in each other’s arms as you watched your mom on tv. She was finishing up a press conference.

“Oh, and one last thing before I go,” She spoke toward the camera and the audience. “Whoever decided to make awful comments about my daughter online, I am a trained assassin and I will find you.”

[snackleggg]

It wasn't hard, in that moment

~~~

Angsty one shot without a happy ending. Sometimes hate can blind you to the simplest things.

~~~

This couldn't be happening.

There was no way this was happening.

But the screen didn't change as Maddie and Jack Fenton stared at the news on their TV.

" -and with all this in mind the government has not only decided to revoke the Anti-ecto act but to also give ghosts and other ectoplasmic entities that fall under that category basic civil rights. The GIW and several other unethical ghost hunting organisations are being shut down as a result and the government will soon be moving onto the inspection of smaller groups and individuals that have shown excessive malice towards these beings-" The news reporter continued on but Maddie couldn't really listen to anything else they were saying.

She didn't think it would ever get this out of hand. At first it had been small things, the impressionable and naive children of Casper high supporting that menace Phantom. Then when word of ghosts being real spread to the rest of the world other groups supporting them and their rights as people started popping up.

Now the Anti-ecto laws were not only taken down but new laws protecting the scum were put up. How did this happen?

A growl escaped Maddie "Phantom".

Of course that evil menace had to be up to this. He and his ghost pals must have mind controlled government officials. Now Fenton works would undoubtedly be inspected and shut down considering the new Ectoplasmic Protection Act.

They had to work fast Maddie decided.

If they could destroy Phantom then whatever ghostly hold he had over the government would disappear and they would all come to their senses.

Maddie stood up and started stomping her way down the stairs. She didn't even notice Jack continuing to watch the news as they interviewed some ghosts on what they thought about the situation. She didn't even notice how Jazz was standing proudly at the top of the stairs or the suspicious look Jazz threw her way when she had left.

With her new urgency it wasn't hard for her to finish a project they had in the works for a while. Her and Jack had kept it top secret so that the scum couldn't somehow find out and destroy it like they did with some of their other brilliant inventions.

The Fenton Ghost Filter was about to get a test run on the local menace.

Unlike something like the Ghost Grabber or a Ghost Shield, the Ghost Filter didn't filter ghosts from an object or just force them away. It filtered them from existence. Separating all their ectoplasm down to the molecular bond, they would become nothing but air.

It wasn't hard to find the menace. He had just finished sucking another ghost into a Fenton Thermos, Maddie still couldn't figure out where he had got his hands on one. It wasn't hard to get his attention and expertly lie about her intentions, about seeing the news and understanding how wrong she had been, about how she wanted to speak to him and make a truce.

The words were bitter on her tongue and it took everything in her to keep her expression of friendliness up and not let any venom or disgust leak into her voice.

He was obviously still cautious when he approached her. He carried himself with the air of someone ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Of course Maddie would never give him that chance.

The moment he was in close enough where she knew she wouldn't miss she pulled out her newest invention. She saw the moment he realised what she was about to do, the moment he realised she had lied and the moment he realised that even with his speed he wouldn't be able to dodge in time.

Maddie saw the fear in Phantom's acid green eyes.

She smiled.

She was proud to be the cause of that fear.

She pulled the trigger.

Time seemed to slow down after Phantom collapsed. Not in the good way either.

It wasn't the same kind of slow as when she was about to shoot him, when she was savouring that moment, that victory.

At first it was caused by confusion.

Why hadn't he been torn apart instantly? Maybe she had gotten something wrong in her rush to finish it? Maybe a calculation had been off?

Then white rings appeared around Phantom's waist and travelled up his body.

She was tense. Was this a new power? A new attack? Thanks to those damn new laws it would be seen as self defense if he attacked her now.

Then when the rings of white light disappeared her son was left there on the ground. He was screaming.

Over the years Maddie had learned to ignore the screams of ghosts, they were all just ploys to gain her sympathy of the emotionless creatures. The screams of ghosts had become white noise to her, nothing more than a passing irritation.

But infront of her right now was not a ghost but her son. Her baby boy. He was screaming. He was in pain.

The mother in her wanted to run over to her boy right then and try and make him feel better, comfort him and make his pain stop.

The ghost hunter in her, the part of her that had been driving her every action up until that point, whispered in her ear how this was a trap. Phantom was trying to trick her like always, trying to gain her sympathy by making himself look like her son.

The two sides were at war, and so Maddie was frozen.

Then time seemed to snap back into gear, moving fast now like a rushing river.

Someone ran past her, towards Danny (Phantomphantomphantom). It took her a moment to realise it was Jazz. She was quickly followed by Danny's two friends, Sam and Tucker.

They were all panicking. All calling out to Danny, asking what was wrong, asking what happened and what they should do. Reassuring him that everything was going to be okay, though it sounded like they were trying to convince themselves just as much as they were trying to convince him.

The entire time Maddie could barely hear them over the screams, over her son's (Phantom's) screams.

Then it all stopped.

The screams cut off abruptly, like the plug being pulled from a TV.

Danny (Phantom that's Phantom it's Phantom) fell limp.

Sam was crying, Maddie had never seen her cry before. She was always such a strong girl.

Tucker seemed to be franctically looking for a plus, both on Danny's wrist and neck.

Jazz was-

Maddie felt like she had been slapped when she looked at Jazz.

Jazz was staring at her- no, glaring.

There was so much in that glare.

Jazz had always expressed a lot of emotion through her eyes, she could never really hide what she was feeling if you looked her in the eyes.

There was rage, and sadness and- what Maddie didn't want to admit looked like hatred. Unshed tears sat in the corners of her eyes as she glared at Maddie like she had just taken everything from her.

Then her eyes trailed back to Danny's (Phantom's) limp form.

He wasn't breathing. He was still, too still.

His eyes closed from when they had been screwed shut in pain.

Tucker was now also crying, he had stopping looking for a pulse.

Maddie felt bile rise to the back of her throat as she replayed the events in her head.

Maddie saw the fear in Phantom's acid green eyes. (She didn't need to try hard to imagine those same eyes as blue- sky blue like the day the baby in her arms opened his eyes and she swore to always protect him)

She smiled. (That's the last thing he saw, her smiling. Smiling because she was about to kill hurt him)

She was proud to be the cause of that fear. (She caused that fear. Her own baby was afraid of her, and she had been proud of that)

She pulled the trigger. (She pulled the trigger, she shot him, she hurt him, she killed him)

"Tragedy struck today as Amity park's local ghostly hero Phantom, whose identity was revealed to be Damiel Fenton, was killed by none other than Madeline Fenton. It has been a common fact in the town of Amity for many years that the adult Fentons have harboured a, at times, unreasonable hatred to ghostly entities. While not all the details are yet known, the broader strokes of the story are that after the government's public declaration of the Ectoplasmic Protection Act yesterday Madeline Fenton decided to act out to destroy Phantom who she and her husband had claimed to be a menace multiple times. Taking a, as of yet unidentified, weapon and lulling Phantom into a false sense of security around her before she shot him and subsequently killed him. When he died his identity was revealed to be that of her own son who, we are told, after an accident involving their prized invention, the ghost portal, became part ghost and took personal responsibility for making sure that Amity park was safe from those who wished to harm it. Madeline Fenton is being charged with first degree murder and there is currently much debate on whether Jasmine Fenton should be removed from Jack Fenton's custody-" The news reporter went on.

Jack couldn't focuse on the TV anymore. His sobs having grown too loud to be able to hear what was being said.

His wife was going to be sent to prison.

His daughter hated them both.

His son was dead.

His son had died nearly two years ago and they hadn't noticed. They hadn't questioned his strange behaviour, the falling grades, the breaking curfew. They hadn't seen their son when they looked at Phantom, hadn't recognised him.

Then his son died again, by their invention again.

He was a terrible father.

He was a terrible person.

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

[viastro]

despite everything, it’s still you | wen junhui

ミ★ synopsis: in which you only have eyes for your best friend, but he sees everyone else.

ミ★ genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, some fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: mentions of vomit and drinking

ミ★ word count: 3,897

ミ★ pairings: junhui x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! i actually scrapped this last night when i first wrote it, but i came back to it a few hours ago and actually finished it. this isn’t one of my favorites, but i think it turned out better than i originally thought it would. so as always, please give jun lots of love !! and i hope you guys like this one <3

“Aren’t you tired?” You turn your head to see Minghao staring at you with a pitiful expression on your face. Squinting, you respond, “Of what?” 

“Of being lonely.” You scoff, turning away and going back to typing on your computer as Mingyu and Minghao lose their shit beside you on the couch. You don’t even know why you invited the two stooges to your house as you did homework, but alas. 

you were lonely.

“I should’ve never invited you guys.” You mumble as you add the last few sentences to your essay. Mingyu giggles, walking over and wrapping an arm around you as his apology. While Minghao steps over and puts his face close to yours, giving you a big smile. 

“Forgive us queen.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Damn.” Mingyu mutters, raising a hand to his heart to feign offense. The corner of your lips tilts up at Mingyu’s reaction, and Minghao claps his hands. “She forgave us.”

“Aye, now I didn’t say all that-”

Minghao and Mingyu stop you as you turn around, hands raised in your direction. You stare boredly at the two as they give you a mischievous smile. “You forgave us, you can’t take it back.” 

Letting out a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, grinning at your two friends who are now discussing who gets to choose what movie. Your ears perk up when you hear the sound of your door opening, and the three of you turn to see Jun walking in with the containers holding the fried chicken. He lets out a grin at the sight of you guys, and you quickly call him over so that you can begin devouring the food he brought. 

The four of you have been friends since your first year at University. What started as a group project in your guys’ film course, became a three year long friendship that you all hope will last until you’re all old and wrinkly. 

Jun quickly settles himself down beside you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in greeting, and you let out a soft smile. He gives you a grin, “Did you finish your essay?” 

You nod your head, and he lets go of his hold on you to throw a thumbs up your way. You let out a laugh, and run a hand through your hair, before turning back towards the chicken. 

Your guys’ friendship all began when the four of you got paired for that group project. However, you were attracted to Jun from the moment you laid eyes on him on the first day of class. When the four of you all got closer as friends, you decided to let go of trying to go after him. Especially when you found out how popular he is among the ladies and gentlemen at uni. 

His popularity has only grown since freshman year, and he’s been with his fair share of different people. You claim to be over him, but it’s you simply just ignoring the warmth in your heart whenever he pulls you into a hug, or the pain whenever he introduces his new fling to you. 

It’s your biggest secret that you’ve been harboring, and Minghao is the only one that knows. He wasn’t even supposed to know of your feelings for Jun, but he stumbled in on you crying on the floor after Jun left on a date with this one girl a few months back. 

In your defense, you were incredibly stressed with midterms and seeing Jun go on a date with another girl that isn’t you, really set you off the edge from that stinky week in general. However, Minghao refuses to believe that you being stressed was the main cause for you crying over Jun going on a date. 

So that’s why you ignore Minghao’s gaze when Jun hands you the crispy part of the chicken you always enjoy most. You turn and give Jun a smile, and he fondly knocks his head into yours. “It’s your favorite part, right?”

Nodding your head, you place it into your mouth, and Jun grins happily. He turns back towards his food, and takes a big bite of chicken as the four eat in a relative silence. Mingyu glances over at Jun, letting out a mischievous smile. 

“How was your date?” You freeze slightly, and Minghao notices, his eyes trailing over to your rigid form. Jun chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as he wipes his hands on a napkin. Leaning back into the couch, he lets out a breath. 

“It was good. She was actually more funny than I expected.” Jun explains briefly, and Mingyu nods his head. You stay quiet as you eat, knowing that if the two end up going on a second date, you’ll have to meet her in the near future. 

“She kinda reminded me of you.” You pause, turning to see that Jun is staring at you with a fond smile on his face. You raise an eyebrow, pointing at yourself with the drumstick in hand, and Jun chuckles, nodding his head. “Yeah, you.” 

“How?” Minghao asks, and you shoot him a glance. Minghao just waves you off with his hand, and you widen your eyes with more urgency, but he chooses to ignore you. Jun thinks to himself for a moment, before chuckling. 

“Yn’s humor is really weird, you know. Remember the time she just laughed to herself about that video of a bird jumping off a building?” You snort at the memory, raising a hand to your mouth to try and hide your laugh as you remember the video. Jun turns to you with amusement painted over his features, and he points at you with his thumb, “See? She’s just giggling from the thought of it.” 

“It was funny!”

“You sadist.”

“I am not a sadist!” You exclaim, and Mingyu purses his lips. He turns his head away and takes a sip of water, while Minghao takes a bite of chicken. You squint at the two, before turning to Jun and seeing him also avoiding eye contact with you. “I’m not!” 

“Anyways…” Jun begins, and you roll your eyes. He chuckles and pats your head before continuing, “Aiya was kinda like yn, in a way. She laughed over silly things, and made good jokes, so the atmosphere was nice.” 

Your mood drops slightly, and you turn away. Mingyu changes the subject by bringing up the time he saw you painting a meme of kermit on a canvas, and you laugh at the memory. Jun turns to glance at you when he hears your laugh, and he smiles softly at you. 

Minghao bites the inside of his cheek, wondering when the two of you will finally realize that you’re a perfect match so that the pain on both sides will stop. He’s the middle ground, with him knowing that you love Jun, while also being able to tell that Jun is in love with you based on the fact that everyone he goes on dates with is so oddly similar to you. He just questions whether the two of you will be able to realize that fact.

And with that, Minghao smiles, holding up the remote to turn on the TV. “Well, let’s watch a movie.” 

Your head is laid over a sleeping Mingyu’s lap as you drunkenly listen to Aiya and Jun laugh together. You open and close your eyes slowly, staring up at the colorful lights displayed on the ceiling. You begin to wonder how many shots of soju you had, but you’re unable to come up with an answer when you hear Jun’s angelic laugh across from you. 

The music is loud and it hurts your head. You question how you were able to let the boys convince you to come to the party their friend Jungkook is throwing. However, the answer is simple. Jun gave you that smile of his and outstretched his hand towards you, telling you that he wants you to meet Aiya tonight. You wanted to decline the invite and stay home, maybe have a self care night as you knew you were going to simply have an aneurysm at the thought of Aiya and Jun. The thing is that you can’t ever say no to Jun, so that’s how you’re here now.

At a party you don’t want to be at.

With Jun and his potential new girlfriend sitting right across from you as you try to sleep on Mingyu’s lap because you couldn’t walk straight anymore. You were originally going to get another shot of soju, but Minghao threw you over his shoulder and brought you back to their group, laying you down on the already passed out Mingyu’s lap so that you can just go to sleep instead. It’s not working though, because every few seconds you hear Aiya’s giggle and Jun’s laughter. 

And you hate it.

Aiya’s a nice girl, and you think she’s incredibly beautiful. You don’t blame Jun for wanting to date her, you would’ve gone for her too if you weren’t so hung up over Jun. You’re sure that the two of you would’ve gotten along, but the pain from seeing her and Jun was too apparent that it made it hard for you to try and initiate any close friendship. You don’t think she minds though, as she’s been attached to Jun’s arm the whole time. 

Minghao glances down at you, and he finds you wordlessly staring up at the ceiling. He purses his lips, turning to look at Jun to see him having a pleasant conversation with Aiya. Not even noticing the state that you’re in, let alone care. So Minghao stands up from the couch and bends down beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. You turn to glance at Minghao, and you see the sad smile on his face. 

“Wanna go home?” He asks you, and you nod your head. He helps you sit up from the couch, but you move too fast, and you feel the alcohol coming back up. Minghao’s eyes widen at the lack of color to your face, “Wait yn-”

You vomit over his shoes, which leads to a chorus of screams from Minghao, and Mingyu waking up to the sound of said screams. Next thing you know, you’re being carried by Jun into the bathroom, and he’s setting you down on the counter. 

“I hope Hao doesn’t hate me.” You mumble as Jun wets a paper towel from under the sink. He lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Hao could never hate you.” 

He begins wiping the area around your mouth, making sure to get rid of all the traces of alcohol. You stare into his eyes as he concentrates on cleaning you up, finding them to be his most beautiful feature even through your drunken haze. Jun feels your intense stare, and he glances up into your eyes, feeling his heart rate quicken slightly. He keeps eye contact with you for a moment, and you wonder if he knows. 

does he know how much i love him? how could he not after all this time? 

Jun looks away first, coughing into his shoulder. He grabs the mouthwash from the cabinet, pouring out a bit into the cap and handing it to you with a soft smile. “Let’s gargle some mouthwash, okay?” 

After you’re sure that you no longer smell of vomit, the two of you step out of the bathroom. You’re about to walk down the stairs when you see doors leading to a balcony down the hallway, so you turn the opposite direction and head towards it. Jun raises an eyebrow, following after you. 

“Yn, where are you going?”

“Fresh air.” 

“You can get fresh air when we head to Minghao’s car. Come on, I’m taking you home.” Jun states, reaching out to grasp your wrist, but you pull your arm out of his grip. Jun’s slightly taken aback, not used to you reacting like that before. However, he blames it on you being under the influence. You open the doors to the balcony and walk up to the ledge, resting your hands on it as you stare up at the stars. 

Jun walks up beside you, turning to glance down at you as you close your eyes. He lets out a breath, seeing how the moonlight illuminates your features. You open your eyes, and Jun frowns when he sees tears fall down your cheeks. He reaches out and grasps your face with both hands, turning you towards him. “What’s wrong?”

You swat his hands away, but Jun refuses to let go. The tears continue to stream past your face, and Jun grows more concerned by the minute. “Yn?”

You close your eyes and push Jun away, and he feels a sense of shock hit him. You’ve never been so physical with Jun, and he’s confused as to why you’re pushing him away now. You glance up at the sky, and at this moment, you wonder if the stars are laughing at your fate. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No.” You mutter, and Jun tilts his head to the side because he knows when you lie. The two of you are best friends, you know each other's mannerisms now.

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not.” 

“Yn, you’re lying.” Jun states, and you look away. You stare down at the ground over the ledge, watching the sprinklers turn on and begin watering the grass. Jun bites the inside of his cheek, attempting to reach out to you, but you step away. 

“Yn. What did I do wrong-”

“I love you.” You confess, and the words die in Jun’s throat at your confession. 

“I’ve loved you for years, and it hurts to know that you’ll never love me back. It hurts so fucking bad whenever you introduce me to your new fling and I have to put on a fake smile.” You explain, and Jun stands there in silence. He watches as you hurriedly try to wipe away the tears continuing to fall from your eyes, but it’s not working. You let out the most sad smile Jun has ever seen, and he wants nothing more than to take away the pain you’re feeling. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jun asks, and you scoff, turning away and looking back up at the stars. He frowns at your reaction, and you begin to wonder if the stars could ever be brighter than the galaxy in Jun’s eyes. 

“Yn?” You turn to glance at Jun, staring into his eyes, while his trail after the tear falling from your left eye.

You decide that the stars are no rival to Jun’s galaxy. 

“How could I tell my best friend that I love him, when he’s never even noticed me.” You state, and Jun shakes his head frantically at you. You squint at him, and he reaches out to grasp your hand, but you pull away again. 

“Yn-”

“Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong? How am I wrong when all you’ve done since the beginning was introduce me to the people you go on dates with, huh? How am I wrong when you’ve never once caught onto the fact that I love you.” Your sadness slowly turns into anger at the way Jun stares at you in shock. You shake your head, trying to wipe away the tears that continue to fall past your eyes, wondering how many tears you’ve shed for the man in front of you.

Jun just can’t help but stare, feeling his own heart break within his chest at how stupid he is. How he never noticed. How he never admitted that he loved you. How he dated around to try and fill the void in his heart that can only be filled when he’s with you. How is he so stupid?

You cover your face with your hands for a moment, feeling pathetic at the fact that you can’t stop crying. You finally look back up at Jun after a second, and you shake your head at him. You take a step towards him, and point your finger directly over his heart, and look up into his eyes. 

“Despite everything, it’s still you.” You whisper, and Jun’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to think of the words to say. While you just stare into his eyes, the tears continue to fall past your own.

You question whether or not the love and sadness you see in his eyes is just a reflection of your own.

“But it’s not me for you, right?” You ask, and Jun doesn’t respond. He’s internally quaking at the fact that you love him, but you don’t know that.

So you take his silence as his answer, taking a step back, you give him a sad smile. Running a hand through your hair, you turn to walk off the balcony and back into the house. Your hand rests on the doorknob when Jun finally speaks. 

“It’s always been you.” You freeze, hand clutching the doorknob when you turn to look at Jun. The moonlight casts a glow over his skin as he stares at you, and you come to the answer that the love and sadness in his gaze isn’t just a reflection of your own.

“What?” Jun takes a few steps towards you and grasps your hand. You stare down at your connected hands, and you wonder why you pulled away in the first place.

this whole hand holding shit is nice. 

“It’s always been you, yn. I love you, and I’m so, so sorry it took this long for me to finally tell you.” Jun confesses, and now it’s your turn to just stare at him in a shocked silence. “I’m so sorry for all the tears you’ve shed, and all the pain I’ve caused because of my own stupidity.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I- I was stupid. I never thought you would give me the time of day, or-”

“Have you seen yourself?!” You sputter, and Jun shrugs in reply. “You’re the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen! And when I got to know you, I saw you as the most perfect human being.” 

“I just! I didn’t know! I’m stupid yn, you know this.” Jun says with a little laugh, and you can’t help but giggle back, shaking your head at him. Jun lets go of your hand so that he can reach up and grasp your face with both of his hands, wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. 

“So please stop crying. You shouldn’t let yourself cry over me. I’m not as great as you think considering the fact that I couldn’t even tell that the girl I’m in love with loves me back.” Jun mutters, and you let out another giggle, causing him to smile. You shake your head at him, and he leans down, resting his forehead onto yours as the two of you stare into each other’s eyes.

“I’m stupid, and I know this is so long overdue. But if you’d let me, I’d like to take you out on a date.” Jun whispers, and you let out a smile at how ridiculous this all is. Just a minute ago, you were pouring out your heart to this man under the assumption that he didn’t love you back on the balcony of Jungkook’s house. Speaking of Jungkook’s house, you pause when you remember who Jun came with. 

“What about Aiya?” You ask, and Jun purses his lips at the thought of her, and you scrunch up your nose when the action causes him to peck the tip of your nose.

“She kept seeing me take glances at you throughout the night. So when you threw up over Hao’s shoes and saw me immediately stand up, she told me to be with you. She said it was rather upsetting how I go for everyone else when it’s obvious that I only have eyes for you.” Jun mutters sheepishly, and you decide that you do like Aiya. She’s cool.

“She did not lie.”

“Nope, not one bit.” Jun agrees, and you chuckle. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment in silence, and Jun leans back so that he can get a glimpse of your whole face. He smiles fondly at the sight of the sparkles in your eyes.

“So, what do you say?” Jun asks, and you find a smile breaking out over your features as you nod your head.

“Yes Jun, I’d love to go out with you.”

“Fucking FINALLY!” You and Jun jump apart at the sudden voice, just to find Mingyu and Minghao standing by the balcony doors, with Minghao holding his shoes in a plastic bag. You mutter out a quiet apology, and Minghao raises his hand up towards you, basically saying that it’s okay. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Jun asks, his hand resting on your waist, and your heart does a a fucking windmill within your chest. 

“Long enough to know that you two stopped being stupid.” Minghao answers, and Mingyu lets out a sleepy smile. You purse your lips at Minghao’s snarkiness, but then remember that you just threw up on his shoes. 

“Anyways, can we head back to my apartment now? I just wanna eat ramen and watch Train to Busan or something.” You and Jun turn to glance at each other before turning back to your two friends. 

“Yeah sure, but you know how yn gets when we watch that movie.” Jun says as the four of you begin walking off the balcony. You pinch his side, causing him to chuckle. 

“It’s not my fault that shit hurted.” You mumble, and Mingyu grins. The four of you walk down the stairs and out of the house after bidding goodbye to Jungkook, who is currently vibing with Taehyung in a corner of the room. 

Minghao glances down at his throw up shoes in the bag, before turning back towards you and Jun, seeing the two of you walking with happy smiles on your faces. When you all finally reach the car and step inside, he lets out a sigh, and the three turn to look at him.

“I guess we have yn throwing up on my shoes to thank.” Minghao jokes, and the three burst into laughter while you profusely apologize for vomiting on Minghao’s sneakers. He pats your head, “It’s okay. You and Jun finally being together makes up for it.” 

Jun tilts his head to the side, “Really?”

To which Minghao turns in the driver's seat to glance at Jun in the backseat beside you, and he shoots him a death glare. “No, that only applies to yn. You owe me new shoes.” 

Jun rolls his eyes, cursing Minghao under his breath as he rests his head onto your shoulder, and you smile softly. You press a kiss to the top of Jun’s head before closing your eyes. Jun closes his eyes as well, a smile displayed on his features.

After a few minutes of silence into the car ride, Minghao glances up into the rearview mirror, just to find you and Jun fast asleep. With his head resting on your shoulder, and your head resting over his head, and he lets out a quiet chuckle. 

You and Jun are finally happy.

And Minghao couldn’t have wished for anything better.

[urgirlfriendwrites]

We were friends by ur gf🙂✨

Chapter one.

"You won't believe it Kel, I know you won't but I saw it!"

"I saw him look at you this morning" Martha my best friend narrated her version of what she claimed to have seen in assembly this morning while her face positioned in some kind of awe as if trying to believe her own story, this has been going on since first period and God! It's getting annoying.

"He was so engrossed with__" She stopped mid sentence.

" Look! " she said in a whisper but it somehow made me annoyed or maybe I've been annoyed since.

"Look at what?" I snapped getting really tired of this.

"Shush and turn your head slowly to your left, and I mean slowly..."

" Don't do something stupid after looking" she added almost immediately, I did, just to get this over with and there! She wasn't imagining it and our eye's met and I ducked my head immediately.

"Smooth Kelly, so smooth" Martha announced. My heart still racing from all this.

" How'd you expect me to react, I wasn't expecting it" I replied in my defense.

"I don't know... Act normal at least " she said dismissing my reply and rolling her eye's.

"How?!"

"Please... I gave you specific instructions, very simple ones at that " It's clearly a lost cause arguing with this human, yes I'm obviously going to lose.

"Ok__" I was about replying when she cut me short."What are we going to do about this situation?" She said stealing an effortlessly glance at Jonah whom I feel was still staring and I know I can't handle another eye contact with him cause I might just have a heart attack .

"What situation?" I replied knowing fully what she's talking about.

"Jonah! dummy"

"I do not appreciate that compliment Martha" I said feigning being offended.

"Nor you calling my name, you know I don't like it. Call me what I want to be called"

"Why am I the only one faced with this burden " I said while Martha gasped at my words.

"That hurts, what's with the attitude all of a sudden"

"All of a sudden?, What attitude?"

"I don't know but we are drifting from the pressing issue here"

" How's someone who never appreciated my existence since the past four years suddenly starts staring at me be a pressing issue, it might be yours but obviously not mine" I said suddenly tasting how funny those words were and we both burst in to laughter in unison.

"Good one... Really" Martha managed to say in-between laughs.

"I should teach how to throw a punch though, you really need the skill". Martha said proudly, I'm pretty sure the scene of her punching Jonah on the face after his dreadful actions that day replayed in her head

" I don't think it'll be necessary" I replied reliving the pain he might have felt after that punch but I'm so sure it can't be compared to the pain he caused me.

"Yeah, I'll do the punching for us" she said still with that smile, typical Martha."Can we go eat now, I'm so hungry" I said aiming to change the topic while clutching onto my stomach.

" Sure"Martha replied reaching for my hands and dragging me towards the direction of the canteen.

As we made our way to the canteen I turned to look behind checking if he was still staring, but he wasn't and a small part of me felt disappointed that he wasn't. Where is this coming from, this shouldn't be normal in shot it's far from normal. This BOY hurt every single cell in me, stabbed every emotion in me and lowered whatever self-respect I had for myself years ago and now, Now! I am somehow sad that he stopped at me looking Kelly wake up! But why is he looking I thought my brows

"You seem so carried away in your thoughts, are you thinking about him" Martha said jerking me away from my thoughts, I turned to look at her and she was already looking at me, I gave her brief smile, I can't deny that I wasn't.

"I don't know what to say to you that'll make you not think about him and feel bad but be strong okay and I won't hurt you" she said while squeezing my hands, well that hurts I thought as I smiled.

"My pep talk worked already? " She smiled not sure what made me smiled.

" You are squeezing my hands so hard that it hurts, now ya hurting me" I said and she laughed while releasing my hand from her grip.

"Sorry about that " she said

" It's okay, Thank you " I told her meaning it.

" Always at your service ma'am " I smiled at her reply.

We finally got to the canteen and bought.some snacks to eat, before break was over we went to our class ... Chapter 2 coming soon

[nobodyfamousposts]

Felix July - Growing Up (Felix Culpa alternative for Ladybug)

@felixmonth

Alya was planning to solve a mystery and prove her best friend’s innocence.

Felix was regretting his life choices and questioning if it was too late to transfer schools.

“Starting the investigation into ‘Who Framed Marinette.’” Alya announced into her recorder. “I am Alya Cesaire, the lead investigator. With me is my humble sidekick, Felix Argent.”

“Is this necessary?” Felix asked, already tired despite not having done anything as Alya had started searching over the locker room 

“Of course it is!” She snapped back. “We’re the only ones who can help Marinette get unexpelled. So we need to find the truth and discover the real culprit.”

“Which is Rossi.”

She ignored him.

“So we just need to check the clues and gather evidence to find out who did it.”

“Here’s a hint: it was Rossi.”

Still ignoring him. Honestly, he was no help.

“The first accusation was the answer sheet in her bag. It had to have been taken after the test, so Marinette couldn’t have had it then.” She reasoned. “That means that whoever took it had to have done so later and then put the test key in Marinette’s bag.”

“Maybe it was the ‘anonymous tipster’, who was the only person who apparently knew they were in there.” Felix suggested.

“But who could that have been?” Alya wondered.

“Wild guess: Rossi.”

Why did she recruit him again?

She shot a glare at him. “Could you try actually being helpful?”

Felix gave her a blank stare as he began to speak in what was clearly a sarcastic manner. “My, whoever could it possibly have been? Certainly not the only other person Bustier sent to the Principal’s office with Dupain-Cheng in the first place?”

Sigh, he really was holding onto his belief about Lila being responsible.

“Okay, now you’re being impossible. Lila had the lowest score on the test.” She pointed out.

“Yes,” he drawled sarcastically, “because it’s not like we just confirmed that the answer sheet was stolen after the test and thus of no use to anyone. Or that Rossi couldn’t have intentionally faked her grade on a test that didn’t matter anyway in order to make herself appear less suspicious.”

“We’re just going to ignore Snarky McKnow-it-all.” She muttered into the recording.

“That doesn’t make me not right.” He called out behind her.

“Then there’s the necklace in Marinette’s locker…” She moved to the locker in question and tested it. Sure enough, it opened right up, revealing the contents—or lack thereof since Marinette was forced to remove them all when she was expelled. Alya even tested the nearby lockers and got the same result. They were all easily opened by anyone.

“These lockers don’t have locks or any way to secure them.” Alya noted into the recorder. “Anyone could have gotten inside and planted the necklace.”

“You mean like the one person who KNEW the necklace would be in Marinette’s locker.” Felix chimed in. “Which was again, Rossi.”

“It had to have been a mistake.”

“She said she SAW Marinette put it in her locker. Why she didn’t get someone immediately and only brought it up AFTER everything else is likely because she was using it as a trump card.”

“Just going to discard my sidekick’s wild conspiracy theories.” Alya said into the recorder, smirking momentarily at Felix’s scoff from behind her. “It’s possible that Lila might have just seen someone who looked like Marinette taking grandmother’s necklace and putting it in her locker.”

“If it IS her grandmother’s necklace.” Felix commented dryly. “A little hard to believe that something from last year’s Gabriel line could have been around long enough to be considered an heirloom.”

She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Since when are you an expert on jewelry?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because it’s not like a model would know about the latest fashion lines.”

Alya shrugged and looked away.

“Feel free to not question it.” He muttered darkly. “It’s only potential evidence.”

A few more minutes of the two searching the room warranted little other insights or clues. The same was true of the now empty classroom as they investigated the area around Bustier’s desk and Marinette’s seat.

Well, Alya investigated. Felix simply stood nearby being his snarky and unhelpful self.

Like usual.

“It has to be someone who has it out for Marinette…” She reasoned.

“Like Rossi.��

She started to pace. “Someone who could have had the time and access to Marinette’s bag and her locker.”

“Such as Rossi.”

“Someone who could have disguised themselves, perhaps? Or knew everyone’s routines well enough to get in while no one else was around.”

“Maybe you should start by investigating Rossi?” Felix suggested dryly. “Since she was the only other person involved?”

She whirled on him, finally having enough. “Could you come up with someone BESIDES Lila?”

Honestly, what was his deal? He’d always been a jerk, but he’d had a particular distaste for Lila from day one. Alya personally questioned if it wasn’t due to a crush.

She may need to investigate further…

“What reasoning do you have that Rossi couldn’t have done this?” He questioned. “Besides your own fervent belief that ‘she wouldn’t do that’ or that she’s ’too nice’. Because as it stands, there is no reason NOT to consider her.”

“Well, where’s yours?” She shot back. “You’re the one so insistent that Lila had to have done it! What proof do YOU have?”

Felix sighed and raised his hand, counting with his fingers. “There are three accusations here. One, that Dupain-Cheng stole test answers. Two, that she pushed Rossi down the stairs. And three, that she stole Rossi’s ‘family heirloom’. All three of which, Rossi was both the accuser and the only witness for.”

He gave Alya a dry look.

“So why, exactly, is Rossi NOT a suspect?”

“Because Lila wouldn’t do something like that!” Alya, insisted.

Why would she? Lila was awesome and amazing. She would never steal anything. And she would certainly never try to get anyone in trouble.

Felix was far from impressed.

“We only have two ways this story can go. One, that Rossi was telling the truth, meaning that she indeed saw Dupain-Cheng take the test answers and cheat on the test, push Rossi down the stairs, and that steal Rossi’s necklace. Or two, that Dupain-Cheng was telling the truth and Rossi lied about those three things.

“In order for Rossi’s claims to be true, that would have to mean that Dupain-Cheng is guilty. In order for Dupain-Cheng to be innocent, that would have to mean that Rossi gave false testimony. You can’t have it both ways here.

“So tell me, Cesaire…what makes you so unwilling to consider that Rossi may be suspect? If you truly with to be an investigator, you must be impartial and accept the evidence as it is. On all sides. Everyone is a suspect.”

Alya was quiet.

Felix gave her a dark glare. “You want to be Sherlock Holmes here. Surely you know his stance that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable, must be the truth.”

“But we haven’t eliminated every possibility yet!” Alya argued, growing increasingly agitated. Part of her was questioning her earlier decision to drag Felix along in her investigation. However, the guy was smart and at this point, he was also the only other person who openly voiced support of Marinette’s innocence. Surely if they had a similar goal, they could work together to find the truth.

The only problem was that they had completely different opinions on what the truth could be.

Or rather what they wanted it to be.

“It’s Rossi. It is very clearly Rossi. You have to be completely oblivious to NOT realize it’s Rossi.”

Alya spun around and glared back at the smug, arrogant jerk with a superiority complex.

“You’ve hated Lila since day one! You’re just looking for reasons to blame her! Here you are telling me I need to be impartial when you’re the one being biased!”

“Biased?” He laughed. “Do you even know what bias is, Cesaire? Bias is bringing in the parents of only one of the two arguing parties and forcing them to miss out on valuable work time to keep their small business going while the other guardian isn’t even notified. Bias is taking one person at her word of being attacked without doing anything to evaluate her or get her supposed ‘injuries’ checked out to confirm they exist. Bias is publicly humiliating a student first by accusing them in front of a class and then expelling them solely on the word of another and circumstantial evidence that could very well have been planted to frame them—all without so much as a hearing, which IS required by law!”

He glowered at her. “Rossi already has enough bias to protect her. She doesn’t need your bias as well, especially if truth is really what you seek here.”

“And where’s your proof?” Alya questioned, now on the defensive. Do you even have reason to suspect Lila or are you just wanting her to be responsible?”

“I’m at least looking at facts. You, on the other hand, are so biased in her favor that you’re discounting the clear evidence just because it implicates her.”

She scoffed. “What evidence?”

What was there that actually implicated Lila? She was just a victim in all of this! Sure, the school wasn’t fair to Marinette, but that was why Alya was helping! That didn’t mean Lila was behind anything!

Felix frowned, stepping closer to her and holding up three fingers. “Cheating on a test, stealing, and pushing someone down the stairs. Any one could be considered an accident or a mistake. But three different accusations all claimed by one person and all in the span of a single day? Rossi was clearly and specifically targeting Marinette.”

“That’s not true!” Alya argued.

“What other reason could there be for this?” Felix demanded, clearly annoyed and frustrated and wanting to be done with this entire conversation.

“There has to be someone else behind it!”

“There IS no one besides Rossi!” Felix bit back. “Even if you argue that someone else could have planted the test answers and necklace, that doesn’t explain how she KNEW where they were or why she chose to openly and publicly implicate Marinette if there could be doubt to her being the one to do these things!”

Alya bit her lip.

“Furthermore,” Felix continued, “there is no other logical explanation for the stairs incident.”

“It could have been an accident.” Alya deduced. “Marinette is clumsy. She could have tripped and pushed Lila without meaning to.”

“Except Marinette denies she even touched Rossi. Is Marinette really the sort of person to push someone down the stairs and deny having done so it if it was an accident?”

Alya couldn’t deny that because Marinette wouldn’t. If Marinette DID hurt someone by accident, she would have immediately admitted to it and done everything she could to try and help the person.

“Maybe someone else pushed Lila—”

“Marinette and Rossi were the only two in the hallway. If there had been a third person, Marinette would have seen them and would have said as such. But she didn’t. She said Rossi walked down those stairs calmly, laid down at the bottom, and only then started screaming.”

“She could have been confused!” Alya rebutted. “She was stressed and overwhelmed given the first accusation. She could have been looking away when Lila fell.”

“She said she saw Rossi walk down the stairs before she suddenly started screaming and claiming to be injured. And speaking of evidence, what were Rossi’s injuries from the stairs?”

Alya frowned, thinking back. “She had a bandage on her leg...”

“A single bandage.” Felix deadpanned. “Over her pants covering the ‘injured’ knee. Was she taken to the hospital? Was she seen by the nurse? Was there any confirmation of her having injuries besides her claiming to be in pain in a single spot?” He sneered. “Because it is rather fortuitous that someone would fall down a flight of stairs and receive no bumps, bruises, scrapes, or other injuries aside from some knee pain. Unless you’re saying physics would allow that.”

Alya drew back, curling in on herself.

Felix glared. “You are no Sherlock. You aren’t even a Watson. You are just someone so blinded by a bias that you would rather neglect evidence than give it your all for the sake of your other friend.”

“That’s not true!” She shouted, hurt. “I just…I just don’t want to…”

Oh.

…oh.

He closed his eyes. Rested his hand against his forehead.

So it was like that. How could he have overlooked this?

Cesaire was friends with two girls who could not get along and were in direct conflict with each other. She didn’t accept Marinette’s claims that Rossi was a liar, but she wasn’t willing to believe that Marinette would do the things Rossi claimed, either. She was…

He opened his eyes.

Depending on the outcome, this could make or break her friendship with either. Even if it was the “right” thing to do or the “truth”, it still stood to reason that Cesaire would feel hurt by it and lose a friend because of it.

And she was desperately trying to find a way to be able to believe in both.

Understandable.

Commendable, even.

But ultimately foolish. And more harmful than simply accepting the truth and choosing a side now. Sooner or later, this situation would tear her apart and force her to choose. And when the time came, the circumstances would escalate to such a point that it would be all the more likely she would not only choose wrong, but also be dragged down by it.

Felix would know. He had been in that position before.

He sighed. “Cesaire, I understand that when you have two people you care about at odds, you want to be able to keep both. But there’s going to come a point where you will have to take a side.”

The way things were going, she wasn’t going to be able to remain friends with both, not without ultimately losing them both anyway.

“Neutrality is just a way of not making a decision.“

“You sound like you speak from experience.” She commented, seeming subdued.

He paused at that.

Memories came to mind. Of a cold man. Of a sad woman. Of being surrounded by people who poked and prodded and pushed and pulled and twisted until he was shaped as they pleased. He was dragged into a life and lifestyle he never wanted, forced into a role without his say. It was only once he finally spoke up and chose to assert himself that things had changed.

And he realized something…

Part of growing up meant having to make choices and take accountability for those choices. Even not making a choice was in itself a choice, if only one of indifference or unwillingness to act.

That was why…

“What ended up happening?” She asked him.

“I tried not to choose until the decision was made for me. And by then it was too late. That was a choice I never wanted and the cost was time I will never be able to get back.”

It would remain one of his regrets for the rest of his life.

“You have to face facts here.” He told her sternly. “Their stories directly contradict each other. They can’t both be telling the truth.”

“I know.” She quietly admitted.

He nodded. “You have two people making different claims about the other. Rossi says Marinette bullied her. Marinette says that Rossi is making it all up. Both of them can’t be right.“

“But both can be wrong.”

“Unlikely.” 

“But still possible!” She insisted, remaining stubborn. “Maybe Lila just saw someone she thought was Marinette? Or someone could have tried to frame Marinette by fooling Lila?“

“Except that Rossi is very clear that it was Marinette she saw. The test answers were found in Marinette’s bag. The necklace was found in Marinette’s locker. And there was no one else in the hallway to push Rossi down the stairs.”

He rubbed his forehead.

”It comes to the same problem. Either Rossi is lying about Marinette, or Marinette really did do those things.“

”It could have been an akuma.” She suggested.

But he nixed that as well. “There wouldn’t have been enough time. Even during the attack on Heroes Day, there was a good hour between the time we saw that fake fight between the heroes and the attack of the scarlet butterflies. But here, the scarlet butterflies attacked almost immediately. As if they knew this was going to happen.”

Alya gaped. “That just means this was part of Hawk Moth’s plan!“

He frowned, actually curious. “Indeed. But how did he know it would happen?”

She looked away, considering. “Either he made an akuma to set up Marinette…”

“Which wouldn’t account for the timing of all three accusations or Lila’s involvement in those accusations.” He cut in. “And it just doesn’t seem possible with the short length of time between when the last point the akuma could have been there to push Rossi down the stairs and for the scarlet moths to attack.”

“Or…” Alya took a breath. “Or it was planned with one of the two individuals involved.”

He nodded. “And between Marinette and Rossi, which of the two honestly seems to be the more likely culprit. Which of the two of them had more to gain from the events today? Or at least less to lose from it?”

Alya grimaced and slumped onto the bench.

She knew.

She already knew that answer.

“Cesaire…” Felix softly called.

Heh. Funny. He almost sounded like he cared.

“I don’t want to lose a friend.“ She quietly admitted.

Felix sat next to her on the bench. “But if she’s been lying to you all this time, is she really a friend?”

She chuckled bitterly. “Is that why you never liked her?”

He couldn’t help the smirk. “My first day here, Marinette was trying to convince me to give everyone in the class a chance while Rossi was trying to convince me she was some sort of celebrity who could offer me connections I already had.”

Alya snorted at that. “She didn’t!”

He adjusted his shirt cuffs blithely. “Needless to say, I was wary of anything she had to say after that. Though I will admit that I still would never have considered her working with Hawk Moth.”

She laughed. A little bit in humor. A little bit in disgust. Even a little bit in relief that she finally had an answer, even if it wasn’t one she liked.

Speaking of answers though…

“Hey! I just realized!” She exclaimed as she spun on Felix.

He leaned away in wariness. There was a gleam in her eyes he wasn’t sure he liked.

“You’ve been calling Marinette by her first name!”

“And? It is her name, is it not?”

“You don’t call anyone by their first names!”

“Dupain-Cheng is a mouthful.”

“It’s the same number of syllables as Marinette!”

He looked away in annoyance.

“She is tolerable.”

She leaned closer to him, looking particularly smug. Felix immediately stood and turned away. Alya was certain he was blushing and trying to hide it.

Alya smirked. Did he really have a crush after all?

“Don’t you have a case to be investigating and a friend’s innocence to prove?” He questioned, still refusing to face her.

Oh, she certainly did.

But once this was over and certain liars were dealt with…

She was going to make Felix’s heart her next investigation!

[urimaginespimp]

His Hidden Gem pt 2

Alfie Solomons x Reader – to the rest of the world, well excluding Thomas of course, he was dead. That was until Tommy had an unexpected visitor who claims to be his wife.

Read part 1 here

--------

“Margate? I bet he hates it there.” You commented, riding shotgun next to a driving Mr. Shelby.

He didn’t comment, but a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He had to admit, at first, he didn’t quite see how you and Alfie managed to be married for seven years, but after listening to your ramblings while on your drive, he could see it now.

Your demeanor screamed dainty and rich. And yes, you are rich, but also near as crazy as Alfie.

“How long have you known that he’s alive?” You asked.

“When he sent me a letter asking me how Cyril was, though I doubt he remembers doing so.” He recalled. “And come to think of it now, he did also ask if the talks about his death was all the news people of Camden had about him. I think he was trying to know if people had discovered about your marriage.”

“Please enlighten me Mrs. Solomons, on how you both met.” Curiosity got the best of him.

You couldn’t stop your smile at the memory.

“Well if you must know, I was set to be betrothed to a man whose bare bottom only touched the finest of fabrics…” Thomas snorted at this. “I refused, saying I didn’t want to spend my life papmered next to a grown baby’s powdered bum all my life, got cut off and was left with practically nothing.”  You both chuckled.

“I ended up in Camden town, and intended to steal some bread in this poorly lit bakery, but ended up in a bargain with this weirdly attractive man, that he’d find me a place to stay if I go out for dinner with him. Three months later we got married. But because we chose to keep it secret, it was always just secret visits in each other’s places.”

“I rarely give compliments, Y/N. But I admire you for taking matters into your own hands in finding the truth. Even though seven months is a long time.”

“We all crave certainty.” You simply answered. There was a reason why it took you that long. And they were left in Camden under the care of a good friend who had no clue who their father was.

And If you had to be honest, you were trying to calm your nerves. You thank the universe that your husband is alive, but given how he’s gone so long without even trying to reach out, the question whether he’d still want you lingered.

“Should I just have settled with the information that he is alive?” You whispered to yourself.

“You’ll never know unless you actually go talk to him.” Thomas answered, having heard what you’ve said. “And you should, because I’m a stubborn gypsy man who rarely does favors, but I did this for the wife of a man who’s been a dick to me once or twice. Consider this opportunity lucky.”

“Why are you helping me then?”

“Well I’m not as heartless as I may seem. I once had a wife I dearly love before she took a bullet for me.” You offered your sympathy, and he continued. “Plus, I’m curious about seeing the Alfie Solomons possibly getting hit from a woman as small as you are.” He smirked at the thought, and you smiled in return.

“We never laid a hand on each other, Mr. Shelby. Not unless one asked to.” Thomas coughed at what you insinuated, but was clearly amused. “Though I might just need to slap this one out later.”

You didn’t know at which part of the long drive you fell asleep, but the next thing you know, Thomas Shelby was trying to wake you up.

“Oi lady.” He was waving a hand in front of your face for who knows how long. “I believe you have a husband to confront.”

Composing yourself, you slowly got out of the car. You were in the driveway of his house. From outside it was decent. Might even be a lot better than where Alfie was living in Camden.

Once you were both by the front door, you were starting to panic.

“You do think I’m making the right decisions, right?”

“I think a man who has chosen to be presumed dead without telling his wife owes her an explanation.” He nodded.

Mr. Shelby took to initiative to knock. Followed by another. And another one.

“Who are you and what the fuck do you want?” you heard your husband’s voice and his footsteps approaching.

“It’s Thomas. I brought you one of your treasures left in Camden.” He didn’t give you away, not risking not even getting the door opened.

Alfie swung the door open. “What the hell are you ta-…”  he faltered once he saw you standing next to Thomas.

You were also frozen in place.

Tommy was looking back and forth the both of you, probably waiting for the said slap to happen. You were too shocked, looking at your husbands face. Half of it now sits with scars, and an eye that was now missing the blue you love staring into.

“Y/N?” Mr. Shelby asked. This thankfully brought you back to your senses.

“Well how the hell am I to slap him if his face looks like that?!” You yelled, still looking at Alfie.

“Well he was the one who shot me on the face you admire so much, luv.” Alfie answered, still intensely staring at you. You snapped your head at Thomas, who brought his arms up in defense and started backing away.

“He asked me to.” He defended. “I think I’ll wait in the car. You two sort your marital stuff.”

Now left alone with each other, he gestured for you to come in and you obliged. But as soon as he closed the door behind him, you have thrown your shoe at the wall at his side.

“Luv, I-“

“What the fuck, Alfie?!” You yelled at him, your voice trembling. “You have the audacity to fucking call me that after not even reaching out? What, did you like your new house here so much, you forgot you had a wife?!”

Like a treacherous bitch, hot tears started spilling on your face. Alfie still stood by the closed door, looking at anywhere but you.

“If you didn’t want me anymore, the least you could’ve done was tell me.” No, out of all the scenarios you could’ve imagined, you never imagined yourself to be the first one to break upon seeing him again. But here you were. A mess.

“Of course, I still love you.” That was all he could barely whisper.

“You have a minute to tell me everything, Alfie Solomons, or you’d be dead to me forever.” You were still crying angry tears, but the determination on your face scared Alfie to the core. He knew you were dead serious.  

He started pacing back and forth while your eyes followed. He wasn’t trying to come up with an excuse, but was rather trying to figure out where to start.

A moment had passed and you took it as your cue to leave. Sighing in defeat, you shook your head and was about to head out the door forever when he caught your arm.

“I didn’t want to burden you, okay? I- I was feeling a little funny and one day I went to the doctor and he said I had this fucker called cancer.” You were frozen on your spot, looking at him, bewildered at the revelation.

“Now how could I be a good husband when I couldn’t even take care of my fucking self.” He looked away when a tear started to fall.

It was rare for your beast of a husband to shed a tear - he dreaded showing that side of him. So you knew that news of his illness really took a toll on him.

“Oh,  Alfie…” You whispered, softly cupped his scarred face.

“I didn’t marry you to become what I refused to marry into years ago. You know how much I love you. You were never and will never be a burden to us.” He finally took you in his arms.

“Us?” He caught on what you said, a glimmer on his face.

“Don’t worry my love, I tell the twins about you all the time.” You smiled at the thought of how Alfie would be a mush of a father to them.

“You were pregnant?” He pulled away and started to wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“I was three months long when you disappeared. I was hoping to find you sooner, but I just gave birth a month ago.”

“No, Y/N , I’m the one that’s sorry.” He insisted, showering your face with pecks.

“You’re going to be a great father, love.” You smiled at him.

“But half of the face you love so much is all gone now too. Hell, how am I even supposed to look after twins when I only have one seeing eye?” He stated, making you chuckle.

“Well lucky for you, I actually think the scar makes you even more attractive.” You smiled, touching them. “As for the eye, you have me. I never said you have to take care of them both at once.” You both chuckled.

“I'd hate to admit it, but I owe Thomas Shelby.” He answered and you nodded in agreement.

“We should probably invite him in, luv. We’re starting to seem rude leaving the king of Birmingham outside.” You chuckled.

“You know..." He started, tucking loose har beehind your ear. "I once said that hell would look like Margate, but I think it would actually be lovely if we finally settle here and have a place to call our own. No more sneaking around, no secret visits.”

“I'd love that.” You answered pulling him down for a kiss.

“Life is so much easier to deal with when you are dead.” He whispered.