#my current upstairs neighbor is generally really good!

[safelycapricious]

For people who have lived/are living in apartments:

[indecisive-dizzy]

Ramble about Eddie to your heart’s content, bestie :D

I’m honestly very interested in your ideas :3

Again, don’t be scared to just ramble in my ask box, I love hearing peoples ideas

AJDKKAGAJAKAK- THANK YOU <3 <3

I'm wailing rn /pos

My AU! Disabled Eddie!! Ok so he wasn't born with his disability, it came about later.

My Current story is that he had stroke in late middle/early high school! I have done research and Yes it is possible for teens and younger to have strokes. From what I recall it can be significantly worse for them compared to adult strokes

Eddie was left with permanent complications and is disabled bc of it. He has coordination, balance, and general mobility complications among a list of other post stroke effects. I just found the word I was looking for a few days ago to describe his mobility issues, it's Ataxia!

Eddie has to deal with bouts of muscle weakness on his right side which can effect his vision. He also gets vertigo a Lot and at this point dizziness is expected every time he stands.

He uses forearm crutches when he needs extra help walking bc he does have good days where he may not need them! But for longer distances he brings them bc he's better safe than sorry. He also has cane but he doesn't use it As much.

He also has a wheelchair that he Hates. He hates having to use it. But his Really horrible days leave him unable to stand, much less walk. He wishes he could just hide it somewhere and never think about it but alas. it's important.

He dislikes the wheelchair so much bc it makes him feel useless. He is Not! I want to clarify that wheelchair users are perfectly Capable and Independent! Eddie just has an issue with overachieving and working himself too hard. He wants to be helpful and do So Much but there are some things he can't do while in his wheelchair. He was stuck in a chair for months after his stroke and it was devastating back then. He has No good memories with a wheelchair so he continues to dislike using it.

Ok putting a read more bc I am not shutting up for a While

Relationships with the neighbors! Generally the same. Barnaby doesn't chase him bc that would be mean (? I can't think of a better way to describe it)

Sally is still Sally but she's specific on her mailman hate (lmao) to make sure Eddie and everyone else knows she's not faulting him for his disability.

Hmm yeah everything else is pretty much the same. I guess everyone is also more open about offering Eddie help from time to time if he looks like he needs an extra hand. They're not persistent or anything, but if they see him struggling to carry a package or two they're more inclined to help.

I still don't know how Howdy gets his shit. Honestly If Eddie is having a crutch or chair day,, Howdy just won't get his stock unless he gets it himself. I can't think of a way for Eddie to deliver all those heavy ass boxes.

He does ask people to pick up their packages occasionally too. He tries to deliver them all himself but it's not always possible. He offers a trolley they can use.

I want to talk about angst. So this is very specific, I'll try to keep it short. growing up, Eddie lived in a four bedroom house. two downstairs master bedrooms and two upstairs normal bedrooms. Before his stroke he was upstairs, his older brother in the other room, and his older sister in the bedroom downstairs.

Afterwards he had to move downstairs. His sister Hated this. She loved her room and her private bathroom and she was very prissy about it.

This snowballed into her just,, taking all her frustrations out on Eddie. He took Her Bedroom. He's getting all the attention. Her little brother was ruining everything.

Eddie was devastated by this. He went as far as to attempt to convince his parents to let them switch rooms again. He couldn't physically walk up the stairs most days but he just wanted his big sister to not hate him anymore.

Their relationship never fully recovered. As an adult Eddie will still find ways to blame himself and feel guilty. But he just can't bring himself to talk to her.

They used to be so close. She let Eddie experiment with her makeup, they talked about fashion and boys and she helped him so so much when he was questioning his sexuality.

and then it just, fell apart. But not quietly like a loose thread but rather a house that wasn't built quite right and the screws came loose one by one.

Eddie's memory gets really fuzzy when thinking that far back. but some of those memories are burned into his mind and he wishes he could forget them like he does everything else.

[sincelastsession]

I'm reading my new book.

Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents.

I was in a freeze state all night and day and slept about 2hrs. I'm planning on getting to bed soon.

This entire book is my parents. Of the 4 subtypes they are a combo of all 4.

The stories in the book much like AA stories almost in a way...they sorta pale in comparison to what I've experienced. I do understand this was written probably for cases a bit less intense than mine.

I was calm most of the day because my partner helped me calm down by "allowing" me to put on my sub collar, wear earplugs, and he picked reading for me. It was extremely helpful. He then had to go to a family gathering and I didn't think I'd talk to him again this evening but he sent me some pictures of the view of where they met up. It was a really sweet surprise that I didn't expect as I was looking at my book and trying to relax some muscles in my back that are locked despite the library of coping mechanisms I have.

I'm still swooning over the pictures he sent. He's not great at taking pictures and I generally hate surprises but this made me happy.

I've called my psychiatrist and left a message to see if they'd call me back. I don't know if they have something temporary till my parents can get me moved that might sedate me enough or perhaps temporarily raise my anxiety med dose. I originally took 4mg and was down to 3on the script but I generally only take 2mgs a day which is a starter dose for my weight. I'm also an ultra fast metabolizer (geneticist tested me, i have the MTHFR gene too and she suspecs more mutationsbut i won'tsee her till next spring) I've tried to explain to ppl before that I'm VERY careful about my meds because I have had to be on them longterm. My now deceased psychiatrist who was also a neurologist explained to me not long before he unexpectedly passed that my brain is on fire from the ptsd from abuse since infancy. It's possible to get me stable if I feel safe etc... and it would be damaging to try to take me off these meds.

You know I'm still grieving my doctor. He was like a father figure that was regulated emotionally and I miss my conversations with him and him telling my own father off. I'm using the weighted blanket he got me as a gift because he had ptsd from war and understood.

I'm crying about it right now too.

I wish my psychiatrist now wasn't so stoic.

I miss being told "we'd work it out, and that I'd be ok" he was really trying to help. He asked about me on his death bed. We were a lot alike. He told me as a patient because I was smart, "too smart" and "very self aware" and tried to help me figure out a safe way to avoid my father who he treated before, who would call his office to bitch about me and demand my meds get changed or would tell my doctor that I was schizophrenic. My dad is fixated on this diagnosis. He says I act psychotic but I wonder if he'd stop in his tracks if presented with a mirror. I'm not psychotic. I'm very dysregulated but lucky to be self aware enough to do what I can.

Basically my living situation is not good. My neighbors are um fucking terrible. My apartment sits upstairs around a big courtyard and pool. It amplifies noise big time for me. I hear the interstate and people talking and screaming and gunshots and children screaming which triggers my Katrina traumas and it's about to be hurricane season coming up and I can't deal. Also the balcony, how I get to my apartment...the beams are rotting and breaking and me and the quiet neighbor are concerned it's all gonna fall on one side and take out the rest.

This is the current picture of the beam but it's getting slowly worse and I'm like HELL NO

I need to bring some coffee to my old psychiatrist's grave. He got told to stop drinking it a year before he passed. I need to visit anyway and let some grief out.

I'm mad because I've gotten so frozen up I have trouble leaving my apartment unless I have a friend with me on the phone or in person.

I hate relying on ppl for support because I'm scared they will get tired of me just like everyone seems to eventually do.

Travis has been a good friend. I hope I'm not causing him trouble. I worry he still is extra nice even when he says he just wants to help.

I have trouble with accepting my partner loves me but he showed surprised me with beach pictures and a video of the waves and a family pet. If i was going by cbt id say that's a hell of a cognitive distortion but it's not completely invalid. If he didn't love me then this would be a horrible elaborate ruse which I often worry about. The man is a very private northerner. I forget about the stark difference in behavior and how freakedout he was when i explained wafflehouse waitresses vs northern diners.

Me and my partner had a really great conversation and I learned a lot about each other. He's really cute. I'm still giggling abt him being with his family and his whole family is busy with this event and he took pictures for me. He told ne about his first jobs. It was cute.

He's a better speaker than me but we still I think had a good conversation.

He told me to meet him at the red house and we both discovered we stalk at the same level. Like we both found the house on Google maps going of the name of the poster. Like I'm impressed. I didn't realize guys did this shit? Do they do this way more than i think? Ugh im disgustedly in love with him like some long distance quirky hipster movie ew. Idk I feel like I may be better at that because one of my hyperfixations is finding things because likely autistic urge to understand other people because you literally feel like you're just an alien (not literally) and idk whatever point is...this man and me got more in common than I ever thought like I can't even explain it's like one of those weird couple things, this is not the first occurrence of us going like OMG YOU DO THE STRANGE THING TOO? Because there's just no unique experiences apparently and no such thing and coincidences imo at this point.

Honestly why even do anything else about that right now. I got way the fuck more to work on. I've typed enough today anyway.

Ok I'm going to bed. I'll try not to go insane.

[moonbeamsung]

I Fell for You Like the Autumn Leaves

In which your neighbor, who might as well be a complete stranger to you, convinces you to revisit an old childhood tradition of yours. Oh, and you end up falling in love with him.

member: chenle (featuring the dreamies and taeyong)

au: pumpkin patch volunteer!chenle x gn!reader

word count: 11.3k

genre: fluff, angst, humor

warnings: mutual pining, very mild profanity, kissing, teasing

author’s note: I know, I know, the au is oddly specific but just trust me! :) And I’m crossing my fingers that the tags work this time. I have nothing else to say except that I’m very proud of this fic and it was very fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it. Hope everyone who celebrates had a nice Halloween!

The tall, slender lamp post on the sidewalk outside of your house glows a pale amber color under the gray evening sky, illuminating the leaf-littered ground beneath it. You’ve walked past it hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, on a day just like this one. But this time, something’s different.

There’s a small flyer taped somewhat haphazardly to the side of the post, the dark lavender paper catching your eye. It’s positioned perfectly at eye-level, and you begin to read.

Fall is finally here, and you know what that means: The town’s annual pumpkin patch and festival is now open! Pick out your perfect pumpkin, find your way through a corn maze, take a peaceful hayride, and more! Come visit us all throughout the autumn season, 7 days a week from 10am to 8pm, at the corner of Chestnut Way and Fairview Boulevard. There’s fun for the whole family!

Small illustrations of pumpkins and colorful leaves fill the margins of the flyer, and the festive palette seems to brighten up the gloominess of the October day surrounding you.

“Hey!”

Whirling around, you’re met with the sight of your neighbor, Chenle. He’s holding more of the flyers in one hand, a small roll of tape in the other.

Despite him living only a few houses down from you for a number of years, you hardly know anything about him. You suppose he’s always seemed sort of mysterious. Sometimes you would catch glimpses of him outside from your window, and no matter if you saw him snapping photos of the blossoming flower bushes in his yard, riding his bike down the street with some friends, or just sitting on his upstairs balcony with a book in his hand, none of these things gave you any clues as to what he’s really like.

You two have exchanged brief hellos whenever you’ve passed each other on the sidewalk, him on his way somewhere and you heading home, but aside from those fleeting encounters, he’s a puzzle for you to figure out. You can’t help but wonder about him. Is he a quiet or a loud person? Is he on the serious side, or does he laugh at almost anything? What’s his personality like in general? Long story short, Chenle intrigues you, and maybe after today you’ll know at least a little bit more about him.

“Hi,” you return his greeting with a small smile, the kind of smile you give when you’re not exactly sure what else to say.

“Those flyers look pretty good, huh? I helped design them this year!” He explains with a proud grin, placing a hand on his hip as he studies your response. To be fair, he hardly knows anything about you either, and upon seeing you inspecting the flyer, he had decided to approach you and hopefully take a small step towards becoming your friend.

“Really? That’s cool.” The awkwardness in the air between you is far too tangible for your liking, and you silently hope he’ll take the responsibility of carrying on the conversation you’re currently sharing. Luckily, this wish of yours is granted moments later.

“You’ve been to the pumpkin festival before, right?”

You nod. It’s true, the annual tradition is one that everyone in town can enjoy, but in recent years you’ve started to lose interest in the festivities. You’re growing up, and it’s like you’re at this weird in-between stage. Mostly, those that attend are either large families complete with young children eager to explore every corner of the patch, or couples hoping to enjoy the ambience created by the cute decorations and cozy autumn atmosphere. You belong to neither of these groups, and so you’ve felt more than a little out of place the last few times you’ve gone.

You’re not sure if this is something you should share with Chenle, but without waiting for any kind of approval from your brain, the words leave your mouth anyway.

“Yeah, but I don’t really have anyone to go with and I don’t know anyone working there, so I’m not sure if I’ll make it this year.”

He frowns sympathetically for a split second before his face lights up again. “Aw, but I was just about to tell you that I’m volunteering there this year! So... if you’re worried about not having someone to hang out with, you’ll have me.”

“Only if you want!” He quickly adds, and that’s the first time he’s seemed nervous, or at least anything less than completely confident during your conversation. The cutest shade of red appears on his cheeks, and you don’t know how you could possibly refuse his offer now.

“Hmm... I guess I can reconsider, then.” You smile wider, more genuinely this time, after faking your contemplation by tapping your toe and tilting your head, a finger stroking your chin as if in deep thought.

“Really?” He replies happily with a small gasp, and his foot starts to lift off of the pavement to take an excited step towards you before he stops himself. If you notice, you don’t say anything.

You nod once again, and he notes how enthusiastic you seem now. Cute.

“Great! My shifts are on weekdays, from 2 to 7. I’ll see you there?”

“Definitely.”

The next week, you bundle up in your warmest jacket before making your way down the sidewalk, turning when necessary as you navigate the winding streets of your neighborhood. About half a dozen blocks later, you’re out on the main road, and you can just barely spot the entrance to the festival in the distance, orange lights strung along an archway that marks the small trail leading to it.

When you finally reach the inside of the pumpkin patch, the first thing you do is look for Chenle. You regret not asking him exactly where he would be working, but it can’t be that hard to find him, right?

He’s been on edge all afternoon, wondering if you would actually show up. It’s not that he didn’t believe you when you told him you would be there, he most certainly did, but there’s an oddly anxious feeling in his stomach that’s been affecting his behavior and he’s not sure he wants you to see him like this.

Chenle, just like everyone else, can be clumsy sometimes. But today? Today was a whole different story. He nearly dropped one of the biggest pumpkins in the patch while he was trying to lift it from the tall haystack it had been sitting on. His shoelace had somehow become untied while he was walking through the corn maze to check for any candy-apple wrappers or cider cups on the ground. Fortunately enough for him, no one had been around to see him trip over it, saving him at least a little bit of embarrassment. He even accidentally left the door to one of the animal stalls open, earning him a light scolding from his supervisor, Taeyong, and an entire hour on feeding duty for the horse it belonged to, between its scheduled hayride shifts.

It wouldn’t be a good second impression, he decides, if you were here to spend time with him only to see him completely failing at doing his job instead.

So when he spots you not too far away, craning your neck as you search for him among the large crowd, he’s conflicted. Does he face his fear of messing up in front of you and possibly risk your only recently-formed opinion of him, or does he avoid you the whole night? His heart clenches at that last option, and in a spur-of-the-moment decision his legs begin to carry him over to you. Catching your eye, he smiles despite the uncharacteristic lack of confidence in himself that he’s currently feeling.

You’re hurriedly cutting across the sea of people that fills the walkways to meet him, and when you’re within an arm’s reach you start to lift your hand in a small wave. Before you can stop walking completely, however, he takes your raised hand in his own, briskly guiding you off to the side to stand out of the way of the massive group of festival-goers. Just as quickly as he took your hand he releases it again, gently letting it drop to hang by your side.

You only just had your first proper conversation with him a matter of days ago, and he’s your neighbor for goodness’ sake. So why in the world did your heart rate seem to speed up just then?

There’s a small bench nearby, and he motions to it with a nudge of his shoulder. Sitting down next to him, you try your best to ignore the confusing signals that your body’s sending you right now.

“You came!”

“Of course I did,” you reply with a laugh. “It’s nice to have someone to enjoy the festival with for a change. I’ve really missed that.”

“What do you mean?”

You explain to him how it had grown out of being a family tradition, and that your friends always seemed to be busy, leaving you on your own year after year.

“Well... you have me now!” His voice is cheerful, reassuring, and despite all the noise and activity surrounding you at the current moment, it makes you feel at peace.

“Wait.” You glance around, then look back to Chenle. “Shouldn’t you be working, though?”

“...Shoot!” He knew he was forgetting something.

Standing up from the bench you share, he continues. “You can come with me if you want, but I can’t promise that any part of my job will be interesting.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle, standing up as well and following him over to a small covered tent. The inside is packed with people, weaving in and out of aisles created by several wooden tables full of small, colorful gourds. The boy behind the cash register shouts his name, beckoning him over with his hand.

“Hey Chenle, can you come help me weigh these pumpkins? Donghyuck had to go help some kids at the crafts area and business isn’t slowing down anytime soon.” He’s too busy typing numbers into a small computer system to notice that he’s speaking to more than one person. When his eyes finally lift up from the keys, he asks, “Who’s this?”

Chenle introduces you to each other, and you learn that his name is Mark. The gray beanie he’s wearing is somewhat lopsided on his head, dark hair sticking out from beneath it after all the times he’s cutely scratched the back of his neck.

While Mark and Chenle ring up dozens of customers, you entertain yourself by browsing through the wide variety of miniature pumpkins and squashes, some green, some white, some yellow. You occasionally pick up an oddly shaped one, running a finger over the small bumps or darkened bruises on the surface of the fruit.

When you look over at the register again, the line has died down, and after a moment of consideration your eyes land on a vibrant orange pumpkin that looks like it would fit perfectly in the palm of your hand. Picking it up, you smile a little to yourself as you turn, pulling your wallet out from your pocket and patiently waiting behind the 4 groups in line ahead of you.

By the time you finally step up to the checkout counter, Chenle’s been wondering where you went. He hadn’t seen you when he was gifted with the rare chance to look up from the metal scale he’s been constantly working at for almost an hour now. Maybe you got bored, he thinks, and left to go do something else or to just go home altogether. So when he sees the familiar sleeve of your jacket enter his peripheral vision as you place your tiny pumpkin down in front of him, he looks up faster than he thought humanly possible, in both surprise and relief. “You know you don’t have to buy anything,” he attempts to whisper in the hopes of hiding his words from Mark.

“But I want to. This pumpkin’s really cute,” you insist with a pleading look in your eyes.

Like you, he nearly mutters. That would have been a disaster.

“Do you want me to pay for it?” He offers, almost pouting at this point.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, “But no. I promise, I’ve got it.”

“If you insist,” he responds, matching the sarcastic tone of your words and hoping to distract from his reddening ears. Chenle weighs the pumpkin and then places it into a small bag that you sling over your shoulder, where it will stay for the remainder of the day.

Unbeknownst to both of you, Mark’s eyebrow raises at the playfulness of your conversation. Maybe you don’t notice the furious blush on Chenle’s face, but he certainly does. And he won’t forget it.

“Hey, uh, guys? Donghyuck just texted me that he needs a hand. Do you think you could go meet up with him and help out a little?”

“Are you sure you can handle things here, Mark?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. But Donghyuck won’t be if those kids are deprived of craft supplies for much longer.” He reaches underneath the counter and pulls out a huge stack of plastic sticker sheets, with small images of bats, candy, and everything in between. “Take these.”

“Thanks, Mark! See you later!”

“It was nice to meet you!” You call out over your shoulder, and as you momentarily focus your attention on the boy behind you that’s getting farther away by the second, you’re too caught up in saying your goodbyes to notice that the one beside you grabs your hand again. Chenle gently pulls you away from the counter and out from under the tent, steadily making your way towards the other side of the large pumpkin patch.

You were lucky that Mark had the decency to at least pretend there was nothing going on between you and Chenle. He had refrained from commenting on it in front of you, and simply chuckled to himself when he saw both of you walk off together, hand-in-hand. He finds it amusing that neither one of you seems to notice the mutual fondness the other so obviously has for you. Mark doesn’t know a lot about you, but he knows you must be pretty special to be able to fluster Chenle like that.

Donghyuck, on the other hand, does not possess the same decency.

When you reach the crafts area, which is a small, designated space with several picnic tables and bins full of art supplies like glitter, paint sets, and markers, he gratefully approaches Chenle and accepts the large bundle of stickers from him. Like he’s feeding a hungry mob of seagulls with just a few breadcrumbs, Donghyuck essentially tosses them to the large group of children eagerly jumping at his feet. Scurrying away as they snatch the plastic sheets out of the air and get back to decorating their pumpkins, his eyes land on you for the first time.

With a smug, knowing smirk and an exaggerated nod of his head towards your tightly intertwined fingers, he asks, “Who’s this, Chenle?”

You know those movie scenes where two characters look at each other, at something else, then back at each other again? That’s exactly what happens. Chenle’s and your eyes meet, surprise evident on every feature of your faces, before you both realize the exact same thing at the same time. With shaky pupils, your gazes drift down to each other’s arm, then to your hands, laced together and acting as a source of warmth on this chilly autumn day. Much faster this time, you make eye contact again before rapidly but unwillingly pulling your hands away. The guilty smiles you send Donghyuck’s way say it all.

Chenle introduces you for the second time today as his neighbor, but deep down you both wish it was as something else, something more.

“I see,” Donghyuck says under his breath, in a huff of poorly concealed laughter.

Only Chenle hears him, though, and Donghyuck earns himself a rough shove to the shoulder with the snarky comment. You’re looking in a different direction, vision focused on a small child with a frown on her face as she struggles to embellish the small orange gourd on the table in front of her.

“Chenle?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go see if I can help that little girl with her pumpkin.” You point a finger in the general direction of the picnic table she’s sitting at, glancing back at him for a second as you make your way over to her.

She’s close to tears now, and crouching down beside her small form, you ask, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

The girl looks down at you, rushing to wipe her eyes before explaining in a quiet, shaky voice, “None of these stickers are the shape I want for my pumpkin...”

Oh, you realize, she’s trying to make a jack-o-lantern face.

“Um...” Upon looking around, you spot a piece of paper nearby on the table and hand her a purple marker from one of the art supply containers. “Well, can you draw what you want the face to look like and maybe I can help?”

With a small “Mhm,” she takes the marker from you and begins to sketch four odd-looking but not totally unfeasible shapes for the pumpkin’s eyes, nose, and mouth.

A good distance away, Chenle is growing tired of Donghyuck’s endless interrogations about you and if he’s absolutely positively sure that you’re not something more than just neighbors. He wordlessly excuses himself from Donghyuck’s side to join you by the picnic table.

The drawings that the little girl comes up with look like a deformed mix of squares, circles, and triangles. Thankfully, you have access to stickers shaped like all three, and you get an idea.

“What are we working on over here?”

Looking up to see Chenle kneeling down opposite you, resting an arm on the wooden surface of the bench, you notice that his voice is different. Not in terms of its pitch or volume, but just in the way that he’s speaking. It’s even more gentle than usual, filled with concern and care, all because he’s talking to a child. How endearing, you think to yourself, smiling down at the ground for a moment or two before you remember the task at hand.

“They’re helping me with my jack-o-lantern!” The little girl exclaims excitedly, causing Chenle to grin wider than you’d ever seen so far and allowing you to get a glimpse of his adorable eye smile for the very first and certainly not the last time.

Nope. Your heart did not just flutter. At least, that’s what you’ll keep telling yourself.

With a wave of your hand you motion for him to stand up, you doing the same before whispering your plan into his ear. Exchanging nods, you both crouch back down again and set to work, guiding the little girl as she overlaps the stickers on the pumpkin to match the picture she drew.

When you’re finished, she claps her hands together and thanks you multiple times, her genuine gratitude warming both of your hearts more than a blanket or a heater ever could.

“Wait,” you turn back around just as you’re about to walk over to Donghyuck once again. Flipping through the sticker sheets scattered across the table, you find exactly the one you’re looking for and peel it from the plastic.

“Wha—”

Before Chenle can even begin his sentence, you’re already pressing the small acorn sticker onto his cheek, giggling softly at how a blush seems to blossom from underneath it, the adorable pink hue spreading all the way to the tip of his nose. Your thumb applies the slightest amount of pressure to his skin while the remaining fingers hold the side of his face, and your other hand clutches his shoulder over the burgundy sweater he’s wearing. It’s at this moment that it dawns on you: This is definitely not a “neighborly” exchange.

You jump back in shock at your own actions. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I really don’t know why I did that.” Inwardly releasing a string of profuse curses, you awkwardly step closer a second time, lifting your hand again to try to peel it from his face and just wishing this mortifying moment would be over already.

“It’s okay, you can leave it,” he stutters a little, taking a tiny step backwards. “I don’t mind.”

Not really knowing how else to bring the uncomfortable (well, that’s an understatement) conversation to a close, you let his last words hang in the air, casting daunting shadows over your heads as you both repeat the same thought over and over again in your minds like a mantra.

I shouldn’t like them...

Trying and failing to sneak a slight glance at the other, your gazes meet at the same time, both of you looking away just as quickly once you realize you’ve been caught red-handed. Or in this case, red-faced.

...But I do.

A few minutes prior, another festival volunteer had taken over Mark’s job at the cash register, leaving him free to roam around for at least a little while. Not knowing where else to go, he had come to see Donghyuck, and by default, you and Chenle.

As they watch your rather amusing response to the realization of and sudden embarrassment at such a shameless display of your crush on Chenle that you can’t quite bring yourself to accept just yet, Mark and Donghyuck talk lowly amongst themselves.

“He should just ask them out already. I haven’t even known that they exist for 15 minutes and I’m already sick of seeing them both deny their feelings for each other. It’s so painfully obvious!” Donghyuck makes a gagging noise, earning a glare from Mark.

“It’s kind of cute, though. Like puppy love.”

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” he snickers.

“Hey!” Mark shoves his shoulder, annoyed. Donghyuck just laughs.

Pulling out his phone, the younger boy types up a quick text message before hitting the small arrow to send it. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark sees the delivered blue speech bubble appear on the screen and asks him, “Who’s that to?”

“Jeno. He and Jaemin have got to see this.”

Not even a minute later, Chenle’s own phone dings with a message from the former of the aforementioned boys, providing a distraction from and successfully dispelling some of the tension that continues to weigh down on you both.

Once he finishes reading the text, Chenle looks up at you and explains, “Two of my friends are working concessions and they’re almost out of a few things, so I need to go pick up what they need and bring it to them.”

You frown a little and furrow your eyebrows. “Isn’t it weird that everyone’s been asking you to go from place to place bringing them stuff all day?”

Now that he thinks about it, you’re right. But there’s no time to stand around and wonder why there seems to be a pattern with his tasks today.

“Bye Donghyuck! We’re gonna go help Jaemin and Jeno at the concessions stand!”

Was it too much to ask for Chenle to absentmindedly grab your hand again? Apparently yes, because much to your disappointment he refrains from doing so this time.

“Did you seriously ask Jeno to make up a fake excuse for help just so you could get them to leave?” Mark questions him, a clearly unamused expression on his face.

“First of all, no. He actually told me that they’re running low on candy apples. And second, not only that, but also so they can see just how hopelessly they’re crushing on each other.”

“Meaning that they can tease them about it, too, right?”

“Exactly!”

Mark rolls his eyes. He supposes he shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Donghyuck is always full of mischief.

You remain by Chenle’s side as he leads you towards a storage area for the festival and over to the kitchen section, where he grabs a medium-sized cooler packed with freshly candied apples. The walk is filled with casual conversation, any awkward encounters earlier in the day becoming long forgotten, or at least temporarily put out of your minds.

Not having any of his friends around to tease you helps, too.

The few minutes you have to yourselves come to an end all too soon, and as you approach a large booth that appears to be full of just about every autumn snack imaginable, you catch the eye of one of the two boys standing behind it. Whether it’s Jeno or Jaemin, you’re not sure. But sure enough, like everyone else you’ve met so far today, his gaze becomes one of surprise and interest upon seeing the way you’re walking so close to the tall boy at your side.

You decide to take the liberty of introducing yourself this time instead of leaving Chenle to do it for you. Reaching an arm out in front of you, you shyly step up to the conveniently empty counter of the stand. The first boy shakes your hand while the other turns around, eyes darting from you to Chenle multiple times.

“I’m Jaemin,” he lets go of your hand, but not before shooting you a wink and a ridiculously charming grin. Chenle’s stomach churns with jealousy. The boy is always like this, Chenle knows, but with you it’s different. Normally it’s just the regular flirtatious remark directed at a passing customer, making them nearly spill their popcorn or choke on their cotton candy. Despite his awareness of the fact that he means no harm, Chenle still has to fight the urge to pull you into him protectively. Jaemin picks up on his sudden envy but chooses not to mess with him further.

The second one speaks up, doing the same as Jaemin without the wink, instead displaying an endearing eye-smile of his own. “I’m Jeno.” His eyes light up when they land on the freezing container Chenle’s carrying. “Are those the candy apples?” He exclaims. “Thank you so much!”

“No problem,” Chenle grunts in response as he hands it to Jeno over the counter, still bitter about Jaemin’s coquettish introduction of himself. Picking up on his annoyed tone, you send a confused glance and then a sympathetic smile the boy’s way as you try to subtly calm whatever frustration that remains within him.

He softens immediately, regretting any worry he may have just caused you with his uncharacteristically cold demeanor. It’s immediately forgotten when Jaemin motions for the both of you to round the corner of the booth. Stepping inside from the back, you instantly realize it’s much too cramped to fit four people.

You’re about to excuse yourselves to go stand outside again when Jeno strides past, just a little too close for comfort. Taking a step back to move completely out of his way, you make a fatal miscalculation: Chenle’s right behind you. With a thud your back crashes into his stomach, and the awkwardness is more than just palpable.

Throughout the next few minutes you look for every opportunity to step away from him and escape the mutual discomfort of your current position, but business at the concessions stand picks up and both of the boys are constantly rushing back and forth, leaving you no room to do so. It’s not a physical discomfort, not in the slightest, but more so one where your self-consciousness is heightened, and you’re aware that it looks like something a couple would do, the way a couple would stand. In any other moment, perhaps a more private one, you might not have minded the proximity so much, but the public setting you’re in creates the need that you feel to visibly reject the non-existent distance between you and him.

Chenle could get used to how perfectly you two seem to fit together in what’s almost a back hug, with the way he could oh so easily wrap his arms around you from behind. Just not here, not now. Would it be too much, he thinks, for him to place a gentle hand on your shoulder as you both wait for the chance to separate from each other? He decides the answer is no, and as you both endure constant gusts of air each time Jaemin and Jeno pass you, Chenle holds you, grip light on the space between your arm and neck that’s covered in the cotton material of your jacket. His touch eases your nerves about the situation, for which you’re beyond thankful.

While you wait, your eyes find themselves lingering on the customers that shuffle through the line, some young, some old, tall or short. The scrumptious scents wafting within the booth begin to overwhelm your noses after some time, the pungent aroma of apples and spiced cinnamon becoming almost too much to bear for your sense of smell.

As expected, by the time you actually notice there’s finally enough space for you to step away from each other, you’ve already gotten comfortable where you are. The delayed response to this makes Jeno chuckle under his breath, handing a final box of pumpkin pie to an older couple over the counter of the concessions stand.

Glancing down at his watch, Chenle notes how much time has flown by since you arrived at the festival. He also realizes it’s nearly time for his shift at the horse stables, uttering a quick explanation to you and then the other two boys in the booth.

Exchanging brief farewells, you follow Chenle outside and down a thin path to a more secluded area of the festival grounds, out by the field where hayrides are given. On the way, you pass by the corn maze and the games area. The boys manning the attractions both look as if they’re part of the same group of volunteers that Chenle has introduced you to so far, if you had to guess.

Your assumption is confirmed when he waves at the first one, who’s standing beside a small group of children playing bean bag toss. Scanning the area for any supervisors that could scold him for running off for a minute, he darts over to the two of you.

It’s refreshing that he doesn’t inspect you from head to toe with his gaze, something that had happened to you far too much today. “I’m Chenle’s neighbor,” you start before telling him your name, feeling optimistic that he won’t bug you about your connection to each other very much.

“I’m Jisung,” he responds. Then, “Chenle never brings people to the festival like this. Are you dating or something?”

Never mind.

You inwardly facepalm at his blunt statement. Chenle actually does, the smack against his forehead sounding almost painful.

“We have to get going now, Jisung. I just wanted to introduce you to each other.” Despite being frustrated with the younger’s directness, Chenle still gives him a quick side hug and a “Bye” as you walk away, presumably to stop by the corn maze briefly as you had just done with the games area.

“They never answered my question,” Jisung mumbles to himself.

“Renjun!” Chenle calls, hoping this encounter will go more smoothly than the last. Surprisingly enough, it does. The boy extends a hand out for you to shake with a kind smile, not asking any questions about your relationship with Chenle. You’re extremely grateful that he accepts your status as his neighbor and nothing more.

Only when you’re turned away, gazing into the distance at the hustle and bustle of the event does he pat Chenle firmly on the back, exaggerating a wink and whispering a “Go get ‘em, tiger” into his ear. Chenle scowls at Renjun, groaning about being teased the entire day just for bringing someone to the festival with him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you alone.” Renjun starts to back off, but he simply can’t help himself. The next words that spill from his lips will be the last, he vows in his mind. At least, for now.

“...You like them, though, don’t you?”

“Mmph,” Chenle reluctantly replies after a moment, offering a noncommittal answer.

“Don’t overlook it, okay? You never know. They might feel the same way,” he gives Chenle’s arm a quick squeeze before sending him over to you. The light tap he plants on your shoulder makes you turn around with a smile, expectantly gazing up at him. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” he nods towards the stables, and you both wave back at Renjun as you make your way over to the large structure.

An unfamiliar man leans against one of the walls once you get there. When he sees Chenle, he straightens up and runs a hand through his brown hair, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

The man steps aside from his spot on the wall to reveal a shelf full of animal care items, from cleaning supplies to heavy bags of feed and dry bundles of straw for the ground inside the stalls. “You know what to do,” he nods at the boy while eyeing you carefully at the same time.

Chenle manages to read his mind surprisingly fast, and he jumps to defend your presence. “They’re with me,” he clarifies.

“But you know the rules, Chenle.”

“Just this once, Taeyong! Pleeease?”

Unable to resist the puppy-like expression on his face, Chenle’s supervisor finally caves. That, combined with the way your face fell when he threatened to send you away in a nonverbal manner is enough to make Taeyong change his mind. A minuscule inkling inside of his brain tells him that you’re okay to be by Chenle’s side as he does his job, even if it might mean that he’ll get distracted at times.

“I suppose they can stay.”

“Yes! Thanks, Taeyong!”

“Wait a minute, what’s that on your face?”

Chenle brings a hand up because he’s genuinely forgotten, but when his fingertips brush the cheap plastic sticker on his cheek he remembers how it got there. “Oh, it’s... uh.” He looks to you for help.

“I did that,” you explain with an embarrassed laugh. “We were joking around and I stuck it on his face.”

“Oh, okay, just making sure you know it’s there.”

Some friends he has, Chenle gripes internally. They didn’t even bother to point it out. What if it had been something else?

Luckily, he doesn’t mind the cute sticker, even if it does make him blush like a fool when he thinks about your cute hands pressing it onto his skin.

As Taeyong passes him on his way out of the stable doors, he pinches one of his rounded cheeks, leaving the younger boy cringing in the process.

Time passes somewhat slowly as you watch Chenle go about doing his tasks, first taking one small handful of the horse’s food at a time and feeding it to her, steadily depleting her evening meal little by little. Then he grabs a broom and steps into the stall to sweep some of her bedding.

“What’s her name?” You ask him after a while, the simplicity of his actions creating a calming effect on you as you observe them. You only know it’s a female because you had heard him mutter “Good girl” to the horse rather affectionately a few minutes earlier.

“Nutmeg.”

“That’s cute,” you reply.

The silence feels heavy, begging you to face what you’ve both left unsaid throughout the day. It’s the first time you’ve really been alone together since you got here. But you’re both too scared to bring up the countless assumptions made by his friends over and over again during the time you’ve spent together that you’re dating, fearing that the conversation, supposed to be a joking one, would inevitably progress into something much deeper.

“I’ve had fun today.”

He says it out of nowhere, making both your body and your heart jump a little.

“Me too.” He peeks his head out from the stall to smile at you, your response tinging the tips of his ears red.

A few minutes go by as you fall into a light dialogue, talking about anything and everything you can think of, getting to know each other more. As he’s finishing up, you finally stand from where you’ve been seated for the past 45 minutes, walking leisurely over to the shelf of supplies, which just so happens to be next to the stall door.

All of a sudden Nutmeg hears something that spooks her, and you don’t realize that she starts to charge towards the closed pair of wooden panels you’re currently right beside.

It’s an instant in which Chenle’s clumsiness from earlier in the day threatens to come back in a much more severe form if he doesn’t do something. Senses more alert than yours for whatever reason, he takes action without hesitation, and time seems to slow before his eyes as he does so.

Swiftly moving you out of the way of the split stall door less than a second before it swings open from the force of the horse’s strong neck, Chenle pulls you to him. His arms dart out to catch you tightly by the waist while he turns both of your bodies around, ensuring that he’s the one closest to the enclosure. His reasoning? If he doesn’t take you out of harm’s way fast enough, at least he’ll be the one that feels the impact, not you.

As you’re being held flush against his chest, your mind races to process just how you got into this position. But your heart presses pause on the gears of your brain, and allows you to just enjoy the close intimacy of the moment.

Chenle knows he should do something, say something, but all he can think of is to stay just like this. Your head is turned to the side, an ear pressed to his sternum and in the perfect spot to hear his heartbeat. Its not-so-steady thump matches your own, sounding much like the uneven rhythm that a young child might play on a drum set, striking the instrument with force and conviction and unwavering confidence.

If only you could confront your feelings for him in the same way.

Both thanking him and apologizing profusely for your lack of awareness, you move to take a tiny step back and away from the snug hold of his arms. Only, you find that you can’t. Chenle’s still holding your waist, oblivious to the fact that he’s been clutching you closely for the past thirty seconds in preparation for a moment that lasted less than one.

“You... you can let go of me now, Chenle,” you say apprehensively, a half smile on your lips as you attempt to look him in the eye without being overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him right then and there.

“Ah, right. My bad.”

Chenle’s not usually this bold when it comes to the physicality of a relationship, romantic or not. But he can’t help it that there seems to be an invisible gravitational force surrounding you, just begging for him to reach out and lay a tender hand on the small of your back. Compelling him to tangle your fingers together like a mess of yarn, with the ends fraying and coming undone but at the same time holding each other up, keeping each other from falling apart. Giving one another something to hold on to in the most unlikely of situations.

With only a few minutes left to spare in his shift, he tells you to wait outside while he packs all of the supplies up for the night. Once everything is back in its proper place, Chenle is just about to step outside through the swinging wooden doors of the stables when a small noise from the caramel-colored horse stops him in his tracks. Turning around, he carefully approaches the animal with an outstretched arm, stroking her shiny mane once he’s close enough.

“What am I going to do, Nutmeg?” The conversation is a futile one, he knows, but it proves to be therapeutic for his conscience. She nuzzles his hand with her snout as he leans onto the wall, lost in thought.

“Should I tell them how I feel?” Her large dark eyes peer back at him, and as silly as it sounds, Chenle gets the sense that she actually understands, despite her inability to respond with comprehensible words.

“I’ll do it, then. Not tonight, but soon. Before autumn ends,” he vows, making a promise to himself and his heart all at once.

Nutmeg lets out a small whinny as if to express her approval. Smiling at the animal’s nonverbal reassurance, he opens the door to step out into the chilly fall night, strides a little lighter and head held higher than usual.

As the small clock tower set up in the middle of the festival grounds tolls seven times, loud clangs disrupting the low and indistinct chatter of the evening, you and Chenle return to the same bench you sat on that afternoon, eyes heavy and feet tired by now.

“Your shift is over now, right?”

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Ready to go home?”

“Definitely.”

The festival has mostly cleared out, which is surprising for the time of night that it currently is. The lack of all the hustle and bustle around you makes it significantly easier to navigate the paths extending in nearly every direction across the grounds.

On your way to the exit of the festival, the same autumn-themed archway you ducked under several hours ago, you pass a few of the boys you met during the day, offering a small wave goodbye to them.

The roads are quiet as you and Chenle walk next to each other on the paved sidewalk, the streetlights placed at every small intersection between the tightly-knit suburban roads providing the only source of illumination. With no one around to hear his shaky voice, he turns to you and stutters out, “I know I didn’t ask for your permission to do this earlier, but may I hold your hand?”

You let him, but not without a bashful scratch to the back of your neck and a mumbled answer of “Sure” directed his way.

Like two schoolchildren with the biggest and most obvious crushes on each other, there’s a skip in both of your steps as you walk the rest of the way home. Insisting on staying outside of your house until he sees the light in your bedroom window turn on, Chenle bids you a sweet goodnight with a lingering hug and a small kiss to the top of your head that he mistakenly thinks you don’t notice.

That night you fall asleep with a smile on your face, visions of pumpkins dancing through your mind and the small one that you bought resting on your nightstand beside you.

It’s the first thing you see when you wake up the next morning, and you reach out to take the small item in your palm. You’re convinced that you can still feel the warmth of Chenle’s hands cradling it as he placed it on the scale, recording the measurement before he gave the miniature pumpkin to Mark, who told you how much it cost. You were so eager to accept the small tote bag Chenle was extending out to you that you didn’t even bother asking for your change back, shoving the money into Mark’s hand and insisting that he keep it.

Your eyes land on the same bag, sitting in the corner of your room, and it makes your face break out into a bright grin. Not even bothered by how early you’ve woken up, you bound down the stairs for breakfast, the most excited for the day ahead you can ever remember being.

You spend the next couple of weeks visiting Chenle during his shifts at the festival, sometimes staying late enough for him to walk you home like he did that first day. With each time he sees you, he warms up to your presence, becoming more like his usual witty and hardly-ever-flustered self. Oddly enough you start to act less and less like a couple, which doesn’t go unnoticed by his friends. The incessant blushing is gradually replaced by sarcastic banter with one another. You don’t know anyone who makes you laugh like Chenle does.

“Hey,” he pipes up one afternoon as you’re watching him organize some pumpkins. “What if I dyed my hair this color?” Chenle points to one that’s a particularly vivid shade of orange, raising his eyebrows as you think of a reply.

“Then you’d look like a pumpkin,” you hum in response.

He chuckles. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?“

You shake your head. “Not necessarily. Are you really going to dye it, though?”

“Probably not.”

“As you wish, pumpkin.”

He whirls around, nearly dropping the stack of gourds in his hands. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me... pumpkin,” you smirk after repeating the new nickname, and it puts an impossibly cute pout on his face.

“Don’t call me that!”

You jokingly ruffle his hair, and Chenle’s small smile betrays his annoyed facade as he realizes he could get used to hearing the word roll off your tongue, not to mention you addressing him with it.

It’s the week of Halloween when the six boys that volunteer with Chenle at the festival meet up to create a plan that will, ideally, end with both of you confessing your feelings. All but one of them, which happens to be Mark, excitedly discuss possible ways to set you two up. Should they send you on a private hayride somehow? Or maybe they could get you to try out the corn maze together, and hopefully you would struggle with finding your way out long enough to express your mutual crushes on each other.

“I don’t know about this, guys. I still think we should just let them figure it out on their own.”

“You’re no fun, Mark,” Donghyuck chastises. The eldest shrugs, an expression of resignation on his face. At least he tried.

Finally, they decide on having both of you move between each of their respective areas or booths around the festival, dropping as many hints to you about the other’s infatuation as possible. First you’ll start the evening off by navigating through the corn maze, which they realize is impossible for you to get lost in since Chenle had to memorize the map of it. So much for their earlier plan.

After that, Renjun will usher you off towards Jisung’s station, the game area. Conveniently, he’ll suggest you play the balloon dart toss together, but there’s going to be a catch: one of you has to carry the other in their arms while they throw them. They laugh a little at how flustered they imagine you’ll get.

Next, Mark and Donghyuck will help you pick out the best pumpkin to carve for the upcoming holiday. You’ll start to pick it up, but Chenle will insist on holding it instead. If you had heard this, you would be fuming. Who says you’re not strong enough to carry a pumpkin on your own? You’ll show them.

To end the night, Jaemin and Jeno will “accidentally” only give you one stick of cotton candy, forcing you to share. By that time, they hope you’ll be perceptive enough to finally see that the attraction is mutual, diminishing the fear of rejection in both of your minds.

Not so surprisingly, nothing would go as planned.

The boys put their little scheme into action on the night of October 30th. Chenle is actually finished with his days of volunteering at this point, and even though he could stay home after working many long hours over the past few weeks, he opts to visit the festival as a guest this evening, with you by his side.

He picks you up outside of your house, waiting on the sidewalk right next to the same lamp post that the flyer for the festival was taped to, also known as the entire reason why you’re in this situation in the first place. If you hadn’t taken the time to read those words on the purple-colored page, you honestly don’t know where you’d be right now.

Dressed in your favorite and coziest autumn outfit, you practically fly down the stairs of your front porch to greet him. Like you’ve gotten used to doing by now, he holds your hand in his as you walk, taking the same route you always do.

Chenle’s heart beats a little faster when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of the festival in the distance. For the first time, you’ll both be able to enjoy the event together without being bombarded by constant requests to help with various tasks throughout the night. Or so you thought.

From the moment you step foot inside the grounds, Jisung is already standing at the entrance and hurriedly directing you to the corn maze. Confused but obedient nonetheless, you both head towards where his finger is pointing.

Chenle knows something is up as soon as he sees a familiar mischievous twinkle in Renjun’s dark eyes. “You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” he tells you.

“Chenle, it’s a maze. I don’t think they work like that.” He ignores your playful sarcasm.

Speaking in the quietest voice he can muster, which is quite a feat for him, Chenle leans in close to whisper harshly in the older boy’s ear. “What are you trying to pull?”

At a volume level that’s loud enough for you to hear, Renjun replies, “The others and I thought it would be fun to plan out your evening a little! So first we want you to start here, at the corn maze.”

“Aw, really? That sounds like fun!” Oblivious to the group’s true motives, you endorse their plan with your words. “Better get started,” Renjun winks. As you turn to make your way in between the tall rows of vegetables, he roughly yanks Chenle backward to quietly say, “There isn’t a more perfect time to confess to them, I mean, a romantic autumn night at the festival? Make a move already,” he encourages.

Glowering back at him, Chenle reluctantly follows you into the maze.

Only 15 minutes later you emerge from the corn stalks, the boys’ scheme momentarily forgotten. It quickly comes to mind again when you find Jisung waiting outside for you for the second time that night. One time too many, in Chenle’s opinion.

Not missing a beat, the younger of the two boys leads you both over to the area he’s assigned to. The wall of colorful balloons catches your attention immediately. “Let’s play this one!” You exclaim as you tug on his sleeve like a little kid. Delighted with your choice, Jisung quickly explains the rules, but the twist he adds to them goes right over your head. In fact, you’re the one that offers to carry Chenle first. Neither of your faces turn pink with embarrassed blushes.

You don’t even bat an eyelash as you carry the pumpkin that you picked out together in your arms, much to Donghyuck’s dismay. Mark just stands to the side, amused at their attempts to artificially force confessions out of you. The singular stick of cotton candy that Jaemin hands to you over the counter of the concessions stand fails to phase either of you whatsoever, and you end up just pinching off small pieces from the sticky sweet dessert with your hands. Jeno points out your simple solution to the boy standing next to him, observing their failure. “Why didn’t we think of that?” He mumbles.

The six boys finally gather together when they collectively realize they didn’t succeed, but actually did just the opposite. Making a small circle, they start to argue and pointlessly blame one another for causing everything to go wrong. You only manage to catch a few words of their heated conversation, but something in your gut tells you that they were up to more than just creating a schedule of activities for you to follow.

Exchanging glances, you and Chenle nod at each other, about to try and quietly slip away from them. Hand in hand, you take careful steps backwards, but before you can dash away Mark catches sight of you. Thankfully, he smiles a little and puts a finger to his lips, making a “shh” sign as he waves his hand in a signal for you to hurry up.

Abandoning all of your cares, you give up on going unnoticed by the group and shamelessly scamper off in the opposite direction.

“Wait, I know that place!” You shout excitedly as you pass a small playground meant for the younger visitors to the festival. “Can we go over there?” You plead with him, but you suppose you shouldn’t call it that since he gives in to your request so easily.

The child-sized vehicle standing in the center of the play area is a familiar sight to you, and Chenle knows what you’re about to ask him before you even open your mouth. “Go ahead,” he says with a loving smile on his face as he motions to the carriage, designed to look like the very object that the entire festival itself centers around. Catching up to you, Chenle steps forward a little so that he reaches the small stairs leading up to it first.

“Your highness,” Chenle bows, crossing one foot behind the other and bending a knee. Opening the creaky door to the pumpkin carriage for you, he gestures to the inside of the oversized fruit, the graceful movement ushering you to climb inside. You bashfully tug on your striped scarf, holding the woolen material up against your cheeks as you laugh at his chivalrous display. It tickles a little, and he thinks you look even more adorable bundled up like that.

The interior is much smaller than you remember. But then again, you had been much smaller the last time you sat in this very seat.

Calling the inside of the carriage cramped is an understatement. There are two narrow benches on either side of it, the space on the floor between them barely enough to fit the legs of one occupant, much less two. Chenle struggles but eventually sits down across from you, unintentionally forcing your knees to rest in between his. The small windows on the squeaky, rusty doors do little to let in any light whatsoever. In the darkness, you can’t see the boy’s face flush at your closeness.

‘What now?’ You think to yourself, wondering if you’re brave enough in this moment to finally tell him how you feel, how much you enjoy his company, how special he’s become to you. And though you don’t know it, across from you Chenle is contemplating doing the same. He beats you to it with his next actions.

Your racing train of thought skids to an abrupt halt when you feel his hand on the lower part of your thigh, touch innocent and timid as it lingers on the soft fabric of your corduroy pants.

Eyes hurriedly adjusting to the dim space surrounding you, you feel his fingers grasp your own before you see them. At last you make eye contact with each other, gazes boring into one another and recognizing the same things, the same feelings in them. Chenle’s clutching your hand in his now, the first still resting comfortably on your thigh, and you feel the dull sensation of his legs bending inward, squeezing your knees together. His mouth opens, rounded lips parting as though to ask the question that you both already know the answer to. You bring an arm up to hold him by the shoulder, the movement in itself confirming that this is what you want as well. That he’s what you want.

Careful not to bump your heads against the low ceiling of the carriage, he leans towards you, closing the already minimal distance between your faces as he meets your lips in a kiss.

Heads tilting and eyelashes fluttering shut at the same instant, you both pour every unspoken thought, every secret glance, every loving word that never made it past your lips into the contact they currently share. The moment itself feels long overdue, like something you could have done on that first day you spent at the festival together.

It means more this way, though. The amount of time it took for this to happen gave you more time to discover and get comfortable with the way you feel about Chenle. To get comfortable with him. His presence, his humor, his personality, his touch, everything about him is something you’ve grown to depend on over these past few weeks.

Even your lips begin to depend on Chenle as they fall into place against his own, moving with a fervor you weren’t even aware you possessed.

There’s a quiet rhythm to the osculation of your lips, an airy sigh or breath from one of you breaking the silence every few seconds. In the midst of the indescribably wonderful sensation that is the kiss you’re sharing, you faintly feel his hand start to move up and down your leg, not in a provocative way but a reassuring one. His loving caresses have you leaning further into him even though there’s barely enough room to do so, making you wish for one reason and one reason alone that you were having this kiss somewhere else. Otherwise, the location is perfect.

More than a decade has passed since you were just a young child, begrudgingly posing for a photo for your parents by poking your head out through the same small window of the carriage. Since then, the orange of the paint has dulled, the once-soft carpet on the floor has become coarse from the countless shoes that have trodden over it. The wooden doors are splintered and, though never functional, the carriage’s large wheels have undoubtedly begun to show their age with the amount of dirt and dust caught in the grooves.

You’ve made many memories in this place, but the one you’re making today is sure to be unforgettable.

Chenle would give anything to be able to hold you right now, to maybe bring you onto his lap in a tender embrace as he shows you just how fast and how hard he’s fallen for you. Not that volunteering at the festival was a bad thing at all, but you made it so much more bearable, so much more fun. The thought of spending another perfect day with you was more than enough to get him out of bed every morning.

He compromises for the restrictions that the enclosed space places on your movements by untangling his fingers from yours, choosing to cup your cheek with them instead. You’re a little disappointed when his hand lifts from its place on your thigh, anxiousness bubbling up in your gut as you anticipate where he’s going to place it next.

It’s safe to say you just about melt when you feel his palm come up to delicately cradle one side of your chin, thumb darting out to glide along the skin that’s just below your bottom lip. Arching into him, you make the most of the little room you have left to pull him closer.

It’s then that your lungs finally catch up to both of you, sending simultaneous signals telling you to breathe. Granted, Chenle’s kisses feel like all the oxygen you’ll ever need anyway.

Reluctantly leaning away, your chests heave with muted but sharp gasps. A pang of worry hits you when he doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t say anything. His mouth has fallen open, eyes wide with just as much anticipation as you feel. Taking what feels like the biggest breath in your life, you pray your voice doesn’t tremble as you speak for the first time since you clambered into the dark, cozy carriage.

“I really like you, Chenle.”

The relief that washes over you when he responds is unlike any you’ve ever felt before.

“I like you, too.”

But he’s not done.

“...A lot, in case you hadn’t noticed.” The extra detail makes you giggle, smiling shyly at anything that isn’t him.

He goes to lean in again when you stop him. “Wait, wait, can we at least get out of here first? I want to do this properly.”

You scoot sideways after he nods in agreement, far enough for him to open the door and step down from the elevated imitation of a pumpkin. He extends a hand up to you once he’s on solid ground again, and you take it. His face breaks into that signature bubbly grin of his that’s more contagious than you’d like to admit.

Joining him on the grassy surface, you dramatically stretch your arms out in front of you, waiting for him to reciprocate the hug you’re implicitly requesting.

The impish twinkle in his eye you know so well appears with his next words. “Can I pick you up?”

“You’ll drop me!” You retort, scoffing.

“Aw, c’mon! No I won’t,” he pouts. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

Strong arms envelop your form as he lifts you into the air, only to pull you tightly against his torso. Not even the world’s fluffiest blanket can compare to the fleecy warm softness of the plaid shirt and sweater vest he’s wearing.

The enamored smile on Chenle’s face is the kind that would have made you weak in the knees if you were standing. Forgetting that you’re no longer shielded from the world by the carriage’s privacy, he presses your foreheads together and cutely nuzzles your nose with his own.

Framing his sharp jawline with both of your hands, you lean in to share a second kiss with the boy you wish you had gotten to know sooner. It’s no use wondering about what could have been, however, so for now you decide to focus on only this moment, only these lips, only Chenle. The way he smiles into the kiss has you reeling with affection.

Not even the distant cheers that just barely reach your eardrums can tear you away from each other.

When you feel as though the kiss has conveyed all you want and need to say to one another, Chenle begins to mumble against your lips. In a voice low enough for only you to hear, he says, “We’re going to have to face them sooner or later, you know.”

“How about never?” You reply, grumbling.

“Just follow my lead, okay? I’m used to their teasing,” he comforts.

“If you say so...”

Breaking out of the kiss-induced daze, you both look over to where the six boys stand, clapping and pumping their fists in the air in celebration with one another.

One of them, probably Renjun, you can’t quite tell, cups his hands around his mouth in preparation for the shout that leaves it not even a second later.

“It’s about damn time!”

“I told you guys if we just left them alone they’d figure it out themselves!” Mark adds triumphantly.

Apparently more than one kiss is one too many for his friends to see, and enough to make the small group turn away, yelling for you to “get a room” at the top of their lungs. You feel Chenle smirk against your lips at their repulsed reactions.

“Serves them right.”

You agree.

You’ve never had someone to spend Halloween night with before, and boy does this stress Chenle out to no end. He wants everything to be perfect, wants to do everything that a couple should do on such a holiday. “It’s really not a big deal, Chenle,” you insist sympathetically as he paces your living room floor, currently obsessing over what costumes you should wear.

“But... it’s you, and you’re a big deal. A big deal to me. I just want to make you happy.”

“Nothing could make me happier than being able to call you mine,” you proclaim proudly, enjoying the way his face practically turns into a tomato when what you’ve just said registers in his brain. “Stop it,” he stutters, lowering his head to stare at the carpet under his feet. You just giggle.

The excitement of the night is unlike any other. Your neighborhood’s streets are full of mostly children, but some adults and grandparents too, all taking part in the festivities. Going from doorstep to doorstep, you chant the famous three-word phrase at each house, assuring anyone who answers the door that you’re never too old to trick or treat if they ask. You get lots of compliments on your matching costumes: Chenle’s dressed as Sully and you’re Mike Wazowski from Monsters Inc. The soft fur on his outfit makes it extremely difficult for you to hold yourself back from hugging him any chance you get.

With your bags full of enough candy to last you two months at least, you return home for the night, this time crashing at his place. Despite the fact that it’s already getting late, both of you quickly change into some more comfortable clothes before settling in on his couch for a Halloween movie marathon.

“How about...” Chenle scrolls through the large selection of films on the screen. “The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“No!” You cry out abruptly, lightly pounding against his chest with one of your fists before returning it to its original position around his waist.

Looking down at you, currently curled up in his lap with your other arm thrown rather lazily over his sturdy shoulders and your side pressing into his torso, he asks, “Why not?”

In a small voice, you respond. “It... gave me nightmares when I was little.”

“Really? A Disney movie?”

“Yes, now can we please stop talking about it and pick something else?”

“Aw, are you scared?”

“Shut up!” You whine shyly, burying your face as far as it would go into the thin fabric of his loose white t-shirt.

“Hey,” he hushes you, “I’m not making fun of you, baby. It’s okay... I’ve got you.”

Chenle swears he feels the warmth of your blush against his shoulder, generated by his unusual use of that particular term of endearment.

He runs a reassuring palm along one of your arms down to your hand. Effortlessly he winds each of his fingers around yours, like piecing together the most delicate of puzzles, and you remember how this action would have flustered both of you beyond belief mere weeks before. It’s become so simple, so instinctive a movement, saying everything you need to know without even the slightest whisper of a word in the air.

Rubbing small circles into the skin on the back of your neck with his other hand, he holds you close, the harsh light from the television illuminating your form as it clings to his.

You eventually decide on an actual horror movie that leaves you muffling your shrieks with a pillow, but Chenle just laughs with a pitch so high that it reminds you of a certain marine mammal. You scold him by giving his shoulder a whack. “Shh, Chenle! You’re going to wake the whole neighborhood up!”

“Hey, you were screaming too!”

“That’s not screaming, that’s called laughing, you dummy.”

Hours later, Chenle’s arm hangs limply down into the large bowl of treats you’ve been sharing. The soft snores next to your ear tell you that he’s fallen asleep. His family finds you two knocked out cold the next morning, covered in fuzzy blankets and colorful candy wrappers strewn about the sofa.

Indeed, this would be a Halloween to remember, and you hope to spend many more together in the future. With Chenle in your arms right now, there’s no place in this world that you would rather be. And it’s all thanks to a flimsy piece of paper on a lamp post.

[f00pyf00p]

Between The Pages

Rating: General Relationships: Romantic Analogical Warnings: Class Differences, Bullying, Long-Distance Relationship Word count: 11098  Summary: The day he was born, with the very first flicker of life, a notebook nearly fell on Logan’s head. It would have smacked him full in the face had their Doctor and neighbor not been waiting for it, one hand balancing the baby and the other situated right above the new human’s nose, waiting. Other Notes: Analogical Week Day 4: AU @analogicalweek

Read on AO3

The day he was born, with the very first flicker of life, a notebook nearly fell on Logan’s head. It would have smacked him full in the face had their Doctor and neighbor not been waiting for it, one hand balancing the baby and the other situated right above the new human’s nose, waiting.

The notebook was spiral, as all notebooks were. It was white and the two cardboard covers held not a single page between them.

“His soulmate isn't born yet, then,” said their neighbor/doctor, Ryan Becker. She placed the lifeless notebook off to the side and shifted the baby so she was holding him with both hands. “Now, I’m just going to go and clean him up a little. Phil, can you help your wife while I’m gone?”

Logan’s father, Phillip Berry, nodded immediately. He grabbed some of the towels they had set up beforehand and the last thing Ryan saw before heading out of the room was the beginnings of a smile on the new mother’s face.

It took a long time for the family to get fully situated, but once they had, Ryan left their home with an exhausted wave and made her way back across the street where her soulmate waited. The kitchen and living room lights were off when she entered; he was probably upstairs with that old computer he had found, attempting to make the damned thing turn on when they both knew that the thing had been dead long before he picked it up.

Whatever. He could play with it all he wanted- right now, all Ryan could think of was a long hot shower.

On her way to the bathroom, she passed the one shelf in her home, where two spiral notebooks sat. They had not been touched in a very long time but Ryan wouldn’t have gotten rid of them even if she could.

Slowly, she reached out and pulled the yellow one off the shelf.

When she had been born, her notebook had also fallen white and empty. It had remained that way until (according to her parents) a year later on August 14th when it had suddenly filled with pages and the cover had turned a stunning bright yellow.

According to Marcus’s parents, his notebook had fallen a deep dark red, pages already filled. After all, she had already existed.

Ryan examined her notebook for a second longer before putting it back and heading towards her bathroom.

__

The new Casey boy came out of his mother into the doctor’s hand squirming and already screaming like his life depended on it. Doctor James Miller had to struggle to keep the baby situated as he held his hand above its little head, waiting.

A dark blue book full of pages landed right into his palm. Thomas Casey, the father of the boy, smiled at the sight of it.

“Just born and already has his soulmate! Look at that!”

Doctor Miller gave the man one of his practiced smiles and held the notebook out to him. Instantly, the dad began flipping through the pages, and James just managed to not roll his eyes before he turned away to properly clean the new baby.

There was no point in looking at the notebook. Even if there had been something in it, only two people could see what was in it: the baby he was holding and the baby’s soulmate.

Whatever. James was used to parents excitedly looking through their children’s notebooks. At this point, he shouldn’t have been surprised by it.

He came back with the baby nicely bundled in green blankets and gave another practiced smile as he passed the boy off to his mother. She smiled down at him and glanced back over at her husband.

“Have you chosen a name?” James asked kindly.

“Virgil,” Bella replied. She ran a hand over his little face. “Virgil Casey.”

James made a mental note for the birth certificate.

Miles and miles away, next to napping a month and half old baby boy, a dead white notebook with no pages in between began to fill. Plum purple bloomed across the cardboard cover and clean white pages shot into existence until it was full enough to use but not so heavy that a toddler couldn’t carry it. Logan Berry rolled over and one tiny hand landed flat on the now purple cover.

He carried on sleeping.

__

“HI! It iS me.”

Logan’s slightly shaking hand held his favorite pencil- a blue one covered in book titles. Logan had chosen it out of his love of books and even though couldn’t able to read very many yet, those he could get through he barely ever put down. Once he got good enough, Logan planned to read every book title on the pencil, even the ones his mom said were “really long.”

“HelO!” The reply came in red crayon and was nearly twice as large but much neater than Logan’s writing. Logan beamed at the very sight of it.

“WhaT is you dOing.” The red came again, slightly smaller this time. Logan traced the large “O” with his fingers before re-scooping up his pencil and pressing it to the page.

He paused.

“Re,” he sounded out, writing the letters as he did so. “Sss-” He scribbled an s after it. “Ess. Resess.” He smiled at himself for sounding out the words properly and waited for his notebook friend’s response.

“YOu hav resess in the morning?”

Logan blinked. “It iS not mor-” Logan paused and double-checked how his notebook partner had spelled it. “-ning. It iS going to be lanch tim.”

“NO. It is morning.”

Logan really wasn’t quite what to do. His partner was obviously wrong; at the moment, Logan sat outside in the grass outside next to a plastic play structure his schoolmates were screaming across. The sun beat down on them at a chilly 60°F, which he was currently combating with a sweatshirt and long pants. They had already gone over math (which Logan had enjoyed) and geography (which he had enjoyed less). After lunch, they would be able to do his favorite part of the day (reading!), they would do some writing, and then it would be time to go home.

“Mrs. Williams!” Logan pushed from the grass and took off for a run towards his kindergarten teacher. The notebook swung from his arms as he did so and Mrs. Williams turned to him with a sort of half-smile on her face.

“Yes, Logan?”

“Mrs. Williams, my notebook buddy is saying it's morning a lot, but it's not morning. Why is he saying that?”

Mrs. Williams licked her lips and glanced around the playground. “Follow me, sweetie, okay?”

Logan nodded eagerly. He opened his book to write, “1 min” and then trotted after Mrs. Williams. She had grabbed two random slightly deflated balls, one large rubber and supposedly bouncy, and the other a small green tennis ball.

“Okay, Logan. You like space, right?”

Logan nodded eagerly.

“The earth is round, okay.” At Logan’s nod, she held up the larger ball. “Can you pretend this is the earth for me?”

Logan stared at it for a second and then nodded again.

“Okay, that big ball is the earth. And this ball-” she held up the green one- “is the sun. When it's nighttime and you go to sleep, where is the sun?”

“It’s gone,” Logan informed her. “We don’t see it.”

“That's right! Good job! And when it's daytime where is the sun?”

Logan pointed at the sky. “There.”

Mrs. Williams nodded. “Can you hold the sun for me?” She passed him the green ball and positioned his hand up so it was next to the side of the earth. “Now I’m going to put my finger here.” She placed it on a random spot of the ball. “And you’re going to tell me if my finger is daytime or nighttime.”

Slowly, Mrs. Williams began to spin the ball. She stopped with her finger on the opposite side of the sun. “Day or night Logan?”

“I…”

“Can I see the sun?”

“No!” Logan grinned. “It’s nighttime!”

“Well done! You little genius! Now, if I keep spinning the earth…” Mrs. Williams spun it around so her finger faced the sun. “Daytime or nighttime?”

“Day!”

“Yes!” But what if I move my finger?” Mrs. Williams left the ball still and picked her finger up so it was on the back of the ball, away from the sun. “Am I nighttime or daytime?”

“Nighttime.”

“Good job, Logan. Now, what if…” Mrs. Williams shifted so that her thumb pressed into the area toward the sun and her other hand faced away. “What now?”

“Ummm… that one-” Logan reached out to touch her thumb- “is in the daytime and the other is in the nighttime.”

“Right. Now let’s give my fingers names. Let’s say my thumb’s name is Logan.”

“That’s my name.”

“You’re right it is. Let’s say my other finger’s name is notebook buddy.”

A lightbulb went off in Logan’s head. “He’s in a different sun area!”

Mrs. Williams looked very pleased. “That’s right Logan. So it's lunchtime for you, but morning for him.”

Logan grinned before taking off at a run back for his grassy spot to explain everything to his soulmate.

__

“I want to SAY my nam.”

Virgil glanced down at his blue notebook and shook his head at his soulmate. After a click glance to make sure his teacher wasn’t looking (he was supposed to be doing his math practice) he wrote back: “It WOnt wORK.”

“But I want it to.”

“It WOn’t.”

“I’m gonna try.”

Despite his adamant belief that it would fail, Virgil still bent over his paper excitedly. Maybe…

“--------”

Nope.

“See. Nams dON’T wORk.”

“Virgil!” Virgil jumped and shoved his notebook away. “How’s your math going, kiddo?”

Mr. Ravin stood in front of him. He glanced over at the open notebook and the blank math sheet and pursed his lips.

“You need to learn math right now, okay Virgil? You can write your soulmate during playtime.”

Virgil crossed his arms over his chest. “But I want to now! He’ll go away during playtime!”

“Why not?”

“He’s in a different sun area!”

Mr. Ravin blinked. He glanced over at the notebook, back at Virgil, and at the notebook again, trying to figure out exactly what Virgil was telling him.

Suddenly, his expression brightened.

“He’s in a different time zone?”

Virgil didn’t really know what a time zone was but he nodded anyway.

“Okay. I’ll give you five minutes with your soulmate.” Mr. Ravin held up his hand and Virgil mirrored the motion. “But then you have to do the math, okay?”

“Okay!”

Virgil grasped his note with two little hands and pulled it back to him. He re-grabbed the pencil he had been using and looked over what his soulmate had written while Mr. Ravin held his attention.

“I am --- yeers. I like bookS. I live in -------.”

“It is not showing,” Virgil wrote. “i like books two.”

His soulmate went quiet.

It was annoying, Virgil thought to himself. Sometimes, it got difficult to talk about his soulmate when he wasn’t able to give his soulmate a name. And his soulmate was his best friend! He needed to be able to talk to his best friend.

“We could do fak nams,” Virgil wrote. “That waay, we hav nams but not reel nams.”

“Like sooperheros!” The exclamation mark brought a smile onto Virgil’s face and he nearly clapped his hands excitedly but he didn’t want to bring attention to himself. “What is yor nam?”

Virgil paused before putting his pencil to the paper. His fake name had to be perfect. It was going to be what his best friend called him forever and forever meant a really really long time. It needed to be about him and it needed to make sense.

“Purple,” Virgil wrote. “I like purple. My nam is Purple.”

“OK.” His partners' smaller and nearly illegible handwriting appeared beneath his own. “My nam is Logic. A sooperhero I like in my book is Logic so I’m going to be Logic to.”

“Okay Lo-” Virgil doubled-check how it was spelled. “-gic. Want tO play tic-tac-tOE?”

Virgil had only just managed to write the sentences when Mr. Ravin walked back over and leaned over him. “Alright, Virgil,” he said kindly. “Time for math now.”

“Five more minutes?” Virgil glanced down at the paper, where his Logic had drawn a tic-tac-toe board and placed a circle in the middle of it. He held his notebook out for Mr. Ravin to see. “Look, we just want to finish the game!”

Mr. Ravin gently pushed the notebook back onto Virgil’s kindergartner-sized desk. “I can’t see what’s on the pages, kiddo,” he said gently. “Only you and your soulmate can.”

“Logic,” Virgil interrupted.

Mr. Ravin blinked. “What do you mean?”

“His name is Logic.”

__

“We’re learning about frogs in my school.” Virgil’s legs swung back and forth underneath him, moving the swing he sat on ever so slightly, as he read what Logic had just sent to him in handwriting that practically grew messier every day. “We’ve been put into a lot of groups and now we have to find facts about a kind of frog.”

“Cool.” Virgil paused before writing; “What’s your frog?”

“I got a really boring one. I already knew everything about it so I didn’t have to do any research at all.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and a smile splayed on his 8-year-old face. Only Logic would be upset by a lack of work in his class. And he added cheerfully to himself, only Logic would have already known enough about a frog to not have to do any homework.

“What was it?”

“It’s a glass frog. They’re green.”

“Aren’t all frogs green?” Stupid question.

“No, a lot of frogs are all different colors. Poison dart frogs, for example, are really colorful.”

The smile grew. Logic was the only person Virgil knew to not care how dumb or how often somebody asked a question. He was always there, always with an answer, always ready to help.

“What frog did you want to do?”

Logic handwriting was a lot faster than normal: still legible but it was loopier and the letters connected more.

“The Macaya Breast-spot Frog! They’re endangered, and orange and they’re so much cooler than the stupid glass frog.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know about them! Obviously!”

Virgil flipped off the swing, bored of the repeated motion, and sat criss-cross underneath it, letting his notebook fall onto his lap. His pencil hit it the moment he was situated.

“At my school,” he wrote in large gray letters, “we’re going over frogs too, but they’re giving everyone a tadpole to look after.”

“That’s so cool! What kind of frog!?”

Ummm…

“Black frog?”

“That’s not a kind of frog.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it is” Logic crossed out what he had written in one smooth motion. “No it is You know it's not a real frog.”

Virgil grinned. “Yeah.”

“You are the worst best friend I have.”

Virgil blinked. “But I’m your only best friend.” He didn’t add the “right?” that hastened his breath and made his hands tremble ever so slightly.

“Obviously.”

The trembling vanished, replaced with the smile for before. “You’re being meannnnnnn.”

“The extra “nnns” are dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

“I am not!”

“Your mum.”

“You” Logic crossed out his word again. “You You’re the one being mean. Meanie.”

Virgil drew a smiley face underneath his sentence. His own grin grew when in response, Logic crossed it out and drew a sad face next to it.

He was about to say something- about what, Virgil wasn’t quite sure- when a loud female voice broke through the little spell he had with Logic.

“Recess is over,” he wrote glumly. “I’ll write you later.”

“Oh.” Even in writing, the word sounded sad. “I forgot you were still in school.”

“Yeah.”

“Bye Purple.”

“Bye L.”

__

Logan was supposed to be asleep. His parents had put him to bed at 8:00, and his alarm clock currently read 11:12, but it wasn’t his fault this book was so interesting! Stopping now would be a sin against… Logan paused. Were there any book gods? He’d have to look it up…

The yawn that came out of him practically shook his whole body and at the end of it, Logan sternly told himself that he had about 100 more pages to go, and he had to hold out that long. Last time, he had fallen asleep on the book.

That had been annoying.

A bang in the kitchen had Logan’s head flying up. Probably just his mom looking for water, or his dad getting a late-night snack. He went to turn back to his book when his eyes snagged on the open notebook on his bedroom floor.

And more importantly, at the letters appearing across it.

Suddenly very much awake, Logan carefully bookmarked his page, pushed from his covers, and scooped the book up to get a look at whatever Purple was sending him.

“My parents are making me go to sleep at 7:30 but I’m not tireddddd. I want to do something! So I decided to draw you a picture because you’re asleep so I can let you see in the morning when it’s good and not bad.”

What followed were several drawings, all of which had been scribbled out with such ferocity it was a wonder Logan’s page hadn’t been ripped as well. Either way, there was nothing left of what remained under the scribble.

There was a loss that came with that.

“They were all terrible, you wouldn’t have liked them,” Purple had written. “I’ve decided I’m not leaving a drawing for you. Goodnight.”

Then, underneath that.

“I can’t fall asleep.”

And under that-

“We’re never going to find each other.”

Logan’s breath hitched.

“We can’t tell each other anything! Look! My name is --------. I am ---- years old. I live in --------. I am he/him. Well, the last one worked but you know what I mean! We could pass each other and we’d never know it! I’ll never see you. I’ll never play games with you. I want to play Percy Jackson with you.”

A strong yearning entered Logan’s heart and he traced the letters on the page.

“I could be Percy. You can be like, a male version of Annabeth. And then we fight monsters!”

Logan’s fingers twitched.

“But no! Because you live super far away and I’ll never get to see you ever. I can’t even draw my face for you!”

What followed was a black square, different from the scribbles from earlier. It was too precise, too dark to have been done by Purple.

“How will I ever-” Logan had finally caught up to where Purple was now- “find you?”

He paused for a moment. There had to be a way, some kind of signal, or something they could wear-

Wait.

“What if-” In the middle of his writing a sentence, a much shorter one appeared underneath it.

“You’re here!?”

Logan paused in his sentence to write a tiny “yes” before jumping back up to finish his old one.

“What if you drew a sign for us to put on our clothes? That way we can see each other wearing it and know it's us?”

“What?”

“Just draw a pin for us to wear.”

There was a pause, probably as Purple thought it over, then, in big neat letters, “Why are you so much smarter than me?”

“You’re really smart,” Logan protested.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yes and.”

“You can’t “and” me.”

That sparked a quiet shining in Logan’s eyes. “Yes, and I think you should draw the symbols.”

“You’re not clever.” There was a short pause. “I can’t draw them while you watch. It makes me nervous.”

Logan understood that. He didn’t like people reading over his shoulder. It was probably the same thing.

“Okay.” He wrote. “I’ll go back to my book.”

“What time is it there?”

The minute changed as Logan looked. “11:31.”

“GO.” The word filled a third of what was left on the page. “TO. SLEEP.”

“It’s only like 100 pages.”

“SLEEP!”

“Fine!” Logan frowned at the page. “You need to sleep too then.”

“It’s only 8:31 here.”

His frown deepened.

“Good night, Logic.”

A heavy heavy sigh came out of Logan. He glanced towards his bookmarked book and silently promised that it would be finished before lunch tomorrow.

“Good night, Purple.” His pencil hovered over the page. “I’ll see our symbols in the morning.”

The notebook cover shut and Logan slid back into his bed. He had only closed his eyes for 30 seconds before the eight-year-old was fully asleep.

The next morning, Logan awoke and dashed to his notebook. He opened it, heart fluttering in his throat, and smiled at the symbols Purple had chosen for them.

A purple stormcloud and a little white brain with black glasses. The stormcloud was marked “PURPLE” in shiny and the brain was marked “LOGIC.”

Logan immediately went to find a piece of paper, a window, and a safety pin so he could copy Purple’s work line for line and display it on his chest.

__

Logan had been wearing a piece of paper pinned to his shirt for four years. The paper had switched out; the first one he had dutifully copied back when he was only in 3rd grade had taken less than a month to fall apart. However, the design of it remained the same. Every time a new piece of paper tore, got wet, streaked, whatever, Logan flipped back to the page Purple had first drawn his symbol, pressed it up against a window, and copied it line for line again.

Despite the symbol, they still hadn’t found each other.

“My mom’s being a bitch.” Purple’s handwriting was still larger than Logan’s own, but smooth and precise. He was the kind of person you would have write everything down during group projects so it looked pretty when you presented. “I’m trying to go to see a movie with Puppy but noooooo, I have a C in fucking math so she grounded me.”

Logan smiled at the letters, even as his heart ached. Purple had written to him about Puppy countless times before; he had been described as a bubbly older brother figure, thus, why he had been given that nickname. Someone who loved gardening and still slept with a nightlight. The two of them were close, though Purple promised Logan was still his best friend.

Logan wished more than anything to be able to go see movies with Purple. Touching him, even seeing him would be a blessing.

He didn’t know it was possible to miss someone you had never truly met as much as he missed Purple.

“I could help you with math,” he wrote back. His handwriting was legible- and that was about the best thing he could say about it. “I study it in my free time so I’m sure I know something about what you’re going over.”

“You’re such a nerd,” came the fond reply. There was a beat of silence, which Logan used to check the clock sitting upon his desk.

3:32 pm. That meant it was around 12:32 where Purple was. They still had plenty of time before he would be back in class.

“I could use your help with math though.” Purple’s letters came fluidly after his last sentence. “Not right now. This is school break time.” Logan smiled wryly at that. “Are you busy at 4:00? Oh um, 7:00 for you.”

Technically no. His school had gotten a donation of recorders and he was supposed to be practicing it every night and Logan had already put it off four nights in a row.

But he could do that later.

“I’m free,” Logan replied. “We can do it then.”

“Great. I don’t understand these word problems we’re supposed to be doing and Puppy is really excited about this Rom-Com.” There was a pause. “I am not, but I’m not going to disappoint Puppy by not being allowed to go.”

“I don’t think I quite get Rom-Coms,” Logan wrote. He paused to shake his hand and then instantly put the pencil back to paper. “They’re incredibly unrealistic, remarkably cringy, and oftentimes the main pairing doesn’t even make sense together.”

“Lol.”

Logan wondered for a brief moment what exactly Purple’s laugh sounded like. At the moment, he imagined it was deep, with a sort of snarky edge to it, but he had imagined it all sorts of different ways throughout the years. None of them had ever sounded quite right.

“I don’t like them much either. Straight propaganda.”

He couldn’t help but snort at that. Both he and Purple had learned they were gay a little while back when he had brought up how often the pair of them discuss hot male celebrities.

“I’m sure that’s normal,” Purple had written. “Right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

And then later.

“I asked my Dad. It’s not normal.”

“Oh.” Logan hadn’t been sure how to respond to that. His blood had just been thrumming with the very idea of trusting anyone about something like that. “So… does that mean we’re gay?”

“Do you like girls? Like, in that way”

“No.”

“Then yea, probably.”

Logan still hadn’t told anyone about his and Purple’s discovery. He couldn’t imagine anyone taking it well in his town. It still shocked him sometimes that in Purple’s neighborhood, you could be out without facing rather disastrous consequences.

“I’m sure Rom-Coms aren’t trying to turn you straight.”

“That’s what they want you to think. Don’t fall for it Logic. Their smiles are nothing but lies.”

Logan snorted quietly, a sound he only ever made when talking- well, writing technically- with his soulmate. “If they’re going to try and brainwash me like that, they might consider actually making a good movie.”

“Damn, L. Out here bringing the heat.”

His eyebrows knit together. “I don’t think you can feel warmth through the notebook.”

“No… Logic, it’s not literal. It’s a saying.”

“Oh.” Heat burned in his cheeks. “Of course.” He licked his lips. “And, let’s just say, hypothetically, if someone still didn’t understand what you were trying to say-”

Purple’s answer appeared beneath him before he had fully finished. “You’re doing a good job insulting boring Rom-Coms.”

“Yes. Of course. Naturally.” Logan brushed a hand through his hair. “They aren’t interesting.”

Purple made a little checkmark next to his statement.

“Oh!” Purple’s writing came hastily under Logan’s last sentence. “I almost forgot to tell you! I read that book you like.”

“Really? Did you like it?”

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me how sad it was!?”

“Because you said you would kill me if I spoiled anything?”

“Not an excuse!”

Logan smiled at the declaration. Between Shades of Grey had been such a good historical fiction book that he had just had to share it with someone- and since all his at-home friends didn’t like historical fiction as much as he did, Purple had been an obvious choice.

“I didn’t know Stalin had camps!”

“Yeah.” Logan’s stomach twisted at the thought. “It’s horrible.”

“I wish humanity didn’t suck so much. Sometimes, I think a nuclear war would be good just to get rid of everyone here.”

Logan shook his head. “I wouldn’t want it to get rid of you.”

Purple didn’t reply for a good minute. When he finally did answer, the letters made Logan’s heart flutter rather pathetically.

“I suppose I wouldn’t want you to get hurt either.” __

Virgil couldn’t hide the smile off his face, the skipping in his heart, nor the glow coming off of him in unnatural and rare waves. All of his joy came from the Christmas present his parents had just given him; a necklace, a bracelet, a pin, and a ring, all bearing the exact same mark- namely a purple stormcloud that he had first drawn back in 3rd grade.

It was 9 am in California, which meant it would be noon wherever Logic was living, but Logic had told him that family obligations would keep him from being around his notebook for longer than a few minutes at a time today.

Right now though, that served in Virgil’s favor. He hated it when people watched him draw- even when it was someone he trusted as much as Logic.

“Hey, Logic.” Virgil started a new page, leaving about a third empty under the last one. For a moment, he wondered whether that was the right thing to do- but it's not like they would ever run out of pages. The notebook just kept growing, despite not increasing in weight. “I got big news!”

He glanced over at the last thing Logic had written- Make sure you sleep well too, Purple- and his reply- Yeah yeah yeah. Good night, Logic!”

He wondered how long it would be until he could say good night to his soulmate in person.

“I know you told me that you wouldn’t be able to get to the notebook today.” Virgil paused and bit his lip. “I hope I’m not bothering you by writing now but-” He crossed the word out in one elegant line, followed by repeated scribbling until not even the essence of the letter was visible. “Sorry if I am.”

Logic probably wouldn’t be upset. Probably.

Virgil pushed down the wave of panic that told him Logic would see that he had written and never open the notebook again. Maybe he shouldn’t-

No. Things would be fine. He was being stupid.

“My parents got me jewelry with my stormcloud on it!” Virgil's initial happiness came rushing back, though slightly dulled. “I’ve got a bracelet, a pin, a necklace, a ring- here, I’ll show you.”

Virgil brought his pencil to the page. He studied the bracelet given to him- the smooth shining silver metal and the small but noticeable purple cloud that hung from it, followed by a jagged white lightning bolt.

Beside it, he drew the necklace, the small rings that made up a delicate metal chain, and the large pendant that hung from the bottom, identical to the one on his bracelet.

Then the pin, and finally the ring, which for some reason took him a lot longer than the other ones. At the end of it all, Virgil smiled at his designs and went for the lines underneath them.

“Now it’ll be even easier to find me. We won’t have to worry about paper ripping and losing it for a day or whatever else.”

He wanted to write the words “We’ll find each other” but found no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite make his pencil hit the page. It was a wish and a promise Virgil repeated to himself, one he wanted more than anything in the world, one he would do almost anything for, but one he couldn’t quite convince himself was true.

They both lived in America. That much was true. But according to time zones, Logic lived on the other side of the whole country. Even if Virgil traveled over there, he wouldn’t know which state, let alone which city-

Breath came too fast. He placed the notebook off to the side and suddenly the gifts that had been a solidifier of their symbols and ability to find each other were nothing more than a taunt.

Logic was out of his reach. Forever.

Virgil snatched the notebook up- to do what he wasn’t sure- and found a tiny barely readable letter had appeared under his note. He blinked at it.

Wasn’t Logic supposed to be busy today?

“Those look great!” Logic’s words eased some of the darkness numbing Virgil’s mind. He reached out with a single shaking hand and traced the letters. “You’re an amazing artist, Purple.”

Virgil swallowed.

“Thanks.”

They had to flip the page to keep communicating.

“Those will make it much easier to find you,” Logic wrote. Each letter cleared more of his panic and Virgil managed a tiny smile. “I can’t do the same though.”

Virgil blinked and all of that cleared panic came back full force.

Before he could properly hold his pencil, Logic had continued.

“I would like to, but I don’t think we have enough money to spare on one of those. I’ll keep wearing the paper, of course.” Logic’s letters paused but before Virgil had managed to clear his head long enough to even manage a sentence, it continued. “Yours look beautiful.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-

“I didn’t mean for you to think you had to get any.” It was the messiest Virgil’s handwriting had been in a very long time. “I’ll spot you with the paper, I just thought-” What had he been thinking? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t really remember anything but the fact that he had somehow managed to make Logic upset-

“Purple.” Logic’s letters were crisper than normal: firm. “I think the idea of wearing jewelry is amazing. If it makes one of us easier to spot then we’re closer to being together. I can’t afford them, but that’s okay. Okay?”

Virgil took a breath.

“Okay.”

Logic was right. Like normal. Logic would have an easier time looking for a guy wearing a bunch of stormclouds rather than one white one drawn on his chest.

And he…

“I promise to be on the lookout for a piece of paper,” Virgil wrote. “You don’t need all the jewelry.”

It was to make things easier. But it wasn’t truly necessary.

Right?

Right.

“I’ve got to go. Our neighbor ------- is-” The writing paused. “I forgot other people’s names don’t work. Anyway, I have to go.”

“Okay.” Virgil took a long breath. “I’ll write to you soon.”

“Bye Purple. Oh, and don’t worry about writing to me when I say I won’t be able to come. I enjoy reading everything you say after.”

Virgil's heart missed a beat and that warm smile from before returned.

__

Logan had spent the entirety of Valentine’s day avoiding people handing out presents, chocolates, teddy bears, and whatever other atrocity they wanted to give their beloved. Not because he thought the holiday was stupid- although, he did actively think that- but because of the slight churning in his gut whenever he spotted a happy couple.

Along with that question. That stupid, horrible question that he had been asking himself for almost a year now.

His hand tightened around his notebook.

Would it hurt more to confess and be rejected, or confess and still be unable to see him?

Until he figured that out, Logan really didn’t think there was any point in confessing.

He turned down the hallway his class was in, ducked a ball of paper thrown at his head, and strode into the room. After double-checking that his desk and chair hadn’t been messed with, Logan took his seat, pulled out a binder held together with scotch tape and a lot of luck, and placed it on the creaky cracked desk in front of him.

Right. He had five minutes.

Logan did what he always did with extra time; he cracked open his purple notebook and glanced over the pages they had written in last.

His lips curved upwards.

Purple had added a few drawings since they last talked. Random sketches of tree leaves, a new ring he had been excited to buy, Noam and Dara from the heartbreaking series Feverwake Logan had made him read, and Gerald Way, one of Purple’s favorite artists.

Logan made little compliments underneath each of them- “Great job shading the leaf, it looks so real, the ring is gorgeous, etc- and was about to add something about scheduling a time to talk during the afternoon/night, when the book was snatched out of his hands.

Logan grimaced. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Jason that stood in front of him, a cocky grin on his face and Logan’s purple notebook open in his palms.

“Give it back.”

Jason’s stupid grin widened. Logan just rolled his eyes.

“We both know I could have it in a second. Just hand it over.”

“What were you writing?” Jason’s voice was sing-songy, taunting. He flipped through the pages- pages he could see nothing but lines on- before snapping the notebook closed and holding it above his head.

With a loud sigh, Logan snapped his fingers twice. It was a bit odd, the way he did so. Most people used their index finger or middle. He used his pinky.

By the time his fingers had hit his palm a second time, the notebook had completely dislodged itself from Jason’s hand and landed squarely into Logan’s outstretched left one.

Without saying anything to the idiot in front of him, Logan turned back to his notebook, opened it up to the right page, and scribbled down a time they could meet. It was during his shift at the grocery store, but late enough that not many people would be in so he could easily write with Purple.

“I need to talk to you,” Jason interrupted.

“No, I’m not doing your homework for you.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Okay, what about-”

“I’m not writing an essay for you either.”

There was a short silence, which Logan used to turn back to his notebook and add that Purple should feel no obligation to hang out especially if he…

Logan swallowed.

… had other Valentine’s Day plans.

“If you do it, I could hook you up with my friend Erica. She’s good-looking. Breasts are a bit small, but-”

It took all of his efforts not to groan aloud.

“Go away, Jason. And don’t talk about your friends like that.”

“Ah, she’s a girl. She doesn’t mind.”

“Have you asked her?”

Logan glanced up to see Jason rolling his eyes. He glanced towards the door.

Where the hell was Mr. Myers?

“Look man, I’m just struggling with this one essay. I just need you to-”

“I told you no, Jason.”

Jason’s face twisted into a scowl. “Stop being such a damn teacher’s pet. It’s one damn essay.”

“No.”

Logan wondered if it were too early for Purple to be up. It was 9:11 here, meaning it would only be 6:11 there…

Yeah. It was much too early. Purple woke up at 7:20 to get to school at 7:30. He had at least an hour before he would see this.

“But-”

“Jason.” Mr. Myers' voice boomed through the classroom and Logan snapped his soulmate’s notebook shut and pushed himself up straight. “Take your seat.”

Purple got back to him at lunchtime. Logan sat out in the deteriorating and slightly musty hallway, bread, and cheese sandwich sitting on a cardboard platter beside him and his notebook resting on his knees. It just so happened that his lunchtime (12:10-12:30) was at the beginning of Purple’s study hall (9:00-9:40), so it had become normal for the pair of them to talk until Logan had to head back to class.

They basically confirmed they would have that conversation later, which made Logan feel better for more reasons than one, before Purple asked Logan about his day, giving Logan a very easy outlet to bitch about the whole fiasco with Jason.

“Again!?” Purple handwriting was larger and darker than normal. “I’m going to kill him!”

“It’s really no trouble.” Honestly, Logan didn’t mind it occurring, especially since it gave him moments like this when Purple would get all angry on his behalf. There weren’t many people who did that. “Gollum-” the name they had given Jason so they could talk about him without stupid lines appearing- “won’t push it any farther.”

“The last time you said that about someone, they shoved you into a wall, broke your glasses, and stole your homework for themselves.”

Almost subconsciously, a hand came up to touch the black scotch-taped frames. The glass hadn’t been cracked in any way that impaired him, but he had been forced to pull an all-nighter to rewrite that essay differently so he wouldn’t get an F for cheating.

It had been remarkably stressful, especially since his head hadn’t stopped pounding for weeks after.

“Yeah. Gollum won’t do that though.”

“He better not. I’ll fucking kill him.”

Despite the threat of violence, Logan couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t even know his real name.”

“Doesn’t matter. I will track this prick down. Nobody hurts you.”

Logan pretended his heart had skipped a beat because of the piece of sandwich he had eaten and not due to the crisp and clear words that appeared across his page. He swallowed once, to clear his throat. And then again, to calm the butterflies in his heart. Plus a third time for luck, before putting his pencil to the page.

“I feel you’re being slightly dramatic. Gollum hasn’t even done anything yet.”

Purple drew two quick little bubble people underneath his sentence one of which was actively punching another. Underneath one, he drew a storm cloud, one that Logan had completely memorized. Under the other, he wrote the word “loser.”

Logan snorted and took another bite of his cheese sandwich. He glanced at his phone.

“I’ve got a minute.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Well, I’ll see you at 4:30.” Another pause. “I have something I want to tell you. Puppy says that I should do it today.”

Logan blinked. “Okay. If you don’t mind me asking, why today?”

A third pause.

“It fits with the theme, I guess.”

The theme.

Logan could barely hold his pencil he was trembling so hard. “Okay. Yeah, I’m happy to hear what you have to tell me.”

Please…

“Cool,” Purple wrote. “I’ll write with you then.”

__

Virgil was going to throw up.

Patton had told him “It’s Valentine’s Day! It’s romantic to confess your feelings today!” but Patton had also told him that chicken was a vegetable so Virgil honestly didn’t know why he was taking his advice.

He glanced down at his phone.

4:25.

Which meant he would have five minutes until he would be telling Logic how he felt.

And that was fine.

Fine.

Absolutely fine.

The worst thing that could happen would be Logic laughing, shutting the notebook, ripping off his brain piece of paper, and never talking to him again.

But that wouldn’t happen.

Right?

Urgggggg.

4:27.

How had two minutes passed without him even noticing!?

Virgil got to his feet, holding his notebook closed in his left hand while his right clung to the black pen he had found in the school hallway. He paced up and down his bedroom floor.

4:28.

What was he going to say?

Virgil wasn’t sure. He had flirted and kissed before, but they had all meant nothing, all been distractions from the real yearning for a boy he couldn’t meet.

And they had all been in. Fucking. Person. Virgil was good at the in-person shit. He knew how to place friendly touches, how to grab someone by the hand.

He did not know words.

He glanced back down at his phone.

4:32.

Shit!

Virgil hastily ripped his notebook open, flipped to the last page they had written on, and found Logic’s adorably messy writing already sprawled across it.

Great. Just great. Now they were starting this off late and terribly and Virgil really was going to throw up.

“Hi.” Logic had written in that green pen he always used when he was at his job. “It’s a little busier tonight than normal, so I might randomly disappear a couple of times, but it’s still light enough to talk.”

Virgil had barely finished reading them before he scribbled out in probably the messiest he had ever written since middle school; “That’s cool. Sorry, I’m late. I was-” nervous. Virgil scribbled out the I was. “I was I lost track of time.”

“It’s not an issue.” Logic’s response came instantly. “How was your day?”

Terrible. Virgil had barely been able to eat with the thought of being rejected plaguing him and focusing on school after his study block had been a complete no-go. Even drawing hadn’t come easy and drawing was his go-to way of centering himself.

“I wasn’t able to concentrate very well,” Virgil wrote. “And I think Mrs. Sullivan hates me now. She asked me a question and I didn’t know the answer so we just sat in silence for like a minute before she picked someone else.”

“What was the question?”

“How to find the area of a cylinder.”

“Do you-” A thick green line struck through the words. “Do you That sounds awful.”

Virgil’s lips curved up. “Were you going to ask me if I wanted the answer?”

“Yeah.” Even through paper, the response sounded sheepish. “However, I assumed that wasn’t the point of the story.”

Virgil leaped up onto his desk and placed his notebook on his lap. “Don’t worry, nerd. We went over it far too many times in class. I have that sequence of pain down flat.”

“Well. Good, I think.” There was a pause. “You had art class today right? Is your painting going well?”

Virgil’s painting was of a dark faceless nobody staring up at the storming sky around him. His teacher told him it was some of the best work they had ever seen, and Virgil had to admit, he was very proud of the dark yet somehow calming aura the painting gave off.

“I’ve about finished it.” Virgil flipped from the desk and landed on the balls of his feet. “If there was a way to send it to you, I would but… you know. Phone numbers don’t work.”

Logic took a full six minutes to get back to him. Somebody must’ve come up to his register.

By the time Logic’s scrawl did appear, Virgil was back to pacing along the length of his carpet. He had done it enough recently that a path mirrored the bottoms of his feet and the muscles of his thighs ached ever so slightly.

“I’ll see it when I meet you.” Logic sounded far more sure in that fact that Virgil was even on a good day. There was a pause. “Did-” Another pause. “-you say you have something to tell me?”

Virgil swallowed.

“Yeah.”

He swallowed again.

Had he been in person, he would’ve started by reaching out and covered Logic’s hand with his own. That, or flowers. Something simple and blue.

But Virgil had none of these assets on his side, so he had to work through the dumb brain of his and figure out exactly how he was going to say “I’m in love with you.”

“We’ve been friends for a very long time.”

“Yes.”

Logic’s quick response normally made him feel better. Right now, he wanted his nerd to shove a sock in it.

“And you’re very important to me.”

This time, Logic didn’t respond and somehow that was worse than the “yes” from earlier.

“But I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

The moment he had written it, Virgil nearly stabbed himself with the pen. Why on earth had he phrased it like that?

And it certainly didn’t help that Logic was still. Fucking. Silent.

God, he really was going to throw up.

“I mean, I do want to be friends.” Virgil sat down on the floor right in the middle of pacing. “But I don’t want to be friends.”

He stood back up and paced in a different direction than the latest path he had created in his rug.

This wasn’t working. He just had to say it.

“I’m in love with you.”

Still no reply.

Virgil swallowed around the golf ball in his throat and stared down at the words he had written. Twice, he almost reached up to cross them off, and both times he just managed to put his pen down.

Why wasn’t he responding?

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Virgil muttered to himself. “I’m sure…”

He flung the stupid notebook across the room. It hit his bedroom wall with an echoing crinkle before thumping to the floor.

He took a breath.

Another one.

Then walked open and re-picked up the notebook.

Where a green response was filling the area underneath.

“I admit, I’ve been harboring romantic feelings for you myself.” Virgil stopped breathing. “I don’t know if I could have convinced myself to confess so, thank you for doing so.”

The world, which had seemed so dark and angry before, was suddenly so vibrant and so full of color that it was impossible not to smile in. That golf ball in his throat faded and replaced itself with a light that forced Virgil to spin in a circle, arms flapping excitedly by his sides.

He froze halfway through his dance.

He should probably give Logic an answer.

“Really?” The word came out hurried. Still neat compared to Logics but nothing when it came to his usual writing. For some reason though, the messiness of it just didn’t seem to bother him.

“I would never tell you a falsehood, Purple.”

Urgggg, he was so smooth. And charming. And smart. And just… He was just perfect.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Virgil smiled down at the paper.

“Happy Valentine’s Day indeed.”

__

Logan graduated on June 2nd. His parents had managed to get a black graduation gown and when he walked up onto the run-down stage to get his diploma, the only thing he could think about was how much he wished Purple was here to share this moment with him.

His father had cried, but his father had always been a crier. The surprise had been when his mother had started crying; Logan had always pictured her as more stoic and firm than emotional.

But perhaps that’s what change did. It made messes out of us all.

Logan had accepted whatever his parents wanted from him throughout the day without complaint and managed to get a couple of hours to himself while they thought he was off hanging with friends. Now, at 1:23 am, Logan stared blankly down at his notebook.

He was exhausted. Admittedly, he had woken up aware he would be ending this day at the end of his rope, but there was always such a difference between knowing and feeling.

Purple’s neat script appeared on a blank page of his notebook like a hand reaching out to lift him from his drowning state.

“I know you’re asleep, but I just wanted to congratulate you. Already out of school. I still have five more days in this hellhole.”

It was so Purple check-in, insult school, and give Logan an out with a casual joke that actual tears bit behind Logan’s eyes. He blinked rapidly before placing the end of his pencil to paper and writing:

“You’ll be free of High School soon. Then we’ll be off to college.”

“Don’t remind me.”

A laugh choked its way out of Logan. “Are you still nervous?”

“I can’t imagine being anywhere but here. And there are so many things that could go wrong. Fucking taxes.” The writing paused. “Still, at least I’ll have you, right?”

“Always.”

“Anyway, shouldn’t you be sleeping? It’s-” a second paused, probably as Purple calculated whatever time it was there. “1:31?! Dude, go to sleep! You must be exhausted!”

“I am.” Logan reached up to run his hands over the blue pen Purple’s appeared to be writing in. “Today was very taxing.”

“You knew it would be. I don’t envy all that social interaction.”

“You’ll have to experience it in 8 days.”

“Bitch.”

That brought a bit of sparkle back to Logan’s eyes, but he still wasn’t smiling.

“How’d it go?”

How’d it go?

Logan had managed to stay polite the whole time. The plastered content look on his face had only ever dropped to pull a smile when his parents hugged him or pictures were necessary. He had shaken every hand that came his way, accepted every “congratulations” and every “well done.” He’d even managed to keep from grimacing at words like “if that the genius?”

“Everyone couldn’t seem to resist the urge to compliment me on getting in ------ on a free ride.” Shit. He had forgotten the stupid thing wouldn’t let them name colleges. “The college I got into.”

“I figured.” Purple’s words came quickly after. “It is very impressive.”

Purple’s compliment did what no other compliment had done all day; it brought a true smile onto Logan’s face and even managed to pull a bit of a blush.

“It must’ve been exhausting,” Purple wrote. “I probably would’ve had a breakdown.”

Honestly, yeah. You probably would’ve.

“I got a few hours to myself but it wasn’t enough to properly-” he pursed his lips and tried to figure out how to phrase everything- “-recuperate.”

“Then you should be sleeping.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Logan could practically hear the humor dripping from each word Purple wrote. “Fucking sap.”

“Yeah,” he wrote tiredly. “I guess so.” He stared silently down at the notebook. “I wish you were here.”

Purple didn’t respond and Logan shoved the book away. He was just so… tired. Of only having these strings connecting him to someone he loved. To his best friend. To his boyfriend.

“I wish I was there too.” Purple words were smaller than normal, and slower written. “We’ll be moving for colleges. Me with my art school, you with your big brain scholarship.”

Logan cracked a smile.

“Maybe we’ll find each other then.”

His hand reached up to trace each letter, starting from then and working its way up to “we’ll.” It came to a stuttering stop before it could reach the word “Maybe.”

“I certainly hope so.”

__

Top Art Schools. In America. Logan’s mind whirled as he stared at the library computer screen and the stupid blinking line asking him what he wanted to write.

The time zones hadn’t changed. Logan had moved from Florida to M.I.T. in Massachusetts, so he hadn’t shifted over. And Purple had moved from… well, whatever state he lived in to… perhaps the same state, perhaps a different one. He had remained in Pacific Time either way.

Which meant his Art School had to be in California, Nevada, Oregon, Washington, or the very tip of Idaho.

His fingers flew across the keyboard.

There were 454 art schools in California. Oregon didn’t give him a number for how many art schools, but there were over 100 colleges in all. 26 colleges in Nevada, 6 in Washington (although, more than 300 independent), and 15 in Idaho.

Which meant he had around 601 colleges to go through.

It was a lot. It was more than just a lot, but it gave him a place to start, it was doable, and Logan figured he could easily knock at least half of those out given Purple’s descriptions of them. Probably more, if things went well.

He scribbled all of this down in his notebook, along with his general plans on how to find him, before snapping it shut and making his way out of the library and towards his dorm room.

He checked his notebook on the way over.

“This seems like a lot of work,” Purple had written. “Do you really think we can do it?”

Logan paused in the middle of the walkway and pulled his pencil out from behind his ear.

“Yeah, we can do it,” he wrote firmly. “I’ve got resources and time. I’ll even build a program to sort through it all.”

“Lol. You fucking nerd.”

Logan smiled at the words.

“I’ll do it too. I won’t be as good as you because I’m not big brain-” Logan drew a large “X” over “I’m not big brain” while Purple wrote- “but I’ll be looking for you too.”

“That would be ideal.”

He left the notebook open, in case Purple decided to keep talking, but continued on his way up to his dorm room. Logan didn’t linger, though he did give his first in-person friend, Janus Drake, a wave before grabbing an energy drink and a bag of grapes and promptly turning right out the door.

Logan didn’t have enough money yet for a computer that would actually manage to support his work, though he was saving up for it. The library, however, was a familiar area and he was honestly much more comfortable there than he was in any of these ridiculously rich hangouts.

He situated himself at a very nice desk, opened his list of names, and looked through it. Everything had been organized by state and then by rank. Logan was planning on working through the top 10 of each state (or all six in Washington's case) and then continuing from there.

It couldn’t be that hard.

At 3 am, Logan got a text from Janus telling him that if he didn’t drag his ass back to the room and go to sleep, Janus would rip every single one of his books into pieces.

It was just as well. Logan had managed to search through the freshman class of all six Washington, ten Oregon, and had decided he might as well go through all of Idaho as well. He had been about to start Cali when the text had come through and frankly, Logan had done a lot for the day.

He scribbled all of his down in the notebook, told Janus he would be right up and shut down the computer.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon he would find Purple.

Soon turned out to be the very next day.

After his Genetics course, Logan made his way right back over to the library, sat back down on the computer, and opened the top art school in California: The University of California. Its Master of Fine Arts degree at UCLA was ranked No. 1 by U.S. News & World Report. Logan could easily see Purple making his way into that.

Slowly he flipped through the freshman class, looking for the symbol he and Purple promised they would always be wearing. The one still safety-pinned onto his chest and the one decorating practically all of the jewelry Logan knew Purple wore.

And…

There.

Logan’s heart leaped into his throat as he regarded the young man he saw on the computer screen.

He was easily the most beautiful person Logan had ever seen.

The man had black hair that ended in a tipped purple fringe. There was a single shaved line going through his right eyebrow that emphasized the glittering near-black eyes that gazed into the photograph. His skin was a warm dark brown. The man was not smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. He wore a large black sweatshirt, covered in large purple patches. But what Logan’s eyes strayed to, and what had his eyes burning, was the patch sewn into the sweatshirt and the metal symbol hanging from around his neck.

Logan had every single line of that goddamn stormcloud memorized.

He looked down at the name and read it over several times, letting the words sound within his head and fully settle within him.

Virgil Casey.

“Vir-gil.” Logan sounded out. He ignored the glances from other students. “Virgil.”

He had a name. He had a location.

From that point on, it was ridiculously easy to find his phone number and the social media accounts Virgil had created. And see that every single one of them had a single picture on it.

The stormcloud.

An actual tear slid down Logan’s face. He wiped it away furiously and ripped open the notebook.

“You’re beautiful.” He wrote. Another stupid tear slid down his face, only to be sliced away by a quick hand. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Virgil got back to him faster than Logan expected. “You found me?”

He responded not on paper, but by a picture of the little brain with glasses Virgil had drawn for him years and years ago, sent over text.

__

The text noise startled Virgil, but he practically fell over himself in his desperation to reach it. He tried to open it, but the stupid face recognition wasn’t working and then he put in the wrong passcode three fucking times-

Please, please, please, please…

It was a picture of a piece of paper, cut into a neat circle and placed upon a light brown tabletop. A safety pin was open and still stuck through the top of it.

It was him.

It was Logic.

An actual sob ripped out of Virgil and his knees banged into the wooden floor of his dorm room. Roman, his roommate, glanced over at him in alarm but Virgil had eyes only for the screen, for his genius boyfriend who had somehow managed to find him through nothing but the words “Art School” and basic time zones in 2 days.

“Logic?” Virgil’s fingers could barely find the letters to type what he needed, barely even hold the phone up. Breath still in his lungs as those fucking dots appeared, letting him know Logic was typing, letting him know…

“My name is Logan Berry.”

Tears slid down Virgil’s face, ruining the makeup he had put on that day, but Virgil didn’t care, didn’t care about anything other than-

“Where are you?”

“MIT. I’m in MA.”

MIT.

Of course. Of course, his genius was able to get into a school like MIT. Virgil should’ve known to look at the school that had beaten fucking Harvard in the ranking, at least according to Newsweek.com.

“I can’t believe you found me.” Virgil swallowed noisily against the egg-sized ball in his throat. “I can’t believe I know your name. I didn’t think I would ever meet you.”

“I admit, I was beginning to lose hope as well.”

Another sob wrecked Virgil at the words. He wiped his eyes, ignoring the staring from Roman, and texted:

“Picture?”

“I’m a mess.”

“I don’t care.”

It took a second for the next image to download.

Logan was in a library because of course, he was. He appeared to have found a corner without many people, which Virgil was certain was a skill he had cultivated over the years.

Virgil couldn’t drink him in fast enough.

He was white, with ocean blue eyes that Virgil could’ve spent hours looking into, memorizing every single shine to it. They were red-rimmed at the moment, surrounded by glasses, and there were enough streaks down his pink face to let Virgil know that Logan was crying as well- though apparently not nearly as hard as Virgil.

That didn’t surprise him.

His hair was brown, short, and neat and fit the aesthetic of the blue tie he wore and black dress-shirt.

He was…

He was perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

Virgil pulled the phone to his chest and hugged the picture as if somehow that could transfer the warmth over and tell Logan, tell the boy he had been friends with since practically the moment he was born, that he was there. That he…

“I love you,” Virgil texted. “I love you so much.”

Logan’s response came immediately. “I love you too, Virgil.”

The mere thought of his name on Logan’s lips had Virgil crying all over again.

__

The airport was packed but Virgil did not mind shoving a few people out of his way as he headed towards the exit he and Logan had decided to meet at. One hand fell behind him, pulling the suitcase along as he headed over the other trembled at his side, mirroring the way he kept playing with his sweatshirt strings and pulling his hood up, only to shove it back down again.

The exit was in view. A few people stood around it: parents probably looking for their child to fly home, a random girl, and….

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat.

He was shorter than Virgil had expected. For some reason, Virgil had always pictured Logan towering over him, but Logan looked to be only about an inch taller than Virgil. He shifted from foot to foot, and now and then a hand would come up to shove his black-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“Logan?”

Logan turned to him. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. Virgil stepped forward unsure what to do with his body; arms hung like noodles at his sides and his legs remained stiff upon the floor.

“Virgil?”

Virgil swallowed. “Yeah.”

Logan took a step forward and suddenly, they were both moving. Virgil wasn’t quite sure exactly when he had dropped his suitcase, or how his body had known what he wanted but suddenly he was wrapping his arms around Logan’s back, and Logan’s arms were tight against his.

Virgil placed his head into the crick of Logan’s neck and let out a loud sob. He pulled Logan closer, trying to get every single part of them to touch, and knowing it would never be enough, never enough to satisfy those long long years of distance.

They swayed back and forth, neither one wanting to let go. When they did finally step back, Logan’s hand slid up to cup Virgil’s face- and Virgil’s own remained around Logan’s waist, holding him as close as he would without losing the ability to study him.

Virgil had thought he was hot from pictures.

It was absolutely nothing compared to the real thing.

Freckles patterned across his nose, light enough to not be noticeable through the lens. His eyes were even bluer than Virgil thought possible and there was a smile on his face that nearly brought Virgil to the floor.

Logan’s thumbs brushed away Virgil’s tears with one hand, but new ones simply surged to replace them. His own tears were sliding down his face, though much quieter and much less than Virgil’s.

“You’re even more beautiful in person.”

“That’s what I was going to say,” Virgil sobbed. “Asshole.” Logan’s smile was soft, delicate, and so utterly him that Virgil couldn’t help but reach up and trace over his lips with his right hand and enjoy the kiss Logan peppered to it.

“May I kiss you?” Logan asked.

Virgil answered by surging forward and pressing their lips together. Heat spread across his whole body, especially as Logan made a quiet noise and opened his mouth, arms settling into Virgil’s hair. His lips tingled and the feeling only spread as Virgil pressed as close as he could to his best friend, to his boyfriend, to his soulmate.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were smiling.

[elliotalbatross]

For new roleplays haha.

Hey hi hello howdy! My name is Elliot, I’m a 26 year old from New England (EDT) with over 10+ years of off and on rping experience and I’ve decided to try to jump back into rping online again. I’m currently banging out a degree in professional writing and boy am I sick to death of writing reading responses, so here I am I guess. I also work a full-time job, so while I like to say I’m active, I’m not always available.

I generally like long-form posts, (at least more than a few paragraphs to multiple paragraphs), written in third person/past tense. No asterisks or one sentence replies, please.

Faceclaims and all that are awesome, but I generally like to avoid already established characters/anime character faceclaims.

I play characters of all genders/orientations, and generally prefer original characters over fandoms. That being said I love fandom-inspired roleplays- TLOU, ATLA, Stranger Things, etc are all wonderful inspiration for plots and characters. Also if I get really into it there’s a 100% chance of a pinterest board, playlist, etc, and I’m looking for partners who would be equally invested or at the very least open to those sorts of things.

I’m looking for a partner who is active (at least post once a day/week), who is communicative (OOC chat is really important to me! If you don’t want to be best friends I get that but at least let me know where the scene’s going, haha). Must be at least 20+ in age, I’d like partners who are in a similar age group to me.

NSFW to be discussed but it’s not a huge factor in my writing and I don’t like plots that revolve around that sort of thing.

I’m looking for modern dark fantasy/romance plots at the moment!

This includes:

Vampire/hunter

Vampire/human

Ghost/living person

Fae/human

Demon/human

Witch/vampire

Witch/familiar

A few plots I’ve had in mind lately are:

*A bar in the middle of a big city flaunts a weird policy- anyone who donates blood that night gets free drinks the next night, or free drinks in exchange for donating blood later on in the night.

#1. Your character gets hired as an unassuming busser in the upstairs bar, not really believing in the rumors about the downstairs venue, until one night the boss asks them to cover and they find out first hand.

#2. Your character wakes up after a night of heavy drinking to a random man on their couch. They start to freak out but he laughs and reminds them that they promised to become a regular donor to him the night before at the bar.

#3. A vampire and their vampire hunter enemy meet at the bar one night to have a drink together after they realize that they’re almost on the same side about an ongoing social issue and realize they have much more in common than you’d think.

*A cute bakery in an unassuming city does really well for itself. The baked goods are scrumptious and adorable, and the old man who runs the bakery has a huge garden in the back. He is well liked and known to his community, but the neighbors think he’s a witch. You had a bad day and bought a donut at the bakery after work? You found $50 on the subway on your commute home! Sad about a break up so you bought a cookie the size of your head to eat your feelings? Your inbox is flooded with friends and family who want to support you after the break up! His grandchild has recently moved in to take care of him in his old age, and one day a weird crow starts following them around in the garden. Shenanigans ensue.

Anyway if none of these plots interest you, I promise we can come up with something!

I like to use discord for writing, so that’s also a thing. So uhh message me here and we’ll go from there! Can’t wait to hear from you.

[labellerose-acheron]

The Acheron Cottage -- aka Swynlake’s Burrow

This is a REBOOT of the first in a series that one day may be complete but also may never be complete. As most of you know I’m like a huge #spatial person in my writing, so all my character’s houses/apartments/living spaces are really well mapped out in my brain? And I thought it’d be fun for people to see. (And a good reference for those who may RP in those spaces at some point.) 

And since we just did a whole plot where Hades and Belle renovated their house, I thought I would update their floorplan! (Also, because I’m super obsessed with this magical house.) 

@trip-downtheriverstyx, @lou-bonfightme

Overview:

The Acheron cottage is now a 3 ½ (from 1 ½) bath, 6 bedroom cottage that was built in the 1700s sometime most likely and finished renovations in late June of 2021. Due to the fact the house is now four floors, taller than most of the trees in the area, and most of the surrounding houses are only 2 floor simple farmhouses and cottages, it sticks out a bit in the landscape, not to mention its haphazard leaning-tower of Piza style architecture. The new floors look like they were just kind of slapped onto the original house. (Think the Burrow.) 

It is on 5 acres of land and backs up against the woods. There is a small stable and pasture on the land, as well as a large garden. It’s located in Southwest Swynlake, a few minutes walk from the local stable. There are neighboring farms, but they’re far enough away to not really count as proper neighbors.

Assume that all walls that are not covered by windows or other things (like closets) are full of books. The walls alternate between painted wood paneling and stone. Floors are wood except for the mud room, which are stone. The garden is shown in every photo, in order to orient yourself with which way the rooms are facing. 

Residents: 

Belle Acheron, Hades Acheron, Toulouse Bonfamille, Opal Acheron, Aidan Acheron, Bellamy Acheron, Arthur the ghost, other ghosts, chickens!, Philippe, Angus, the Black Shuck, Victoire, Vincent, Honoré, and Lord Voltaire Scalington, Destroyer of Universes.

**note: pictures in the aesthetic are to give an overall #feel of the house, but don’t necessarily indicate the exact furniture/decorations/floorplan. the floorplan, on the other hand is not quite to scale but i did the best i could.

1. Entryway

When you first walk into the house on your left is a row of hooks (made out of various odds and ends), on which to hang jackets. To your right is a little table and a mirror, probably plants added (thanks, Toulouse.) The hallway is wide but short and opens up into the living room area. The stairs are directly across from the front door. You can also see all the way through into the kitchen from the entryway.

2. Living Room

The living room is the most spacious room in the house and has remained so, even though other parts of the house were expanded. There is a large window seat beneath the front window. Two chairs and a couch are situated near the fireplace, which is dressed in the original brick, these are new pieces of furniture. It was painted a very pale, fading yellow, but now is painted a pale blue. Furniture is cozy and neutral colors (couch is a coffee colour and leather to prevent staining, chairs are a nice maroon colour, picked out by Lou with Hades’ influence). Lots of blankets (because Belle gets cold easily) and books along all the walls. A carpet is laid down beneath the couch/chairs. 

These days, there are a few family portraits in spaces on bookshelves and above the mantel: one from Belle and Hades’ wedding, of the just the two of them and one of the whole wedding party; pictures of the children and with Toulouse, of course. Also, a picture of Belle’s mother has a place of importance among one of the shelves. There is also a picture of Persephone reading with Vincent in her old room. There is also evidence of children: toys and such littered about. It is rarely ever fully clean, no matter how fuitally Hades tries. The living room–as well as the rest of the house–is home to several clocks–on walls, on shelves, etc. Belle’s father was a clockmaker and Belle and him used to fiddle with the broken ones–made them tell time backwards or too fast or only every other hour. Belle and Hades’ chess table moved from the mudroom into the living room, near the fireplace. There is almost always a game in progress.

If one has a keen eye, they will notice there are no logs by the fire, nor soot in the fireplace. Yet, often, an eerie blue fire will be burning in it during the colder months.

3. Kitchen

The kitchen was the room that increased in size the most. The wall where the stove is was knocked out and pushed backwards to shift everything to the left. It now boasts copious counterspace, as well as a large island that is usually cluttered with mail and children’s things. Refrigerator, stove, oven, no dishwasher (which is probably the bane of Hades’ existence since Belle hates doing dishes and Lou doesn’t know how.) Cabinets are cherry wood; some are refurbished, and the new ones were made to match the originals. 

Window over the sink looks out over the horse pasture in the distance (a few meters from the house.) Big, gorgeous window overlooking the garden in the “breakfast nook” area. Dining table is a cherry wood to match the cabinets and has eight matching chairs. Usually, the chairs are pushed to the walls, except for ones that are needed. This room is home to the only clock that is not digital that works in the entire house. It’s on the window ledge above the sink and was the first clock that Belle ever fixed by herself.

4. Mudroom

Where Belle always comes in from her horse rides, the door of which leads out into the garden and beyond. This is where winter clothes are stored and muddy shoes are piled by the door. It has a stone floor and is generally the coldest room in the house. The laundry machine and dryer are in this room. It used to be where Belle and Hades played chess. Now, their chess table can be found in the living room. 

5. Guest Restroom

There is a new bathroom in the mudroom, for guests and the family to use conveniently. (And for Belle to clean up when coming from outside, Hades loves it.) It is just a sink and toilet but it is much better than making everyone go upstairs when they come over.

6. The Garden

The garden was neglected for a long while, since it was Belle’s mother’s. Originally it was full of just rose bushes, but many of them had died due to neglect (whoops). Persephone managed to save a few but the ones that couldn’t be, she and Belle (with the help of Haku) ripped them out and replaced them with different vegetables and flowers. It has a low brick wall around it. It backs up almost right to the woods. It is now Toulouse’s space and he will make it beautiful, with roses and other flowers and different fruits and vegetables. The opening at the top of it leads down to the pastures and off to the right of the garden is where the woods are.

7. Hallway

There is really nothing special about the hallway. It’s actually quite blank. There are more bookshelves though, which used to make the hallway a bit of a tight squeeze but they had to expand the wall in order to include stairs going up to the third floor, so it is more spacious now (though, not by a lot.) 

8. Toulouse’s Room

This room used to be Persephone’s. It is currently Opal’s. However, it will, one day, be Toulouse’s, so I am going to describe that set up. 

As you can see from the floor plan, there are copious amounts of plants in his room. He probably has very nice silky sheets--a dark green, maybe, with green walls. He has a long bookshelf among the far wall. On top of this is Voltaire’s tank. Probably a few paintings hung up and a dresser. The door that looks like it goes to nowhere? Oh, yeah. That’s his ever-expanding magical closet. It is a walk-in and is spelled to expand the more he needs it to. It exists now, but it has a child-proof magic lock on it so that Opal cannot get into it, lol. There is a cat tower for Honoré, though both of the cats hang out in Lou’s room, because Vincent is used to it too bc it used to be Persephone’s room. 

There is a dog bed in the corner for Victoire, though she usually just sleeps with Lou, if Hades isn’t staying the night with him. 

9. Belle’s Room

This room used to be Belle’s, it’s the room she grew up in. However, right now it is currently the twins’ room. However, one day it will go back to being Belle’s, so I am going to describe that set up.

A bit more spacious than the other room (but not by too much) Belle’s room is equipped with a closet, though it isn’t that big, as well as bookshelves all along the walls. There is also a reading nook in one corner with a window seat in it that Maurice built for her (which is why it’s in such a kooky spot) and it is probably Belle’s favourite spot in the whole house (after her secret office). The walls were repainted in a splendid sky blue. Her bedsheets are blue with little flower designs on them. Belle actually doesn’t spend a whole lot of time in her room, except for when she’s getting ready for bed. And I’d say she sleeps in Hades’ room probably 2 nights a week tops, but usually less than that, tbh. 

10. Bathroom

Just your standard bathroom, nothing fancy about it. I assume Belle’s house runs on well water and it takes forever to get warm, which is the bane of everyone’s existence, especially Toulouse. This will mostly be his bathroom in the future, as Belle will take baths and such in the master bathroom.

11. Master Bedroom (Hades’ Room)

Biggest room in the house. It used to be Belle’s parents, and then Belle’s father’s. It has been Hades’ ever since he moved in. It is the neatest in the house because Hades is a tyrant about that and so even Belle’s things must be cleaned up. There’s a bedside drawer on either side of the bed, each has their own matching lamp. I imagine the bedsheets are like, extremely boring actually, like legitimately just white or a pale gray. There is also a space in this room, probably by the window, with arm chairs and a little table, where there is a chess board set up so Belle and Hades can play here too. 

On the main dresser at the top, there is a jewelry stand for Hades’ various necklaces and bracelets. There is also a watch stand. 

The walk-in closet is also extremely neat; Hades has an entire shelf for shoes which is neat of him. 

The door that looks like it goes to nowhere? Oh, yeah. That’s Belle and Hades’ secret office. More on that in the section below. ~~

12. Master Bathroom

This only gets its own shout out because a) it is where Opal was born, b) I wanted the secret office to be #13, lol, c) I have a few headcanons about it. Mostly that Belle still uses it to do most of her nighttime routine stuff, because I feel like her and Hades probably have a groove going at this point and I think it’s cute. Also, she takes a lot of baths, so she’s in there all the time. She gets ready in the hallway bathroom in the morning though, since she gets up before Hades.

It is ALSO very neat, very clean counters lol and there are lots of skin products neatly arranged in drawers. He probably cleans up every morning after Belle from the night before, lmao. (Though, she DOES respect the bathroom as His Space and cleans up after herself, just...not to his standards.)

13. Belle and Hades’ Secret Office

It has a special rune on it that locks it unless you know the way in and can disappear if you want to hide it. Inside, Belle and Hades have hidden some of their more precious artifacts and books, things that they don’t want to get into the wrong hands. 

The tan couch from the living room has been brought up to it, since it was getting far too small for the space downstairs and Belle didn’t want to get rid of it since it held so much sentimental value to them. The window looks out over the garden below, though it doesn’t actually exist to be looking out into the garden. From the outside, you cannot see it at all. It simply doesn’t exist. 

Most everything in it is new. There is a lovely circular oak table in the middle, with matching chairs, and bookshelves surrounding all available walls. The desk labeled A is Hades and the desk labeled B is Belle’s, and they are both oak to match the table and custom fitted to the room. There is also a cabinet next to the couch that has a vault-like magic’ed drawer where they can hide things.  

14. Bellamy’s Room

Eventually, this room will be Bellamy’s when the twins stop sharing a room by the time they’re about 13/14. Until then, it will be used The smallest of the three upstairs rooms. Some people might assume that Bellamy got it by default because he is technically the youngest, but he’s actually quite fine with it. He is the most like his mother when it comes to his living spaces. AKA -- he is a squirrel and likes his cozy little nest that is much messier than either of his siblings. He’s that person that puts clothes in drawers with one hand while reading with the other. 

15. Opal’s Room

Eventually, this room will be Opal’s. She’ll probably move up there when she’s like five or six, idk whatever the appropriate age would be for a kid to be more or less self-sufficient in the regard of going to sleep/getting up. In the meantime, it will probably be Lou’s because it looks out over the garden. Which means she will probably get a lot of leftover plants from him because he won’t want to disturb them. 

It is probably like a nice soft purple color or something right now. Opal constantly changes it. She repaints the room at least once a year and gets yelled at by her parents for rearranging her furniture at 2am sometimes. Also, the armchair in her room is the rocking chair that was in her nursery. 

16. Aidan’s Room

At first, this room will be both Bellamy and Aidan’s because it is the biggest of the three upstairs rooms. The bed with the book on it is Bellamy’s and the one that is empty is Aidan’s. They don’t mind sharing really and I imagine won’t get in lots of arguments about things. 

Because they are mediums, they both stay up late though they know not to disturb their parents or they’ll earn their wrath so they learn early on how to solve their own problems if they are getting on each other’s nerves. Their room is probably painted a nice pale yellow. Their biggest argument is probably closet space, because I could see Aidan being a fashionista and encroaching on Bellamy’s space and him getting annoyed about it. 

17. Children’s Bathroom

It’s a bathroom? I don’t know. There are probably lots of fights about who gets to use it first in the mornings and people taking too long. Though, there are other bathrooms that people can use. I imagine there are mornings where one of the kids just marches into Hades’ room like ALL THE BATHROOMS ARE TAKEN, I’M USING YOURS! 

What I’m saying is that privacy is an issue in this house, lmao. Yes, they expanded, but everyone is still living on top of each other.

18. Library

What? I thought there were books all over the house? Why do they need a library? 

Because there will always be more books in the house! Also, they needed another room to escape for anyone in the family who might need it. Feel like Bellamy will haunt it most often as he grows older, but Belle will go there too rather frequently. She likes to be surrounded by books. There is another chess table here (yes, that makes three.) Sometimes, Hades and Belle will sneak off to the library just to play a game of chess without being disturbed, because they don’t keep one in the office. (The office is for working, the library is for relaxation.) 

It is probably quite small actually and with a low, gabled ceiling. Floor to ceiling bookshelves all the way around the walls. 

19. Toulouse’s Studio

Unattached to the rest of the house and above Hades’ garage, is Toulouse’s art studio. To get in you have to climb a spiral iron staircase. On the west side of the studio are floor to ceiling windows that look out over the forest. On the south side of the studio is another large window (though, not floor to ceiling), that looks towards the house/the garden/the horse pastures beyond. Beneath this window is his desk. To the left of his desk is a long workbench with several stools where his woodworking and other projects will be. 

His favorite spot to paint is the place with the stool and empty easel, near the large floor-to-ceiling windows. There are also multiple plants in the room, scattered throughout. The couch actually pulls out into a bed, though it is rarely used. Sometimes, if Lou is in one of his moods, or if he just gets stuck on a project, he will stay the night in his studio.

This is Lou’s space and Belle/Hades rarely go in it, except to fetch him for dinner or whatnot. Sometimes, though, Opal will join him in it. She is the only one brave enough to put up with Lou when he’s in a bad mood and doesn’t want to be disturbed. It is also where she goes when she gets in fights with Belle and Hades, lol. Lou is the indulgent parent and everyone would rather she ran away to Lou’s art studio than to like...the wilds. 

[giftwrappingpaper]

wangxian vampire au

featuring vampire hunter lwj and shitty vampire wwx

-----

It was supposed to be an ordinary, by-the-numbers hunt. With an illustrious monster hunting career under his belt, Lan Wangji hadn’t thought much of it when his guild forwarded him the typical rumors of a small village recently plagued with vampire attacks. There was even a potential location for its den in the form of a nearby manor, long abandoned since its last inhabitants were murdered a century ago.

His subsequent investigation into the rumors proved to be more concerning; not for fear of great violence, but rather the lack of it. An air of levity permeated the village and its inhabitants, as if it hadn’t been recently targeted by a dangerous beast. As if there weren’t villagers and cattle alike with telltale signs of a vampire bite who curiously, after closer inspection, only lost enough to fill a thimble.

And then there were the village folk themselves.

“You mean Wei Wuxian?” Nie Huaisang, a local artist, said in one of Lan Wangji’s cursory village interviews. “I’d ask if you didn’t hunt one of my most generous patrons, Hunter Lan. Just last week he’d paid my rent five times over!”

“Unfortunately,” Jiang Wanyin, the local sheriff, said when Lan Wangji asked if he was aware of the regional vampiric patronage going around. “His habit of throwing money around has been a pillar of this village’s economy for decades now. So we put up with the guy, despite him being both a vampire and annoying as all hell.”

“He hates blood,” Wen Qing, the village doctor, stated during Lan Wangji’s visit to the local clinic; he had been searching for the vampire’s victims in hopes of an interview, but found that none had even visited the clinic after being bitten. “Well, most types of blood. There are certain types he tolerates, but he’s picky enough that the vials I sometimes bring him are the only sustenance I know of that he can stomach.”

At that, an unconvinced Lan Wangji asked, “Why would a vampire so repulsed by blood —“ already a ludicrous concept “— bite two villagers and a cow in a single night?”

At this point, despite consistent testimony throughout each interview, he was still unwaveringly skeptical about the supposed character of this “Wei Wuxian.” For even though he made it a habit to see the best in people, the claims spouted by these villagers conflicted with every teaching Lan Wangji had stood for since leaving his mother’s womb.

Wen Qing rolled her eyes and supplied him with a fairly useless answer: “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” 

Miffed at what was turning out to be a rather unconventional hunt, Lan Wangji set out to do just that. He’d already been here for nearly a couple of days, and the traps he’d laid around the village border weren’t enough to entice the vampire to bite (ha). 

Blood bait, this time. Collecting blood samples from a few villagers as well as himself, he set up another set of traps, more sophisticated than the last, around the forest that surrounded the vampire’s manor instead of the village itself. Hopefully its close proximity would be enough to lure out the beast. No matter how blase the villagers — who were reacting to Lan Wangji’s preparations the way a mother would react to her child’s first piano recital — were in regards to a vampire in their vicinity, he knew he needed to dispose of it quickly before it began a killing spree.

A week passed. No success.

No matter. Unspoiled bait was the logical next course of action — so he called for the aid of local volunteers, and waited with the ensuing party of virgins at the village square throughout the night. 

A few hours in without a single vampire sighting, he began doubting the validity of the volunteers’ virginal status, but decided to nonetheless wait it out. The rising sun made Lan Wangji blink away the inherent fatigue of staying up all night, and the vampire still didn’t come.

Lan Wangji had never been met with such failure before. Fed up with standing idle, he decided that now was the time for action. Diving head-first into a possible vampire den was a risky move, but judging by the villagers’ tales of the vampire’s ineptitude, it lived alone and wouldn’t put much of a fight when faced head on. So when the sun was at its highest point in the sky, he barged into the manor with Bichen and his silver-tipped crossbow at the ready, expecting the worst.

He was met with nothing. As he crept around the manor, he deduced that it seemed more like the home of an eccentric than a mythical bloodsucking beast. Mountains of stuff lined the manor’s interior, ranging from artistically ambitious portraits to antique candelabras. Strewn across any available flat surface were schematics of half thought-out contraptions Lan Wangji could only imagine what their functions were. The parlour was the most uncluttered of the rooms, with a homely lounge area and a stocked liquor cabinet, its setup optimized to entertain at least a dozen guests.

What sort of vampire entertained guests?

Best not to dwell too much into it until the creature was dead. The lower floor was empty, so he made his way upstairs. As unoccupied as the floor below. Maybe he overlooked something outside? He could scout around the manor’s expansive gardens, of which there was a curiously thriving radish garden. But just as he was about to start another outside search, he heard a soft shuffle over his head and through the ceiling. 

Ah. There was an attic.

His patience long since fizzled out, Lan Wangji yet again forgoed a stealthy entrance. Once he spotted the ceiling attic door, he stomped his way up the pull-out staircase to face the target of by far the most frustrating hunts of his career.

As soon as he entered the attic and registered the scene before him, he took a moment for himself to stare.

Unlike the rest of the manor, the attic was in fact occupied; only, the man who occupied it stood stockstill against its darkest corner with a look of utter terror on his face. His body was awkwardly contorted in such a way that he was cast in shadow — in some places only a hair's breadth away from the thin beams of light that streamed through the uneven paneling of the attic’s outer wall, as well as its fully open window, effectively pinning him where he stood.

“Oh, thank everything that is holy,” the man, who is definitely a vampire, said with relief. “Please, good sir, could you please do me a favor and draw that curtain and plug those holes?”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth. Closed it. Then said, “You’re Wei Wuxian?” when really he should have dragged the beast out of the shadows and into the damning sunlight, because of course it was.

“How — oh, you’re the hunter everyone’s been warning me about!” was the vampire’s reply. The stiffness of its absurd posture slackened in surprise, but immediately straightened when its arm grazed the edge of sunlight. The barest hint of smoke sizzled from the contact.

Damn those villagers; really, Lan Wangji should’ve seen the betrayal coming. But before he could take further action, the vampire had the audacity to smile, fangs and all, at him, and say, “I was warned beforehand of your intentions, though I must say how surprised I am no one had thought to mention just how handsome you are.”

This was not the first time a target had tried flattery as a way to escape Lan Wangji’s sword. It was, however, the first time one had done so when in such a predicament: trapped into a corner of its own home by poor woodwork and an open window. 

Lan Wangji couldn’t help but feel a drop of pity at such a surprisingly human but nonetheless pathetic display.

He said to the beast, “I am not sure you should be commenting on my appearance right now, considering your…current predicament.”

The beast’s — Wei Wuxian — face fell. “I lost track of time!” he bemoaned. “I somehow fell asleep while cleaning my attic, and when I woke up...well.”

Suddenly, all the tales the villagers spun about the vampire’s ineptitude began to make sense.

“You attacked two people at the neighboring village,” Lan Wangji recounted, taking a step forward. “And a cow.”

“I was hungry.” Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose; a far too human quirk. “Wen Qing hadn’t come by in a while so I decided to…but I barely even hurt them! They’re blood tasted way too gross, so I left after only having a sip.” He frowned, a guilty expression on his face. “I tried to get rid of the taste with cow’s blood, but then it looked at me with its huge cow eyes and started mooing really sadly, so I let the poor guy go.”

Never, throughout the entirety of Lan Wangji’s career, had he seen a more pitiful sight. It almost made him feel bad about killing him. However, strangely pathetic target aside, Lan Wangji had a job to do. 

He took another step. Even cast in shadow, he was close enough to see the telltale signs of Wei Wuxian’s vampiric nature: his pale pallor, his clawed hands, his red eyes. He could see Wei Wuxian’s face, too; which, a moment before, had been smiling at him. Protruding fangs aside, his smile was nice. As was his general appearance. If Wei Wuxian had been human, Lan Wangji would consider him handsome.

Wait. What?

Misinterpreting Lan Wangji’s approach, Wei Wuxian perked up — as much one could when frozen in a pose reminiscent of a ballerina mid-pirouette  — and said, his smile returning, “Ah, good. My muscles were just about to start to cramp.”

Maybe he was too distracted. Of course this bizarre interaction was preventing Lan Wangji from continuing his hunt, filling his mind with enough wayward thoughts to distract him. Did vampire arms usually bend that way? Did vampires usually have the capacity to be stupid enough to lose track of time and fall asleep next to an open window? Did vampires usually have smiles that seemed so kind?

Okay. No. Slow down.

Lan Wangji shook his head, as if that would help with much. “You seem convinced that I will help you,” he said, “despite knowing who I am, and why I am here.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him. Vampires did not blink. Why the hell was he blinking. 

“You seem like a nice guy, if a bit intense,” he said. “At least, that’s what Wen Qing told me. And I already explained this whole misunderstanding. I’m certain you won’t find anyone in the village that’s actually mad at me for what happened.”

He was right — Lan Wangji hadn’t. “That doesn’t change the fact that my job is to kill beasts like you.”

“But I didn’t do anything?”

“That doesn’t —” Lan Wangji exhaled heavily through his nose. He shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of casting aside his duty for — what? An admittedly attractive vampire who was already entirely at his mercy? All vampires were considered, by human standards, attractive. This one was no different.

Belatedly, he realized that, at one point during what was turning out to be one of the strangest conversations of his life, Lan Wangji had strapped his crossbow to his back holster and unsheathed Bichen, his hand already off its hilt.

“Look,” Wei Wuxian said, voice frustratingly placating, “you seem a bit tense. Why don’t we go downstairs? Sit down and have a chat. Healthy discussion, moral debate, all that shit. Then you can decide if you still want to kill me based solely on preconceived notions of my species. I had some friends over last night and I still have food left if you’re hungry.”

Lan Wangji frowned.

“People food. Like, food that isn’t people, but for people to eat. Uh.” There was a nervous edge to his laugh. “Usually I’m more smooth than this? But I’m currently pinned to a wall, so. Help? Please?” 

All vampires had an innate ability to hypnotize; Lan Wangji’s last hunt was so good at it, he’d had to plug his ears with wool to escape its pull. He knew the heavy, paralyzing feel of a vampire exerting its will onto its prey.

Wei Wuxian was not doing that. Lan Wangji wasn’t even sure if he even could, given his current track record of vampiric competency. It just seemed like he was, in a clumsy, almost endearing way…

Asking Lan Wangji out to dinner?

With no small sense of how incomprehensibly inane this hunt has become, Lan Wangji walked to the window and drew the curtains closed.

-----

originally posted on twitter

[shinidamachu]

Neighbor Crush (The Thread)

Summary: modern AU, anyone? This was heavily inspired by a twitter thread I read a while ago, about a guy who developed a major crush on his neighbor’s voice and, with his roommate’s help, managed to ask him out.

Word Count: 2.015  Genre: fluff  Fandom: InuYasha  Pairing: Inukag  Format: oneshot  AO3 Link: 🌹  Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹

“I’m home!”

The abrupt sound of Miroku throwing his keys and briefcase at the table made InuYasha jump on his sit. It was a rare thing to do, taking him by surprise that way.

Unfortunately, Miroku knew so.

“You’re eavesdropping her again, aren’t you?”

It was hard to say what pissed InuYasha off the most: that Miroku had startled him, that he got caught in the act or the infuriating smugness in the bastard’s tone.

“Mind ya business.”

Ignoring his temper, Miroku went to their refrigerator and returned with a loosened tie and a couple of beers. He handed one to InuYasha and sat beside him on the couch.

“Come on, this is getting ridiculous. You have been obsessing over this girl for what? Three weeks, now? Just go downstairs, knock on her door and ask her out.”

Miroku took a long sip of his Heineken, as if rewarding himself for giving the world’s greatest advice. InuYasha wished he would choke on it.

“I’m not knocking on her door and asking her out, dipshit! We have no idea what the girl looks like!”

“Then do us both a favor and go find out!”

To be totally honest, her appearance was what mattered the least about this girl, although he couldn’t deny his curiosity.

Her voice.

It was her voice that started it all.

For two years he had been sharing this little apartment with Miroku and for two years it had been easy for them to ignore each resident of the building without a second thought. InuYasha was in no way a social guy and even though Miroku had a weak spot for the ladies, he had vowed not to get involved with a neighbor, ever.

“Location, location, location.” InuYasha remembered Miroku explaining once. “It’s simultaneously the best pro and the worst con. I’d rather not risk it, it could get pretty ugly.”

Knowing his tendency to hit and run, it was probably the smartest call.

And life went on as usual.

Until InuYasha heard her voice.

It was exceptionally loud. That was the very first thing he noticed. The second thing was that he incredibly didn’t mind at all. There was a sincerity tone to it that was ever present. Almost as if physically unable to lie. Sweet. Gentle. Smooth. But not in a generic way. He could download it into his GPS and drive forever. Her laughter had over him the same effect of sunbeams reaching out the untouched ground of a frozen forest and when she talks too low, something primal and urgent wakes inside him, letting him dying to know what his name would sound like between her whispers.

Then it became less about how and more about what she talked.

Her name was Kagome. She was in her twenties and had just graduated from pedagogy school. Three weeks ago, she had moved in with the girl who lived precisely in the apartment below theirs to save money as she adapted to the new job of substitute teacher. She had a cat named Buyo, couldn’t swear for the life of her, sang a lot, a bit clumsy, definitely a half full kind of person... Single, as far as he could tell.

Kagome had the most hilarious stories, most of them starring her little brother, her grandpa or her friends. He was especially fond of the ones in which she tried to be nice and it ended up blowing on her face spectacularly. Her heart was too big for her own good.

On the floor below, the girl in question left what InuYasha assumed was her kitchen and walked to the living room, turning the TV on. Even now, when the current conversation was supposed to be his focus, he found himself painfully aware of her moviments.

Miroku didn’t have to know any of that.

“That’s insane.”

“Why? How is that insane?”

“Hi, I’m InuYasha, your upstairs neighbor. You don’t know me, but I’ve been listening to everything you say or sing in your apartment since the day you moved in. Often on purpose, like a creepy person. Anyway, wanna have dinner sometime?”

“Lose the ‘creepy’ part and you’ll be fine.”

“Drop it, it ain’t happening.”

“Well, at least you recognize your obsession. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recover.”

“You’re my problem,” he mumbled.

“Wrong, my friend. I’m the solution. You just gotta listen to me.”

“Yeah, don’t count on it.” Miroku laughed. “So how was work?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Damn straight I am.”

They made small talk and drank for a while, then Miroku pulled out his phone to check his notifications and InuYasha searched Netflix for an action movie they haven’t seen yet. The girl was binge-watching a sitcom. A good one, judging by the way her laughter reached his ears every now and then.

He smiled.

In moments like these, it was crazy tempting to walk down the stairs and go for it, but InuYasha wouldn’t dare. He was perfectly fine just hearing her life from a safe distance so they couldn’t hurt each other, because this is what love inevitably leads to — and that was assuming she wouldn’t reject his advances, in the first place.

Might as well save them both some pain.

“So what do you say? Shall we eat ramen for the third time in a row or order some pizza? InuYasha?”

But he wasn’t listening. In the apartment below, a door opened. Her roommate, Sango, had arrived.

“Hey!”

“Hey!” Replied Kagome. “I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause I just made lasagna.”

“And I hope you’re thirsty, ‘cause I just bought Tequila.”

“Tough day, huh?”

“Tough week.”

“Balcony?”

“You bet.”

The girls turned the blender on.

The balcony was their favorite spot to chat. It was also where the acoustic sounded better. To the point even human ears could catch the words.

One look at InuYasha and Miroku realized what it meant.

“Is she going to the balcony?” He asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.

InuYasha ran, intercepting Miroku just in time. One hand securely covering his friend’s mouth, the other holding him still. They were now in their own balcony.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

There was an attempt to speak, but it came off muttered. Even so, InuYasha refused to budge his hand. Until Miroku licked it. “Ugh!”

“What does it look like?” He questioned while InuYasha compulsively wiped his hand on his jeans. “I’m being your wingman.”

“I don’t need a wingman and will you shut up, already?” His whispered, angry. Miroku was ready to deliver a cunning comeback when the blender stopped and the girls stepped into the balcony.

“So I had to break up with Kuranosuke today.”

“Break up? I thought you guys were friends with benefits or whatever.”

“YES! WE WERE! THANK YOU! Now could you please be a lamb and go tell him that? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear the first four hundred times! Oh, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“It was a nightmare! The whole week he kept sending flowers and Valentine’s Day cards to the precinct. It’s not even february!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get him arrested.”

“Believe me, I was this close. It’s hard enough getting their respect, you know? Being a female cop and all. He wasn’t helping.”

“I know. But hey! Someday you’ll find the guy for you. Someone who’ll understand how much your job means. I’m serious! You will!”

“Nope. That’s it for me. I’m done with men.”

“Funny, I’m in the opposite vibe.”

“Really? Now that’s interesting.”

“It’s just… I haven’t dated anyone since Koga.”

“Damn, you’re right! I haven’t realized it.”

“You know what? You should set me up with someone.”

Miroku playfully punched InuYasha’s shoulder, getting his attention. “That’s your chance,” he mouthed. The half demon shook his head.

“Hmmm… Wouldn’t Ayumi, Yuka and What’s-Her-Name be a better option for that? I’m usually cuffing most guys I meet.”

“Eri. And no way! They would just set me up with Hojo.”

“Right! And why won’t you date him, again?”

“Because he’s my friend!”

“He is cute.”

“A cute friend.”

“He likes you.”

“Not my fault.”

“Fine. I’ll d—”

“HEY, NEIGHBORS! NEIGHBORS!”

Mortified, InuYasha watched Miroku make a fool of himself. Like in a movie, his body seemed to forget how to react.

“Hi!” Greeted Sango. “I’m sorry. Were we being too loud? We’ll keep it down.”

“No, it’s okay, the walls are really thin. Listen… I have this friend. And he’s really into your friend’s voice. I was wondering if she would be interest in going on a date with him.”

“What?” Kagome let out a shaken giggle.

“Is this for real?”

“Yes! I gotta go, but check his Instagram out. It’s @InuYashaTaisho.”

Apparently very pleased with himself, Miroku walked inside.

“You’re a dead man!”

“What do you think?” Kagome asked, while InuYasha chased Miroku around the apartment.

“It can’t hurt to give a look,” Answered Sango.

“Five years from now, when the two of you get married, you’ll be thanking me for this.” Miroku dodged the pillow InuYasha threw on his direction.

“Don’t ya worry. Imma make sure to write this on your tombstone.”

“Sango!”

“Wha—Wow! This is him? What are you gonna do?”

InuYasha threw another pillow. Miroku caught it in the air. He was cornered on the wall and nothing could save him now.

Bzzt! Bzzzt!

Impertinently, his phone choose that exact minute to vibrate. InuYasha fished it off his back pocket and the notification took his breath away.

Kagome Higurashi started following you.

“Is that her?”

InuYasha ignored him. The only important thing was the dark haired beauty smiling brightly on his screen. Her eyes were big and warm, framed by extremely long black lashes. She had adorable bangs and sharped cheeks. The perfect shape of her lips rivaled those from a greek statue and they seemed to be painted in a natural shade of pink in almost every picture. Except when they were burning red.

He couldn’t have put a better face to the voice if he tried.

Scrolling down her feed, InuYasha continued to connect the features he didn’t know with the names he did. Sango. Her mom. Sota. Buyo. Her grandfather.

“Let me see!” Miroku ran to his side and hang on his shoulder like a parrot, whistling in approval as InuYasha went on. “Woah, wait, wait, wait! Who is that?”

“That’s Sango, the girl you just embarrassed me and yourself in front of.” He followed Kagome back.

“I think I’m in love.”

InuYasha glared at him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“He followed me back!”

“Oh, it’s going down!” Sango laughed.

“Watch me.” Defied Miroku.

“What the fuck happened to the ‘not dating neighbors’ rule?”

“If four years of law school taught me something was that every rule has its exceptions. In this case, the exception is the absurd level of hotness of said neighbor.”

“On a second thought, go ahead and date her. It’s about time someone put you in jail.”

Miroku smirked.

“Should I say hello?”

“Definitely!” Encouraged Sango. “Don’t schedule anything until I check him for bad precedents, though.”

“You’re such a cop.”

Bzzt! Bzzzt!

Hi!

Hi! I’m sorry about my friend. He thinks ‘boundaries’ is an indie band.

She chuckled.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you have a pizza to order?” InuYasha faced him, eyebrows raised. Miroku narrowed his eyes and left.

“This isn’t over.”

That’s okay. So... you’re a dog demon. I’m assuming this is how you can hear us down here?

Actually I’m half demon, which means I’m only half responsible for invading your privacy. The other half is on you for being so damn loud.

Excuse me?! I thought you liked my loud personality! Wasn’t that the whole point?

To be fair, what I liked was your killer cover of Livin’ On A Prayer.

OH MY GOD! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HEARD THAT! Okay. This isn’t fair. You’ve been listening to my voice since I moved in, but I have no idea what yours sound like.

The next text he sent her was his phone number.

A/N: it’s been a while, yes? Tell me if you guys enjoyed this one. Fluff is not really my thing. Let me know if I can interest you in a Part II of them dating and send me sugestions of where they could go, if you want to. If I liked them better than the ideas I have in mind, I might end up writing it (is not a priority, though).

Also, I want to dedicate this piece to @xfangheartx​. Thank you for always being a sweetheart.

[love-and-monsters]

Wyvern Prince Pt. 2

 Male monster X female human, 3325 words.

You spun around as soon as the raised voices reached you. Shouting wasn’t necessarily uncommon in the meetings, but not so soon.

The shouting made you pause, uncertain of whether you should leave or not, and in the time you took, the prince was abruptly ejected from the room. He staggered out into the hall as if pushed and, before he could recover and turn around, the door slammed shut behind him.

He turned, staring at the door with his mouth hanging open. After a few seconds of stunned silence, he raised a hand to knock.

“I wouldn’t,” you cut in. His head turned toward you. Anger burned in his eyes like a smoldering flame. You cleared your throat and dropped into a quick brow. “You were ejected from a meeting, sire. Disturbing it or attempting to reenter the room will result in you being confined to your room.”

The prince turned fully toward you, lips curling over teeth. “Ejected?” he snarled. It was much closer to the voice you would expect from a wyvern than his normal tone. “For what? I have made my demands and yet your queen and your people refuse to acquiesce! My requests are simple and yet your queen insists on complicating every step of the process! What is wrong with humans that makes them so thoroughly desperate to make things more complex than they need to be?”

By the end of his rant, he was leaning over you, one of his long-nailed fingers poking into your chest. It took all your willpower not to step away, or at least lean back, but you managed to stand still and look into his face. His eyes looked like smoldering embers. “I suggest, sire, that we return upstairs before your yelling gets you ejected from the hall as well.”

You were half expecting for your comment to spark another round of yelling, but the prince just deflated slightly. The fight seemed to just seep out of him. He sighed and waved his arm in a ‘lead on’ gesture. You nodded and headed up the stairs. The prince trailed behind.

Once up the stairs, you decided to lead the prince into the smallest library. It was mercifully empty. The prince sat at one of the tables and promptly buried his face in his hands. His breathing was ragged, but you were uncertain if he was upset or angry or both. You stood a respectful distance away, waiting for him to settle back down.

It was several minutes before he lifted his head again. “Are all humans as frustrating as those who occupy the court of your queen?” he asked through his teeth.

A small smile twitched the corners of your lips. “I’m afraid no one is pleasant when engaging in politics. Her majesty is quite kind in usual conversation, but I have heard she is ruthless when attempting to do anything regarding her people’s safety.”

“Safety,” the prince snorted. “This has nothing to do with safety.” He glanced at you and, when he saw you watching him curiously, continued. “Your people have been intruding in wyvern territory recently. I have requested that your people leave the territory, but your queen is insistent that they stay.”

“The new farming settlement in the western woods? Close to the mountains?” you asked. The prince nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about politics, but from what I know about the settlement, it was created due to a surplus population. We needed more food.”

“And my people are exempt from needing food, I assume?” The prince turned his gaze toward you. His eyes burned.

“Apologies, sire. That is not what I intended to suggest.” You licked your lips. “I was under the impression that wyvern hunted for their prey, not that they farmed.”

 “We still need land for hunting,” he said. “More than for farming, I would say. If your kind pushes into our territory, we will hunt your livestock.”

“That would start a war,” you said.

“That is part of the reason I am here. To stop a war that would be devastating for both our kinds.” The prince drew a fingertip along the table. “In the prior meeting, I attempted to inform your queen of this. And yet both she and her advisors refuse to move their people out of our land.”

“And what happened at this meeting?” you asked.

The prince curled his lips over his teeth. “When two wyverns are in a disagreement and neither can come to an arrangement, then a show of force is required.”

Your stomach dropped to somewhere around your knees. “Did you threaten the queen?”

There was a silence that stretched for several seconds longer than was comfortable. Your stomach sank to your ankles. “Did you threaten the queen?” you repeated. Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be.

“I did not,” the prince said. “I merely suggested that she was being quite foolish and that if she continued to refuse us, then the wyvern people could not be held responsible for attacking to protect their home.”

You swallowed. “So you insulted and threatened the queen.”

“It was not a threat. That is what is going to happen if humans continue to invade our land.”

“You can’t threaten the queen, sire. No wonder you got kicked out of the meeting.” It was very difficult to keep your voice even, but you managed. “And threatening her won’t get humans to leave your land. You’re going to make things worse.”

The prince pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “Then I don’t know what to do.” He sagged over the table.

You hesitated. “Sire, if I might make a suggestion?”

He sighed. “If you have something that may help, I am willing to hear it.”

“It seems like the ways wyverns and humans conduct politics are different. You seem to think that if you state the obvious enough times, she’ll cave. Or that if you threaten her, she’ll give in.”

 “That is politics. If a wyvern wants something, my family decides who is right. If they do not listen to what is right, then we press them until they give in. That is what has worked.” Frustration edged his voice.

“Sire, with all due respect for your way of life, I do not think that way is going to prevent a war. Politics are quite a bit more complicated than that for humans.”

“I have noticed,” the prince snapped. “And yet noticing this has not made it any easier for me to actually get anything done.”

You took a deep breath. “Sire, humans typically want to get something from their deals. If you want to do well in the art of human politics, you need to brush up on your ability to get as much as you can for as little as possible.”

The prince lifted his head and looked at you, but he said nothing. You took this as a signal to continue. “May I suggest a potential compromise for your problem?” He nodded. “I have only a minimal understanding of the situation, but it seems that this problem can be solved by a tribute. You allow the humans who have already settled the land to stay, but, in return, they must provide you with the food you have lost from the land. It would allow the humans there to use the land for farming, so we won’t starve, and your people won’t starve.”

The prince tapped his claws along his chin. “You think that will work?”

“I don’t know, sire. I am not a politician. But it is a fairy good plan, I think. It satisfies both parties.”

The prince narrowed his eyes and his lips curled back ever so slightly. “I am still not sure I like it. If we allow the humans to take this land without any form of real retribution, we have no guarantee your people will not attack us in the future.”

“That’s true.” You considered that for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll be able to draw up some kind of agreement with the queen. One that secures your borders without threatening the peace we have.”

There was a long moment of silence. The prince drew a hand over his forehead. “I have failed to do so thus far, but I suppose I can do nothing else but try.” He rose from the table and gave you a nod. “I thank you for your assistance, Sara. If you will excuse me.”

He left the room. You stared after him for a moment. You hadn’t realized that he knew your name. But there was no time to reflect on such things. You shook the thoughts from your head and set about your tasks for the rest of the day.

The library was finally organized and fully cleaned by the end of the day, just in time for you to fetch the prince’s tray from the kitchen and bring it up to his room.

He was reading when you arrived at his room, hair clipped back from his face in a messy knot. It was the sort of tangled mess you would expect from someone who was unused to doing their own hair- or perhaps from someone who was simply unused to having hair. He didn’t look up when you walked in, so you gently cleared your throat. He started and looked at you.

“Sire.” You dipped your head as he stood. “I have your dinner.”

“Set it on the table. And come here.” He stepped away from the table, holding the book he’d been reading to his chest. You found a spot for the tray and stepped obediently to his side. “What can you tell me about this?” he asked, pointing to a spot on the page.

Reading had never been a particular strong point of yours- it had never needed to be, really. But you were able to make out the passage he indicated. “The treaty between the two kingdoms was forged in the blood of a union, and in the blood of a new birth,” you read. “Such a union fused the two nations permanently, so that neither could ever harm the other again.”

The prince looked at you expectantly. “Could you elaborate on the passage?”

“Well, I believe it is referring to a war a long time ago in which our nation was merged with a neighboring nation.” The prince was still looking expectant. You continued. “This seems to suggest that they were joined by marriage, likely of either the current leaders or either by the next generation of leaders. The blood of a new birth bit suggests that the couple had a child, who then became the leader of the nations, making them one nation.”

The prince grunted. “Then it’s of no use in this case.” He took the book back and tossed it across the room. It skidded across the table and landed on the floor. You automatically moved to pick it up.

“A political marriage is a bit of a last resort, but it is a possibility, sire,” you said as you retrieved the book. He snorted.

“No. Wyvern do not engage in political marriages. We do not marry in the same way as humans and no wyvern would ever be able to manage in a relationship without any affection for their mate. That idea is useless.” Frustration fairly simmered in his voice. You were suddenly rather aware that you were in the room with a hungry and irritated wyvern.

“Perhaps you should take a break, sire,” you suggested, gesturing to the meal on the table. He glanced at it, then sighed and sat to eat.

He was silent as he ate and you tidied up the books and notes he had. When he had finished, you moved to take his tray, but he lifted a hand. “If you don’t mind,” he said. “I’d like some more of your help with these books.”

“Of course, sire,” you said. “What is it that you need?”

“I would like further information on the treaty between your kingdom and the Salagacian kingdom. Additionally, a few of these books have conflicting information on wyverns. I’d like to know which views are more prevalent in your kingdom.” He pressed a small stack of books in your direction. You took a deep breath.

“Certainly sire. I am happy to be of use.”

It was two hours before you were able to leave the room. You were pleased, of course, that the prince seemed to trust you, but you were also now tired. Your feet and back ached from standing and bending over the books- you’d felt improper sitting and he hadn’t asked you to, so you had stood. Slowly, you made you way to the kitchen, stumbled out to your quarters, and prepared for bed.

Despite your exhaustion, you managed to pull yourself out of bed on time. After shaking your exhaustion off, you grabbed the prince’s breakfast and headed to his room.

This time, you found him in his bed, curtains drawn. You opened the window curtains, then the ones around his bed. “Good morning, sire.”

He groaned, but lifted his head. Strands of pale blond hair fell over his face and tangled over his horns. “The queen has decided to reconvene yesterday’s meeting in two hours,” you said as he laboriously sat up.

“I heard.” He stood up, tugging at his bedclothes with obvious irritation. “Come. I’d like you to look over some of the notes I made after you left last night.”

Most of the notes he’d made were solid, regarding ideas for keeping the border secure. Several of them involved vague threats of full-on war if the border was breached. You tactfully reworded them. A threat wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. It just couldn’t sound like a threat. One or two were weak ideas that you discarded entirely. By the time you had finished looking through the notes and giving them back to him, he was finished eating and bathing and the meeting would soon start. And you hadn’t even cleaned his room. A flicker of frustration warmed your chest. You crushed it back.

“Shall we go?” The prince gathered the notes you’d given him into his pockets.

“As you wish, sire.” You led him out of his room and down the stairs.

He entered the meeting room with quiet confidence. His eyes met with the queen’s and they stared levelly for a moment before he lowered his head in a bow. The faintest, palest smile graced her lips. You let out a breath. At least he could take advice.

“Sara,” the queen said, letting her gaze rest on your for only a moment. “Go.”

You turned to leave, glancing at the prince as you did. He was still looking at the queen. His expression was peaceful in its certainty. He was not angry or anxious now. He knew what should be done and he could do it.

It struck you at that moment, under the glow of the lamps along the walls, how his eyes were warm as a winter fire and how fine his hair looked and how long his lashes lay over his eyes. He was very pretty.

And then you were outside and the door closed. It felt much darker in the hall, though the light was only a little sparser. You had to take a moment to collect yourself before returning to the prince’s room.

It was still a mess, of course. The bed still unmade, the tub not washed out, the mirror not wiped down. And you had more work to do after this. Taking only a few seconds to rest, you rolled up your sleeves and got to work.

The work took time and you couldn’t afford to speed up too much- if the prince complained, you would be in trouble. Naturally, you were late for your next task and found the servants you were supposed to be directing to clean out the artifact collection already working. Your stomach sank when you saw one of them wiping down one of the leather pieces with a soaked rag.

“Give me that.” You took it from her hands. She blinked up at you, eyes full of worry. She was a new one, you remembered that much, probably barely older than sixteen. You softened your tone. “You can’t use water on these. It’ll damage the protective coating. See Simon over there?” You pointed to one of the other servants, an older man. “Ask him for the saddle polish. Use that on these leather pieces.” The girl nodded and scrambled off toward the man. With a sigh, you headed off to examine the other cleaning servants.

There were a few other mistakes you had to correct before you started working yourself. Correcting the mistakes took valuable time and, by the time you were setting the last pieces away and sending the servants off, you were late for the prince’s dinner.

  It was very hard to run with the tray in your hands, but you managed a quick walk up to the prince’s room. You were going so fast, in fact, that you had no time to stop before you ran straight into him coming down the curving staircase.

His hands caught the tray, steadying it and you at the same time. “I was about to look for you,” he said, staring down at you. He’d already been taller than you and the fact that he was standing on the step above yours meant you really had to crane your neck to look at him.

“I apologize, sire. My tasks today took longer than I expected.” You couldn’t bow while holding onto the tray, so you simply dipped into a very small curtsy. The prince released the tray and turned to head back up the stairs.

“Come along, then,” he called over his shoulder. You followed him up the stairs and into his room.

There were a few books spread across the table, but it was clearer than it had been for the past few nights. You set the tray down. It smelled wonderful, good enough to make your mouth water, and it served to remind you that you’d barely eaten all day. You’d been too busy to take a break.

“How did the meeting go, sire?” you said in an attempt to take your mind off the food.

“I believe it went well. The queen seemed pleased with the suggestion, so we should be able to work something out.” He sat down and promptly dug into his dinner. His obvious gusto eating did not help your hunger. Your stomach rolled over and snarled. The prince glanced at you and you felt your cheeks warm. He turned his attention back to his plate. You sighed in relief.

“Sara, if you would not mind, I have a few questions about human politics,” the prince said as he finished up his dinner.

You were already tired, but refusal wasn’t really an option. You forced your mouth into a smile. “Of course, sire. Anything you need.”

He nodded and took up a book. “I have been examining some of the political squabbles humans have engaged in over the centuries and I would like more information on the segregation between human social classes.”

You took a deep breath. This was likely going to take a while. “Certainly, sire. There are several social classes, with the monarchy, of course, at the top…”

By the time the prince was satisfied, you were beyond tired, tired enough to consider skipping dinner entirely. You managed to convince yourself to stop by the kitchen and grab a chunk of bread that you ate on the way to your room. It had been exhausting, you thought, but it was bound to get better as you worked more. You would get used to it.

[carry-the-sky]

these heavy words, your open heart

summary

“You told me once that I was honest. That I don’t lie to you. But the hospital—you asked me to start over, and I said I didn’t want that.”

Karen sucks in a breath. Frank’s eyes are still on her, wide and bright. It’s the most vulnerable she’s ever seen him look.

“I lied,” he says.

a/n: merry kastlechristmas, @kastlenetwork​​​​​​! i’m normally an angst machine, but i tried to do something a bit softer to fulfill your prompts (not sad + new year’s, hahaha). i hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for organizing this event! <3

chapter one

Frank’s in the wind, but he’s not really gone. He’s in every bouquet of flowers, each hole-in-the-wall diner she walks past on her way to meet with a source. She pictures him, bloodied knuckles and bruises smudged under his eyes, the low gravel of his voice when he tells her the war is what he wants. She hopes that no news is good news, that maybe he’s found some measure of peace and what it means if he hasn’t—

He’s been dead before. Karen blinks, and the diner is just a diner.

He’s everywhere, at first. Local gangs, exposed drug rings, a city councilman with ties to sex-trafficking—the Punisher is all over the news cycle for a solid month after his escape from police custody at Metro General. It’s a shitstorm, but Karen wades through it the same way she always has. The city’s still rotten, still reeks of corruption and scandal and bad people doing bad things, so she follows her nose. Frank’s not the only one who has a job to do.

Time soldiers on. The steady deluge of news slows to a trickle, then stops altogether. The Globe tries to regenerate some of the hype by running a story that pins a string of uptown murders on Frank, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. New York has moved on.

Karen tries to do the same. Her schedule is more flexible now that she’s freelancing full-time, so she doesn’t feel guilty saying yes when Matt and Foggy invite her out on the weekends. She digs for stories and chases leads, writes and investigates and writes some more. It’s hard work, less than stable—looking at her bank account makes her want to cry—but it’s good. For the first time since moving to the city, she feels free.

Frank’s in the wind, but he’s not really gone. He’s in every bouquet of flowers, each hole-in-the-wall diner she walks past on her way to meet with a source. She pictures him, bloodied knuckles and bruises smudged under his eyes, the low gravel of his voice when he tells her the war is what he wants. She hopes that no news is good news, that maybe he’s found some measure of peace and what it means if he hasn’t—

He’s been dead before. Karen blinks, and the diner is just a diner.

.

Winter hits the city hard. The temperature plunges to single digits in the week leading up to Christmas, with a few inches of snow in the forecast. Karen works from home as often as she can, trading her pencil skirts for fleece-lined leggings on the days she’s out running down sources. She just barely makes the submission deadline for a piece about embezzlement in the county tax collector’s office. 

Karen hasn’t really celebrated Christmas since Kevin died, but she makes a conscious effort this year. She digs her old tree out of storage and strings cheap lights around the window and spends the better part of an afternoon making eggnog and cookies for Foggy and Marci’s holiday party. It feels almost normal, until she starts thinking about Vermont and the gingersnaps Mom used to make. Karen remembers swiping a handful of them at a time and escaping to the hall closet, crunching them extra loudly to drown out her parents’ arguing. They always fought more around the holidays.

Christmas comes and goes, and Karen dives headfirst back into her work. The new year looms, equal parts uncertainty and possibility, but she keeps herself tethered in the present. Whatever happens, she’ll roll with it. She always does.

.

There’s a dog in the alley next to her apartment. 

It’s nosing through a couple of discarded take-out boxes, but snaps its head up when Karen steps onto the sidewalk. The dog—she, Karen’s gut says—is definitely a mutt, lean like a lab with a boxy pit bull face. Her coat is brown with grime, but there’s a smudge of white over one eye, like an upside down heart. 

“Hey, there,” Karen says, crouching. She holds a tentative hand out, freezing when the dog growls low in its throat. “Easy, it’s okay. I’m on my way out, but I’m gonna call someone to come get you, okay?” 

Animal control is swamped. There’s a high volume of calls coming in, typical for this time of year. The earliest they can come out is tomorrow morning, and Karen’s heart clenches thinking about how low the temperature’s been dropping at night. She glances sideways at the dog, making a mental checklist of all the food that’s currently upstairs in her apartment. No kibble, but anything she has is better than garbage. If she could just get the dog out of the cold—

Karen takes a step towards her building’s front door at the same time that the dog bolts, scrabbling down the alley in a blur of kicked-up snow and dirt. 

“Shit,” Karen hisses, watching the dog disappear around a corner. (“She’ll come back.” Kevin—he’s ten years old, cradling a stack of lost dog flyers under his arm. “Right, Kare? We’ll find her.”)

Karen stares down the length of the alley for another second. She’s already running late for a meeting with a volunteer at the regional VA office—her one and only lead so far on this new story she’s trying to crack open—but she makes a note to grab some treats on her way home. With any luck, the dog won’t go too far.

The meeting goes well. Her volunteer confirms the rumors of negligence in the treatment of veterans across the tri-county area—understaffed facilities, falsified intake records, and in one instance, a vet dying while on a hospital waitlist. Nothing overly shocking, but it still makes Karen sick to her stomach. The system is broken, and sometimes fixing it feels like an impossible task.

“I’ll be in touch,” she tells the volunteer as she’s getting ready to leave. “Thank you again for meeting with me, Curtis—”

“Curt,” he replies, cracking a grin. “My mom’s the only one who calls me Curtis. Hey—” he gestures to the folding chairs stacked in the corner. “I host a support group here for vets in the area, and our weekly meeting is tonight. You’re more than welcome to stay, maybe chat with a few of them about their experiences with the VA office.”

“I have to head out,” Karen says, “but maybe another time?”

“Absolutely. No pressure.” Curt reaches out to shake her hand. “Take care, Karen.” 

Take care. 

Two words. That’s all it takes, and she spends the rest of the day brushing away memories like cobwebs. He’s backlit in the frame of Schoonover’s shed, he’s standing by the water, he’s pressing his forehead to hers—she closes her eyes and all she sees is Frank. 

The thing is, even if she wanted to get in touch with him, she has no idea how to. The burner number he’d given her the last time he came back from the dead isn’t good anymore, and it’s not like she can just look him up in the phonebook. She could try Madani, but Karen has a hunch that even if the newly-minted CIA agent knew where Frank was, she wouldn’t be partial to sharing.

She has some dried flowers at home, leftover stems from a bouquet that her neighbor was making for her granddaughter. They’re the only flowers Karen has allowed herself to have in the apartment since she last saw Frank. As soon as she gets home, she sticks them in an empty vase and moves them to the windowsill. Not exactly white roses, but they’ll have to do. 

He’ll come back. He always does.

[essaysbyciara]

Old Habits Die Hard| Part Three: Recognize the Butterflies

SYNOPSIS | PART ONE: DAYS BEFORE | PART TWO: JUST BE GOOD TO ME 

Warnings: Language, lightweight mentions of sexual situations, marijuana use

Here’s part three! This is turning into a slow burn which was not my intention lol. Again, thank you for all of the responses and love. It makes my heart super happy. Taglist is still open! 

RECOGNIZE THE BUTTERFLIES

Yahya’s right thumb trails down the seam of your sundress. He slips his hand between the slit of your dress and pinches the brown skin attached to your left hip. It’s the first private moment you two have had since the drive north on I-95.

“I told you my family would love you…” 

“It was looking really rough for a minute there. I thought your Uncle Trace was going to kill me.”

“Trace means no harm. He just loves his niece.”

“And I love his niece…” Yahya’s kisses were beyond soft, your soul flutters during every millisecond his lips meet yours. They feel like butter. Your foreheads touch as your right hand pats his rising chest at the syncopation of your own heart. 

You two desperately needed this moment. Between Aunt Jerri scream-singing every Earth, Wind and Fire song from the depths of her lungs to your uncles somewhat-but-really-not-so-gentle interrogation of Yahya to the incessant screaming of little children and the fight that almost broke out at the end of the street, you craved to find a sliver of the peace that exists back home. 

You also needed another opportunity to hide from Dave. 

Despite the protest by some other organs belonging to your body, your heart made the best decision by coaxing you to instantly delete Dave’s Instagram message. You didn’t even read it, swiping left to throw it all away. You made the decision to stand up for your current relationship. As much as you wanted to settle into Yahya’s affectionate imprisonment of your body and take in his incessant need to kiss your neck and right earlobe, you couldn’t help but to survey your surroundings in hopes of spotting -- and swerving -- Dave. 

The last thing you wanted was to see him in the physical and to marvel at the man who eliminated all timidness from your aura. You were already triggered by the thought of his presence, wanting to  repel -- yet craved to feel -- those lighting bolts that crashed against your body at the sight of him. 

“Aww, look at the two lovebirds!” Aunt Jerri walks upstairs from the basement with a box of Franzia white wine in her right hand. She’s set to drink for the rest of the night. “I’m so happy y’all came up.” 

“Me too, Miss Jerri,” exclaims Yahya as his takes the last sip of his drink. 

“Boy, you are too polite for your own good!” Aunt Jerri caresses Yahya’s left shoulder as she walks past you both and into the living room. You begin to stare at Yahya and wonder how on Earth you found a man this kind, generous and thoughtful. 

That kindness and generousity  motivated you almost a year ago to call Yahya’s office and ask him out on a date. Weeks prior, you watched Yahya speak on a panel at a social justice conference and from the back of the room, you could feel his beautiful spirit. Most of the “social justice warrior” men you encountered up until that point were “woke” in public places but womanizers in private spaces, their misogyny masked by outward motivations to change the world. There was something about the powerful yet gentle way Yahya spoke on the tough topic of criminal justice reform that kept your attention even after your appearance on a panel about arts and justice earlier in the day. 

Against your high levels of exhaustion, you willed yourself into participating in the closing event for the conference. You were finally able to see his height -- long legs and galavanting walk -- up close and personal, totally oblivious to Yahya trying not to stare an ungodly long time at you as you jumped in and out of conversations. You two caught eyes a few times in the midst of the fellowship happening around you, with the last of the stares causing him to walk up to you to introduce himself. The conversation was brief but impacting. You both were in the beginning stages of what they call “the fall”. 

You hadn't felt this way since the summer. With Dave, you encountered these butterflies that traveled throughout and around every peak and valley of your curvaceous body. You never wanted someone beyond the very concept of need like that before. But since that drive back to the mundane life that Dave’s presence saved you from, you hadn’t heard from Dave. He disappeared on you without a trace, Aunt Jerri telling you to let him go because he was only supposed to be, as she called him, “a temporary distraction.” But Dave was a temporary distraction who, on your last night in Philly,  said that he was going to call you every night and come visit you on the weekends. Your orgasms would no longer be limited to the spare room at his brother’s house or the backseat of your car or Aunt Jerri’s basement anymore. 

You owned your townhouse. You could scream as loud as you want.  

Dave broke his promise and after you broke down about it, you made a covenant with yourself to move on. Using the conference’s website, you found out where Yahya worked and called his office. You had to get what was yours -- a confidence you acquired over the summer. You left a message -- along with your phone number -- with his law firm’s file clerk and waited, scrolling through his Instagram as you imagined a day in the life of his love. Yahya called you back and invited you out to lunch. Mission accomplished. 

Dave’s disappearance led to you finding the love of your life. This man standing in Aunt Jerri’s kitchen who can’t keep himself from touching your body, who couldn’t wait to make you his Mrs.; who’s love for you is so deep that your uncles had to fall back because they could tell almost instantly that Yahya was here to protect and honor you in a way that would have met your father’s expectations. 

And you weren’t going to throw that away for Dave. 

Aunt Jerri breaks up your gaze at Yahya. “Y’all two are staying the night, right?” It was only 6 PM, too early in the day to think that you two would be too drunk to get home. “I’m thinking about opening up the house tonight, you know, to celebrate y’all engagement.” 

“Aunt Jerri, you what? You don’t let people in your house…”

Once the street lights come on and the barricades are picked up by the city, the block party moves from outside to inside two or three houses on the street. In years past, Aunt Jerri would never let her house become an “after-party” spot despite the protest of her family. 

“I know, I know. But hey, I’m in a festive-ass mood and I want to celebrate y’all union since your mother didn’t want the hoodlum side of your family present.”

You wince at the brutal honesty of Aunt Jerri’s words. You cut a look at Yahya as he tries to stifle his laughter at Aunt Jerri’s opinion of your mother. He lifts up his hands in defense and apologizes by kissing your forehead. 

“Let me talk with Yahya to see if we’re going to st-”

“We’re staying.” You cut another look at Yahya and this time he’s not relenting. 

“Aww, yay! Let me get the guest room ready for you…”

You take an incredulous look at Yahya. The more you languished, the more chances you had to run into Dave. You loved your family but for the sake of your sanity, it was beyond time to leave. 

“Yahya, babe. We don’t have to stay.”

“What? You’re tired of celebrating us?” 

“Don’t do that to me… I just … there’s a reason why my Mom didn’t want Dad’s side of the family there, you know what I mean…” You remember your Dad’s funeral and the empty liquor bottle that almost hit your mom’s sister, Aunt Rachel. It wasn’t her fault that bottle went flying. 

“Look, let’s stay for a while, sleep it off and leave first thing in the morning. Okay?” Yahya’s sweet kisses always changed your mind. You grin and bear it, yanking at the belt loop of his jeans. You are determined to hold onto him as long as you could. 

As you soak in the rest of your private moment, Uncle Trace enters the kitchen with a bottle of Crown Royal in his hand. “Yo, Yah … come downstairs, man. Let’s rap right quick.” Yahya lets you go with ease and follows Trace downstairs to the basement.

“You smoke, Yah?”

“Not really, man. But it doesn’t bother me.” 

Trace pulls two whiskey glasses from the downstairs bar and places them on top of the table. His pour is heavy and Yahya gulps in fear at how much of a drink he’s about to have with Uncle Trace. The fear still carries on throughout Yahya’s body. 

“Y/N wanted me to talk to you and apologize, man.”

“No apologies necessary, Trace. I get it.” 

“That little girl still has me wrapped around her finger, man. She damn near ran me over today because of you…” Yahya and Trace laugh and tap their glasses. “When my bro was in the hospital, I told him that I’d look out for her like she was my baby girl, you know? I had to see what was good with you. But you’re solid, my dude. Just know that protection doesn’t stop.”

As the day turns into night, the last man that Uncle Trace thought he protected from his niece sits mystified that you ignored his message. He knows you must be up here with the man that benefits from his absence. An absence he still can’t wrap his head around. 

Dave peers out into the street as the barricades are lifted and the neighbors park their cars back into their designated spots. His brother, Pardi, is one of them. 

“Yo, Dave. Miss Jerri’s is the after spot tonight? You comin’?” 

There’s no such thing as leaving a person “on read” when they are right in your face. 

Taglist: @yoursoulstea​​​ @harleycativy​​ @twistedcharismaaa​​ @dorkskinneded​​​ @need-my-fics​​ @ghostfacekill-monger​​ @writerbee-ffs​​ @chaneajoyyy​​ 

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 135

It was fairly late in the evening by the time fear stopped paralyzing you enough to move. To get anything done. Tony had not moved from his spot upstairs all day, either. But he was currently, technically, on a mission. And you were just sitting in your office. Eventually, when sense returned, you decided to do something about it. 

“LUNA.” Reaching up to press on the left side earring cuff to activate your visor, a litany of information popped up in your view. Even though you hadn’t asked for it, there was also a simultaneous Iron Man link screen in a very small box in the lower right hand corner. Interesting. 

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“Let’s start some new security protocols.” The last time Kilgrave had grabbed you off the street, you’d been without her. Without the tech that might have mattered most. Although Kilgrave had made you abandon the Heart Reactor- you would never know if he would have made you take the earrings off, too. And it was far too late to start speculating now. 

“What would you like to set up?” 

Well, for starters… “Go back on Trish Talk’s website and grab the archive of her show from yesterday. The male caller at the end… I want you to isolate and hold a recording of it. If that voice gets within thirty feet of me, I want an instant activation of the suit.” 

“Working now, ma’am.” 

“I also want a direct phone call to Tony if the suit gets activated that way.” It was too late to wonder about all the what-ifs. But maybe you could pretend you were as smart as Tony. Things happened. And kept happening. But he never let that slow him down. He never let that stop him. 

No matter what terrible things happened, he always used what he learned to build something better for next time. You could do that, too. 

After a few seconds of silence, she answered again. “Protocols are now being established. Voice has been isolated.” 

“If the suit gets activated and Tony gets a phone call, I also want a GPS ping sent to Tony. If for some reason I lose the suit, I still want you tracking me through the visor.” What else, what else… “If that voice calls my cell phone, I want an immediate trace ran and all information on the phone number associated with it.” Tony had given you tech. You had to use it to your advantage. The way he did. You had to be smart about this. Give yourself shortcuts so hopefully you wouldn’t end up in a situation like that ever again.

Because Kilgrave was coming for you. There were no longer any doubts about that. 

“Oh, and another thing…”

“I’m listening, ma’am.”

                                                     --- 

After lulling yourself into a sense of newfound security that you hoped wasn’t false, you decided to test your luck. Kilgrave had only just started, and he seemed to have some sort of plan. Really, though, you did wonder how smart he was. He was entirely manipulative, this was true. But how much of that was just due to his powers? How heavily did he rely on them? 

Moments of you- and him- in that kitchen in Brooklyn… for that brief sweet moment when you’d broken free… you’d felt the horror in the air. His lack of thought that he’d ever be bested had nearly been his downfall. And if you only moved just a little faster, maybe you would have been free of him a lot sooner. Hard to think about, still. But… it really did raise the question of how much Kilgrave was prepared for, and how much he just figured out on the spot. 

He’d definitely captured Steve and orchestrated some plan to potentially kill Trish at the same time- and he’d gotten his hands quickly on Pepper too. Someone you’d considered to be far more innocent in all this. Though, you didn’t really think that was a thing he cared about in the slightest. He had hired Jessica’s neighbor to take pictures to track you… and do who knew what else with. How far did his spiderweb go? You’d have to figure it out soon. Slowly you were removing pieces off his board, but even through Pepper he’d sounded confident that that’s what he’d wanted. 

Or was that merely what he wanted you to think? The entire thing was frustrating. 

Happy was going to be the next one sent on vacation, simply because you didn’t want to risk him, too. Even if he was technically your head of security. But while you still had him, you called for him to take you to and from a restaurant so you could stealthily pick up some food. Stealthily in the case of making it look like just enough for you. But clearly in open defiance of Kilgrave. If he was watching. From any number of shadows that littered the streets. 

Tony had said you’d been getting paranoid. Maybe that was true. It was hard not to, when you’d suddenly found yourself locked in a battle with a nemesis that could make anyone do anything he wanted them to at any time. Chefs could poison your food. Drivers could total your car. Random passersby could beat you with a bat in the street. People in your very office could be infected- as he’d already proven he was capable of doing. 

But if you lived that life in perpetual fear of him, he won. Still. You had to be smart about this, too. You both couldn’t just lock yourself away and you also couldn’t run around flagrantly if only to show you weren’t scared of him. How could you not be? Honesty would call it being terrified. But maybe if he knew that he would win that way, too. He wanted you scared and weak and vulnerable. 

You couldn’t give it to him. 

Once safely back inside the lobby of the Tower, you decided to try and tell Happy to go on a small paid vacation. But. Of course. He intended to fight you every step of the way. Respectfully, as always. But his swift refusal really did put a pit in the bottom of your stomach. Pepper had also fought, a little, but when you’d told her it was for her safety she quickly understood that probably meant she was better off just listening to you. 

Instead, Happy surprised you as he walked you back towards your private elevator (newly refinished as Tony in his infinite skill of multitasking had fixed), he merely said, ”This is about what happened last year. That guy that took you.” Not a question in the slightest. Just. Telling you he already knew what this was about. 

It didn’t take long to guess how that was. “Tony told you?” 

“I’m head of security, remember?” Grinning, though it was half-hearted.  “Seems like something I should know about. So I do.” The question of when Tony had had the time to brief Happy about all this was probably not important. You did wonder what exactly Tony had told him, though. 

“Yeah. Well… whether or not I agree- he’s dangerous. And I want you somewhere safe.” People in your private, personal circle needed to go away. Whether or not that was smart. They were just more fodder for Kilgrave. And you couldn’t have that. 

“Feeling’s mutual. But I have a feeling you aren’t about to take off, either. So neither am I.” He crossed his arms, perhaps a little overtly on the defensive. 

How on earth had you gotten stuck with such infuriating men? Tony and Happy were more alike than they realized. Refusing to listen to reason. ...even if it was noble. And usually in the service of you. “I could fire you.” A threat that held no weight whatsoever. 

Yet he just shrugged it off. “Tony will hire me back.” 

“I don’t want you caught up in this, Happy.” How much clearer could you make it? 

“Yeah. Well, you are. So that means I am. It’s not just my job, you know. I care about you, too.” You sensed he wasn’t trying to make you feel bad on purpose. But he did so regardless. 

A heavy sigh escaped you. You couldn’t force Happy out. Even if you somehow managed it, even cruelly with a firing, you had a feeling he’d just shadow you anyway. Oh the pains of having friends. “I’m going to get you one of those ear pieces from Tony’s lab. I just booked a bunch of security protocols.” The only thing you could do was hope to get a ping off him if Kilgrave did try to snatch him. He wouldn’t have a suit for protection but hopefully this would be enough.

Preparation. That’s all you had. That was your only tool. Finally he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Fine. Whatever it takes.” 

Calling the elevator, finally, you gave him a brief but tired smile. “I appreciate it- just so you know. That you want to stick around. I still don’t think it’s a good idea. But… thank you.” 

His own smile was a little more sure. “You’re welcome.” 

                                                    ---

Back upstairs, you brought the food directly into the penthouse bedroom knowing Tony had not otherwise moved from his spot at the desk. Though as you entered, you noticed the telltale slump of his shoulders. He was achingly tired, yet his brain was still racing. You couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept. Which was a problem. Giving him a small touch on the shoulder to gain his attention, “I brought dinner.” 

His head tipped back, “Thanks. I’m finishing up. Suit’s gotta stay in the jet bay for repairs anyway.” His disappointment was an obvious note. 

“No scepter.” 

“Nope. No alien parts. Nothing. Hydra rats in jail is something but. Ultimately not what we were looking for.” Starting to ramble just a little bit. 

You pulled up another chair to sit aside him, putting the takeout boxes on the corner of the desk. “How’s the team?” 

“Asleep. We have a layover in Seoul. As usual, no one even thought to thank me for the nice hotel rooms.” Playing at that usual mock offense. 

“What’s in Seoul?” Not that you thought a Hydra base couldn’t be located just about anywhere, but a hub like that seemed like asking for too much trouble. Too many eyes. 

“U-GIN- uh- Doctor Cho- actually- JARVIS can you put this- here-” Reaching up after that mountain of clipped starts to push a holographic video window in front of you both. “This is Doctor Helen Cho. She runs things at U-GIN.” 

You regarded her image on the video screen, waving back when she waved to you. “Nice to meet you.” 

She was a pretty woman despite her slightly stoic demeanor, deep dark eyes with hair tied up in a messy bun. She and everyone around her were in lab coats. “You, too. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Tony stole the generic all good things I hope moment by speaking before you could. “The team stopped at her lab. Nat got hit pretty bad. Cho is the leading tech geneticist in the world right now. Cleaned her right up.” 

“Ah.” The pieces fell into place. “You’re our new in-house doctor?” 

“Hardly.” Her smile was light. “I think I have a lot more meaningful work to offer than patching scrapes, no offense to your team. But I would like to come visit the labs. And help where I can. If you need us.” 

“They have this thing called the Cradle over there. Sad I can’t visit it in person.” 

“I don’t want that thing bumbling around in my lab.” 

“Excuse me. My suits do not bumble.” 

She and Tony seemed pretty friendly with one another. It was nice, in a way. He really seemed to warm up to scientists, for obvious reasons. You wondered if he’d met her before all this, though. And while you were at least partially interested in this Cradle thing, you were otherwise too tired to engage in what would probably not make a lot of sense to you anyway. “Can’t you bring it here?” 

Helen answered with a definitive shake of her head. “There’s only the one. And I’d like it to stay where it is.” 

Tony half-grinned. “There’s only one right now.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Stark.” 

“I’m ahead of everyone.” Waving his hand dismissively. “This little you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours thing we’ve got going on…” 

She shook her head with a roll of her eyes. “Let me see your labs first. Then we can talk about all that.” You assumed they had entered into some contract with each other. Probably more verbal than anything. He’d probably offered her help to mass produce these Cradle things. Especially if one could be of such use to the team. You weren’t sure how Nat had gotten hurt, but if this doctor had managed to heal her in a matter of moments… yeah. Pretty impressive and worthwhile endeavor to go after. 

No wonder Tony was all over this. 

Whether it was his own tiredness or yours seeping into him, he thankfully decided to be the one to breach the awkward quick goodbyes. “Yeah, well. Probably sooner rather than later. I’ll let you get back to your work.” 

You gave her a small wave. “It was nice speaking with you. Thank you for helping the team.” 

She nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” 

With the video window closed, you turned to face Tony, reaching up to gently lift that techband off his head and face. In its wake, little red indents of telling all-day use stood out to you, and you worked your hands over the marks lightly. “You should eat. And then get some sleep.” 

“I’ve got too much to do.” Already putting up a fight. 

Holding his face in your hands, you gave him a look just short of pleading. “So do I. But neither of us are any good running on empty.” 

“Speak for yourself. I basically invented the manual on running on fumes.” 

“That doesn’t mean that’s a good thing- or that you should.” Just as he geared up to continue arguing you cut him off, “Tony. I’m asking you. For me, please. Eat something and then try to lie down for a few hours. Please.” Soft as you asked, watching his eyes. 

His hands covered yours, quickly dropping to your wrists, thumbs working circles over the insides. His eyes dropped, and his nod was defeated. “Yeah. Okay, honey.” 

Sitting forward you brought him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you.” Getting Tony to slow down was never an easy task. For you or for him- especially for him. So him acquiescing because you were asking him meant the world. 

The two of you moved to the living room to eat, again using the TV as white noise static to fill an otherwise anxiety ridden void that was slowly consuming the both of you. At least until you found strength enough to start filling him in on the day’s events. “I sent Pepper on vacation.” 

“Probably smart.” 

It would have been easy to sidestep why, but he deserved to know. “Kilgrave got to her.” 

The small chill that he projected stood out when he reached to put a hand on your leg. Steadying himself more than you. “Yeah? And did what?” 

“Just made her say some threatening things to me. But. That was more than enough reason to send her away. I tried to tell Happy to leave, too, but he wasn’t having any of it.” 

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, backing away from that high. Then he shook his head. “Guy’s as stubborn as an ox.” 

“I threatened to fire him.” 

At least this got a little grin out of him. “I’m sure he handled that gracefully.” 

You smiled back. “He seemed to think you’d automatically rehire him.” 

“I must have given him the wrong idea at some point.” Lifting his hand from your leg, he held his arm up, so you easily moved to him, letting him put it around you as you sank closer to him. “LUNA sent up your fresh security batch. Really good stuff. JARVIS is working on cleaning up the edges.” 

“I just thought some preventative measures were important now more than ever.” Tony’s praise always made you warm but it was easy to deflect. This was the obvious thing to do. That didn’t make it smart. 

“You did that while I was busy playing exterminator. I hadn’t even gotten that far yet.” 

“You would have.” 

He gave you a little squeeze. “Maybe. But. Now I don’t have to.” 

Because you weren’t useless. You weren’t ready to just sit there and take it as it came. You weren’t his damsel in distress to save every time something terrible came up. You were strong and capable. 

All these ideas floating in the air around you as you snuggled closer. “Except for cleaning up.” Teasing, just a little, as you raised a hand over his heart. 

He breathed out a quiet amused noise. “We can’t all be perfect.” His own hand raised, fingers lacing with yours. Just holding you there. “I love you. We’ll figure this out. He won’t be out there forever.” 

It was his resolve you were lulled by more than anything. You and Tony would figure this out. Kilgrave would be put down eventually. This was the promise he was making to you now. “I love you, too.” 

And you believed him.

                                                    ---

For all his reluctance to sleep (as it was such a waste of his time), as soon as you laid down with him, Tony was out like a light. You, on the other hand, laid awake. For a very long time. Sleep only came in short bursts, punctured by all too real nightmares that you tried to stifle as they thrust you awake over and over. Your suffering could not be allowed to infect Tony. And, thankfully, he slept the whole night through as you forcefully kept a lid on yourself. At least one of you had to be free and clear. And, since he was the smarter of the two of you, it seemed more advantageous for that to be him. 

It left you weary and anxious when you eventually scuttled down to your office the next morning. Trying to pretend like things were normal. That Kilgrave wasn’t in as much control of your life as he was. Really, you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was out there. Doing something. He wouldn’t be quiet for long. 

The ring of your personal cell phone got a complete startle out of you, and your heart started hammering as you looked at the unknown phone number on the screen. He’d called you once, he could do it again as many times as he pleased. Part of you hoped he would, so that you could try and figure out where he was hiding. It was the only reason you weren’t contemplating changing your number at this point. 

But. When you answered, it was Jessica’s voice that greeted you. “I dealt with Malcolm.” 

“Oh.” You tried to steady your breathing. “Okay. What’s the story with that?” 

“Kilgrave had him on the hook for drugs. Won’t be a problem anymore. That’s all.” Succinct and angry as always. You couldn’t really blame her. She was probably getting as much sleep as you were these days. Which was none. 

“Okay. Well. Thanks.” There was no way to drill her for information right now. You just had to take her at her word. But when she didn’t immediately hang up you started getting suspicious. “...is there something else?” 

“There is, actually.” Another long pause. Your heart squeezed. Here was the other shoe. It was probably something very bad. “...Hogarth and I are starting a survivor group. For Kilgrave’s victims. We’re doing it to collect testimony. So obviously you don’t have to go.” There was that usual sass and bite there. That undertone of calling you useless. “But. I thought maybe it might help you.” 

That however was… strange, at best. You might not have known Jessica for very long and really didn’t know anything about her other than that she was crass, always seemed to be pissed off, and always on the war path but… that seemed sort of… genuinely caring? 

Had something happened to her? Was she finally warming up to you? 

...probably lofty dreams for something so small. Your optimism really was the worst. “I can’t be seen there.” Then you had to go ruin it by saying something like that.

She scoffed. “No. Of course not. Don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“But-” Quickly speaking so she wouldn’t hang up. “Tell me where they’re meeting. Maybe I can figure something out.” If you wanted to go. This all seemed very public. And like a trap. And… also like something you weren’t sure you could handle. 

Victims of Kilgrave? Was the point to make you attend to make you feel terrible? For the people that had come after you? Optimism warring with pessimism and a shred of self loathing. And the latter was winning out. 

“Whatever.” 

The first meeting was apparently tomorrow. It didn’t really give you a lot of time to think about it. 

[purplesurveys]

914

Do you prefer bar or liquid soap? Liquid. I don’t like how a bar soap tends to slip out of my hands. What's the speed limit on your street? I live in a gated village with tiny streets and kids that can run out of their gates any time, so the maximum on our widest roads is 40 kph. In more cramped streets, it’s recommended to drive 15-20. When was the last time you wore your favourite article of clothing? With my favorite pair of jeans, it was at the start of the month. I don’t have a favorite top; I find them all nice. Do any of your family members have an upcoming birthday? I don’t know anyone in my family who celebrates their birthday in August. If there’s someone, I can’t place them at the moment. On a scale of 1-5, 5 being the best, rate your last kiss. 5.

What is your favourite flavour of Jolly Ranchers? I don’t eat those. Where was your Facebook profile picture taken? It was taken in the basement of my college, which had been converted into a makeshift photo studio for a few days so that we could take our senior photos there. The basement has several rooms so most of them got used for different purposes like a hair and makeup room, a changing room, the actual photo studio, etc. Do your parents smoke? No. I think my mom mentioned experimenting with cigarettes when she was in college, but she didn’t like it, quit as soon as she started, and hasn’t had one since. My dad never smoked, period. Would you rather bake cookies or a potato? Cookies. It’s more nostalgic to me, which makes the experience more fun. Who was the last person to stay the night at your house? Gabie, probs. She’s the only one who sleeps over anyway. Do you live close to a park? We have our own tiny parks in our village; but no, this country is generally not public spaces-friendly. Is your favourite animal endangered? One of them is. Have you eaten pizza in the last week? Nah man, I haven’t had pizza in a WHILE. Not since February, I’m pretty sure. Who was the last person you added to your contacts list? I don’t remember. I think it was my hair and makeup artist for a test photoshoot that I did last December. How long does it take you to shower? 7-10 minutes. Do you prefer a brand of bottled water over others, or is it all the same? Sure. There are brands that have a slightest taste, and I try to avoid those. Have you used Wikipedia today? Yes. I read at least one article a day, whether on purpose or coincidental. Idk I think that despite the fact that it’s not a credible source to include on essays and papers, I still think it’s super informative and helpful and it’s at least fun to read through and spend hours in if I’m doing leisure reading.   Are you better at writing fiction or non-fiction? Non-fiction BY A MILE. The idea of writing fiction terrifies me...I’ve never been able to reach that level of creativity. Do you know anyone who has moved to a different state? I’ve known people who have moved from one province to another (we don’t have states). But in terms of the US, I also do know someone who moved from one state to another. I went to school with this girl who migrated to Hawaii a few years back, then she moved to California last year. How many pens can you see from where you’re sitting? Zero. Have you ever dated someone one grade/year above or below you? Nopes, but I’d assume that’s pretty common.

What language do you think you’d be good at? Spanish for obvious reasons.

What language do you think you’d fail at? Russian. And the African languages that have click sounds in them; I’ve always found this SO fascinating, but I know I'd never be able to perfect those. Do you still have a landline phone at your house? Yes. I have older relatives who still prefer talking on landline, so we keep it around for them. What is your current desktop background? One of the default wallpapers on my laptop. I changed it recently though. My old one was a mountain shot that mostly had a pinkish hue; and my new one is still a shot of a mountain range, but now it’s orange-purplish-pinkish.

How big is the television you last watched? Haven’t watched TV in a while. Have you ever been stung by a bee or a wasp? NOPE, one of my biggest fears.

How many schools have you been to in your lifetime? Two. I went to my first school from kindergarten to high school and the only time I transferred was when I went to college. Are you of legal age in your country? Yes. I have been in the last four years.

Why did you last visit a doctor? I had been sick for days and I was convinced it was no longer just a fever because no medicine and amount of sleep were helping, so I got myself checked. Would you prefer an ice cream cake or a regular cake? Regular cakes. Omg I hate ice cream cakes...I was never sold on the idea of cake not only being painfully cold to bite, but also capable of melting and getting all liquidy. I’m not gonna hate on other people who are into those, but I honestly never saw the hype. How old is your best friend? Gabie’s 22. Angela’s turning 22 in September. What is/was your high school’s mascot? My old school doesn’t have a mascot. We have school colors but that’s it. Do you carry pain relievers with you at all times? No. I didn’t want to be too dependent on them (still don’t) when I was still in school, so I just left the pills at home. My headaches sometimes go away on their own, anyway. Where is your mother right now? She just went upstairs to settle in their room for the night. What was the last thing to make you smile? A meme Angela sent a couple of minutes ago. Are you currently saving up for anything? Not currently since I don’t have money coming in. I imagine I’d be saving up for Airpods and a new set of braces once I start having a salary, though. Priorities, hahaha. What’s the view like from your bedroom window? Not too impressive. I just see the houses behind ours. Generally speaking, do you prefer sweet or savoury? Savory. My cravings for sweet only come once I’ve had savory. What would you do if you got home and you saw your house had been destroyed? Check the scene and see if my dogs made it. I’d try asking neighbors and the guards if they saw what happened; and I’d be devastated and anxious as fuck, of course. When did you last go outside, and what for? I walked Kimi outside an hour ago so he can do his business. We’ve closed off the balcony for now (his usual spot) since it’s been raining all day and evening, so I walked him in the area of our house that’s under a shed. Who is your favourite Sesame Street character? Didn’t really grow on Sesame Street. I suppose I liked Big Bird most, but I was never too attached to the character. How often do you check your emails? Everyday at this point. Do you have any plans for this Thanksgiving? No. What colour is your backpack? Baby pink. Would you slap the last person you talked to for twenty dollars? It’s not completely off the table, but you’re gonna have to pay me a lot more for me to slap my girlfriend lol What search engine do you usually use? Google. How much did the shirt you’re wearing cost? Couple thousand bucks. It’s official WWE merch. Patrick Stump or Pete Wentz? I never compare members within the same band. I like them both. Do you know anyone who gives way too many hugs? Laurice. Not that that’s a bad thing. She hugs eveeeeeeryone, and she’s the sweetest for doing so. What time do you usually wake up on Sundays? 7-8 AM these days, like for all days. Have you whispered today? I don’t think so. What grade did you get on the last test you took? I never got to find out my grade in my Rizal exam since the lockdown happened shortly after. That’s the only test I got to take in the second semester.

[siribear]

deacon remembers the name of every railroad agent they lost at the switchboard. honestly, he remembers the name of every agent they’ve lost, since his first burned headquarters. he wishes he didn’t. so he distracts himself with teaching the new girl - not that she needs it. she takes to the railsigns with an impressive ease. even figures out the one for cache without him even telling her.

it’s pretty great.

and not to mention - but totally to mention, because she’s gonna give tinker tom a run for his money when they get back - she broke into the security terminal to let them into the tunnel in the first place. and he didn’t even get to punch in all their funny old passwords. bummer.

‘way to make me feel useful over here, partner.’

‘oh, i’m sure you have your uses.’ she taps at a new set of keys to reactivate tom’s old turrets. ‘or maybe the railroad just keeps you around to look pretty.’

he laughs, and realizes he’s gonna like her. and then: glory’s gonna hate her. but then she takes out a pair of synths with two quick shots and he knows glory’ll love her.

‘one more computer for you, pal.’

it gets him an eyeroll, but she moves up to open it anyway. between the two of them, as well as a few stimpaks when the new girl gets a pretty nasty looking burn on her leg, the swarm of synths that make up their welcoming party to the switchboard goes down.

she stops on top of the DIA logo in the middle of the room and inspects it.

‘take it all in,’ he says. ‘not every slocum’s joe has a basement like this one.’

she mutters something to herself, an odd look on her face. something else to keep in mind, right after he learns why she wants to go after kellogg of all people. not that he minds; in his, and plenty of other people’s opinions, kellogg needs to die. but what’d he do to her?

‘anyway, up this way. we’re close to the carrington’s prototype now.’

‘what is this prototype anyway?’ she whispers, carefully opening the upstairs door.

he stops her with an outstretched hand, and has her listen. she makes a face, but eventually she hears it. the hiss of pistons and the soft click of hard plastic against the floor. more synths.

‘i hear you.’

the robotic voice sends a chill up his spine. he tightens his grip on his rifle and pushes forward, new girl at his side. with a look and a nod, he swings open the door. again, the two synths go down easily. they’re about to go down another hallway when she yanks him to the side, a pretty laser burn on the wall where his head used to be. the synth’s neck sparks as it falls to its knees, head blown apart and dead.

she’s still got her other hand balled up in his sleeve. ‘nice shot.’

‘wouldn’t be a good look if i came back alone from this job,’ she says, and lets go.

‘i don’t know,’ he says, leading her down the hallway. ‘maybe it’s time i stepped down as the railroad’s mascot. let someone else be the pretty one.’

‘i appreciate the proper training, then.’

‘well, then, my mascot apprentice. carrington’s prototype is right through here.’

he doesn’t even need to warn her about the synths in the next room. she stops and waits, one hand on the door. when she opens it, he starts firing.

the other synths they encountered in the switchboard had their leathery-plastic skin exposed. the group between them and carrington’s prototype wears a heavy set of plastic armor. one even wears a helmet, throwing a quick head shot out of the equation.

but, see, he might have snatched a couple of tom’s pulse grenades before he left HQ. he pulls it out of his coat pocket, holds it up for her to see. again, he doesn’t need to speak, just gets a grin from his new favorite partner before she leans out and begins firing.

he doesn’t hear the pin drop, just lobs it through the open door and pulls back around the corner. there’s no big explosion, just a loud pop and crackle of energy. the hair on the back of his neck rises, but the firing stops.

‘all clear.’

carrington’s voice echoes through the room from the tape player in deacon’s hand.

‘salus aegroti suprema lex,’ the new girl repeats over the thunk, thunk, thunk of the secure door opening. ‘so carrington’s a doctor?’

‘good guess.’ he sighs upon seeing tommy whispers’ body on the floor. ‘so, tommy died protecting our secrets.’ deacon kneels next to tommy’s body. ‘carrington’s prototype is over there,’ he gestures to the shelf on the other side of the room. while she retrieves the prototype, he picks up tommy’s gun: a slim .10mm pistol, fit with a silencer. one of tom’s best.

‘so, what is this?’

‘he’s building on stealthboy technology,’ he says vaguely. when he stands to face her, her eyebrow is raised, prototype held in front of her. ‘no, really, i don’t know much else. he doesn’t like talking to anyone else about his work. except maybe des.’ he shrugs. ‘here, take this.’

‘is this - ?’ she looks from the gun to tommy’s body behind him. ‘you should have it. i’m not even - ’

‘all our best agents have ordinance made specially by tinker tom. he’s - well, you’ll know when you meet him. tommy would want you to have it. he called it deliverer.’

she sighs when she takes it. ‘thank you. here’s the prototype, then.’

he shakes his head. ‘you give it to des. she can’t possibly deny letting you become an agent after this. come on. let’s get out of here.’

deacon starts figuring out how to spin this when he gets back. des probably won’t be happy he took the new girl out here. but if he - hmm. saying she took out a courser would be a little too hard to sell.

compared to her old gun, tommy’s gun barely makes a sound as she clears out the last of the synth’s underground. ‘quiet as a whisper, huh?’

he helps her push the bookcase out of the way at the top of the elevator and with the last of his pilfered pulse grenades, they clear out the final synths and turrets. he teaches her how to disarm the frag grenades that litter the ground outside the slocum’s joe, after.

‘well,’ she begins, as they recuperate outside lexington, ‘i think we made a pretty good team back there.’

he removes a stimpak from his leg. ‘the best.’ couldn’t have gone better, really. ‘we’ll go our separate ways from here. staggered entry back at the church, you know?’

she shrugs, nods. ‘i have a stop i want to make before i head back, anyway. don’t worry, i’m not taking off with carrington’s... thing.’

‘hey, i believe you.’ and it’s true, oddly enough. she doesn’t seem like the type. or maybe she’s a better liar than he gave her credit for.

nah. not yet, anyway.

-

sanctuary has street lights. street lights.

her way is lit all the way to her house and beyond, circling around the cul-de-sac and the large tree in the center. there are new faces, too, tending small gardens behind the houses. codsworth floats up to her, arms spinning excitedly.

‘good to see you again, mum!’

‘likewise, codsworth.’ she raps her knuckles against a light post. ‘these are new.’

‘mister sturges has been quite busy.’

‘thought it’d be nice to see at night.’ sturges peeks out from the house across from her old home. ‘glad to see you’re alright, general.’

even preston picks up on the small reunion, appearing behind codsworth. ‘general! how are you?’

‘i’m good. glad to see things are going well here.’ preston nods, and tells her about the new people that have arrived, thanks to her transmission. when he asks her if she’s staying the night, she shakes her head. ‘no, i have to head back into the city. i just thought i’d see if someone came by here.’

‘there was a ghoul in a trench coat that said you sent him here. last i saw him, he was down by the river.’

she thanks him, but sturges stops her before she can head toward the river. ‘it’s some blueprints for a radio tower. sounds crazy - hell, probably looks crazy - but preston said these could go up in any new settlement. just gotta tweak the message a little for each area.’ he helps her tuck the rolled up blueprints into her bag. ‘anyway, back to work. good seein’ ya.’

preston marks a few areas for her to look into establishing more settlements: an area to the southwest, sunshine tidings co-op, and a familiar drive-in theater. she tells him about hangman’s alley near diamond city. it’s a small area, as far as he knows, currently occupied by raiders. but he agrees the centralized location and an outpost in the city isn’t a bad idea.

‘sounds like you’ve got a lot to do,’ he says, walking with her to the riverside. ‘are you really okay? i know i put a lot on you - ’

she holds up a hand. ‘it’s fine, preston. i accepted the title. it’ll take some time, but knowing people have more safe places in the commonwealth - it’s a goal worth working toward. don’t worry about me.’

‘alright. i’ve just heard some... interesting things on the radio, lately.’

‘wow, yeah. is that guy always like that?’ preston shrugs. ‘interesting. but, yeah, seriously, i’m fine.’

he looks her over, and she tries not to fidget. in the distance, she can see that faded trench coat. preston puts a hand on her shoulder, startling her. ‘i’m here for you, every step of the way, general.’

alice smiles, squeezes his hand. he lets her go, returning to his patrols around sanctuary.

the man abandoned by vault tec doesn’t startle when she walks up beside him on that curb by the river. black eyes watch the gentle waves, curling around rocks and large pieces of debris.

‘it’s weird being back,’ he rasps. at her questioning glance, he continues. ‘i was here for a year after the bombs dropped. it was... the closest place i knew.’

‘what made you leave?’

‘your robot.’

‘codsworth?’

‘he just kept - he kept on trimming the bushes around your house like nothing had happened. he’d go inside and set the table, wait around for hours, then wash up the dishes.’ he lowers his head. ‘i tried to tell him that everyone was dead. but he did it, day after day. he even talked about your neighbors like they were still there. a couple months in, i realized he was just doing it to feel... normal. but nothing about it was normal. i couldn’t take it anymore.

‘after us ghouls were kicked out of diamond city by the mayor, i followed along to goodneighbor when they founded it. once the hotel was set up, i couldn’t... bring myself to leave. didn’t want to face all of that, all over again.’

‘i’m sorry,’ she says, hoping her voice sounds as even to him as it does in her head. ‘i didn’t know it was so rough for you.’

his laugh is bitter. ‘no one needs an old ghoul with years of vault-tec experience.’

‘well.’ she sticks her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking. ‘i’m sure we could use someone with salesman experience here. and two hundred years of it? you’d blow all the other resumes out of the water.’

he turns to her, eyes wide. ‘really?’

‘really. i’m sure sturges could build you a.. stall, or something. once we get trade moving through here, you’d be essential.’

‘i... appreciate it. truly.’ his voice his watery. ‘you seem to be handling things better than i did.’

she barks a laugh. ‘that’s a way of putting it.’

‘oh. you.. had a husband and child, didn’t you? i haven’t seen them since i was... dropped off. how are they doing?’

alice freezes. breathe. in, out. ‘they - didn’t make it.’

‘i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to...’

‘it’s okay. i’d... appreciate if you didn’t mention them to the others, though.’

in, out.

‘of course, yeah. i understand. i think i’ll go talk to sturges about that stall. thank you, for keeping your promise.’

he leaves her by the river as the sky begins to glow orange over sanctuary hills. with a heavy exhale, she returns to the neighborhood to say goodbye to everyone, and leaves sanctuary once more.

[prorevenge]

Shitty neighbor bullies struggling immigrants for 15 years. Their kid gets revenge, and the shitty neighbor loses custody of her kid & is forced to move out of their house.

I'm sorry it's long, but I think it's worth it!

Spoiler alert: I'm the kid.

A bit of context first:

I'm an only child, born in the USA to older parents (they were both 45 when I was born) who immigrated from Venezuela in the 90's. When I was 2, my Dad was shot in the head. He lived for another 13 years, but the incident permanently damaged certain parts of his brain, and he was a completely different person for those last 13 years. He went from being the most loving, incredible, caring, compassionate person around, to an aggressive, violent, asshole who blew up over the smallest things, but only ever at his inner circle (me, my mother, or other close family). He always managed to keep his composure around strangers for fear of someone calling the police and him getting arrested, but he would later let it all out on my Mom and myself (admittedly mostly me). After the shooting, he could never work again, and my Mom was forced into the position of being the family's sole breadwinner. We lived in poverty for many, many years, because the USA wouldn't recognize her college degree and she couldn't afford to go to college again, so she couldn't work in her field and had to start "at the bottom of the ladder." Dad eventually died when I was 15, of issues related to his shooting.

Now, when I was 7, my parents decided to move into a town with a better reputation for their schools than the one we were currently living in, so that I could attend a better school. They bought a house literally on the edge of town. Most of this town is incredibly expensive, but because on the other side of our street (and across the town line) there's a big complex of government-subsidized housing, our area is much cheaper. This is the house with the asshole neighbor. The house is a three-family. For the last 16 years, we have owned and occupied the first floor, while the terrible neighbor lived on the second floor (until recently). The third floor has been occupied by over 10 owners and tenants over these years; None have stayed more than 3 or 4 years and some have stayed as little as a handful of months.

Now, the second floor bitch, let's call her "Karen." Because, obviously. She has a husband, who we'll call Bill, and they have a young son, Henry.

Here's the story:

When we moved in, Karen and Bill had already been here for a few short months. The three of us (us on the first floor, Karen and Bill on the second, and the original third floor's owners) bought the house from the same crew, who had bought it and turned it into a three-family, "fixing it up" in the process.

Karen quickly showed her true colors as a bully. Over the years, there's been countless examples of nasty shit she's pulled. Her husband, Bill, is an immigrant himself, and doesn't speak very good English. He's very submissive to her and does whatever she wants, but in front of other people makes himself out to be physically dominant. In our first years here, they used to fight a lot, which we regularly heard from downstairs. They would yell, sometimes for hours, and occasionally it seemed like things got violent. Henry was born maybe 10 years ago. He doesn't factor into the story until much later. But anyways, the point is: Whatever Karen's done, she's always gotten away with it. Here are some highlights:

My Mom always took pride in how well she took care of our trash bin & recycling bin. Every month she'd give them a quick rinse after that week's trash day, just to make sure that they wouldn't develop a smell or a colony of bacteria wouldn't move in. Karen, apparently, wasn't so diligent, and one time, her recycling been got really nasty. And I mean really nasty. So, she just left it out back (context: Behind the house isn't a backyard, it's just pavement with a parking spot designated for each unit), and began using ours. Lo and behold, ours started to get nasty, and Mom quickly went from spending a quick 3 minutes rinsing it out every month to about 45 minutes scrubbing with soap and water to clean it out. Eventually, we decided we'd had enough, and she and Dad sent Karen and the third-floor-tenants of the time a polite, but firm, e-mail, that basically said, "Whoever started using our recycling bin, please stop and use your own. You never asked our permission, and we take good care of it, and ever since you began using it it's become disgusting." We knew it was Karen and Bill, but Mom & Dad figured it was more polite without a call-out and they "didn't want to start anything." Within a week, 2 things happened: Karen & Bill got a brand-spanking new recycling bin, and one week we found ours had been mysteriously destroyed. Someone took a knife to it and cut it to pieces. We had no way of knowing who it was, but we had a pretty good feeling we knew exactly who it was. (Yes, we had to get a new one.) Because we had no evidence of who did it though, my parents didn't say anything about it.

Back when we could afford a car (we haven't had one since our first few years here), we used our parking space out back. Every time that Karen & Bill hosted a party (which back then was surprisingly frequently), they would toss their trash over their balcony "into the general vicinity of the trash & recycling bins out back," which is literally right next to our designated parking space. Most of the dents we had on our old '88 Toyota were from bottles thrown from the second floor balcony. We had windows break a couple times; Same deal. Each time it happened, my parents would politely go upstairs, knock on Karen & Bill's door, and respectfully ask them to stop throwing stuff over the balcony because "sometimes it accidentally hits our car." Each time they went and did that, Karen & Bill stopped, but they would do it again until they got caught during their next party. Again though, my parents never wanted to escalate the situation, so they never justified taking it further than knocking on her door and politely asking them to stop.

This is another example of Karen's utter shit behavior, but it's also relevant for the revenge part of the story, so I'm putting it after the bullet point section. Our basement is shared between all 3 units. Each unit has its designated space boxed out (kind of like office cubicles), and there's some designated "common area" in between. Years ago (maybe like 8 or 9), Karen and Bill completely filled their designated basement cubicle, so they just started piling shit all over the common area. Eventually, they developed this enormous pile of junk in front of Unit 1's (our unit) oil tank (for heating). My Mom & Dad never said anything because it happened over a long period of time and they didn't want to start a fight, and as far as I know none of the third floor folks ever said anything either, but it got to the point where she and her husband were taking up common area space that was easily twice the size of their designated cubicle.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that for many years my parents and I weren't great neighbors, either. We didn't bully anyone, but due to my Dad's condition, he could be triggered (ayyyyyyy) by seemingly anything, and suddenly he'd be in a rage and we'd all be yelling. I grew up in that generally chaotic environment, and, yeah, there were several times when the police were called to our house for noise disturbances. But we kept our shit to ourselves, and we were nothing but polite and respectful to all our neighbors, always.

That said, you can imagine that our first priority was always my Dad and his stability, and we had enough on our hands with that, so he & Mom always swallowed their pride and avoided doing anything to antagonize Karen, no matter how shitty her behavior got.

After my Dad died, I developed my own issues for a while, with mental health. Growing up in a constantly chaotic, violent, aggressive environment took its toll on me, and for a time I had deeply depressive tendencies. I struggled with suicidality for years, and eventually wound up graduating high school after 8 years of attending classes in some form or another. Similar to when my Dad was sick, I became my mother's top priority at that point, so again, Karen and Bill kept getting away with all her bullshit.

I got better though. Nowadays, I'm even off my psychiatric medication. I got my shit together and graduated high school, and even college. I have my Bachelor's, and I'm doing some postgrad stuff for a Master's. Most of the way has been paid for by scholarships. But, I recently decided that, as an adult now and therefore as someone with a little more say in things around the house than when I was a kid, I had had enough of watching Karen bully my parents, particularly my mother, for so many years. I want revenge.

Phase One of my plan was to ease my way into the adult, condo-administration dialogue. I began helping out more around the house -- as in, around the common area parts:

I single-handedly redid the back porch's flooring (it sounds like more than it is -- I just pulled out all the floorboards and nailed new ones in).

I replaced both storm doors (about 6 months apart) when each one began having problems (different kinds of problems, it doesn't matter what they were).

I also took care of some comparatively smaller things -- I weedwhacked out back for a couple hours, cut the grass out front a few times, and got up early so that I could beat everyone else to the shoveling every time it snowed one winter (not '18-'19, but '17-'18). I also began wheeling back everyone's recycling & trash bins after trash week every week, not just our own.

After the first 2 bullet point stuff, each time I sent out an e-mail to everyone in the condo to let them know that I had taken care of it, and that all I asked of the other 2 units was for them to reimburse me 1/3rd of the cost of materials, on their timetable, because of course I hadn't given them a heads-up so it was only fair that I allow them to pay me when they can. The smaller stuff from the last bullet point I obviously didn't need to announce, the idea was just that over time, the neighbors would see me taking more initiative in things and being more active, which would go on to justify me participating more in inter-condo politics. I also made a point to keep conversations to e-mails, so that there would be a written record of every interaction.

Phase Two of my plan ran pretty much concurrently to Phase One, but had an entirely different purpose and was overall entirely different: I began gathering evidence of everything I could.

I asked my Mom to track down all the old e-mails she & Dad had exchanged with the neighbors, documenting many instances that Karen & Bill had pulled shit

I went downstairs and took a video of Karen and Bill's shit all over the common area, particularly emphasizing all the highly flammable wooden and cardboard shit they had piled up in front of our oil tank.

I dug up and pored over the deed to our apartment, specifically the sections that detailed the rules around common areas and the limitations of our unit as compared to the others and vice versa.

To my utter joy, Mom & Dad never threw out that old recycling bin that Karen and/or Bill had knifed up, apparently because they just never knew what to do with it and never wanted anyone to ask questions. Naturally, I dug it up and took plenty of photos.

I did one other evidence-gathering thing that needs a bit more explanation: Karen & Bill are awful parents. Mom & I regularly hear the shit they do to Henry through the very thin ceiling we have here. I'm decidedly not going to go into detail because, even though I changed his name, he's still underage and I feel it would be disrespectful to him to do that, but let's say it crosses far into the realm of child abuse. This is a topic I'm particularly sensitive about because I grew up in a shitty situation myself, so believe me when I say this part is the most satisfying part of my revenge. Let's just say that every time I could hear shit through the ceiling, I took out my phone and started a recording until it stopped.

Finally, Phase Three of my plan was basically to bait Karen and/or Bill into a trap I set, that, as it turns out, would have humongous consequences (for them).

Mom & I have this old treadmill that we got for free. It's in the kitchen, and lately we've come to the conclusion that it just takes up a little too much space. We both use it a little, but not enough to justify keeping it. She wanted to toss it out, but I argued hard to keep it around, because I knew I could use it for this plan. It would be my only shot.

Remember how I mentioned we haven't had a car for years? Well, eventually, I convinced Mom to let me put the treadmill outside, in our parking space out back. I bought a large tarp to cover it with, so it would be protected from the rain, and I told her I'd start using it more if it was outside because it's nicer to do exercise in the fresh air.

I also sent out an e-mail to Karen, cc'd to Bill and the current third-floor-folks, asking her to move all the things in front of our oil tank in the basement "somewhere else." Despite the fact that those things had been there for many years, I justified addressing it now because I'm the one addressing it, and that's different from before because before I was a child and now I'm an adult who actively participates in the inter-condo dialogue. I asked her to because the way she currently had it set up is a safety hazard, and "I'm just following the rules." I further let her know that if she and Bill didn't take care of it within a handful of weeks, that I would have no choice but to take care of it myself. In the same e-mail, I let everyone know that I was putting our treadmill in our parking space out back, so that if anyone had any trouble with getting into their spot to please let me know. The same day I sent out the e-mail, I put the treadmill out back.

Now, I figured nothing was going to change from all the other e-mails I had sent about matters regarding the condo's administration, and nothing did: She and Bill never acknowledged anything. The current third-floor guy didn't want anything to do with going up against Karen, so he just thanked me for the heads-up about the treadmill and said nothing else.

It's also important to note here that my real reason for mentioning the treadmill in that e-mail wasn't "in case anyone has trouble getting into their parking spot." Needless to say, sure, a treadmill in a kitchen is pretty fucking big and obnoxious, but a treadmill off to the side of an automobile parking space isn't really big at all. Plus, I placed it in such a way that it wasn't in anyone's way, giving everyone ample room to maneuver around. It was just there, off to the side. The reason I mentioned the treadmill in that e-mail was to alert her to its presence, and perhaps associate it in her mind with my request for her to move all her shit in the basement.

I also began using it, at least three mornings a week. I timed it so that sometimes, Karen and Bill would run into me as they left to drive Henry to school. Every time I saw them, I waved and greeted, to ensure they'd notice me on the treadmill. Mom also used it a few times, but she wasn't part of my plan so I've no idea if she ever ran into them while on it.

Here's the other thing I did: I set up a video camera in our laundry basket. See, we have it permanently in the pantry, next to the pantry window that faces the back area. I buried it beneath clothing so that from outside you can't even see it, but I bought a few massive (memory storage wise, not physically) SD cards and kept the thing recording 24/7, with a timestamp.

For 2 weeks, nothing happened. The camera recorded nothing suspicious, and Karen & Bill didn't move their shit in the basement.

Their time was up, so one night, I got up at around 1AM when everyone else was asleep so nobody would hear me, and went downstairs to move their shit.

Reddit, I can't express to you how much I enjoyed this. I bought a GoPro, put it on my noggin, and carefully recorded the entire hour and a half of moving shit around. I took the enormous pile of junk in front of Mom & I's oil tank, and found a way to fit all of it into their designated storage cubicle. In the end, it was packed. I have mild OCD and I nearly had an orgasm at the end from how well organized (physically) everything was, so that everything was neatly packed together and all the space was used at maximum efficiency. It was glorious. Packed from floor to ceiling, and almost wall-to-wall all around. If you can just imagine one massive, near-perfect rectangular prism of junk, that's what I had created. It was a masterpiece. I was so proud. On the side the door was on, there was enough space to walk to either wall, but you couldn't move "into" it anywhere.

I got back upstairs to our apartment and couldn't sleep the rest of the night. I was beyond excited. I wound up watching Infinity War to prepare for Ant-Man and the Wasp's then-upcoming release. Ayyy.

Sure enough, Karen & Bill took the bait. I must've been at school or work when they first discovered the basement, because I never heard a thing about it. In hindsight, it's probably best I was out, even though I would've savored those angry shrieks like nothing ever before. In any case, within a few days, we discovered our treadmill destroyed. Similarly to the recycling bin of years past, it had been knifed up. I can imagine they probably wanted to straight-up take a hammer to it, but they didn't want to make much noise, so they wound up just tearing the thing apart with a really big and really sharp knife. They had seen that we were using it, and aside from our trash & recycling bins it was our only property that they had access to at that point (several years back I filled up the rest of the wall of our basement cubicle and installed a door with a lock, so our cubicle is now sealed off to everyone else but the others are open and anyone can enter), plus I can imagine destroying a $1000 treadmill is infinitely more tempting than a trash or recycling bin, so they went for it in retaliation for my stunt in the basement.

After moving their shit in the basement, I started timing my treadmill use differently so that I wouldn't run into them. As soon as I saw it after they destroyed it, I went straight to the camera I had set up in the pantry. It caught the whole thing. In true fashion of their relationship, Bill brandished an enormous knife and single-handedly destroyed the whole thing himself, while she stood next to him and seemingly ordered him to do it.

With that in hand, I called the police, reported the incident, told them that my mother and I felt threatened by their presence and we filed a restraining order against both Karen and Bill with the police that same day. I turned over all the evidence I had gathered of all their shit over the years, and I also turned over all the audio clips I had of Karen & Bill terrorizing Henry. I figured since it was all audio and no video, it wouldn't be enough to get him out of their care, but maybe it'd at least get the Department of Children & Families involved.

Karen & Bill immediately claimed that I had broke a bunch of their shit while moving it around in the basement (shit that they no doubt had broken themselves), so I offered my GoPro recordings as proof that I had not, in fact, broken any of their shit while moving it at all.

The restraining order a person is allowed to file with a police report is always temporary, but you can always petition the court to extend it. Once Mom & I did that, it was granted. At that point, Karen & Bill hadn't been legally allowed to go back home for about a week, and since it became a longer-term restraining order, they were basically not going to be allowed to live in their own home for several years, so they made the obvious choice to sell the house and move elsewhere. Needless to say, selling a house you're not allowed to be near is a difficult task, and moving all your stuff out of said house is even more difficult -- particularly when you have so much of it. They wound up coordinating the entire house's sale from afar, with their realtor being the only person who came around to show the house. Once it was time for them to move, some relatives of theirs came around and packed everything up and loaded it into a truck.

Also, I was right, based on my recordings alone Henry wasn't taken from their custody, but DCF did get involved. I heard from their family that came around to pack up their shit though that Karen & Bill did wind up losing custody of him. They didn't say much as to why, but they basically implied that the abuse ramped up a lot after everything went down between me and Karen & Bill (which is the only part I feel guilty about, but in the end I hope this is a situation where the end justifies the means), at which point DCF was already sniffing around, so they wound up losing custody of him anyways. I've no idea where Henry wound up, but wherever he is I obviously have nothing against him and I hope he winds up in a much better situation than he was.

Finally, I will say, for two such inordinately obtuse and disgusting human beings, they had surprisingly decent family members. The few times I ran into them and made small talk when they were around they were pretty apologetic about the whole thing. I got the impression that this isn't the first time they're apologizing on Karen & Bill's behalf. I hope Henry is taken in by one of them, and not chucked into the foster system. Here's hoping, kid.

(source) story by (/u/dorkofthesnorkelkind)