#this is the equivalent of yelling at a wall with neighbors on the other side. one roommate got the cops involved against the other

[autistic-shaiapouf]

It's 11pm so I know this is influencing my feelings but. make it make sense, no one in this household has beef with me bc 1) I'm never home and 2) I ingratiate myself with everyone so everyone thinks I'm on their side, when in actuality I can't stand any of them. What I am witnessing has me developing more bitterness for other people than my year and a half of customer service has done. Not one person here has a functioning brain and yet expect me to feel pity. To reach out.

Leave.

[prorevenge]

Mean Lady hates everyone. Espacially us . We buy her house after she failed to pay her debt.

First of all: English isnt my first language but I try my best. Im on mobile so formating may be shit.

TL:DR at the bottom

The house we live in was build at the same time as hers. My parents were often at the construction site and help if they can. The strange lady was nice to us at the beginning. But that changed soon.

This happened around Christmas 2017. We have a neighbor who is very unpopular in our neighborhood. She is well known for harrasing people who use the public path at the left side of her house. The path is one out of three to reach the public playground behind her house. If someone uses the path she would scream at them that this is her path on her privat property which is wrong. Sometimes she would close the path with a red and white plastic chain and wont let anyone use the path. She would scream at kids on the playgeound when they were loud (at daytime). She always has her shutters almost down so she can stalk the people on the street and stay unseen. If some kids ball landed in her garden she would bring it to the kids and destroy it with a knive right in front of them. All kids knew this and would run by her house if they wanted to go on the playground.

When the neighbours Kids where playing in the winter outside in the snow she would call the CPS equivalent in my country and tell them they were locked outide by their parents as a punishment. If someone walked by her house at night she would often call the police due to a noise complain. She was know by every one in our neighborhood as "The Witch".

But she hated my family in particular. We lived right beside her house. Our houses shared one wall. When me and my sister were young we would use the swing in our garden or jump on our trampoline. She would regulary file noise complaints and often harrase me and my sister when we were alone in our garden. If my parents heard her screaming swear words at us from the first floor of her house they would yell back. If me or my sister walked on the path by her house she would scream at us. We used the path daily on our way to school. One time when I came home from school she was in her car with the trunk on the sidewalk. When I walked by the back of her car she howled the engine and the dark exhaust hit me. Almost every night she would hit the shared wall with something to wake us up. Sometimes she ring on our door and try to make us go to other neighbors to complain about small things. We often had lawsuits with her. One time because her trees grew 2m over the border. Another time because she build a fence by stickig bamboo mats in the dirt and tearing it down the next day and telling the police we destroyed her wooden fence. We won all lawsuits against her because my uncle (he's teaching law school) gave us good advice on how to deal with her and named lawyers he knew were good.

She never payed the workers who repaired things at her house and the electrical and water bills. When her old car broke down she didnt pay the car mechanic and never got her car back. She was in dept and had a mortage on her house. When the foreclosure came we were at the court and bought her house. She was with us in the courtroom when the auction was and tried to buy her own house but wasnt allowed because she couldnt provide proof that she has enough money. We bought her house where she lived for 20+ years in front of her.

We bought it because my parents were at the construction of her house and knew the workers did a great job at building it. We renovated it when she left. We repainted all rooms, renewed the insulation and put Everywhere where no tiles were new wooden floor. My grandparents will be moving in her old house this fall.

TL:DR: Neighbor harrased the whole neighborhood and was extra mean to kids. She didnt pay bills and had a mortage on her house. We bought it in front of her for my grandparents.

(source) story by (/u/guy_named_mo)

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

The Stacks - Chapter 10

Ships: Eventual logicality and prinxiety, abusive anxceit, slow burn

Summary:  In this society there is a place where the poor and unwanted are placed and kept hidden away from everyone else, where poverty and crime are a frequent and life shines for no one. Stacked up high in the sky, this is the furthest anyone living there will ever reach. When a Depression consumes the land, and the government fails to bring an end to it, society turns even further on the residents of the Stacks, accusing them for bringing the rest of them down. What no one knows, however, is that it’ll take the work of four unlikely people to not only bring an end to the poverty, but also to this inequality.

Chapter One Previous Next

AO3 - Here

The Senate Hall, the building where the summits were held and national records, information, and law was kept, was a circular-shaped grand architectural creation meant to hold the most powerful people in the nation. In the center of it all was the Discussion Hall, the room where legislature was made, executive orders were carried out, and judicial decisions were cast; numerous other meeting rooms were scattered around the building for private meetings between committees. There were fifty members in total, a Senator and Deputy Senator from each of the twenty-five provinces. Sessions were held for ten hour hearings, with breaks for meals in between. The worst part of it was the body’s poor scheduling, as many Senators or Deputies were scheduled to be more than one place at once. After the ten hours on seminars was completed, each of them went on their way to go over their takeaway work and proposals for the next day.

Logan sat in the upper front part of the round stands, the order set up in order of when each province was established, his being one of the last at twenty second, with Joan at his side. The Chancellor sat in the center booth, currently regarding the room on issues of foreign trade with their largest supplier and neighboring country. A good number of the senators felt they were paying too much for goods and wanted to raise the import tax, while others feared straining the ties with their closest ally. Logan was against raising the tax.

“Recent statistics have proven that we have been paying two percent more in international tax than Gemma. We need to show them that we will not put up with this by raising theirs four times as more.” Senator Dean Wainwright declared, slamming his palm on the table every other word for emphasis. Applause from about half of the room erupted before quickly being shouted over.

“If we raise their tax Gemma might see it as a threat and pull back on trade. It is not a risk we can take with the state of our economy.” Senator Lucy Lee argued, shushing the crowd.

“So you think we should simply continue to pay more to the Gemmians?” Senator Rachel O'Connor challenged.

“No I-”

Logan was caressing a bleeding headache from the nearly nonstop yelling of stupid politicians who appeared to love listening to their own voice more than actually accomplishing policy. The back and forth went on for a while more, the Chancellor doing nothing to call order as he should be. Eventually, Logan could no longer take it.

“The resolution is clear.” His voice cut in suddenly over the fighting senators, “Send an ambassador to negotiate a set tax that is equivalent to each other’s. That way we can bring their tax down, and raise ours up without the risk of offending our close ally.”

The crowd began murmuring amongst each other, some seeming to agree, while others bitterly disregarded his option. Not soon after, Wainwright, an old, withered man who was plagued with his own selfish pride stood from his seat abruptly to yell out an accusation; however, Chancellor Jackson stepped in before he could unleash a flood of personal insults.

“That is enough Senator Wainwright; Senator Winchester does make an excellent point, one that must be thought over properly with calm minds before a final decision is made. This topic will be returned to on a later date. For now, let’s move on to the next item on the docket.”

At the moment, Logan would love nothing more than to jump out of a window. He wondered why he had chosen to go into politics sometimes when he was only ever surrounded by idiots. The meeting had just adjourned for the day, the multitudinous senators and deputies exited the room and Logan did not spare a second to escape as well.

Joan was currently in a meeting, having left the main congregation about an hour ago with the Natural Resources and Environment Protection Committee they were a part of, and wouldn’t be finished until late in the evening. Now that his time was, somewhat, free, Logan went to go do as he would almost every day since he had arrived, and that was to scavenge through the Senatorial Archives to continue his investigation. Joan had provided him with all the knowledge they possibly could have on the Purple Revolt, but there were still many questions left unanswered. For the past three weeks Logan has been wandering through the massive shelves of the archives, looking for any details he could find on the subject, but oddly and suspiciously, enough nothing turned up. When he had searched for it by name, it was found nonexistent; when he went to the section dedicated to the history of The Stacks, Logan discovered that much of it was missing, their placements labeled, but the files out. He asked the Head Archivist if someone had checked them out, but he was told that they were confidential and no further explanation could be given.

In the company of each passing day that turned into a week of no more than a speck of data unearthed, Logan’s disturbance and inquisitiveness escalated. He dared not to ask anyone else on the subject, nor share his interest with any of his colleagues, not even Joan. Nevertheless, as the weeks went on, Logan began to feel the creeping suspicion of the others around him at his odd obsession with the archives, he had even been asked about it by Martha Quinn, the Senator of Ivy.

Martha was one of the few Senators who were under forty years old, being the age of thirty, still leaving him as the youngest at twenty-eight. Logan got along well enough with her, agreeing with her views on quite a few policy areas, however she was known to be nosy and quite crafty, any information split to her could immediately be pivoted right back at him with a flick of her wrist. Despite being so young she had many connections within the Senate and outside of it, it was best to avoid her becoming involved in any way at all costs.

Alas, she was persistent in her prodding and often offered to accompany him to the archives to assist him. Logan tried to gently let her down but she refused to hear what she didn’t want to; a reason why she was such a brash Senator. Just as he had feared, her self-inclusion into his investigation only set him back further as he tried to derail her suspicion towards him. At this point he only had three more weeks left with the opportunity to be in the nation’s largest data bank and possibly find what he was looking for, he surely wouldn’t be able to do that with Miss Quinn breathing down his neck every second of the day.

“Actually, on second hand I think I’ll go and rest in my hotel quarters, I have obtained a rather painful headache from today’s chaos. It was a pleasure chatting with you Senator Quinn.” Logan excused himself, politely giving her a small bow before. Martha said nothing in response, staring him down with her calm, calculating as she watched the way every muscle on his body moved, reading him like a book. She offered him a smile.  

“You know Logan,” She purred, stalking her way around him as if her were her prey, “there are a lot of rumors floating around you, you best be careful not to draw any more attention to yourself, lest the investigator becomes the investigat-ee.”

Martha bounded off down the hall he had planned to take to avoid her, effectively cutting through his previous bluff to go back to his hotel and revealing his true intentions to stay, or else he would have accompanied her out. Her luscious black curls fell down and bounced off her waist in an eloquent ballet. She had let him go today, but Logan knew she’d be back to try and snuff out the truth from him. Try as she might, there was no way she could hope to get a single meaningful word out of him without it coming with his full intention.

It truly was a pleasure, Miss Quinn.

Logan glanced back to the doors of the archives, contemplating the contents that lay behind them, and then walked away, following in her footsteps. Whatever it was he was searching for, it didn’t exist here, and he could trust no one within these walls to provide the answers he so craved. Yet, there was one who very likely could assist him. The man who had started him on this scavenger hunt of his, his chef.

...

The serene calm of the apartment home, quiet and still from being unbothered and vacant, grey with the light of the sun through the clouds being the only provider in the dim setting sat in a perpetual loop was erratically shattered when the front door was brutishly kicked inwards from the outside hall. A caramel brown briefcase was chucked into the open living area, hitting the edge of the lush red sofa, flinging open with a cascade of papers soaring into the air and across the rich mahogany flooring. The action thusly destroying the prior peace and replacing it with something much more conflicting.

Roman charged into his residence with a heavy huff, slamming the door behind him, and stomped his way to his couch and collapsed into the cushions in a frustrated heap. He paid no mind to the mess he had created beside him, too focused on the vexation that was bubbling erratically inside.

It has been nearly five weeks since the robberies had begun, and not a single fucking trace of evidence had been found. The reporters were describing it as if the treasures had seemingly disappeared by out of thin air. Of course he knew that was a lie and simply the media trying to get views. Talyn themselves was also perplexed about this case, unsure how to pin down the thief when the hits were so sporadic and elusive. This kid was able to rob three homes within a single night, yet go under radar for several days and appear in a completely different part of the city.

Several suspects and captured robbers had been brought in for investigation, but none have been proven guilty for the mass conduct. Talyn had sent him confidential intel on each suspect, but once he saw their faces he knew it wasn’t them. Talyn questioned him on this, becoming suspicious of his behavior.

“How are you so certain that this kid you ran into is the same one whose commiting all these acts? It could be the work of several people for all we know.” They told him earlier that same day when they met for coffee during his break.

“It’s him, Talyn, I know it is.” Roman said firmly, lifting his heavy head from its previous position in his hands on the tabletop.

“No, you think it is.” They denied pointedly, setting their mug to the side with vigor, their voice strong and commanding, but also caring and parental. “Ro, you have to let this go. It isn’t your job anymore and you’re becoming obsessed with this in a way that’s not good for you. As the new head of security, you have other matters to focus on other than a single thief.”

“A thief has single-handedly taken millions worth of possessions from innocent and good people to do lord knows what, striking fear into the minds of the masses, and creating civil unrest. And I’m supposed to just let it go?” Roman hissed bitterly, clenching his fist tightly in his lap and digging his heel into the floor under the table. Talyn sighed resignation and backed away from the whole debacle, knowing that he could not be reasoned with as he was. They stood and slid their jacket on over their shoulders, placing cash on the table to cover their end of the bill.

“This case isn’t going anywhere anytime soon with what’s been showing up. I know you don’t like to throw in the hat, but maybe you should consider it this time and focus on helping the province.”

After they left he didn’t even bother going back to work and instead went home, which led him up to where he was now, lying on the couch in a very bad mood. He was still technically on his break, although it would soon end in less than ten minutes. Roman will most likely be late getting back to work, but he didn’t care about all that at the moment.

I am helping the province. He thought begrudgingly. I’m trying to protect it from this scumbag. I’m not obsessed. Why would I be?

Roman sat up with an exhale of hot air, letting his back sink into the fluff of his cushion pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was true that this was no longer his duty, and he know had something more to look after, but the endless paperwork was never for him, and it wasn’t what he had expected or desired. Roman was best in his element at the front line, facing the criminals head on and taking them down with his bare hands and hand pistol. He couldn’t just suddenly leave that part of him behind, it was what made him who he was. It defined him. When Roman was young he looked up to the police and wanted to be one of them. He entered college and studied then studied in an academy, spending years of his life on this path. Now his life has suddenly changed, but he wasn’t sure if it’s for the better.

That’s not to say he doesn’t see his role as being unimportant, but the mindless hours of dulling meetings and discussions over policy and action, only to come up with nothing in the end didn’t hold a candle to what he once did. He was helping people, sure, but not at the rate he wanted. When he was a cop he always had his radio on, even when he was off-duty, so that he could rush in if danger appeared. From anything to assault, armed robberies, car crashes, or just a noisy neighbor, Roman wanted to help the people no matter what, no matter how small. As a politician he was just arguing over how something should be carried out when it was clearly obvious.

Throwing his head to the side, Roman looked over at his digital wall clock to check the time. He was ten minutes late already. Diana was surely going to give him a firm talking to once he came back.

Logan trusted you for a reason. It may not be what you wanted, but you can do some good.

Moaning out loud, Roman threw himself of the couch and dramatically crawled on his knees to his scattered papers and haphazardly jammed them into his case. He may be blunt and reckless by nature, that was one reason he was such a great cop, but he still stood by the honor of his badge; and for now, that badge called him to be something else.

…

With his glasses in a pot of soup and running off of five hours of sleep, Patton’s day was not going as he exactly wanted or expected it to.

The morning came much too early for him, at three A.M. He woke in a panic, sweaty scare, his hands held in front of him acting as a shield. He looked around frantically, searching for a threat, making sure that his sons were still at his side. Thomas was still knocked out, his arms and legs spread out widely like the little star he was. Emile was in a ball, seeming a bit disturbed by the sudden movement, but was otherwise fine. Patton let out a relieved sigh, although he wasn’t sure why, because, not matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had dreamt of to make him that way.

He tried to lie back down, close his eyes, and go back to sleep, but the lingering feeling of unease kept him up. After about half an hour of pointless attempts, Patton got up from bed, careful to not disturb the boys, slipped on his shoes, grabbed his coat. He made his way out into the backyard garden. The first time he had found this place he had instantly become enchanted with it. Something like this never existed in the Stacks, in fact there was barely any natural vegetation there, even the riverbank held little plant life. That’s why when Patton saw this place, full of beautiful flowers and amazing varieties of bushes and buds, he had fell in love with the garden.

Patton would occasionally come out here during his breaks and simply gaze at the plants, finding it therapeutic, but he had never come here during nighttime. Yet he found the result all the same. The moonlit roses and carnations, names he had learned from a plant guide he had found in Logan’s downstairs library, the one he had open to the staff and visitors. The red of the flowers, which were fiery and vibrant in the sun, were now purplish silver. He had been enjoying his time out there; that is until he was suddenly shouted at and tackled to the ground.

Ahmed later explained that he only saw his figure and not any characteristics, causing him to believe that Patton was an intruder. He apologized for doing so, but made him promise that he’d tell him ahead of time if he planned to be in the gardens.

The rest of his morning wasn’t as dramatic, but not any easier either. Due to his lack of sleep, Patton was more sluggish when preparing breakfast for everyone, giving cause for Elise to ridicule and lecture him, even though she already refused to ever eat his cooking. Because of this he ended up being late taking the boys to school and had to sprint there on foot while carrying both of them, Thomas on his back and Emile in his arms. He had managed to get them to class on time, but their teacher had given him an incredulous look, peering down at his food covered apron and messy hair. Patton acted as if he didn’t notice and tried to not let her scorn bother him.

During the return to the manor the grey clouds that had been plaguing the skies since yesterday began to pour down rain on his umbrella-less self, drenching him by the time he made it back. Elise scrunched her nose at him as he dripped water across the floor. Patton apologized to Jamie for the mess but he didn’t mind and was much more worried about him, offering to run him a bath while he changed from his wet clothes. I took a few moments for Patton to oblige, not wanting to be a burden, but he eventually conceded to his wishes.

The bath had been warm and relaxing, so much in fact that he almost fell asleep in it, but by the time he was done it was around the time he cook lunch.

Which had then led him to his present situation.

Patton had decided to make chicken soup with rice, as it seemed appropriate for the stormy weather, but while he was doing so the steam from the pot boiling fogged up his glasses. He wiped at them to clear away the fog, but he accidentally knocked them off and they fell into the pot. Patton frowned a little, bit simply picked up a pair of tongs to pull them out of the boiling broth. It took him several dozen times to pick up his thin, frail glasses, but once he had them snared he pulled them out and placed them in the sink. He cleaned them off under the faucet the best he could and placed them back on his face, but the water droplets blocked his vision. He tried to wipe it off on his shirt, but the smudges made everything blurry.

Patton closed his eyes and swallowed his breath, took a deep breath, then continued with what he was doing, making do with what he could see.

“Hey Pat Pat!” Jamie greeted walking into the kitchen; he was wearing an apron around his waist and had his cleaning gloves still on his hands, meaning he had just started his break.

“Hi Jay Jay.” Patton said as enthusiastically as he could, but ended up sounding tired.

“Whoa, you okay?” Jamie asked in concern, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Yeah, just had a bit of a rough day.” He smiled, “I’ll be just fine. I’m sorry that I made you clean up the water I dripped on the floor then had you run a bath.”

“No, no it’s fine! What kind of person wouldn’t do that? Well, besides Elise.” He joked, well versed in how stingy their butler can be.

More people than you’d expect. Patton thought bitterly before catching himself. He shouldn’t be thinking in that manner, it wasn’t healthy or good.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio? I like to listen to music while I eat.”

“Of course.” Patton confirmed, pouring soup into a porcelain bowl and placing it at the table for Jamie. The youthful looking man, it was still a shock that he was thirty-four, went over to the little radio on the counter and switched it on. The music playing was some sort of instrumental piano, but Jamie quickly changed the channel to something the sounded very angry and aggressive. The main singer was also for some reason screaming a lot. Yet Jamie nodded his small head joyfully as if it was the sweetest the tune in existence. Patton tried to listen along peacefully, but he wasn’t able to get comfortable in the sound.

“I actually feel like eating in the sitting room today.” He announced filling a bowl for himself, turning off the stove and covering the pot with the lid to keep it warm.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you later then.” He waved, although a bit awkwardly. Patton felt a twinge of guilt and almost decided to stay, but the screaming singer got angrier.

Patton waved goodbye to him as well and walked towards the door, passing Ahmed as he did and pointing out his meal that was waiting for him at the table.

The sitting room was dark and empty, cut off from the outside light by heavy curtains that were practically nailed to the walls, much like the rest of the house. The room was small compared to all the others, only slightly larger than his. The hardwood floors were covered in an old Victorian style carpet in the center of the room, while the rest surrounding it was left bare. The furniture consisted of a loveseat sofa, arm chair, and a chaise longue all circulating around a long coffee table. Across the two, right walls were lines of bookshelves, from where he got his encyclopedia of flowers all jam packed with various forms of literature covering the dark blue wallpaper behind them. In the left corner was a smaller bar table accompanied by two stools and a wine cabinet behind it, not necessary filled with just wine.

While the room in itself was indeed beautiful, it lacked any color or life. Whenever he was home, Logan often spent his time here in the dark reading by the lamplight. From what Patton has gathered from his time at the manor, Logan was a very busy and reclusive man who barely had any time to himself, and if he did he would spend it in the solitude of his study or this room. Much of the mansion was left in the dark due to the order he had apparently given out three years ago according to what Jamie had told him when he asked about the curtains.

Placing his bowl on the coffee table, Patton walked over to the windows and drew them open as wide as he could, letting the light spill in. Even with the sky being riddled with rain, a new spirit was allowed into the sitting room. He walked over to the bookshelves and peered over the titles of mostly non-fiction and educational stories, looking for something to spend his afternoon with. Finally he found a story about ancient heroes and decided to settle with that, always enjoying a good tale of heroic deeds.

Patton took a pillow from the couch and placed it in the ground before the coffee table, taking a seat there instead of on one of on the sofa or chair. Opening the book on the table, he sipped on his soup as he read to himself. The book switched from story to story each chapter, but he found himself really enjoying a story about a woman named Mulan. He was astounded how many of the stories turned out to be sad in the end, such as for Jeanne D’Arc, but their lives were so honored.

All of these heroes had lived hundreds, or thousands, of years ago, their accomplishments being passed down into legend. Patton never knew people like this ever existed. Brave men and women who fought for their people and country; it sounded unbelievable and unrealistic. Why would someone care for their country so much to risk it all? It sounded almost mystical.

After an hour of peacefully reading, and occasionally difficulties with words he couldn’t read or understand, his soup long finished and forgotten, Elise crept in.

“Mr. Sanders, a letter has been sent to you by the young master.” She said briskly, shoving a letter down on the table in front of him.

“Oh, what is it about?” Patton inquired and turned towards her, closing his book.

“It hasn’t been open yet so I do not know, obviously.”

He shrunk back at her words, but nodded at her in apology, taking the letter into his hands. “Perhaps you should sit on the sofa.” Elise said backhandedly as she stepped out.

Patton fidgeted in slight humiliation and sat up of the couch, putting the pillow back into the placement he took it from. He looked down at the letter in his hand, addressed specifically to him, sent from his superior. Ripping the corner, Patton ungracefully tore the envelope open and pulled out a piece of parchment from the inside.

Salutations, Mr. Patton Sanders,

I am writing you in regards of an important and classified issue that is held with the utmost regard. What I am about to ask you I ask in trust that you will keep classified between only our two entities. Over the past weeks that I have been in our nation’s capital I have gone under intense research into the origin and history of The Stacks Experiment Initiative, or TSEI as it is called here. However I have hit a roadblock as I have discovered that most all of the records on the TSEI are missing from the Senatorial Archives. I am due back in a month, but I fear that it will not be enough time for me to finish my research. That is why I am requesting that you reconnect with you old neighbor who served in the military, I believe that she will have some of the answers I need. If for whatever reason you are not able to do so, I expect you to be the one to provide me with any information I may request. I do not have more than an educated hunch that the TSEI somehow ties into the nation’s economic depression, and that solving the issue of The Stacks will only benefit the entirety of the public. I am relying on solely you to help me fix this, as I have no other routes of which to turn to.

Cordially, Logan Winchester

The chef held his breath the entire way through without realizing it, and then let out an enormous exhale of air as he read the last line. He didn’t understand what it all meant or what was being asked of him. Why would Logan be researching the Stacks, what did he mean by the records being missing and why would Patton being his last option to turn to? He trembled lightly in a perplexed awe, a mix of excitement and terror, his mind hurtling in direction it had never been to. Whatever it meant, whatever Logan was attempting, whatever his purpose, he saw opportunity in this letter. The senator was asking for help to understand the Stacks so he could fix society, maybe if Patton was able to mold his focus further onto the state of the Stacks in its own right he could persuade him to adjust the law surrounding them.

But wouldn’t that be deceiving Logan and using him? He’s putting his trust in me after all.

He faltered a bit at that thought, not at all enjoying the prospect of taking advantage of his trust or lying to him. However, what Logan desired was for Patton to help him fix the state of society, and Patton wants the Stacks to be part of that society. If he could merely show him the mistreatment in the Stacks then it may be enough to persuade him by itself. The people born there were just as much of a citizen as any other born in a proper district, this could be the way they finally receive their rights.

If I agree to this, I risk the chance of being caught and being sent back, or worse, being executed.

Patton pondered heavily on this for a while, trying to see the correct path he should take. He could be safe, say no to Logan, and keep his job and family safe, while nothing in the Stacks changes. Or, he could agree and guide Logan through his journey, steering him in the path he desires and possibly aim for a betterment of all Stackers, including his son, Virgil, who was still trapped there. Patton thought back on all of the news updates, the rocketing crimes, the sworn promises of the law enforcement to bring him to justice. Virgil would always be at risk so long as he committed theft, and he’d never stop stealing until he was free of Damien’s control; but with the amount of debt he owed, it would take him more than a lifetime to pay it all back. Because Virgil never borrowed a specific amount of money from the crook, no, it was something more precious than that.

His eyes caught the title of the book on the table, reminding him of the countless amounts of people who put everything on the line for what they believed in. He had his answer.

Virgil had traded his life for Patton’s own, metaphorically and literally. It was time that Patton did the same.

…

The knock came tentatively at his front door, cautious and careful to maintain the secrecy in which they were called in. Roman, still suited up from his long day of work, peered through the peaky hole prior to opening the door, allowing Talyn access into his home. He had called them in on his way back from the office, eager to start planning the layout of his scheme. Roman could tell they were still concerned from their previous conversation yesterday, but had still agreed to come nonetheless.

Roman beckoned them in, guiding them to dining table in the foyer where he had all of his papers, intel, and newspaper clippings laid out as leads for the case. Talyn sighed sarcastically when they say it all, setting their bag on top of the table and papers. Roman whined as they did this, complaining that they had messed with his algorithm.

“Oh yes, I can see you’re definitely not obsessed.” Talyn mocked affectionately, plucking up a newspaper article on an alleged sighting of the man in question, the most recent of them all.

“It’s called being determined,” Roman sang, taking a sip from his coffee mug, handing one over to Talyn as well. They took the cup gratefully, swirling the liquid around as they regarded the work before them. He waited by their side as they gazed on with silent computation, committing everything they saw to memory and locating a route within a few minutes. “Do you have a plan?” He asked once she snapped her head back up, signaling that she had finished her assessment.

“From my analysis as the chief investigator of this case over the past two months, I’ve found that our guy doesn’t strike random houses, everything has a rhyme and a rhythm. The data here didn’t offer any more than what I already know-”

“Geez thanks.”

“-but it appears that all the targets are of well known holders of fortune. No small-time businesses that we know of have been hit up by this guy, nor have there been any jobs on uncharted shareholders. Still, there appears to be no other correlation between his victims other than them being rich and openly so. He also tends to favor working at night, meaning he most likely knows how to manipulate the darkness and stealth to his advantage. It would be useless to act in daylight hours.”

“So, are you saying we have a plan?”

“I’m saying I have a plan, but yes.” Talyn reached into their bag and pulled out a notepad and pen and began sketching out a formulated plot. “It’ll either take a while or work very quickly, there’s no clear way of predicting; but if I’m right, which I always am, this should get him in five days or less.”

Roman looked over their shoulder at the sketch work of childish looking doodles that were meant to be a serious scheme. He chuckled inwards at the cartoony look, finding the art style to be adorable.

“What do I have to do?” Roman questioned, abandoning his previous train of thought to focus on the bigger picture at hand. He felt a tingle underneath his skin at the prospect of finally being able to corner this tricky kid. Oh how close he had at last come.

Talyn smirked, their eyes filling with the shine that could only ever be brought through their love for complicated and dastardly strategy and the thrill of a chase. They were much like him in that regard. Nothing was more satisfying that bringing a villain to justice.

“What you I need to do is-”

.

.

Tag List:

@shaeshaetheravenclaw @scrapbookofsketches @scorching-scotch @a-fander-named-skittles @comicsimpson @ccecode

[lovingtrance]

I got dumped

On December 21st my partner of 5 years, who I lived with for 2 and a half, told me he’s no longer attracted to me and only views me as a best friend. He said there’s more in store for him than “just a safe relationship.”

While we were together I was keeping a running list of all the reasons I loved him. But for my own well-being I’ve decided to start keeping a running list of annoying and toxic things about him. I’m posting it here for your viewing pleasures:

1. I had to constantly remind a grown man he had to brush his teeth. Often times having to convince him to not skip it bc he would sometimes go days without brushing. And this was NOT due to depression. Truly. It was just laziness and a lack of urgency to practice basic hygiene.

2. He would pick his nose and wipe it on just about anything. Furniture, his clothes, his side of the bed, my side of the bed, his car seat no matter whose car, etc.

3. He’d constantly ask “are you gay” as if it was a joke.

4. In general he reveled in pushing my buttons and saying things that I found boarderline offensive.

5. Near the end especially, but in general it was like pulling teeth to get him to spend time with me doing something he didn’t have a personal investment in. If it wasn’t an activity he enjoyed he didn’t want to do it with me.

6. When I would try to spend time with him 9/10 he’d say “I’d rather play call of duty.” His call of duty playing was a daily occueance. On weeknights it was from the time he got home from work until bed. He’d stop just to spend about 30 minutes with me for the dinner I made. This was EVERY NIGHT. And on weekends it would be about 3/4 of the weekend every time.

7. A few days before NYE of 2019 (to celebrate the start of 2020) he went out with a few of his friends to drink. Apparently someone said they didn’t like my plan for NYE and another person agreed. He took offense to that and came home drunk and angry. He ranted about how much he hates them, hates our home town, and how mad he was. I tried to calm him down and he got mad I wasn’t on his side and threw a chair across the room while yelling so loud it woke his parents and sister. He then went to his bedroom and I tried to calm him and he got mad I was “taking their side” and tried to physically kick me off the bed. As if he was a toddler.

8. When I said “no you will not treat me that way. I’m not your punching bag” and called a friend to pick me up he tried every manipulation tactic in the book. First he called to apologize. Then when that didn’t work he tried to plead and promised he didn’t mean it and he wasn’t trying to hurt me. Then he turned and said it was typical that I left bc everyone leaves him and I don’t care. I’ve never cared. After that tactic didn’t work he said he was going to kill himself. All while his sister was texting me saying he was just eating chicken strips on the couch watching TV.

9. The next day he gave me the silent treatment and treated me like I was the one who hurt him and I was the problem. He was trying to give me the cold shoulder so I’d break down, beg for his forgiveness, and beg him to open up and forgive me and talk to me. This was a typical thing for him in the past. If I ever told him he hurt me or tried to put up a boundary for my own mental and physical well being he’d flip it and put up a wall so I’d have to beg him to open up and I’d end up being the one apologizing.

10. He cheated on me in 2016 with women he’d meet up with from Craigslist for casual hook ups. He then insisted we were never exclusive even though we absolutely were and had already said I love you to each other.

11. On my 22nd birthday we went out to bars together. He had a list of bars he wanted to stop at. We’re from MO and were in San Francisco. The 3rd or 4th bar had a bouncer who saw his MO ID and insisted it was fake. I was using my passport since my ID expired on my birthday. When I told the bouncer I’m also from MO and the ID is legit they gave it back but turned us away. That made him mad so we went home and then he got upset I didn’t want sex. I sort of agreed anyway but then withdrew consent. He got SO mad about that. He started screaming and shouting about how I was jerking him around and he was upset and confused. He threw his fan at the wall and broke a hole in the wall. He started pacing around the room and then I called a friend and said I was leaving for my safety. That made him even more upset and he started pacing around the hallway of his apartment building while NAKED. I convinced him to cover up but the manic episode continued and he paced in the street as well. The cops were called by a neighbor. I was mortified. But we stayed together bc I couldn’t find my ID to be able to leave that night. Then we slept it off in separate buildings and came back together the next day to talk it out. We both apologized and stayed together.

12. About a year before that he got upset I couldn’t have Skype sex with him every night even though I was a full time student working a full time job. He frame it as though he was willing to make compromises for me but I refused to do the same for him. Even though I’d already forgiven him for the Craigslist cheating caused by his “sex addiction”

13. He said he was breaking up with me bc he wanted more “intimacy” and knew that he was meant to have a relationship that had more spark basically. He made it seem like yet again I was the problem for not having enough sex with him. Despite the fact I tried to initiate sex with him many times over the last few months and we would reject me almost every time. Often times saying he would rather play call of duty.

14. When we first moved in together I did some laundry. A few days later he realized a few random things were missing. A pair of underwear or two, a shirt. He accused me of losing them by forgetting them in the apartment laundry room. I swore I didn’t but he didn’t believe me and yelled at me. I told him they’re just clothes and I’ll replace them and he still yelled. I suggested maybe he forgot them back at his parents’ house but he swore he didn’t. A few days later a package arrived from his parents containing all the “lost” clothes. I did not receive an apology until I requested one.

15. We were long distance for the first few years of our relationship. I would go to visit him every spring break and fall break (my school had fall break). Once when I went to visit we went over to his frat house for a party for st. Patrick’s day. I was having a good time getting two know two foreign students (one girl and one guy). When we walked back to his place we were sitting outside the building while he smoked a cigarette and he got mad at me and asked me why I acted the way I did at the party. I was confused bc I didn’t think I was acting differently than usual. He said by making friends with those people I was basically being obnoxious and annoying- like I was trying too hard. It broke my heart. It was like he expected me to just be a wall flower or hang on his hip the whole night. It was so unfair bc obviously I didn’t know anyone there it’s not my school. So did he just expect me not to have a good time?

16. The one other time he had me go to a party at the house I went to the bathroom on my own. I remembered where it was and told him “I’m going to the bathroom” and got up from my seat. When I came back he was being weird to me and basically implied he thought I walked away to go cheat on him?... even though I was gone less than 5 minutes and I knew no one there!

17. Once in late 2017 early 2018 one of my close friends came over to hang out and drink wine in my living room. She mentioned she’d done this app called Cake where you live stream whatever and people pay you. We decided to just sit around in our underwear and drink wine to make her some extra money. I told him about it and he freaked out. He contacted her on FB and went off on her telling her she disrespected our relationship and manipulated me. He told me I was drunk and let my friend manipulate me. I told him that’s not true at all and everything I did I did bc I wanted to and was comfortable doing so. I never crossed a line. I never even interacted with a person. We just set up a camera and barely acknowledged the comments. He was acting like I was his child or property and I didn’t have agency of my own. He also told me I cheated and I needed to admit I cheated so we could move on. As if it’s not my body and my choice who I allow to see me wearing the equivalent of a bikini. And he definitely had no right to contact my friend and scold her and shame her. He acted like I was his to control and I was a toy my friend took and misused without his permission. It was disgusting and so painful to deal with. I felt awful about myself for days.

18. He was and is such a hypocrite. He even admitted to me before the Cake incident that he once did cam stuff but quit bc he was bothered by how many men tuned in and barely any women. He was also hypocritical about spending money. He would criticize me for spending $50 on new clothes at target or wanting to spend $30 every few weeks to splurge on eating out. But then he’d spend $100s-$1000s of dollars at a time on his hobbies like gaming, bowling, his guitar, etc.

19. In April of 2020 I told him I wanted us to be more romantic. I wanted us both to be better about making an effort to show each other we had a romantic attraction to one another. He told me “you expect too much. You ask for too much.” This is the same man who 8 months later told me he was leaving me bc there was no more “spark.” I EXPLICITLY asked him to work with me to keep the spark going and he said “you ask for too much.”

20. Also in April of 2020 he got upset the recycling bin was starting to smell. Over time some of the containers had leaked the small bit of contents they had left and created a film on the bottom of the bin. He blamed me because he “always rinses containers before recycling them.” I tried to explain “yeah but that’s just because you leave them sitting on the counter to be rinsed and then never rinse them. I too am bad about not rinsing, so I just put your pile and my stuff straight in the bin.” I explained that technically yes, I recycle more items, but only because he leaves me to do it. He told me I HAD to clean the bin. I said “I’m not your servant. I’m not at your beck and call and I don’t HAVE to do anything.” That made him angry so he said “maybe I should just pour milk all over your clothes then?” Shocked I of course asked “why would you do that?” I also wondered “what clothes? The clothes I have on the drying rack next to the kitchen? Or the clothes in the closet? The ones I’m wearing?” He said “you pour milk in the recycling bin. It’s the same thing.” Like truly- what a manipulative, illogical ASSHOLE.

21. When breaking up with me he told me “I’m sure you’ve noticed I haven’t wanted to have sex with you the past few months.” I said “yes I thought it was stress from work.” Then he said “no I’m just no longer physically attracted to you.” I asked what we could do. Should we spice things up? Should we go to a sex therapist? He said there was no point. But fear not reader- it’s not that he’s gay (yes he felt the need to clarify that) it’s just that he’s not attracted me specifically. He said honestly he just wasn’t happy because there was no spark. And there was this (apparently) indescribable element that had never really had been in all 6 years. There had always been something missing that he had in other relationships. I said THERE WAS ONLY ONE OTHER RELATIONSHIP WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! He had one other serious girlfriend before me and they were together between the ages of 15-18. Yes he’d had other flings and sexual partners obviously, but nothing that even came close to the level of commitment or sheer length of relationship we had. But sure- go ahead and compare what we have to a high school relationship and a handful of college hookups.

[jilliancares]

It’s Not Spying if You Don’t Call it Spying

Summary: Turns out Everyone is spying on Lance and Keith’s blossoming relationship.

Word count: 5k

read on ao3

Pidge was a curious person. It was something that extended to all areas of her life, whether that meant she was taking apart a toaster at the ripe old age of six to figure out how it worked or spying on her friends in her free time. It wasn’t like it was an active decision, it was just something that happened to her. She’d see someone down the hall, maybe walking kind of like wherever they were going was a secret, and Pidge would accidentally on purpose find herself following. Nothing serious.

Anyway, it wasn’t like she would ever tell anyone what she found. The secrets she gleaned from her less-than-honorable spying sessions were for her alone—and in extreme cases could maybe be used later for blackmail. But mainly it was just to satisfy her own curiosity. Like now, for example.

It was commonplace for her to be unable to sleep. There was all the stress from defending the universe and trying to find her family with any scraps of information she could salvage, not to mention the fact that without the actual sun her circadian rhythm was a bit out of wack—meaning her body liked to think that now was never the right time for bed, even when she’d been up for 36 hours straight. Which was why she often found herself holing up in random corners of the castleship, maying secretly taking apart and putting back together a random Altean invention, or simply sitting in a dimly lit area to think.

But, being up so often as she was, she normally knew the going-ons that happened at night. She knew when Lance crept out of his bed occasionally, his face glistening with tell-tail tear tracks as he made his way to Hunk’s room. Pidge guessed that this was the doing of nightmares or possibly just the thoughts that were likely to attack at night, the ones that berated your mind with thoughts of things you missed and were scared of and might never see again. She knew when Hunk got up in the middle of the night to bake something strange. She knew when Shiro walked the halls, still asleep, enacting some dream or flashback that she couldn’t get to him through—could only lead him back to his room. She knew when Keith trained until the early hours of the morning, when Allura snuck down to the room Alfor’s AI used to inhabit, when Coran stared out the control room into the endless space beyond, looking for all the world like he was wide awake.

And because she knew all these things, had observed them enough during her waking nights to know what was normal, she knew what was decidedly not normal. Such as Keith and Lance walking into the kitchen together, their voices too quiet for her to hear. The moments that the two were quiet and kind were rare, far and few in between, and Pidge felt like she’d found something magical to have witnessed it like this. Part of her thought that they should be disagreeing more than usual in the middle of the night, the lack of sleep making them crankier than usual. But a bigger part of her knew that, regardless of what time it actually was, there was something about the late, late hours of the night that opened the heart and loosened the tongue. She’d just never have expected it to happen to these two idiots.

It wasn’t hard for her to ignore her moral code (she hardly had one anyway) and follow them down the dark halls once they left the kitchen. She’d only known they were in there anyway because of the update she’d installed into her handheld device herself—it let her know where people were in the castle at all times, which was helpful for whenever she needed to find someone. Everyone else seemed to just think she had incredible intuition, which she didn’t mind letting them believe.

Anyway, she observed them from around the corner as they sat down on opposite sides of the hall. Lance’s bedroom was on one side, Keith’s on the other, but neither boy entered their room. Lance leaned against the wall, his legs spread out all akimbo and his hands gesturing as he talked like always, though maybe a little more subdued with exhaustion. Keith sat with his legs crossed, which was just so Keith it made Pidge want to snort in amusement—she held it back, not wanting to ruin her spying purposes.

She only stayed to watch them for a couple of minutes. They were both clearly drifting, both dead on their feet—or their asses, really—and she assumed they’d be going to bed any minute now. Besides, it wasn’t like she could actually hear what they were saying, which was annoying but also gave her ideas for an invention she could maybe make…

So when Pidge went back to the lab, jotting down random ideas for an eavesdropping device (which, come on, could totally come in handy with the Galra, so like. Perfect excuse right there) it was in full confidence that Lance and Keith would be back in their beds within the hour. It was only when she was finally flagging, ready to stumble off to bed herself, when she thought to check her handheld, to see if they were still around.

They were.

Curiosity was strong. Even exhausted, even with her eyelids seeming to be weighing her down, she managed to go all the way back to their neighboring bedrooms to see what they could possibly still be talking about.

And this time she really couldn’t hold back a snort, because these idiots weren’t even talking! They were both asleep, both passed out on the floor, Lance with his head leaned back against the wall and Keith with his chin to his chest. Shaking her head, Pidge swore to have her eavesdropping invention ready the next time they decided to have a midnight chat like this one.

—

It wasn’t Hunk’s fault he was nosy. It was probably in his genetics, woven into his DNA. Some small part of him that left him bug-eyed and mouth watering when he came across something that he could put a minimum amount of effort into to gain more information on the subject. For example, reading Pidge’s diary when she left it sitting in plain sight (like her bedside table), or pestering someone bad at keeping secrets (Lance) for the gossip they had on others. And so it was only natural, woven into his very genetic makeup, for Hunk to investigate when he began to realize there was something up between Keith and Lance.

And for once, he didn’t mean up as in another fight, another dumb dispute that they had gotten into which inevitably had people picking sides and the whole thing turning into Lance-and-Hunk-and-Pidge against Keith-and-Shiro-and-Allura-and-maybe-Coran. It took longer for Hunk to realize something was up this time around, because there was nothing for him to notice. There wasn’t any bickering, no yelling across the room or taunting or teasing or challenging. Instead they were both quiet, lately, and as Hunk began observing them, he noticed that sometimes they’d catch each other’s eyes and smile.

And that’s when Hunk knew something was definitely up. Keith rarely smiled, and even more rarely at Lance. If Hunk didn’t know Lance better, he would wonder if he’d done something to poison Keith and mess with his mind or something.

Eventually, Hunk figured that since Lance was so bad at keeping secrets, he might be able to just ask him what was up. It’d certainly be easier than trying to sneak around the castleship and figure it out for himself, especially when he was already pretty bad at the sneaking part. He tended to be pretty clumsy and almost always knocked something over with a loud crash when he was trying to be silent.

“Lance,” Hunk said one night after dinner. Dinner was Lance’s favorite part of the day—he knew because Lance had told him himself. It reminds me of home, he’d admitted. You know, my family was so big, it was always so loud and crazy and great, but my mom always managed to get all of us together for dinner.

Almost since the beginning Hunk had felt like their team was a family, and he was pretty sure Lance thought so too. It was one of the reasons he put so much effort into their dinners. Instead of letting everyone drift off and eat on their own like they were wont to do for their other meals of the day, he managed to gather them all for dinner, every night. He was pretty sure they all liked it, really. Conversation always flowed, accompanied with laughter and anecdotes and smiles and food. No matter how hectic the day, dinner was always good. It was because of this that Hunk figured it’d be extra safe to confront Lance after dinner, his nerves already at ease.

“What’s up my dude?” Lance said, spinning around to snap and point at Hunk with a set of finger guns. “Is this about dinner tonight? Because I know I told you I could sing praise about it for a quintant but I actually am about to go to bed.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Hunk said, squashing down his pride at Lance’s words. He cooked dinner for them often, though sometimes Coran insisted on making something, which they usually did their best to force down. Sometimes they outright refused, stopping by on a near planet for an alien equivalent of fast food. “It’s just—is something up between you and Keith?”

“What?” Lance’s eyes had gone wide, his face pale. Hunk wondered if something really was wrong. Maybe they weren’t speaking because their arguing was already commonplace; maybe the natural angry progression of that wasn’t to argue more but to argue less.

“It’s just… you guys have kind of mellowed out recently, haven’t you? Like, you’re not arguing a whole lot anymore.”

“Oh! Oh. Yeah, I guess. I mean… yeah. You’re totally right.”

“You didn’t notice?” Hunk asked incredulously, and Lance puffed out his cheeks with air before releasing a big breath.

“Nah. Guess not.”

Hunk stared at Lance. Lance stared back.

“That all?” Lance asked.

“I guess,” Hunk said slowly. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah, totally!” Lance said, completely over-eager. He punched Hunk on the shoulder harder than usual. “Night dude!”

Hunk stared after him. He blinked once. Twice.

Something weird was definitely up.

—

Shiro probably wouldn’t have noticed it if it hadn’t been for Pidge and Hunk. It was just that they both seemed more intense than usual. Lance was still loud and Keith was still angry at just about anything he decided to feel angry about, but Pidge seemed extra concentrated and Hunk kept making weird humming noises under his breath which was actually pretty unsettling.

He decided to ask Keith what was up with Pidge and Hunk.

It wasn’t hard to get Keith alone, he was always stalking off to sulk or look broody in some corner or other, but for some reason Shiro was having trouble. Normally it was easy to find him, checking his usual haunts like the training room and his bedroom and even the kitchen—but he was nowhere to be found.

Shiro realized that maybe it was a little strange to go to Pidge to find out where Keith was so he could ask him about Pidge, but he didn’t really have any other ideas. Plus, Pidge had some kind of crazy intuition—she could almost always figure out where everybody else was.

“Hey Pidge,” Shiro greeted as he stepped into the lab. It was the room Pidge spent most of her time in. The desks were strewn with half-abandoned projects and scrap pieces but if anyone dared to touch any of it Pidge would probably murder them. No one knew exactly what would happen if they did touch it because none of them were crazy enough to try.

“Hey Shiro!” Pidge answered, spinning around on her chair to look at him. “What’s up?”

Looking at her, Shiro was hit—as he almost always was—with just how young she was. How young they all were, really. They’d all been dragged into this war, so random, so brutal, and yet no one ever complained. They just embraced it. Pidge carried half the team sometimes with her genius ideas. Lance made light of any and every situation, just so they wouldn’t despair over whatever trouble they were actually in. Keith ran blindly into everything, as if he hadn’t a care whether he lived or died. Hunk always kept a solid head on his shoulders, always thought things through and refused to let anyone give up hope. And still they were all so young, all so undeserving of the sheer terror of a war resting on their shoulders—Shiro would take the weight of it all, if he could.

“I was just wondering,” Shiro finally said after clearing his throat, forcing himself out of his own thoughts, “if you knew where Keith was?”

To his surprise, a coy grin found its way onto Pidge’s face. It pulled her lips up almost scarily. “You’ve noticed too?”

“Noticed what?” Shiro managed, frowning in confusion. That quickly, the look on Pidge’s face was gone.

“Oh. Whatever,” she said hastily, shaking her head.

There was a pause.

“So?” Shiro prompted. “Any idea where he might be?”

Pidge closed her eyes, pursing her lips. “Lance’s room,” she finally said with a smile. Shiro frowned again, sure she was wrong, but… Well, whenever was she?

And so he made his way back through the halls, back towards Keith’s room, and instead of knocking on the familiar door, he turned to Lance’s. He’d never been in Lance’s room before, never really had any need to. Still, if Pidge thought Keith was in here… Maybe they were talking about a recent mission together or something. They had had to spy on some Galra generals not too long ago. Shiro knew sometimes he felt like discussing their missions further, even after they’d already gone over it all by the time they got back to the castleship.

Shiro knocked on Lance’s door. It was automatic, but only to the room’s owner—for everyone else it waited for permission.

“Um? Come in?” Lance’s voice called unsurely. When the doors slid open Shiro found Lance laying on his bed, one knee bent and the other leg stretched out before him. He rose his eyebrows when he saw Shiro.

“Oh! Shiro—I was expecting, um. I mean. What are you doing here? Are we training or something?”

“No, sorry,” Shiro muttered, suddenly feeling like he was intruding. “Pidge told me Keith might be in here, I don’t know.”

“Crazy how she does that,” Lance muttered, shaking his head. Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Well he was here a few minutes ago. Just, you know. Talking. He’s probably back in his own room now?”

“Okay. Thanks,” Shiro managed. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem!” Lance called after him, the automatic doors sliding shut as he left. Shiro came to a stop before Keith’s door, raising his fist to knock. But he didn’t. Because… Well, because maybe there wasn’t something up with Pidge in the first place—or Hunk.

He furrowed his eyebrows, staring down at his feet as he thought. No, they weren’t really acting that weird after all, were they? Sometimes they’d get obsessed with something and kind of ignore everything else until they’d gotten to the bottom of it, but usually not at the same time. Usually not at the same thing. But maybe this time, maybe this thing…

Well, just maybe it was another pair that was being odd. Shiro tapped his metal fingers against his thumb, from his index to his pinky and back again. It was a strange habit he’d picked up and hadn’t been able to drop for some reason, but it was comforting nonetheless. One, two, three four. One, two, three, four.

With a small shrug Shiro turned and went back down the hall, figuring he didn’t need to bother Keith. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four. Whatever it was, the two of them could figure it out themselves.

—

Allura frowned at her bowl of breakfast goo. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong necessarily, it was just that, well… something was different. And she was sick of it.

Or, more specifically, she was sick of being left out of it. She was aware that she was constantly being excluded from the rest of the team’s shenanigans. She figured it had something to do with being the Altean princess and the one in charge. Maybe everyone else thought it was wrong to invite her to watch movies with them or to play cards, but it wasn’t. And she was bored out of her mind!

And what was a tragically bored princess supposed to do other than to secretly catch up on the affairs of everyone in her castle? Sure, that might sound like spying, but it certainly wasn’t. It was just… secretly catching up on everyone’s affairs. Privately. Without any of them knowing.

And she found out plenty of useful things this way! Surely it couldn’t be bad when she was so entertained by it?

For one thing, she realized that Hunk was a good singer. He only ever did it when he thought he was alone but hearing his voice made her wish that he did it all the time. It was deep and beautiful and made her feel like dancing again, something she hadn’t done since a few years before the war truly began. And she learned that Pidge could sleep literally anywhere—she curled up at odd hours of the day in completely random places, almost like a cat. Allura had come across her laying on top of the kitchen cabinets once, and just… how had she even gotten up there?

She’d done enough spying on Coran in her life for nothing truly interesting in that department to be revealed, though that didn’t stop her from doing so anyway. Still, nothing exciting was gleaned in her efforts besides the fact that he apparently liked to talk to himself which, really, maybe shouldn’t have been such a surprise.

What was a surprise was that after missions Shiro walked and walked and walked around the ship, following pathways completely randomly. Sometimes he would reach up and rub at his shoulder, where metal melded with skin, and Allura wondered if it was something that bothered him often, if it was painful.

She learned that Lance, apparently, spoke Spanish to himself when he was alone. She’d just pressed her ear against his door, merely curious as she hadn’t seen him all day anyway, when she’d heard— “Oh mierda! I’m… Fuck, I— Dios mierda. Dios.”

She also learned that Keith could be pretty tricky to track down. Her first place to check was always the training room. If he wasn’t there then she was sure she wasn’t going to be able to find him. She almost thought that he was doing it on purpose, stubbornly refusing to let himself be found. It only made her all the more determined to find him, to figure out what he was up to.

—

Coran paused, speechless, as he stood in the middle of the hall. Against the wall, quite a ways from him, were two paladins. Of course, on earth what they were doing might mean something different, but… Well, what else could kissing mean, really?

Lance had Keith pressed against the wall, his hands cupping his face. Keith’s hands were resting on Lance’s hips, pulling him closer, and Coran decided that it just wasn’t his business.

He turned around and left. It wasn’t like anyone else had to know.

—

Lance was in love with Keith.

Or… he was pretty sure he was, anyway. If he wasn’t then he was well on his way to getting there.

It’d only been a few weeks since they’d started getting so much closer. Sleepless nights spent in each other’s company, talking about anything and everything they could think of. Lance told Keith about his family, about his parents and his older siblings, about his nieces and nephews. He told him about visiting his grandparents in Cuba and about his favorite beach. He told him about genuinely loving the Garrison, and about how he was afraid he would amount to nothing, never truly pass, never be able to fly like he wanted to.

And Keith told him everything, too. He told him about being in the foster care system, about going from family to family, about getting his hopes up again and again only for them to be crushed brutally underfoot every time. He told him about the loneliness of it all, his inability to make friends because of it. He told him about how he aged out of the system, how he’d never even had a real family until now, until Voltron. He talked all about how the only constant in his life, really, had been the internet, where he’d browsed endless sites and learned everything he could and always got way too deep into conspiracy theories.

They talked so much, so often, that sometimes they just talked themselves to sleep. Sometimes Lance would wake up with the worst pain in his neck, only to find Keith curled into a ball, his cheek smushed against the metal floor, right across from him. Lance figured it started happening then—the flutter in his stomach, the breathless, nervous sensation in his chest. Lance had tried to shake it off; a crush on someone he spent every single day with could in no way be good for him, but it was unshakeable.

And Keith, it turned out, didn’t really have boundaries. He’d spent so long without being close to anyone, so long being on his own and in solitude, it would really make sense for him to be most comfortable that way, to think hugging and cuddling was weird. Except, no, nope, not at all. He was like a cat starved for touch—as soon as it started happening he was addicted to it.

He would stand utterly still, this odd look on his face, just waiting for Lance to hug him like he had once before. Once Lance deciphered that look, he realized that Keith gave it to him every night before bed (on the nights they actually managed to stand and stumble into their own rooms, that is). And it only progressed from there! Lance would grab his hand to drag him somewhere and show him something, and when they arrived Keith simply wouldn’t let go. And one night Lance offered for them to hang out in his room for a while, to talk on his bed, and Keith readily accepted.

It really wasn’t that surprising that they fell asleep together. And even less surprising that they woke up tangled together.

After that it just became habit. Sleeping together was better than sleeping alone—it was warmer, comfier, a hundred times less lonely.

The first time Lance kissed Keith, he seemed surprise. The second time, not at all.

Lance was just glad he kept letting him do it.

—

“When do you think we should tell them?” Keith asked. They were laying on the couch in one of the castle’s many living rooms together. Lance was under him. Keith had made good use of the little room on the couch by simply laying on top of Lance, who didn’t seem to mind at all. He was playing with his fingers, drawing them out and tracing them from palm to tip. His fingers were long, skinny and tan where Keith’s were shorter, paler.

“Dunno,” Lance said. “Whenever, really. I’m kind of surprised they haven’t noticed.”

“Me too,” Keith murmured. Normally he felt like everyone was pretty on top of things, noticing every minor detail out of place. One time at dinner Keith decided to have a second plate and Hunk had asked him if he was feeling okay. “Maybe they’ve gotten dumber.”

It didn’t matter—Keith didn’t feel in any rush to tell them. He kind of liked having Lance all to himself, anyway. Normally he was loud and obnoxious and made horrible puns that Keith didn’t understand half the time, and when they were alone together he was still all these things. But he was also sweet. He was also soft. He was also smooth, when he wanted to be, when he really tried—the things he said could make Keith blush.

Sometimes when they were in bed together, when things were fast and hot and sharp, when they were panting and gasping in tandem, sometimes Lance even spoke in Spanish. Keith was pretty sure that Lance had caught on that he liked it when he did that—it was dumb, but he couldn’t help thinking it was hot. Sometimes Lance would lean down and whisper something in his ear, something that he couldn’t even comprehend but that slid so easily from his tongue that it had Keith arching into him all the same.

“Unless they all already know,” Lance hummed thoughtfully. “And just aren’t telling us.”

“I don’t think any of them can keep a secret,” Keith pointed out, and Lance hummed in reply.

—

Pidge snorted, pulling the headphone out of her ear. It was like a hearing aid almost, letting her hear things at a certain distance, and she’d been using them to listen in on Lance and Keith. Honestly, did they really believe none of them could keep a secret? If anyone that was Lance.

She huffed and wriggled a bit, trying to get comfier. It was a tight squeeze, but… Pidge fit. Maybe it was a bit extreme to start crawling through the air vents in order to spy on her friends but she was bored, okay? Drastic times, and all that.

And anyway, this was obviously the best thing she could’ve done. Because she was witnessing this, Keith laying on Lance, the two of them talking about being together. And they were right! Nobody knew! Well, other than Pidge, of course.

Or so she thought. It was about two seconds later that her eyes zeroed in on Hunk. Across the room. He was peering from behind another couch, just his eyes poking over the edge of the sofa. Pidge narrowed her eyes at him—how dare he spy on them!? Or, erm… so blatantly, anyway?

A sudden clunking somewhere behind Pidge had her twisting her head over her shoulder, breath coming short in her chest. What was it? Had someone snuck into the castle? Were they in the vents?

“Ow,” Allura muttered as she hit her head on the ceiling as she came around the corner. Her eyes widened when she spotted Pidge.

“Pidge,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“…I asked first.”

“I don’t care.”

Allura let out a frustrated groan. “I’m just… looking around. Doing some reconnaissance. You know.”

“You’re spying on Keith and Lance, aren’t you?”

Allura just nodded and Pidge managed to scoot over. If they smushed together, there was just enough room for the two of them to look out through the vent. And so Allura shimmied up next to her, humming in surprise as she saw the position Keith and Lance were in.

“I should’ve realized!” she whispered. “Can’t believe I didn’t guess…”

At that very moment, Shiro came walking past the living room. He paused in the doorway, blinking as he spotted Keith and Lance.

“Hey guys,” he said.

“Aagh!” Keith said in surprise, tumbling to the ground. Lance hauled him back onto the couch. “Er—hey Shiro. We’re dating.” (Allura let out another gasp; across the room, Hunk’s eyes widened at the outright admittance.)

“That’s nice,” Shiro said pleasantly. “Good for you two. Have you seen… well, anyone?”

“No,” Lance said with a shrug. “Have you checked the kitchen?”

“Yep.”

“Control room?”

“Yep.”

“Er—training room?”

“Yep.”

“That’s odd,” Lance said. Pidge could see him frowning from here.

Right then, Coran came running up. He took one look at Keith and Lance, sitting very close together on the couch, then turned to Shiro.

“It’s not what it looks like!” he proclaimed.

“What?” said Shiro.

“They’re just—sitting!”

“We’re dating, Coran,” Lance piped up.

“Oh. You’re admitting it then?”

“You knew?” Keith interjected. Coran shrugged.

“I’m sure I’m the only one.”

“Not true!” Hunk suddenly exclaimed, standing up from behind the couch and pointing at Coran. “I knew! I most definitely knew!”

Keith screamed again, more from surprise than anything else. It was pretty startling to realize you were being spied on, Pidge was sure.

“Well I saw them kiss,” Coran said, seeming offended.

“I noticed that they stopped bickering!” Hunk argued. “I knew about it first!”

Pidge gasped, offended. There was no way Hunk knew before her.

She punched out the screen to the air vent, wriggling out a bit and dangling from the ceiling.

“Liar!” she shouted. “I knew first! I saw them talking in the hallways! And sleeping in the same bed!”

“Well I heard them having sex!” Allura jumped in, which made the room quiet down except for Keith’s indignant splutters—his and Lance’s faces matching colors of crimson.

“How do you—” Lance finally broke the silence.

“You speak Spanish when you’re—”

“AAHHH!” Keith interrupted.

The room exploded into more screaming, everyone sure that it had been them who knew that the two had been dating the longest.

—

Keith turned to Lance. “I guess we don’t have to break it to them then, huh?” he muttered. His face still felt hot.

Lance just looked at him miserably. “I don’t think I can ever have sex again.”

[pandabearlikes]

My Husband, Kim JunMeow

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Chapter o3. The Nudist  

“Alright!  Let’s go!” I grunt and attempt to drag the kitty out.  A long streak of scratch marks run from my living room floor boards to the door frame.  He clings on as if his dear life is really up for grabs.  “Crazy cat, I’m bringing you to the animal shelter to find you a new home!”  

“MEOW~~~@@~#~!#@$@$@%@%” the feline grouchily fusses and digs his nails into the cherry wood.  GREAT, another chunk of my non-existent paycheck.  

“Come on!  I researched the place; the shelter is a no-kill.” I grunt, "People like cats, alright?  You will find a home really fast,” I try to persuade, lift my leg, and step down another step of the stairs.  The length of this cat’s torso and the pure strength from that tiny being amazes me.  “Do you have a gym membership or something?!?!!?”

“MEOWOEWEWEWEWWWWW~” he shrieks.  Floor tenants swing open their doors to check out the business.

“She’s just playing violin again,” one of the neighbor’s son, a bratty 9 year old boy exclaims.  I almost face palm and run back into my apartment out of embarrassment.  Opening my mouth, I brainstorm a good counter attack because I’m petty af sometimes, okay?!  But I didn’t know which is worse: admitting my musical talent is equivalent to a dying cat or admitting that there might, in fact, be a dying cat here, because I’m just seconds from strangling this crazy, stubborn monster.

“ARGH!” I groan, let go, and collapse against the welcome mat.  I surrender, Oh my God, I surrender.  My arms are sore, my legs are sore, my muscles are sore, my bones are sore.  The kitty’s belly rest against my thigh and it’s fuming like a hot potato from all the energy he exerted.  Huffing and puffing, I pick him up and head back into the house.  Gently, or as gentle I could be in my state of fury, I place him against the cold stone kitchen counter so his body temperature could be brought down.  

“Meow~…” the trouble maker purrs in jubilation while I claw at my hair.

Distaster!  Distaster!!!!  Pure Distaster.  This is exactly why I keep my guard up because the moment I drop it, this happens.  I let a crazy monster into my life and now he won’t go out.  

“Chillax, Girl,” Lila laughs through the phone.

“I HATE CATS,” I repeat for the -umph time.

“I’ll be right there.  Hehehe,” my friend’s voice fills with so much excitement and anticipation, I almost feel bad for her.  Just wait until she sees how similar this feline is to the Devil’s spawn.  

I glance around and eye the sleepy kitty.  “Should I cover up for you?” I pat his behind and invite him to be my accomplice.  It’s pure friendship betrayal but if it saves my white walls and pleather sofas… I begin to hide the scratch marks on my wooden floor by dragging my rug over to the spot.  

“Meow?” the cat lifts his head up and narrows his eyes.

“I’M HERE!  I’M HERE!!!” Lila hops up and down as she rings my doorbell.  At a speed faster than light, I fling open my door.  

“TADA!  CAT!  TAKE HIM.  PLEASE!”

“OH MY GOD!!!!!” the bubbly cat lover squeals and rushes into the apartment.  As if this is some drug dealing heist, I slam the door shut and check that all the blinds and curtains are down.  With my heart sending excess blood through my system, I traipse my way behind Lila.  My lower lip swells from my lip biting.  

“What’s his name?!” she asks and gazes in awe.  I swear, from her eyes, I almost think it’s a mystical unicorn in front of us and not a feisty cat.  

“Uh…Kim JunMeow…” I say the first name that comes into my mind.

She stops in front of the curious but hostile feline and begins her instinctive baby cat talk.  “Sho cute~~” she weeps and reaches a hand out to pet her spiritual animal’s head.  To both our surprise, he hisses and smacks her hand away.  The sweet girl gasps, a little hurt by his reaction.  

“Hey!” I point and discipline.

“Don’t yell at him!  He’s just scared,” she defends him while I narrow my eyes because I know better.  Scared?!?!?  This cat is fearless.  Again, Lila tries to stroke his fur.  He responds by baring his teeth and hissing.

“NO!  Bad boy!” I scold.  As soon as I hold my hand out, the strange little monster zealously walks over, wraps his paws around my wrist, and nuzzles his head against my arm.  

“Wow,” my best friend exclaims, “He...loves you.”

“No, he doesn’t!” I argue.

“Meow :)” the white kitty counters.  A placid purr rings into the air as he winds both front and hind legs around your left arm.  

“He’s completely bonded to you!” Lila marvels.  “That’s so beautiful,” her lips ripple and I blink.  “Pure and utter love…”

A dry scoff coughs from my throat.  “Pure love, my ass.”

Kim JunMeow counters my argument by climbing up my arm and making his way up to bump his nose against mine.

“See!! That’s a sign he loves and trusts you,” Lila claps her hand together and concludes, “Yep, you gotta keep him for the rest of his life!!”  

“No!  No no!” I frantically shake my head and reject such foretelling.  “Lila, wait!  DON’T LEAVE ME WITH THIS CAT!”

“Hehehhee,” the silly girl giggles and waves goodbye.

Any efforts to run to her for help are prohibited by the clingy meow-face who has anchored his hind legs onto the edge of the kitchen counter and his front paws around my wrists like a handcuff.  He doesn’t let go until Lila’s completely out the door.  

“I hate you,” I mumble and slouch into the chair.  My forehead slams against the counter with miscalculate force that sends fire through my brain cells and the cat jolting up into the air.  Stars and happy rainbows revolve around my world.

“Me- Oww….” the kitty sulks and worriedly kneads my head.  I groan and blow concentrated air at my bangs.  A dark pinkish maroon already starts to form where my head contacted the marble surface.  I think I’m seconds from crying but instead, I get up to start typing my lab report.  

“Meow…meow…” my mortal enemy tails me but I completely ignore him.  

Seconds from completing my assignment, Kim JunMeow leaps up onto my lap, stands tall on his hind legs, and begins to rub my bruise with his paw.  

“Sta-staph!” I shout, with a mouthful of fur while attempting to move my mouse and click the save button before hours of hard work goes down to waste.  Click.  Click.  Click.  I struggle.  And then, the cat freezes; his pupils dilate.  Activating his hunter mode, he turns around and pounces on the computer mouse.

“NO! NO YOU, PABO!  THAT’S NOT A REAL MOUSE,” I bellow so loud, I swear neighbors at the other end of the hall could hear.  But my words don’t transfer into the feline’s ears.  Pounce.  He clicks and hits bull eye on the red “X".  Blood drains from my face as the screen goes blank.  

“KIM JUNMEOW!!” I shout.  

~

It’s been a week since Kim Junmyeon reentered my life and to be completely honest, everything felt like a dream.  A dream I had woken up from, memories still sharp and crisp but slowly fading away each second that time passed.  They say life moves on…even after having a random guy come barreling (naked) into your life.  Everything is back to normal…

Except Mr. Kim JunMeow and the fact that the parental units are onto something.  “When is he going to stop by and have this discussion, he promised?” My dad keeps interrogating me over the phone.  

“He’s busy,” my heart tries to stay afloat as I lie and literally lie back down onto the bed.  The nape of my head coincidentally lands on JunMeow’s fluffy warm body.  

“BUSY?!  Too busy to set things straight with his wife’s family?  Does he even love you?” my father’s quick and thoughtless words make my heart grow sour.  It’s not that I really felt the need for this stranger’s love; it’s more of the fact that the question was stated in a way where it made me doubt whether I would ever find that special someone who would love me despite my flaws.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, I run my slim fingers through my hair and say, “Dad, I’ll call you back later.  I have to study for my exam.”

My arms drop back against the bed, I roll over to my side.  The snow-colored feline peers over at me with his bright circular orbs.  Frowning, I play with his paws.  Interestingly enough, I’ve grown a liking to stroking those squishy little cat pads of his.  It is kinda…therapeutic in a way.

“I miss him…” I say my thoughts out loud.  

The cat straightens up as if interested in my one-person conversation.

I shake my head and frown.  It’s not even like we had a one-night-stand.  These feelings of longing are so uncalled for and are probably lies due to my own thirst for some testosterone…at least that’s what I try to tell myself.  I tap the quiet kitty’s pink nose.  

“What are you looking at?” I automatically say in a baby voice.

“Meoow,” he responds.

Again, I tap his wittle nose and absent-mindedly think out loud, “How could he just disappear without saying bye like that…coming and going without warning…”

“Meow…Meow…” the cat answers and tries to wrap both paws around my hand so I could pet him.  I pretend to resist the tension.

Instead, I tap his nose again.  “Why can’t you be him?” I say, both meaning it but not really meaning it because I didn’t actually think a cat would understand human language.  To my surprise, JunMeow straightens up and starts to bounce up and down on the bed as if in excitement.  

I raise my brow and giggle.  “You’re sucha weirdo…”

The familiar vibrations of a long purr hums into the air and he starts to nuzzle his fluffy head against my arm.  

“That wasn’t compliment!” I laugh but JunMeow continues to head butt me.  “You’re so cliiiingy…” I half-complain, half-laugh.  Finally, the over simulated kitty calms down, resting his bread loaf body right beside me.  He’s so, so soft, like a pillow, and warm like a personal heater.  Along with the soft drizzles of rain that platter against my window, my eyes begin to sway and I drift off to sleep.

Twenty-minutes passes by.  Awakened by the deafening thunder outside, I automatically curl myself into a protective ball.  The weight of warmth cradles me, bringing me deeper and deeper into the state of mediative consciousness.  Licking my lips, I whimper and stir.  My bed mate tightens his hold around me.  He’s so cozy and smells of springtime cherry blossom buds.  My body yearns for his touch, and closeness..closer than close.  Heated core and ticklish heart, I giggle in my semi-consciousness.  It’s the best sleep I’ve had in ages despite it having been barely a power nap.  Arms stretch out wide as I yawn.  Slowly but surely, my lashes flutter open.  Color blotches form back into pure imagery, painting the captivating outlines of my companion’s handsome face.  I let out a half giggle.

…

Wait…

“AHHHHHHH!!” I scream.  

As if history repeats itself, I discover myself tumbling off backward from my state of shock.  Only this time, my male companion hastily grabs onto me - one hand around my wrist and the other around my ankle.  I’m left with 2/3 of my body dangling over the mattress.  Gasping, I lift my head and roll my eyes all the way to my side to reaffirm my previous perception.  Milky white peach against my white sheets.  With a grunt, the fitspirational man yanks me back up onto the bed.  His strength causes my small frame to barrel over from the acceleration.  I face plant…centimeters from his exposed manly parts.  Eyes widen, hearts pace with turbulence.  If I so much as to move…

My concentrated breath inadvertently causes said male sex organ to naturally respond with delight.  I look up at Junmyeon, who looks down at me with soft but boiling eyes.  I gulp.  

“AHHH!” I cry and lift myself up, taking a blanket with me to obsessively wrap around my body.  WHY?!  I don’t know.  I was not naked.  HE WAS.  

Junmyeon blinks and I try my hardest to keep my gaze directly at his eyes and not down there, even though it’s tempting.

“WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS NAKED?!?!?!?” I toss a pillow at him and shout.  Again, priorities??  Shouldn’t the first question be, “WHY ARE YOU ON MY BED?  HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!?!”

“Oh…” the male obediently takes the pillow, covers himself up, and cluelessly says, “Sorry, I’m not used to being clothed.  Would you like me to put clothes on?”

“No!  I mean YES!” I choke and start to hack out coughs from overexerting my vocal cords.  

The caring Junmyeon tries to reach out to pat my back but I swat his hand away.  I point to my wardrobe and instruct, “CLOSET. PUT ON CLOTHES NOW!” before my ovaries implode on thy self, you sexy man.  

Nodding, he bounces off the bed to grab a shirt and a pair of pants.  I turn away and try my best to regain my composure.  He returns; his fingertips tickle my spine and I jolt.  Tenderly, he strokes my back.  I blink and tilt my head up to look at him while trying not to hack out a lung.

“Thirsty?” he asks and my blood runs cold because I think I’m busted.  “Let me get you a glass of water,” he elaborates and heads off to the kitchen.  As soon as he is gone, I release a deep inhale.  This week has just been too much for my fragile soul.  Fanning myself, I scan around the room and try my hardest to bring my body temperature down.  

“Dammit, Girl, can you not!” I grumble and scold myself when I part my legs and feel a familiar wetness.  

The sound of glass shattering douses out my fire.  Blinking, I get up and head over to the kitchen to access the situation.  Junmyeon had accidentally knocked a glass cup over and onto the floor.

“No!” I shout.  “Don’t pick it up with your bare hands,” the volume of my voice softens a bit.  Striding over to the storage cabinet, I grab the broom and dustpan and sweep up the shattered bits.

“Sorry,” the apologetic male pouts and scratches his head.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” I inquire out of genuine concern.  He shakes his head.  With a sigh, I rub my belly and ask, “Have you eaten yet?”  Again, he shakes his head…and I’m almost glad, though, I try very hard not to show it.  Clearing my throat, I stroll over to the fridge and pull out a collection of gourmet styled fish.  I nearly never ever buy such high class food…what has gotten to me this week, only God knows.  Chewing on my lower lip, I serve him a plate.  

“Thanks,” he beams and claps his palms together in gratitude.  I muffle a giggle and cook a small portion for myself.  

“Don’t think it’s for you,” I half-lie, “I recently rescued a cat and he refuses to eat canned cat food…” I pause and spin my head around.  “Wha…what happened to…” Getting up, I did some preliminary search.  “Meow meow.  Crazy cat, come out.  You must be hungry…” I try to lure but he is no where to be seen.

Chuckling, Junmyeon forks a mouthful of food and chomps away.

“JUNMEOW-AH!” I yell.

“Ye-yes?!” the human stutters, startled by the volume of my call.

“Oh, not you.  My cat,” I correct.  He throws me an innocent stare.  “Heh…” I rub the back of my neck and explain, “I’m not very creative with names so I just named him JunMeow…I hope you don’t mind.”  With an amused grin, Junmyeon shakes his head.

Wait…why am I apologizing to an intruder.

Narrowing my eyes, I grab a fork and point it at him.  The innocent man raises both palms up on either side of his head.  “How did you get into my apartment?!  This is the second time!” I grill.

“I never left,” he honestly replies.

“What?” I blink.  

“You let me in,” Junmyeon reasons and turns back in his rolly chair to continue eating.  

“What are you even talking about…?” I scratch my head and take a seat across from him.  This mysterious man oddly enough didn’t scare me but instead made me feel frustrated and confused…

“I heard you missed me…” the handsome man nonchalantly states.  It causes me to choke on my food.  Fumbling, I grab a glass of water and chug it down.  No slick.  

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I turn away and nervously laugh.

The sweet and knowing grin on Junmyeon’s face causes me to blush.  I slap my hands over my face to hide it from him.  It only makes him beam in delight.  Unable to handle his striking presence that caused my head to whirl, I acknowledge that it’s time for me to go to class.  He nods.

“I’ll wait for you here,” he promises but I frown.

“You said that last time and you left,” I argue as I slip on my canvas shoes.

“No, I didn’t,” the strange man retorts and it’s so weird…he says it as if he isn’t lying.  

“Ye…yeah…well…even if you have to leave, can you leave me a note so I know you didn’t get mauled by my cat,” I chew my lip and slap the notepad on my fridge.  

Junmyeon smiles into his, “Sure,” and it’s so pretty and enchanting…I start to seriously wonder if he is not real and just an Angel sent from the Heavens.  That would explain why he vanishes and arrives back into my apartment without warning.  

“Where is that cat anyway…?” I mumble and bite my nails, a little sense of worry startles my heart but I conclude that JunMeow is probably hiding in one of my billion cardboard boxes and that I’d find him after I return.

Class is a nightmare, as always.  What is up with professors assigning twelve chapters to read anyway?  Are they instructors or schedulers - because at this point I am basically paying him 25k a semester to assign me to self-teach.  Grumpy and stressed, I skid-dadle down the block on my way home.  Rubbing my invisible beard, I purposefully take a different route, which passes by the local department store.  

“Clothes…clothes…” I murmur as I scan through the men’s section.  My feet get a little giddy; their clothes are always more practical anyway.  I grab a few graphic t-shirts and throw it into the cart.

“I love fish,” a shirt says with an adorable kitty graphic on it.  Giggling, I grab it and hold it out at an arm’s length to admire it.

“I think he’d like this one…” I grin and add it to the cart.  From the pants rack, I chose a navy blue and black pair of sweats.  It is at the undergarment section, where I have a hard time.  I mean…it isn’t a necessity…I am already clothing and fed him free of charge.  And yet…it is absolutely necessary.  An image of the large bulge flashes through my mind and I shake myself to snap out of it.  Simple pants left little to imagination, we needed another layer of protection.

Biting my lip, I ponder, “What size does he wear though…?”  I compare a medium and a large of the same plaid boxers and then murmur, “Large, he’s definitely a large.”

As soon as I push open the door, I am gifted with the lovely face of Kim Junmyeon.  He’s seated on the sofa, playing with the tassels of a pillow.  Smiling, I place the shopping bag next to him.  

“What is this?” his puzzled expression read.  

“Open it!” I encourage.

With a nod, he reaches in and starts to pull out the clothes.  I’m like a teenage girl nervously fidgeting and wondering if her crush likes the chocolate she made for him for Valentine’s Day.  I mean I don’t show it - of course not…but my heart palpitates like there’s no tomorrow.  

A gasp escapes from Junmyeon’s lips as they twitch upright.  It warms my heart at how happy he looked to receive the gift and I come to the conclusion that with his sad past and confession about how he was used to eating scraps and not having clothes to wear, that he probably couldn’t afford them.  It isn’t that my family is well-off - in fact, only God knows how I would pay off my student loans…but I thought I needed to help this man.  

“Do you like them?”

“I love them!” he cheers and holds the cat one up to his body with a cute kitten grin across his face.  He then rummages through the bag and pulls out the boxers.  

“Heh…” I anxiously rub my neck, “I’ll go shopping with you next time.  I didn’t know your size…”

“What are they?” the clueless man surprises me by inquiring as he holds the briefs up in the air.  He pokes two fingers out through the center hole and frowns.

I blink.

“Um…they’re boxer shorts…”

“Boxer shorts…?”

“Yeah…men wear them to protect their…you…know…” I mumble.

“OH!” Junmyeon nods and relieves me from my awkward explanation.  But then, he proceeds to slip them over his pants.  I plant my face into my palms.  

“Um…they’re worn on the inside,” I explain.  “You wear that first and then the pants.”

“OH!” the young man nods and starts to slip off his pants.  

Immediately, I snap my eyes shut and hold both hands out to stop him.  “BATHROOM!  GO BATHROOM. AND DO IT!” I struggle to form sentences.

A sharp exhale releases from my throat as soon as he’s gone.  He’s a part-time nudist.  I am 100% sure of that.  No other human in this world would so casually strip down, especially not in front of the opposite sex.  Junmyeon returns, fully dressed and I throw him two thumbs up.  With his cheesy grin, he digs into and empties the shopping bag.  

“Oh, those are for my cat,” I answer his unasked question and take the two kitty toys from his hand.  Grinning, I shake the plastic ball, letting the bell jingle to alert the residential troublemaker.  “JunMeow-ah~  Come out, come out, Kitty.  You must be starving by now…” I say.  

The male, beside me, shocks me by grabbing onto my hand that incased the cat toy with both his palm.  His eyes gloss over with excitement.  I blink and shake my wrist within his grasp.  Junmyeon bounces with glee on the couch.

Ignoring him, I scan the premise again for the missing feline.  “Have you seen my cat?” I question.

Junmyeon stares at me…or maybe my hand.

“He’s white, fluffy, and soft…” I try to be descriptive but the preoccupied man  doesn’t respond.  With a pout, I toss the ball onto the couch and head over to the computer to do my homework.  “Good…he ran away and should never come back again,” I murmur, though my chest starts to grow heavy with worry.  Out of my sight, Junmyeon pounces onto the lattice toy, pushing it side to side with his cupped palms.  A cheerful and toothy grin spreads across his face.  

Groaning, I flip through pages in my textbook as if they had heavily offended me.  Lashes swaying and head held upright with my hand, I try my best to stay awake because this report isn’t going to finish itself.  But the document has been the length of two sentence for the last hour.  Eyeing me from the sofa, Junmyeon witnesses my head totter, first in a half-circle.  He starts to make his way toward me as the totters spin a full 360 degrees.  And fluffy sheep starts to parade in front of me.  Energy rids itself from my body and I’m sent free falling sideways from my chair.  Widened eyes, Junmyeon races over and catches my head just in the nick of time.  Gingerly, he straightens me back up.  I mumble some incoherent words, which either expressed my struggles with my Chemistry class or my worry about my missing cat.  I’d only admit to the former.  

Chuckling softly, the strong man lifts me up and carries me to my bed.  He pulls the blankets and tucks me in cozily into my cocoon.  I whimper as he strokes my temple.  

“I’m right here…” he answers my worry.  

In the morning, I wake up to a magically finished lab report and JunMeow nestled against the croak of my neck.  Plitter platters of rain drizzle against my windows.  On the table, a post it note reads, “See you in person again the next time it rains.”

I frown noticing the shopping bag of clothes on my sofa.  JunMeow follows me and lets out a soft, “Meow?” as if asking me, “What’s wrong?”  Scrunching my nose, I lift the kitty up into my arms and say, “He’s a nudist.  I’m so sure of it.”

“Meow~” the kitty grumbles and plays with the toy ball in his paws.  Carrying him, I head into the kitchen.  

“You must be starving…” I observe and chuck some nice boiled fish, scrambled eggs, and some veggies into his dish with one hand.  

“Meow!!!” he leaps out of my arms to enjoy his meal.  

Unknowingly, I lean against the kitchen counter and sigh in relief.  I nudge the happy kitty’s bum with my toe and interrogate, “Do you have a lover or something?  Why do you keep running away?”

“Nom nom nom,” JunMeow ignores me and continues munching on his food.

“Do I need to get you neutered?” I half-heartedly remark as I go off to heat my own dinner.

The feline jerks his head up; his eyes enlarge into golf balls.  

A/N: hehehe Junmyeon + girl are such an odd and silly couple.  Junmyeon’s cluelessness only adds to the effect ;p

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[spooderham]

Fire Escape 🕷 Peter Parker

Summary: Jackie Logan and her Grandfather moved to a small apartment on the corner of West 54th and 6th five years ago after the incident, and for the past year or so those of the “gifted” kind, whether it be a dunk-ish P.I, a deaf man in a black mask, or a fast-talking Merc, something about her rusty fire escape seems to draw them in when they’re in need.

Or maybe it’s the cookies she started leaving out after her first super human visit.

Either way, when a kid with spider powers starts visiting her fire escape to Jackie can’t help become more invested in him than she is in the others. Of course the P.I says she has a crush on him but what does she know, she’s an emotionally distant grown up with a drinking problem.

CHAPTER TWO  

(previous chapters: 1)

THE NEXT TIME JACKIE LOGAN SEES SPIDERBOY IT’S A WEEK LATER AND HES ON HER FIRE ESCAPE WITH HIS MASK OFF AND SHE WAS WEARING BRIGHT PINK SHORTS WITH DUCKS ON THEM.

“What the fuck,” Jackie wondered as she let him crawl in through her window, “Happened to your face?” Spiderboy had dried blood everywhere under his nose and a black eye had already formed on the left side of his face.

“Uh, I hit a wall.” He said weakly as Jackie shut her window.

“You hit a wall?” Spiderboy nodded, “How the fuck do you hit a wall hard enough to do that?” Jackie asked gesturing to his face. She got the first aid kit and an unopened bottle of water off her dresser.

“See,” Spiderboy started as Jackie started to wet a napkin from the side of her bed, “I was swinging-”

“Like with your webs?” Jackie interrupted as she started to get the blood on his chin. She had seen videos on YouTube of him swinging around Upper Midtown.

“Yeah, so anyway, I was over by St. Patrick’s and a bird came out of nowhere and I mean nowhere-”

“Stop talking for a minute and let me get the blood on your lip,” Jackie instructed. Spiderboy pursed his lips as Jackie wiped at the crusted blood.

“Okay I’m good, so a bird came out of nowhere…” Jackie trailed off as she took a second from cleaning his face to inspect his nose. His nose wasn’t broken, bruised, but not broken.

“Right,” Spiderboy resumed, “And I swerved and I hit a wall.” Jackie bit her lip in an attempt not to laugh.

“Hey,” Spiderboy whined playfully as Jackie got the last of the blood, “Don’t make fun of me!” He tossed himself back on her bed with a large half grin on his face.

He was so much cutie then Johnny from fourth period Forensics, Jackie thought as her cheeks heated up.

“Excuse me Spiderboy-”

“Haven’t you heard?” Spiderboy asked sitting up, “It’s Spiderman now.” Jackie leaned back and crossed her arms, hoping he wouldn’t notice her reddening cheeks.

“According to who?”

“The Bugle.” Jackie rolled her eyes playfully,

“Who even listens to the Bugle anymore Spiderboy. If you want superhero news you hit up blogs, not an angry fifty-something.”

“James Jameson is not fifty-something,” Spiderboy said somewhat defensively.

“Oh, ye-”

“Jackie?” Jackie’s eyes widened at her abuleos voice.

“Shit,” she hissed, “Uh, fuck, hide!”

“Where?” Spiderboy hissed back, his own eyes wide and frightened.

“Jackie?”

“Voy en un momento, abuelo!” Jackie called out on frantically looking for a place to hide the boy she certainly wasn’t supposed to have in her room.

“You speak Spanish?” Spiderboy asked. Jackie’s head tilted sideways and her shoulders sagged, basically asking if now was the time to be questioning how many languages she could speak.

For the record, it was three if you didn’t count American Sign Language and Binary.

“Sorry, your right!”

“Jackie estas bien?” Her grandfather yelled, his voice closer then it’d been a minute ago.

“Si abuelo!” She called out. She looked up at her celling and prayed that when her abuleo found a boy, abet a hero but a boy none the less, her death would be swift and painless.

Wait! That was it!

“My ceiling,” she told Spiderboy, “Crawl on my ceiling and stay there!” Spiderboy, who’s own heart was more than likely thundering in his chest, didn’t bother to wait for any more instruction, and instead quietly jumped to Jackie’s ceiling and stayed there.

Jackie then rushed to her door and opened it. Only to be face to face with her grandfather, a tiny balding Argentinian named Michael.

“Abeulo?” Jackie smiled. Her grandfather stuck his head in the room, over hers and looked left to right.

“No boy in here right?” He wondered jokingly in broken English. Despite coming to the country nearly forty years prior Michael Garcia had never picked up an affinity for the English language.

“No.” Jackie felt a pit forming in her stomach as she liked straight through her teeth.

“Tus galletitas ya están,” he said.

“Mis galletitas!” Jackie cried, she shut her door as she rushed past her grandfather and into the tiny green kitchen. With Spiderboys arrival she’d forgotten all about her cookies.

She grabbed the kitten themed oven mitts Wade had gotten for her a few weeks back and threw open the oven, hoping her cookies could be salvaged.

After she placed the metal sheet on the top of the stove she inspected her cookies.

Though all of them were somewhat burnt, only one or two were beyond etable.

“Están bien?” Her grandfather wondered behind her. Jackie had inherited his late wife’s ability to bake and every time she made a batch of chocolate and walnut cookies he felt like his Susan was alive again.

“Si,” she turned and told him. She grabbed a plate from the cabinet above the sink and placed most of the cookies it. As far as her grandfather knew she at most and fed the rest to neighbor squirrels.

“Buenas noches abuelo,” Jackie said, kissing her grandfathers cheek. He wrapped and arm around her and kissed her head,

“Dulces sueños.” Jackie smiled up at him, hoping the guilty feeling in her heart wouldn’t show on her face.

When Jackie reentered her room Spiderboy was sitting on her bed, looking through her lastest issue of Teen Vouge.

“I didn’t think Teen Vouge was your style.” Spiderboy looked up in superise. He tossed the magisine behind him as his cheeks turned a bright pink.

“You have cookies!” He said ignoring her question.

“They have nuts in them, you aren’t allergic, are you?”

“No.” Jackie set the plate on her bedside dresser. “Be careful, they’re hot.”

Spiderboy took one between his gloved fingers and brought the piping hot cookie to his mouth to blow on.

“So,” Spiderboy said, “You speak Spanish?” Jackie nodded.

“And other things.”

“Like what?” He asked with a mouthful of cookie.

“Ew don’t speak with your mouthful.”

“Yes Mom,” Spiderboy rolled his eyes, “So besides Spanish, what can you speak?”

Jackie listed on her fingers; “German, ASL, and Binary.”

“Why binary?”

“I wanted to understand R2-D2.” Spiderboys’ jaw dropped.

“You like Star Wars?”

“What does that mean?” Jackie crossed her arms. She seemed to be doing that a lot more than usual since he stepped through her window.

“Well, uh,” Spiderboy stuttered, his tongue poked out to wet his lips before shoving two still very hot cookies into his mouth.

“See you bake really good cookies.” He said with tears in his eyes. Jackie covered her mouth with both her hands in order to stop from laughing at him because shoving three burning hot cookies into your mouth in order to get out of the hole you’d accidentally dug is the equivalent of tossing a duffle bag full of money out a window because you were acting on instinct.

“Thanks, Spiderboy,” she said from behind her hands.

“It’s Spiderman,” Spiderboy says, the cookie-induced tears running down his face.

tags: @pizzaplanethq // @v-writings // @norwegian-fox // @littlevelvethearts