#(gonna try and use that tag to keep him separate from his namesake)

[puppyluver256]

It's been 13 years since I've had a dog in my life, and while I know no one can replace Tidbit, there's always been room in my heart for more.

Everyone, meet Snoopy.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

the story of us

this was requested by @fantasylover16. I genuinely had so much fun with this thank you! I hope you enjoy. Also I said nb jack frost rights and I meant it.

masterlist; my links

This is a story about two people.

One died three hundred years ago and has been alive since then. They have white hair, whiter than the stars, than burning light, than heaven itself. They have blue eyes that remind you of cracked ice in melting winter. They have ivory skin, some say like porcelain, it's more like liquid opal.

The other is twenty two years old. He has black hair, like jet fuel, and midnight. He has green eyes that hold oceans lost to time, that hold memories. He has brown skin that reminds you of cool forest floors and water glistened rock.

This is a story about who they are.

"Percy!" His roommate shouts from the kitchen. "Get your butt down here and tell me if the blue skirt goes better with these glasses!"

He laughs as he pulls a sweater over his heads and grabs his phone, slipping it into his back pocket. He feels the press of his pen as he pats himself down to make sure he has everything and when he is satisfied he bolts down the passage and stops short of the kitchen where Hazel Levesque is parading in front of their grand mirror on the opposing wall. She is decked out in black platform ankle boots, white fishnets that draw out the colour of her skin, slightly dark than his, a bright blue skater skirt and a soft pastel blue crew-neck not unlike his own.

"You Hazel Levesque," He grins bright and unrestrained, "Are a vision."

"Yes," She mutters still swopping between two pairs of clear-framed glasses and scrunching her nose, "But is it enough to bring my crush to their knees?"

"If Reyna doesn't bow down to you I think we can assume she's in desperate need of glasses."

"Well then maybe I should take both pairs and offer her one." She muses, pulling at her afro distractedly.

He snorts, turning to the counter and grabbing a bowl and whatever cereal he can reach first.

"Well," Hazel turns to him, he can see the smile she's trying so hard to hide, "Shall we be off then?"

He blinks at her, blinks again, points an unsure finger at his chest.

"Oh you don't expect me to brave Reyna on my own do you? Besides we're matching today it'd be quite ridiculous if we went out separately."

"But—" He looks to his bowl, as barren as the desert, "But my cereal?"

"I'll buy you breakfast on the way!" She waves the concern off, grabbing his hand and pulling them both out the door.

Despite their height difference, she makes it look far less like he's letting her pull him and far more like she has the strength to straight up carry him across the country.

"Hazel," He giggles, "Slow down."

"I can't Percy," She shakes her head vigorously, practically running through the park next to their building and into the bustling streets beyond. "If I don't do this now I'll lose all my courage and spend eternity in self-damned misery." Her brown eyes, turning honeyed as they catch the sun through the round glasses framing her face, flash bright and bold.

He stops them, pulling her in for a hug, unable to stop the laughter shaking his body." You have never been a coward Hazel Levesque. No matter the day, time or outfit you have always been brave enough to stand up and do what's needed. And telling Reyna you have a crush on her is just another battle you absolutely can win." He pulls them apart, setting a steady green gaze on her excited one. "Now let's get some coffee, and a mint tea for you because you're hyper enough as it is, and then we'll go find the love of your life and I can finally show you the google-doc I have for your wedding."

She strangles his ribs in another hug and then takes a deep breath as she steps away. "What would I do without you Percy Jackson?"

"Let's never find out," He smiles, slinging an arm over her shoulder and directing them towards the Chaos House.

As per its namesake, walking into the café is like being lost in a crowd of sleep-deprived, adhd kids all connected to caffeine IVs. In short: it's chaos. Its their favourite place on earth.

Being hit with a wall of noise after the quiet of awakening nature feels like being sucker punched directly in your ear canal. Percy cannot help but grin as he takes in the racing patrons and the sound of coffee beans being ground and the smell of cinnamon and honey and endless activity.

They immediately spot a group of their friends and bolt for the booth they're all squished into.

"Reyna isn't here." Hazels voice is pitched with panic, "Oh gods what if she's sick today? What if she fell in a ditch on her jog this morning?" She stops right in the middle of the café, brown eyes wide. "What if she knew I was trying to do this and decided to stay home today to avoid seeing me?"

He grabs her arms already shaking his head. "My darling, I need you to take a deep breath. You are spiraling."

Wildness is still tracing her expression but he feels her shoulders rise and fall as she gulps air.

"Okay," He says gently, "Now we're gonna go to our table, have a good time with our friends and if and when Reyna shows up you're going to tell her how you feel and I'll meet you back at home so you can let me know when the wedding is."

She smacks his shoulder gently, nervous giggles escaping her. "Alright fine. I hate when you get reasonable. It's very disconcerting."

"Good thing it's rare," His lips twitch, and they finally start towards their friends.

A loud chorus of hellos and how are you’s ring around his head as they get nearer and he feels right at home amongst it all.

"What's up losers?" He flops down next to Jason, pressing a shoulder into the blondes side in a hug.

Annabeth sits next to the blonde, squished between him and Piper, a leg over Jason's thigh and her hand intertwined with Piper's. Frank is on the opposite side, a casual arm slung over Leo's shoulder. Hazel squeezes in besides Leo and sighs dramatically.

"What's wrong Levesque?" Piper frowns, reaching over to clasp the girl's hand.

"She's feeling put out because she had something very important to do today and her plans are being delayed because a certain someone isn't here."

And just as their friends start reassuring and ribbing her in equal parts Percy's phone rings. With a frown he pulls it from his pocket, as he gets up and waves to say he'll be back in a minute.

"Hello, this is Percy Jackson."

He's not paying attention to his surroundings as he listens to the person on the line so when his shoulder slams into somebody he almost topples to the ground. When he turns around to say sorry there is nobody there; his frown only deepens but then the voice on the phone is pulling his attention and he makes his way outside.

This is story about they meet.

The conversation is a whirl of information about his upcoming course and what his supervisor needs from him. By the time he ends the call and tucks the phone back in his pocket his whole body feels like it's taken on the sky all over again. He has the urge to check if another grey streak has graced his hair. Instead he leans against the wall, ignoring the way his clothes catch against its roughness. He can feel the cold seeping through the cracks in the brick and into the threads of his sweatshirt.

He looks down, pulling his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep the warmth in but as he takes his arms away from the wall he sees the frost outline of his fingers. A clear, already melting handprint marking the brick like a graffiti tag. He steps back, away from the wall, to find his whole body outlined. It reminds him eerily of the chalk markings they do at murder investigations. He's not entirely sure this isn't prophetic.

The frost, little beads of ice skittered in shape, is melting at a rapid rate but the colour catches Percy's eye. It's not the usual dulled, muddy ice that coats his windows in the morning and sits atop the grass each night. It is blue, bright and pure, and looks... happy?

He's definitely going insane. The lack of coffee is getting to his brain and he has officially going mad. He should go inside and get warm and sit with his friends and have 3 espresso shots in a row.

But the phone call is still rattling his nerves and he can't bare to face the café without all his wits about him. So he studies the melted frost outline, curiosity moving him forward to trace it with his fingers. He doesn't expect to feel cold like winter mornings and snowball fights and sleigh rides coursing through his bloodstream. It's shocks him right into a new state of being. It reminds him of a poem his mother used to say at the beginning of each winter. The poem was long enough that he was always asleep by the end of the last verse but he recalls the first part clearly now

Jack Frost was in the garden;

I saw him there at dawn;

He was dancing round the bushes

And prancing on the lawn.

He had a cloak of silver,

A hat all shimm'ring white,

A wand of glittering star-dust,

And shoes of sunbeam light.

The thought is so ridiculous Percy has to laugh. It bursts out of him unexpectedly but once he starts he cannot stop. It feels like the world has turned on its side but he's still walking upright. Everything is slightly dizzying but strangely amusing from this angle. He laughs harder, ribs aching, cheeks stiff, and eyes bright. He's sure people are staring at him like he's mad but he cannot stop. Until he stumbles over the pavement and is falling to the inevitable crunch of his facial bones.

It happens almost in slow motion. He sees the ground coming towards him, bubbling up like it's going to swallow him whole. He stared it down, refusing to close his eyes, as if challenging it to hurt him, to take him as he goes. But then hands, freezing cold even through his layers of clothing, wrap around his waist and he is being hauled up in a rush of wind and dizzying speed. He bumps into a hard chest and feels as if he's stepped into a freezer.

"Hey," A voice low and playful crackles through him, "You okay?"

He turns around slowly, and is not at all prepared for the site he is greeted with. There is so much all at once, startling and glowing and fracturing. His eyes catch an warm icy gaze, blizzard white hair, pale skin, cold-kissed lips, hands running with blue veins and silver rings.

"You okay?" The stranger repeats, looking at him with concern.

He honestly doesn't know if he has the ability to talk. His mouth opens, his throat bobs, but words are lost cargo.

"Can you hear me?" The stranger asks, accompanying the question with sign language.

Percy responds automatically, raising a fist and moving it back and forth; his head accompanies the action but still no words come out.

They smile at him, and start signing another question. He doesn't bother to stop them, tell them they aren't deaf, he can hear, he just can't talk. He's speechless.

Are you okay? They sign.

He nods, and the words stuck in his throat finally tumble out. "Yes, yes," It is croaky with overwhelming emotion, "Thank you for catching me. I’m sorry I uh—" He doesn't have any respectable excuse for being mute for the entire first half of their interaction. He is just completely struck by everything the stranger is.

"Ah so you can hear me," The stranger laughs. He decides the sound is what makes stars. "Well I'm glad you're okay. I'm Jack."

Percy snorts. This cannot be real. Ice, him thinking about Jack Frost, and suddenly his saviour's name is jack? What has the universe been doing with its time to plan this?

“I'm Percy," He stares at them curiously studying the snowflakes that seem to cling to their floppy white hair despite the snow season being weeks away, and the blue eyes that hurtle him to the Abraham lake in Canada. A holiday his family had taken a mere year ago and one of the most beautiful places he's ever seen.

His demigod senses are peeking out their window, as curious as he is. The action puts him on high alert. His instincts are usually only alerted when he's in danger or............. in love.

"What are you?" He cannot stop the question. His mouth has a self-controlled function and no way to override it.

Jack raises their brow, "What are you, Percy?" His name sounds like luxury rolling off the stranger's tongue.

But the question throws him off guard and before he has time to drool over them again he is pulling his pen out and twirling it between his fingers anxiously. "Are you here to kill me?"

That barks a laugh from Jack, who looks so entirely amused he can't help but wonder if he can frame the moment to keep with him forever; a brow quirked, a slight dimple on their right cheek as their smile grows, and bunched freckles as their nose scrunches slightly.

"Get a lot of assassination attempts do you?"

“You have no idea," He feels his eyes roll in annoyance, an automatic reaction after all these years.

"No Percy," Jack says softly. It brushes across his skin like cool paint and snowy pine leaves. "I am here because the moon told me to be."

"The moon?" He sputters, "What do you mean the moon?"

"I mean exactly that. I talk to the moon and it answers."

He can feel his legs grow weak. "The moon— the moon— the....... moon," He mutters, staring at Jack.

They are silent as he attempts to compartmentalize his thoughts. "You know what?" He finally speaks, "That's not the weirdest thing I've ever heard. The children of Demeter talk to grain so this isn't that far out of reach."

Jack just looks at him with a patient, gentle smile on their face.

"So what are you? A child of Selene?"

"I am not a demigod." They shake their head. "I was chosen by the moon three hundred years ago. I am the spirit of winter."

The silence stretches between them like taffy. He isn't sure he's heard this right.

"You're—" He cannot even bring himself to say it.

"Yes, I'm Jack Frost."

Percy's legs give our from under him. Jack is not quick enough to catch him but he lands on a pillow of snow right before he bruises his knees. "You're Jack Frost?"

"Yes. And you are Percy Jackson."

"How—how do you know?"

"I've been alive for a very long time. I know a lot of people."

He just hums, trying to wrap his head sound another layer of myth and fable that makes up the fabric of the world.

"Why are you here?" He finally gutters out. "I mean I know the moon told you to come but why?"

"I uh have a theory but I need to ask something of you in order to know if I'm right."

He frowns, staring up at the stranger. No not stranger. Can you even call someone who's been around for centuries a stranger? What are they a stranger to? They have seen and heard and learnt and loved more than he ever has or ever will. It's more like he is the stranger. "What do you need me to do?"

"I just need you to summon water for me."

A thousand questions sit like caught snowflakes on his tongue but he let's them melt instead of spilling them into the world. Instead he gets up and concentrates on all the water sources surrounding them.

A reservoir one hundred miles away, fire hydrants near bursting with unused pressure, a small pond in a small park about five miles south, and of course the ocean in front of them, no more than fifty miles within reach.

"How much do you need?"

"Give me fifty liters."

He closes his eyes and imagines the pond, the water rippling within it. He imagines holding it in his palm as he would a basketball ball. When he feels a cool sensation wash over his skin he opens his eyes once more and sees a swirling blob of water surrounding his hand, dancing to the beat of his pulse.

"Is this enough?"

"Plenty," They smile and then their hands are reaching out and as if the water knows they're calling to it, it bounces over in little bubbles. As it touches their fingers a ray of light bursts from the contact and it turns to ice. Jack sucks in a breath, watching in amazement as the water freezes and hits the ground in a flurry of snow.

"What?" Percy cannot hold in his curiosity any longer. "What is it?"

"The moon was right." They look at him, eyes sparkling with something more than awe or curiosity.

"About?" He prompts.

"We're soulmates."

This is a story about their destinies.

"We're what?" Percy whispers. He has never gotten loud when he was surprised or angry or sad. He has always been soft.

"I usually need my staff to solidify water but if I use elements touched by my soulmate I can do it without aid."

"This is ridiculous!" He sputters. There is absolutely no way this is real. Seriously? Soulmates? He would laugh if he wasn't so outraged.

"You don't believe in soulmates?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe in!" He growls, "This whole ordeal is completely insane."

"What would it take to convince you Percy Jackson?" Jack just smiles, it is shining with happiness like it hadn't before.

"I have no idea because I have never heard of or encountered a soulmate." He hisses.

"Do you know why you can see me?"

He shakes his head, thoughts swirling faster than the hurricanes his further looses.

"Because you believe in me."

"I thought you had control over who sees you and who doesn't?" He raises a brow.

"Only with children. I can choose to show myself whether they believe or not. I have the ability since enough of them do believe." They say. "But adults are different. If they don't believe I cannot make myself appear to them. I am simply a ghost of their childhood past."

"I don't understand." Percy cannot wrap his mind around this. "How do you know you can only make ice out of whatever water I touch?"

Jack looks around for a brief moment before catching sight of something behind them. In a split second they are there and then they're back.

"Watch," He pours the water from the bottom he'd nabbed over his hand. It falls to the floor as liquid as it had started out.

"That doesn't prove anything, how do I know you're not just making sure you don't turn it to ice?"

"I cannot touch anything without freezing it, especially water." They worry at their bottom lip with their teeth, thoughts flying across their face. "It's like your friend Leo." They nod their head towards the café where Percy can still see his friends snuggled into the booth. "He doesn't necessarily turn everything he touches to ashes but he will always leave a warm imprint no matter how or what he has touched."

"How do you know that?" He gapes.

"Immortality gives you a lot of time to know the world." They shrug. "Now do you believe me?"

"I don't know." He answers truthfully. "I mean if we are soulmates..." He tries to form the question into some semblance of sense and order. "Does that mean I'm tied to you? That we have to like I don't know get married and spend eternity together?"

"No," Jack says gently, "No you can deny this bond if that is how you feel. It does not mean anything except that the universe put our souls in the same constellation. We are free to pick and choose who we love."

“And how will it work if we do decide to get together?” He frowns, “I will age but you will always stay the same.”

They look at him, head tilted, ice eyes bright. “But you know that’s not true.”

Everything in him barrels forward like a tidal wave. It cannot be. No-one knows. Not even his mother. “What isn’t true?” He will play this carefully, like the strings of a harp. He will not let his life crash through the ground.

“Why are you hiding it?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” He is adamant in his stance. He will not bow.

“You are denying the life you chose.” Jack considers him. “Why?”

“I’m not denying anything.” He huffs, “I’m just taking it slow.”

A snort bursts of them, arrogant and amused. “You are taking becoming a God slow?”

“I want to live with my friends before they figure it out!” He cries, all the fear and terror and worry burning through him.

Jack moves closer, presses a cold hand to his shoulder. “It is okay to be scared and angry and worried but do not forget that you are worthy of the title and you should wear it like a crown, not a burden.”

“There is always some burden in this much power.” He is bitter. He is right.

“Come,” Jack pulls them together, “Go meet your friends.” The hug is so cold but comforts him to the bone. “And when you are ready to make a decision, just whisper my name and i will answer, no matter where i am, or how far apart we are.”

He studies the person before him, beautiful and strange in an inviting sort of way, like no matter how much he learns about them he'll always want to know more. "Well you are very pretty."

They laugh, and the sound lights up the ocean inside him. "Thank you."

“Live Percy Jackson.” Jack Frost whispers.

And then Percy is standing outside a café, an icy wind dancing between his fingertips, and the impression of a freezing hug still clinging to his clothes. He realizes he feels happy. He feels safe.

This is a story about their love.

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

[image id: a poem by John P Smeeton titled "Jack Frost in the Garden" the poem reads:

Jack Frost was in the garden;// I saw him there at dawn;// He was dancing round the bushes// And prancing on the lawn.// He had a cloak of silver,// A hat all shimm'ring white,// A wand of glittering star-dust,// And shoes of sunbeam light.

Jack Frost was in the garden,// When I went out to play// He nipped my toes and fingers// And quickly ran away.// I chased him round the wood-shed,// But, oh! I'm sad to say// That though I chased him everywhere// He simply wouldn't stay.

Jack Frost was in the garden:// But now I'd like to know// Where I can find him hiding;// I've hunted high and low —// I've lost his cloak of silver,// His hat all shimm'ring white,// His wand of glittering star-dust,// His shoes of sunbeam light"

the background is a light blue and white marble. end id]

Tags: @fantasylover16 @queen-of-demons-and-hell @nishlicious-01​ @leyontheway @caffeinated-croissant

[madcapmyth]

Tag Team

Content warning for violence, torture.

Creepypasta OCs - Razorback, Third Eye. Word count: ~5k

A male, somewhere in his thirties, awoke in an unfamiliar location, head pounding and his eyes not able to focus on anything for more than half a second. As his vision slid in and out of clarity, two figures detached themselves from the old walls of the room and walked towards him. Stopping in front of his slumped body, one stood tall while the other, wearing black and purple, crouched in front of him. The one in black wore a mask the covered their face, extinguishing any possibility of seeing their emotion. The other did not, their hood shadowing their face.

“Do you think he’s awake by now? I want to get on with this.” The hood-wearer asked their companion, voice giving away that they were female. She pulled her hood off, revealing surprisingly bright hair for someone in such a grungy location.

Her companion shrugged, making a clicking noise with their tongue.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to ‘see the future’ you’re pretty bloody useless.” She sighed, rolling her head back as she shoved her hands in her pockets.

“You know that’s not what it is. I don’t even know what it is. I just know." The mask-wearer grumbled.

The now-hoodless female took two strides over to him and knelt, looking at him. She grabbed his chin roughly and pulled his head up to face her, making him freeze. She stood back up, and watched him for a few seconds, before suddenly kicking him in the ribs, eliciting a sharp yelp from him.

“He’s awake. Let’s get this going, Third Eye. How do you want to do this one? One after the other?”

The one in black, Third Eye as addressed by the other, stood up, pulling a coin from her pocket. She flipped it into the air and caught it, flashing it at the other.

“Oh, I am not making another fuckin’ bet with you. Not after last time.”

“C’mon, Razorback…  Call it, heads or tails?”

“Fuck, fine. Heads.”

Third Eye flipped the coin high in the air, watching it glint in the small beams of moonlight that streamed through the boards nailed over the windows.

The coin slowed at it came to the top of its flight, before falling back into the outstretched fingers of Third Eye, who flipped it up once more and let it land on the back of her hand.

Tails.

“See, this is why I hate making bets with you, I always loose.” Razorback remarked, pulling the male to his feet roughly. His mind ran, trying to think why he was here, why this was happening to him.

Three days prior.

Kenley walked down the street, next to the park, keeping an eye on her surroundings. While it was broad daylight and she wasn’t carrying the weapons that were her namesake, she still carried plenty of paranoia. Especially because Third Eye wasn’t there to give a warning of someone coming. The children in the park frolicked and played with each other, parents on looking and discussing life.

She felt a tug on the wallet chain she wore in public, one she stole from Sebastian, as hers broke in a fight. Not like he’ll miss it, she thought. He has enough as it is.

Looking down, a young girl smiled at her brightly, missing a front tooth.

“Hey, hey misses, can I touch your hair?” She asked cheerfully. Now while Kenley was usually hesitant about such a matter, she cuts some slack for young children. After all, the reactions of small children to her hair is one of the reasons Ashley convinced her (or forced her) to dye it in the first place. Kenley forced a kind smile for the girl, kneeling down and bending her head forwards for the child, who ran a small hand over the fluffy spikes.

“It’s so rainbow, misses!” The girl’s eyes lit up, as she giggled. Kenley couldn’t help but give a true smile at the child’s response.

"My name’s Kelly, misses! Kelly Stewart! I’m six!” The girl, Kelly, held up eight fingers, four on each hand. “What’s your name, misses?” The child asked, hopping from foot to foot.

“I’m Kenley. Is your father named Jacob? I had a teacher in high school named Jacob Stewart, and I know he had a young girl. I remember him showing photos to the class. But I think he moved.” Kenley lied about how she knew the child’s father.

“Yeah! He told me we moved because he got a gooder job!” Kenley gave a small, half-smile at the information, as well as the child’s naïve nature. The punk looked up, spying a woman staring her down like a hawk. Kelly’s mother. She might prove a problem, she looks like she just knows. Mothers just know shit that's going on.

“You should probably run along now, I think your mom wants you.” Kenley patted Kelly’s head.

“Okay misses Kenley!” Kelly waved just as she ran off, Kenley straightened up, watching the small girl, before smirking to herself.

Walking away, she doubled-back across a street so she was on the opposite side of the park, watching Kelly play with a few other children. Hidden amongst the small green belt, an area of trees that surrounded the park, Kenley pulled out an old flip phone. The phone had a pre-paid SIM card in it, so once it was spent, she just needed a new one, which was soon. Dialing the one number she had in the phone, she held it to her ear, listening to barely half a ring before it was picked up, no one speaking on the other end.

“Yo, it’s your turn now. Jacob Stewart is here and near-by my location. Bring that guy in.”

The person on the other end clicked their tongue once, then twice, signaling that they acknowledged Kenley’s words and that they needed to go and go now. Third Eye was in a seedy back alley, in the suburb of town where no one dared go without some form of protection on them. She hung the payphone up, one that she and Kenley used for information transfer.

Kenley popped the back panel off the flip phone, pulling the battery out to get the SIM card underneath it. Pulling the nail-sized chip out, she replaced the battery and back panel. Slipping the phone back in her pocket, she snapped the chip in two, before dropping it on a rock and grinding it further.

Looks like I’m going to have to get a new one, and soon.

The evening prior.

Third Eye sat on a tree branch, leaning against the tree’s trunk and legs stretched out on the branch, while she examined the firearm in her hand. Her pistol has seen many a day and serves her well, but this is not what she needs for such a job. She returned the pistol to its holster under her hoodie, picking the small blowpipe up from her lap. She had taken the blowpipe from a family who had returned from an Amazon River cruise. She guessed it was bought as a silly little souvenir, as it included three blunted darts. A few minutes of carving the tips back to being sharp and it was functional as a weapon.

All she needed was a sedative, which was easily obtained from a hospital. Third Eye shook her head; the security was surprisingly lax at a particular hour. She picked up the vial, which contained barely two milliliters of a strong sedative. Looking at it, she twisted it around in her fingers, waiting for those lights on the main floor of the house to turn out, as well as the light in the upper right corner, the young child’s room.

Once that light went out, she pried the top off the vial, dipping the tip of first one dart, then two, which used all the liquid in the vial. While she only needed a single dart, she always had one extra prepared just in case.

It was a warm humid night; the family of the house was bound to open the windows. Sure enough, the father opened the window of the master bedroom, where he and his wife resided. After pulling the curtains back, he retired to his side of the bed; the side closest to the window. Third Eye had a clear view from her perch to the bedside. Why someone would plant a tree this close to their house was beyond her knowledge.

Perfect. I just need to bide my time. It will happen.

Sure enough, one hour and 38 minutes later, the young girl cried out sharply, her voice carrying out the open window to Third Eye’s ears. Lights flicked on in the house, as the girl’s mother rushed in to comfort her daughter from the nightmare.

Now.

Third Eye glanced around quickly, making sure no one could see her, before pushing her mask up to sit on the top of her head. She quickly brought the blow pipe up to her lips, sending a strong blast of air through the pipe. The dart shot out, almost without noise, zipping through the humid night air.

Third Eye pulled her mask back on by the time the dart entered through the window and buried itself in the husband’s neck. She clicked her tongue once, then twice, before she clambered forwards quickly, leaping into the room. She paused, kneeling on the floor, before pulling his now unconscious form to the window as quietly as possible. She looked out the window and sure enough, Razorback stood below, ready to catch.

“I hope you know this is gonna hurt.” The punk whispered, to which Third Eye shrugged, not exactly caring. Pausing for a moment, she could hear the mother gently comforting her daughter. There’s still enough time.

Hefting the body up, she pushed it out the open window, Razorback providing a soft landing for it.

Third Eye rapidly looked around the room, before settling on the top drawer of the bedside table. Sliding it open, she grabbed a smooth leather rectangle and closed the drawer once more, then climbed onto the window sill and back into the tree. She jumped from the branch to the ground, landing lightly as Razorback finally got the man off of her, pushing his unconscious body to the side. Third Eye’s chirp-like laugh sounded softly, making Razorback scowl.

“That wasn’t funny.” She hissed, to which Third Eye chuckled again. “At least help me get him over the freakin’ fence. How long until he wakes up?”

She received a shrug in return.

“Oh, that’s real helpful. Really, it is.”

Third Eye climbed the chain link fence that separated the house from the gently sloping hill in the back, the one that led to a ravine. Once she was on the other side, Razorback held the man’s arms aloft so her colleague could grasp them.  Working quickly, they managed to eventually get him over the fence, letting his form drop to the ground before Razorback hopped the fence. Carrying him by his limbs, they fled into the ravine, Razorback cursing under her breath almost the entire way.

Once they were partway through the ravine, out of sight of the houses, wailing sirens arced over the area, flashing red and blue lights visible over the hilltop.

“I vote we move a little faster.”

“Agreed.”

The two picked up the pace, navigating the dark woods for onwards of three hours. Finally happening upon an old cabin, windows and doors boarded up, Razorback sighed, dropping the guy on the ground. She pried the boards off before pulling the door open. Picking him back up, the two shuffled in, putting him on the floor in what was most likely once a living room.

“Why... Why did we pick this location, this is ridiculous.”

“Because Walker told us to. Something to do with less chance of being found.”

“To hell with that, were you even listening?” Third Eye shook her head. “Yeah I wasn’t either. Besides, what exactly did this guy even do?”

“Something about a student wanting to raise their grade in his high school class and they said they would do anything. Apparently not the first time either. You know I don’t listen."

“If that’s implying what I think it is, shit, this guy is fucked up.”

"Who cares, it's a job." Third Eye shrugged. "Let's get it done."

"How long until he wakes up?"

"You got me."

"Fucking useless, you know that?" Razorback grumbled.

"Okay, who’s the one who warned you when the cops were coming and you were taking your sweet time with cutting that guy up?" Third Eye challenged.

"That was once." Razorback countered.

"That was way more than once and you know it."

"Fuck fine. Let me sleep dammit. Been up for too long." Razorback complained.

Third Eye walked away, choosing to sit on the back of the partly rotten couch. While the metal frame was, for the most part, intact, the cushions were far from it. Razorback decided to chance it in the chair, an old reclining Lazy-boy, the fabric riddled with holes from moths.

After about ten minutes, Razorback was out, her breathing slow and rhythmic. A somewhat cruel thought ran through Third Eye's mind, a prank of sorts. One that she had done before and childishly simple in nature, it would annoy Razorback nonetheless. All she had to do was make sure she was out of Razorback's reach when done. After all, with what happened last time, a repeat was not needed, let alone wanted.

But she chose to wait. At least, until a little later on.

Perhaps about thirty minutes, maybe forty-five.

He should be awake soon.

Getting off of the back of the couch, she stepped slowly  on the wooden floor, taking care not to let them creak.  After a few agonizingly long minutes, she had crossed the room and now stood just out of Razorback's strike range.

She remained motionless and silent for a minute longer, before laughing softly. The chirping sound gradually increased in volume, over the course of a couple minutes. Razorback stirred in her sleep, swatting away what she thought was annoying her.

Suddenly, Razorback's eyes snapped open as she was woken up by the sound. Sitting straight up, her arm shot out and grabbed for Third Eye's throat.

No dice; Third Eye remembered the last occasion and dodged, leaning back just in time. Razorback's fingers just brushed her colleague's hoodie, not able to grab hold.

"The fuck was that for?!" The punk snarled, now awake. She sat leaning forwards, her head in her hands.

"Soon." Was the single word she got in response.

"Soon? The hell is that supposed to mean? The sun will rise soon? We're all gonna die soon? I'm finally gonna win a damn bet with you soon? Start talkin' sense, Third Eye. Honestly."

"He should be awake soon."

"Give me a time frame."

A shrug, indicating that the only possible time frame was "soon."

"I fucking hate you..." Razorback spat.

"Love you too." She cooed, to which Razorback flipped her off.

The two of them leaned on the wall, on opposite sides of the doorway.

And now we wait. Thought Third Eye, looking at the poor soul who lay unconscious. This will be fun.

"So you won the coin flip, your call. What's it gonna be, we gonna tag team this shit?" Razorback asked, slightly annoyed over loosing yet another bet. One would think that by now, she knows better than to make a bet against Third Eye, but she has learned not to when money is involved.

Third Eye nodded, to which Razorback flicked out one of her straight razors, crouching next to male known as Jacob Stewart. She dragged the blade lightly over his skin, so it barely nicked the surface. Bring it up to his face, she tapped it, letting the edge bite into his flesh. He winced, a hand flying up to the small wound. Removing his fingers from it, a few drops of blood ran down on to his palm, before falling onto his shirt, staining the fabric.

"You better run, fucker. If you can stay alive till sunrise, you win. You get to live your life. That's only a few hours from now." Razorback sneered, her second straight razor in hand.

Jacob Stewart scrambled to stand up and run, which he was barely able to do.

"Just be aware that anything goes!" He heard yelled after him, as he ran out the front door.

Rounding the corner of the building, he screeched to a stop, falling and landing on the dirt-covered ground. In front of him stood Third Eye, balancing a small knife, by its point, on her finger.

He had never seen her exit the room, so there was no way she could get outside so quickly, or so commonly thought. But the best line of defense against Third Eye was to never under estimate her.

"How- how did you..?" He started, but didn't have time to finish. The knife was thrown at him, and he barely had time to throw himself out of harms way. Jacob Stewart skidded across the ground, then looked up at where the blade would be embedded in a tree. Instead, only a notch in the trunk marked that it was once there.

He whipped his head over to where its thrower stood; also gone.

He whimpered, before rising once more and dashing into the woods, smashing through the underbrush rather noisily, branches cracking and snapping.

A length of twine, hidden in the leaves that covered the forest floor, sprang taunt, just as he passed it. The twine caused Jacob Stewart to trip, as he fell much like a tree to the ground. A yelp escaped from his lips as he began to thrash about, and quickly became entangled in a make-shift net.

"Bigger they are, the harder they fall, ammiright?" Razorback remarked snidely, offering her open palm to Third Eye. Third smacked the open hand, a gesture of agreement.

"Shall we cut 'im loose and let him run, or drag him back, kicking and screaming? Or ya know, we could just end it all here." The last part was spoken with a rather sadistic grin, as Razorback stared him down like an eagle.

An eagle with mutil-colored head feathers, but an eagle nonetheless.

Third Eye pulled a pistol out, and primed it, ready to shoot.

"Running him some more, eh? I'm game." The punk commented, snapping out a straight razor. With a few clean strokes, the makeshift net fell away, freeing Jacob Stewart. He stood up, legs shaking.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" A half-smile appeared on Razorback's face, and she stepped back two paces.

"Get running."

Those two words were all Jacob Stewart needed to run. Sprinting like a scared rabbit, he skidded around a large boulder and turned right.

Right back into the clearing where that dilapidated cabin stood, at a slightly awkward angle. He jumped over the pile of boards on the broken porch, crashing into the door. Jerking it open, he dashed in and slammed the door shut behind him, hands frantically latching the deadbolts. He skidded past the doorframe of the kitchen, an old cast iron stove against the wall like a massive, cornered beast. The counters were broken and rotten, and cabinet doors hung at gravity-defying angles. He tore through the drawers, trying to find something, anything, that could be used as a weapon to protect himself.

Old, rusty metal utensils flew through the air, clattering on the floorboards that were riddled with termite holes. Finally, he found a meat cleaver in one drawer, the blade dull and chipped, and the handle cracked. Its better than nothing, I suppose... He thought, jumping at the sound of something crashing into the front door, one, then twice.

"Look I'm doing the best I can. Unless you got a better idea, this asshole is gonna live." Razorback complained, rubbing her now sore shoulder. She backed up once more, charging into the old wood of the door. She felt it start to give under her weight, and a crack began to form on the fourth hit.

"Let's double it up." Razorback said, receiving a nod from Third Eye. The two stood next to each other, before rushing into the door. It cracked loudly, splinters flying as the two came to a rapid halt in the front hall. Third Eye managed to grab hold of the doorframe just past the now-destroyed front door, the one to what was once a living room.

Razorback wasn't so lucky, instead coming to a halt from her face meeting the floor. Third Eye watched her companion carefully, who just groaned and rolled over onto her back. Cracking one eye open, Razorback looked at her mask-wearing friend.

"Ya know, help would have been nice. But hey, it would inconvenience you so why bother, hmm?" Sitting up, she touched one hand to her brow, wincing at a short, sharp pain from a light touch. Retracting her hand, she looked at the droplets of blood that raced down her fingers, dripping onto her jeans.

"Ah man, right next to my piercings too. That's gonna hurt like a bitch for days." She complained, standing up and wiping her hand on her jeans.

The two crept into the kitchen, which was quite the task as more than half of the old oak floor creaked with the smallest bit of pressure. By now, Jacob Stewart had taken to hiding inside the most intact cabinet, pulling its door over to block the view of his body as best it could. He heard a floorboard creak near the entrance of the kitchen, and a metal utensil skidded across the floor, kicked most likely.

Silence fell, and he swore he could hear his heartbeat pounding in the air around him. He tried to slow his breathing, to keep quite and not be found. He risked a glance at his watch, shifting so he could see its face.

2:41 AM, and another two and a half to sunrise. Jacob Stewart was not aware of how long he had already been there. He sighed softly, perhaps he had a chance.

Perhaps not.

The crooked cabinet door was jerked open, revealing a grinning Razorback.

"Well, hello there. Missed us? We missed you." She reached in to pull him out and his breathing faltered. He then remembered what he had found and brought the dull blade crashing down on her fingers.

"Motherfucker!" Razorback swore, pulling her hand back to look at it. The wound wasn't much, as the blade was in awful condition, but it startled her. "That's it, you piece of shit, get out of there." She snarled, first kicking him sharply before grabbing him with both hands and tossing him to the floor. He rolled with the short fall, coming to rest against the stove. The old meat cleaver was sent skittering across the floor, as it was kicked by an angered Razorback.

"Hey Third Eye. Pop one in the leg." Third Eye pulled her pistol and primed it, pointing at his foot. "No, no, the kneecaps. Go for his left." Third Eye altered her aim accordingly and let a round out of the barrel before anyone had time to blink. Jacob Stewart screamed, the pain sharp and short. He grasped his knee, hissing.

"Nah. Nah, girl. That's not what you do. You wanna bring the pain, you have to want to. Like this, see?" Razorback brought her foot up slammed it down on his right kneecap. A clean, sickening snap echoed in the room, as well as a screech.

"That is how you break the knee."

Third Eye rolled her head back, indicating annoyance with Razorback's actions. Since her mask hid her face, she's developed other forms of conveying what would normally be facial expressions. Pulling her knife out, she flipped it up in the air and caught it a few times, before grasping it in a proper grip. She grabbed Jacob Stewart by the shoulder and quickly sliced his old t-shirt open, exposing his torso.

"I'll get the alcohol~" Razorback hummed, dragging a cinderblock across the floor to boost her height. Reaching on the top shelf of the most intact cabinet, she pulled down a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. She tossed to Third Eye, who caught it without looking. A bag of rock salt, a pair of needle-nose pliers and a small container of carpet tacks followed suit, tracing an arc through the air. The final object to be thrown over was a ball of strong cord. Third Eye cut a length of rope, threading one end through an iron ring that had been screwed into the wall,  and tying both end around the wrists of John Stewart tightly. The same was repeated with his ankles, instead looping the cord around the feet of the great cast iron stove.

Third Eye nodded to Razorback, who was standing to the side of the stove, slowly sharpening her straight razors on a barber's strap. A smile crept across her face as she crouched down next to John Stewart, tracing an X pattern over and over on his exposed torso with her blades. Third Eye stepped back, pulling a small tube out of her pocket. Popping the small cap off, she titled it up so two small ear plugs rolled out into her open hand. Capping the tube, she wiggled the ear plugs in, blocking out as much noise as possible. Her timing was impeccable, as that was just mere seconds before Razorback chose to rub rock salt into the open wounds. Another fifteen minutes, and Razorback had the man's left wrist cut open delicately, and was using the needle nose pliers to pull on the ligaments inside, chuckling as his fingers moved. She pulled one ligament up, before taking a straight razor and slicing through it, causing it to snap and fall limply inside his wrist. She repeated this process with the other ligaments, before pulling on the muscles fibres. Slowly but surely, she worked her way up his arm, flaying it open and dropping sections of skin and muscle to the side as she went.

Picking up the container of carpet tacks, Razorback tipped it, allowing a few to tumble down into her open palm. Picking up his right hand, she chose his index finger. He fought to keep his hand curled in a fist, a loosing battle. Prying the finger up, she poked at the tender area just under the nail, chuckling as he hissed at it. Once she found a good spot, Razorback suddenly pushed the tack all the way under his nail, and then pried it up slowly. A screech wrenched its way put of his throat, which was quickly silenced by Third Eye, her bare foot pressing down on his windpipe.

"The hell was that for?" Razorback snarled, her head up and glaring at Third Eye. The mask wearer shot a look at the sadistic punk, as if to say "you know damn well what that was for, fucker."

"Look, if you don't like it, just leeeaaavvvee." Razorback drew out the last word, making a shooing motion with her hands. Third Eye made a harrumph sort of noise, indicating that she had no intentions of leaving just yet, that she will complain if she so pleases, and that Razorback had absolutely no say in the matter.

Third Eye lifted her foot from Jacob Stewart's throat and he gasped for air, in a manner that was reminiscent of a fish on dry land. Razorback shifted her sitting position slightly, and continued to pry his nails off in a rather slow fashion. Once all his nails were sitting on the floor, she pulled the bottle of isopropyl alcohol over to her side. Razorback looked around, on the ground beside her, in the broken cabinets next to her, and elsewhere in the immediate vicinity, before scowling and standing up.

"I didn't think this through." She mumbled, searching through the kitchen for any sort of small dish.

"P... Please, please stop... Just kill me... Please..." Jacob Stewart begged and turned his head to the side, looking at Third Eye. He received a blank stare in return, that was soon blocked by the muzzle of a pistol.

"Wha- 'Ey, don't kill him yet!" Razorback snapped, looking at the scene. She had found a small bowl, and was pouring some of the strong-smelling liquid into it.

"C'mon, let me have my fun, then you can kill him. Deal?" Third Eye lowered the gun, so the barrel now pointed at the floor instead of Jacob Stewart's forehead, who whimpered worse than a kicked puppy.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking and tracing a path down his face as he sobbed, his breathing unstable as he did so. His crying grew in volume, until Razorback grabbed the old meat cleaver, the one he had used as protection against her earlier, and smashed it into his chest, eliciting a scream. She pulled it out, a wet sucking noise filling everyones' ears, as did John Stewart's cries of pain and horror. Razorback slammed the old cleaver into his chest and pulled it out, speaking in between each action.

"That's such" slam "an annoying" squelch "fucking sound" slam "just shut" squelch "the fuck" slam "up!"

Blood splattered on everyone present, and as well on the cabinets around them, as Razorback ended his cries.

She left the cleaver in his chest with the final blow, the one that ended his life. Standing up, she looked at the carnage she had caused in such a short amount of time, and let out a low, sliding whistle.

"Well, I'd say that's a record for one of my sloppiest kills." Razorback remarked, prodding the cooling body with her foot.

"That's for damn sure..." Third Eye mumbled.

"Whatever. What do we do with the body?"

"Let the coyotes have him, just leave the front door open."

Razorback picked up her belongings, walking out the destroyed front door, which lay in large pieces on the floor.

"I think this is a permanent open door policy now, eh?" She smirked, pulling her hood up.

"You're one sick kid..."