#(he said repression? sounds like a fun flavor

[jellie-tamer]

Okay. It'll be fine in the morning. I have the day off. No one will know. No one will know.

[kurokonobrainrot]

For the sensory ask thing. 2,6,7,14,18 and 22 for Akashi please!

Thanks for asking !!

2- The colours they wear / look best in

Muted and warm colors, like brown, beige, black, white, creme and marron. I said it before but the dark (and light) academia aesthetic is perfect for him,

6- Some of their favourite flavours or foods

I made a post about it on twitter a while ago with a cute template i found so here it is

He doesn't like sharp flavors and he is a picky eater, i love how the GoM knows about it and Aomine even teased him for it in a cd drama.

He absolutely make a face when he eats sour things, which is why he doesn't like it very much. He doesn't really have a problem with the taste but he finds it inappropriate of him to not be able to hide it and remain impassive

He doesn't really have 'rich people' taste, he likes simple dishes because it reminds him of the time when his mother was still alive and cooked for him.

7- What they smell like

Tea and incense. Matcha because he drinks a lot of it, the incens comes from the fact that he lit some for his mother every single day before going to school and the smell stick to his clothes.

He also uses really fine soap and shampoo, the smell is very delicate but its possible to smell it when you're really close to him.

14- Their favourite type of music

He used to only listen to classical music because that's what he learned with the violin and piano, but he can find songs he likes in every styles. He doesn't go out of his way to find new songs but he is always happy to listen to his friends recommendation, if a friend send him a song he will listen to it. I think he would also be very fond of jazz.

I think he'd rather play classical music than listen to it, unless it's Midorima playing.

18- The sounds they make when experiencing intense emotion

He practiced so much staying impassive and not showing any sign of "weakness" that he doesn't make any sound. Maybe just a sharp inhale when he can't fully repress it.

When the intense emotion is bliss or happiness and he is completely relaxed (like half asleep), he makes a sound very close to purring.

22- Are they good at sensing the thoughts and emotions of others? How do they experience them?

He is extremely good at sensing both, almost like a mind reader. But for their emotions, despite being able to sense them very well, he isn't very good at understanding and interpreting them.

He is deep down a really awkward boy, he practiced very hard to be good at socialization but he has also never been able to fully understand other people, its not that he lacks empathy, it's because he muted his own emotions so hard and for so long that even his own emotions are foreign to him, so understanding other people's emotion is even harder.

This is one of the reasons why he cannot make himself approachable and has difficulty connecting with others and also why he sometimes appears to lack tact sometimes (especially in middle school).

_________________

That was really fun ! I'm very sensitive to sensory stimuli so these kinds of headcanons are really enjoyable to write

[destiniesfic]

Folktober 05 — for @jurdannet/@jurdannetrevels. In which Jude was never taken to Faerie and grew up in blissful ignorance of the fair folk—mostly—until the night they tried to steal her twin sister away.

First | Prev

The door is the first test. It is difficult not to stare at every new thing I see. There are lamps on either side of the polished wood doors, and at first I think they’re just regular lights, but of course nothing here is that simple; the light comes from two tiny glowing faeries, trapped behind glass. I am immediately filled with questions. Did they volunteer for the job? Is this a punishment for some unknown crime? Do they eat, and if so, who feeds them? Do they live forever, miserable in their prison, or do they eventually burn themselves out?

But I am meant to be glamoured and not ask questions, so I don’t, even though I want to pound my hands against the glass until they bleed and the tiny faeries are freed. I keep my eyes straight ahead and hardly even flinch when I notice the grotesque carving on the door. It looks horrible, a twisted and terrible face, the knocker piercing its nose.

Cardan acts as if this is all totally normal, because of course to him it is, because he lives here and none of this is new to him. Without any hesitation, he reaches for the door knocker. And as he does, the carving’s eyes spring open.

To keep from screaming, I bite my lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. My entire body goes taut, a coiled spring waiting for release. I force myself to breathe in through my nose.

“My prince,” says the carving.

Cardan smiles at the door in a way I am not even sure he smiled at his friends. “My door.”

I am relieved when the next words from the door’s awful mouth are “Welcome home” and it swings open to admit us. Cardan stalks inside, and I follow.

There is a faerie servant waiting for us, wearing some kind of livery. “Prince Cardan,” they say, with a small bow. “Your brother would like to speak with you.”

“A pity for him,” Cardan replies, handing his cloak to another servant. No one offers to take the jacket I am wearing. “I would like that less.”

“I am afraid it was not a request,” the first servant says. “He wishes to speak with you and the mortal girl you have brought back with you.”

Cardan glances back at me, a frown turning down the corners of his full mouth. “Very well, although I cannot imagine why. Come, Jude.”

I bristle at the command, but I follow after him; it’s what the glamoured girl I’m supposed to be would do. I force a little smile on my lips and trot after him. “What’s going on?” I whisper through it.

“I know not.” The frown deepens. “And I like that even less. Stay close to me and face front, no matter what you see. And under no circumstances may you antagonize Balekin as you do me. Am I understood?”

I want to tell him that if he thinks my meager resistance so far has been antagonism, he doesn’t really know anything about hardship, but there’s an urgency to his voice, maybe something like nerves or fear, that makes me think he’s being serious.

“Totally,” I say, and then I fall back a little so that I trail him.

Soon I see why he warned me to stare straight ahead. As we walk through the hallway, I see another human for the first time, a young man dressed in the same palace livery. At first I want to call out to him, to scream, to tell him I’ve been taken and he has too and we should both run away from this place, but I notice the glazed look in his eyes, and, as we approach, his cracked fingers and chapped lips. He hums to himself as he polishes an old suit of armor on display, and doesn’t seem to notice as we pass.

I shudder. Cardan may have kidnapped me, true. He and his friends might have intended to do terrible things to my sister, and he may still intend to do terrible things to me. But at least I have been spared that fate, the loss of my all my faculties, of any control.

I’m not relieved for long, because Hollow Hall still has horrors in store for me. Soon we come to another set of gleaming doors, through which I can hear the sounds of chatter and the faint thrumming of music. The doors are thrown open for us by another pair of servants, and then we are in the middle of the great hall.

There is what is clearly a party happening. Well, I assume it’s a party, what parties are in fairyland. It looks like the kind of scene HBO would get in trouble for when casting a bunch of nude extras. I mean, by human standards, it would definitely be considered an orgy, but I am beginning to think that human and faerie standards are very different.

And that’s not to say all of the Folk are embracing. Some are eating golden fruit. Some are drinking wine and mead from great goblets, like the ones Cardan brought for his picnic jaunt into my world. Others seem to be falling asleep. Two might be strangling each other to the amusement of onlookers. There is a small band on the other side of the room that includes a green-skinned pixie playing a flute and a boy with goat legs playing an honest-to-god lute. And, yes, there are faeries in varying states of undress, on couches near the perimeter of the room or cushions on the floor, and some are definitely, um, occupied. They are clearly inhuman, but their bodies are human enough that I find myself blushing, out of embarrassment or mortification I don’t know.

But Cardan said I couldn’t stare, so I do my best not to. I face front and think about the places I would rather be. Which is pretty much anywhere. I imagine myself at the Starbucks downtown, sipping pumpkin spice lattes with Taryn, or bingeing She-Ra on Netflix with Vivi, like we had the last week of the summer. Then I think about how my parents will panic when they realize I’m not there in the morning—probably just a couple of hours from now—and I nearly feel sick to my stomach.

“Jude,” Cardan hisses through his teeth. “With me.”

I don’t nod. I just follow him as we chart a path through the revelers, managing to hold it together. A naked girl with daffodil-yellow skin and pink flowers for hair laughs and calls to him, trying to coax him into joining her circle, but he ignores her. I guess being a prince makes you popular.

Our destination is on the far side of the room, unfortunately, which means I have to do a lot more repression to make it there in one piece. For example, I can’t think about how a sharp-toothed faerie seems to be using a tiny bone to pick his teeth, or how another revel guest’s lips shine red like they’re wet with blood. At least I can easily pick out where we’re going and focus on that as I keep from tripping over any outstretched limbs.

Another faerie, one who looks much like Cardan with dark hair and high cheekbones, reclines in a wooden chair carved to look much like a throne, up on a dais. He is in conversation with a very lovely woman in a blue gown, but when she sees us approaching she kisses his ring and leaves. I almost want to tell her to come back, to not leave us with the host of this debauched fete. But there’s nothing to say. I’ll have no help here.

Cardan climbs the dais seps and stops before the chair, inclining his head with deference that seems a little mocking. Without being told, I know that this is Balekin, whom Cardan said was the eldest of the princes.

Brother,” Balekin says, and even I, an outsider, can sense the danger under the familial cheer. “How was your jaunt to the mortal world?”

“Tiresome,” Cardan says, stifling a yawn as he raises his head.

“I was told you brought a companion back with you.”

“Word travels fast.”

Balekin waits for him to say something else, and frowns when he doesn’t. I, meanwhile, am thinking of how I felt like we were being watched as we rode through the forest. Maybe we were. Or maybe the goblins who’d paddled the boat were spies. Nothing here was safe.

“Well, won’t you call her hence so I may examine her?” Balekin asks at last.

“Oh, indeed,” says Cardan, who clearly isn’t happy to have been called out for this. Still, he waves for me, and I take a step forward. “This mortal girl interfered with our fun. She was unhappy that Locke wanted to play with her twin sister.”

“Twins?” Balekin sounds intrigued. He sits forward. I’m learning that twins are probably rare among faeries if Taryn and I are so consistently interesting. “Why not keep them both?”

Cardan shrugs. “It was better sport to promise the freedom of one sister and then take the other. This one was so angry when she found her twin glamoured, and now she suffers that fate.”

I’m angry still, I want to shout. I’m angry now! I want to stomp my foot. I want to haul off and punch him. But I stay where I am, trying to keep the placid smile fixed on my face. I’d thought Cardan and his friends terrifying and wrong, but now that I am face-to-face with an adult faerie, I realize that Cardan can’t be much older than me—or whatever the faerie equivalent is. Maybe he’s ninety and just looks nineteen. But Balekin is clearly grown, less lanky than Cardan, more dangerous. He is looking at me in a way I don’t like.

“Come closer, child,” he says to me, and he almost sounds kind. I try not to hesitate as I approach his chair. When I am near enough, he reaches out and takes my face in his hand. There are thorns poking out of his skin, sharp enough to prick me. I stay very, very still and try to breathe normally.

“She’s not unpretty, is she?” he asks Cardan.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan shift uneasily. “If mortals are your flavor.”

Balekin frowns, turning my face from one side to the other. “She has a familiar look. What is your name, girl?”

“Jude,” I say obediently.

“Your surname.”

“Smith,” I lie. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. Telling a faerie prince my actual full name seems like a really bad idea.

Balekin’s eyes narrow, but he releases me. My jaw tingles. He swirls the wine in his goblet the way sophisticated people do in movies, and then he leans back in his chair. “So, brother. Now you have a mortal girl. What will you do with her?”

“I have not yet decided,” Cardan replies, sounding thoughtful. “I would rather not put her to work in the kitchens or the hall. Mortals are so fragile, with such clumsy fingers. It amuses me to think of her carrying my schoolbooks, serving my wine, and sleeping at the foot of my bed like a faithful hound.”

“Trite amusements,” says Balekin, but I notice that he doesn’t seem displeased with his younger brother. “If you misplace this one it is of no consequence to me. Do as you will.”

Cardan inclines his head in a mock bow, then says again, “Come, Jude.”

Like the faithful hound, I follow at his heels. Unlike the faithful hound, I chafe doing so. But I can’t see another way out just now, so I will play this game until the end. Whatever that is.

---

Tag list: @lilithsaur @highqueenofelfhame @charrise @emeralddaydream13 @b00kworm @amandlas @gellavonhamster @ireallyshouldsleeprn @misskillerdarkness @nahthanks @lohep @awkward-avocado-s @alittledribbledrabble @kittkatandbooboo @harrymoncheri @gxndrya

If you want to be tagged in future posts, let me know!

[atmilliways]

16 Murderface & Pickles; 19 Nathan & Toki! 🖤

I’ll probably write the Nathan and Toki one too, eventually, but for now here is some Pickleface for the prompt “defending each other.” This is set during Goingdownklok and, uh, probably the porniest thing I have ever written. 

Trans Pickles, Murderface’s internalized body issues, first time blow job, Pina Colada flavored lube because Pickles was drunk when he ordered it and thought he was asking Alexa for more drinks. 

If anyone can think of other tags that should be on this, or if it should be marked Explicit rather than just Mature, please let me know. I’ll reblog with the Ao3 link in a sec. 

~

This Might Just Stick

It had been hours. Maybe everybody had forgotten by now. . . . No, no one was going to forget that he’d tried to tackle and hump Toki in front of everybody. 

But he was getting hungry. . . . But what if he ran into any of his bandmates?

Murderface lurked in his quarters until the necessity of avoiding starvation drove him out and skulking towards the mess hall. By the time he arrived and saw from the hatch that someone was already in there, the lure of dinner was stronger than his shame. Maybe Pickles wouldn’t notice him. 

“Hey,” Pickles mumbled in greeting almost immediately. The drummer was presiding over a large plate piled high with iced cinnamon buns, glumly holding a half eaten one in his hand. 

“Uh . . . hey,” Murderface replied. Maybe if he kept walking the conversation would end there.

“I got shot down by Abigail,” Pickles continued, sounding positively morose. 

Murderface slowed, curious in spite of himself. He glanced towards the counter where a hooded servant waited to take his order, but hesitated. This was his chance to let the whole embarrassing incident start getting glossed over until no one ever brought it up again or even remembered it had ever happened. “. . . Schoundsch rough, pal.”

“I mean, I got all dressed up an’ everything, and nothin’.” With a sigh, Pickles took a bite of his cinnamon bun. He continued while chewing, “I figured she must be at least as hard up as the rest of us, y’know? Nope! Turns out, she thought to bring a vibrator!”

A vibrator. Huh. Now there was a thought. Murderface automatically pictured a naked female form, legs spread wantonly, a buzzing wand sinking into—

Well, this had been a mistake. He should’ve just kept walking and taken his food back to his room. Instead, before the sudden tent in his shorts had a chance to become too obvious, Murderface drifted casually over to Pickles’ table. It was one of those picnic style set-ups, except the benches weren’t bolted down, so there was a screech as he pulled it out to sit across from him. 

“Schuper rough! Schorry to hear that, pal. Hey, uh, mind if I eat one of thesche cshinnamon rollsch?” He didn’t wait for a reply, grabbing one and shoving half of it in his mouth. Maybe sugar and something to chew on would provide enough distraction to will his libido back to manageable levels. 

“Go ahead.” Pickles gave a deep sigh. “I thought I’d feel better if I had some rock n’ roll cinnamon buns, but I guess I’m not drunk enough for that yet.”

“Schorry man,” Murderface said again. “I don’t know why Nathan wasch scho bitchy about you going for her, it’sch not like we all wouldn’t hit that if we could.” He gulped down the second half of his cinnamon bun and reached for another. 

“I know, right?!” Pickles said, nodding. “And hey, for what it’s worth, I get why you went after Toki, too. I mean, your approach did lack some zazz, but I’m pretty sure we were all thinkin’ the same thing.”

They’d all taken part in mocking him after the incident, Pickles included, but Murderface still appreciated the small token of solidarity. His fingers already had a coating of sticky white icing on them which he was trying not to notice; the sight sent reflexive twinges of pain running up from his jerking-off wrist. But the mechanical motion of chewing and the fact that he was a born stress-eater just like his grandma made the texture of the bun richer, the nuance of spices more compelling, the fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth more soothing . . . so there was that. And anyway, he’d come here in the first place because he was hungry. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of bringin’ something,” Pickles continued, drifting back to his original train of thought. “I mean, I have tons of shit at home! But did I bring any of it? No, ‘cause Charles didn’t tell us about the no ladies thing until we’d already got here. I kinda want to break into her room and just use it, who fuckin’ cares if she catches me. Maybe she’ll see something she likes!”

“You could do that,” Murderface managed to say with his mouth full. God, he was lucky that Pickles was dressed in his usual black shirt and loose jeans, nothing tight or revealing like Toki, because all this talk about vibrators was really getting him going. Just the idea of turning the toy on and moving it teasingly against a stiff dick (he didn’t know what Pickles’ looked like so naturally he pictured his own)—

He stifled a whimper with yet another cinnamon roll. The pile on the plate was shrinking at an alarming rate. 

“Hey.” Pickles looked at him with wide eyes, a strange glint in them. “You could come with me. Come on, dood, let’s do it. Let’s break into her room!”

“I. . . . I don’t know, Picklesch. . . .”

“No, in case she doesn’t catch me! We can both—there’s ways we can both use it at the same time, no waitin’!”

Heat rising to his face, Murderface shook his head and reached for the cup on the table to wash the latest mouthful of sticky, sugary bun down. He grabbed it and gulped from it—ah yes, straight vodka. The Pickles special. “I’m, uh, not going to do that with you, Picklesch.”

“Why naht?” Pickles all but whined. “Come on, we’re all in the same boat here. Literally. What’s Toki got that I ain’t got?”

Murderface’s first instinct, which he insta-repressed, was to say An ass. But on further reflection, that wasn’t exactly true, was it? While Toki’s toned rear end looked great in those shrunken pink shorts, Pickles had slightly more of a bubble butt, better for grabbing a handful and really, unf—

And now he was thinking about Pickles’ ass. Great. Super. That was totally helping with the boner that wouldn’t quit. Murderface wanted to bury his head in his hands, but they were too sticky for that so he crammed another half a cinnamon bun in his mouth instead. He was, distantly, starting to feel rather full. 

“Look, I’m juscht not doing it!” he burst out, bringing one fist down on the table so hard it rattled the now empty cup and nearly empty plate. “Chrischt, you guysch were ragging on me earlier for the whole Toki thing, and now you’re, what? Trying to jump on my dick?! Uh-uh, I don’t think scho!”

Pickles put both of his hands up. “Dood, calm down! Flag on the play, okie? I’m naht trying anything!” He paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Alright, I am. But look, I’m askin’ first, so . . . there’s that. And hey, no strings attached, I promise. It’s just, you got rejected, and, and I got rejected. . . . I jest think we can help each other out, y’know? It doesn’t have to be that big a deal.”

Murderface narrowed his eyes. “It’sch a very big deal, Picklesch.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Pickles replied, leaning forward conspiratorially and dropping into a throaty whisper. “Dood, we could do it right here, nobody’d know. We’ve got this place to ourselves, all we gotta do is have the Klokateers shut things down for a while so we don’t get interrupted. And I could get you off first—fuck, I’ve been thinkin’ about going down on somebody ever since Abigail told me how she keeps from going crazy down here! Please?” Under the table, a sneakered foot bumped and rubbed suggestively up Murderface’s shin, making him shiver. “I’ll treat ya real nice.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a chick,” Murderface grumbled. 

“‘Kay.” Pickles smirked. “I’ll suck you off and make you come so hard you’ll be cross-eyed into next week.”

Biting his lip to stifle a groan, Murderface considered. 

. . . He picked up the last cinnamon bun and crammed it into his mouth, still considering. 

There were two options here. Option one: he could say fuck you, yell at the hood at the counter to send food to his quarters, and storm out with an angry boner to go hump his bedframe or some pillows or something until his meal arrived. His stomach was pretty full (he shifted slightly on the bench and let out a soft, cinnamon-scented burp in between chewing) but he knew how his body reacted to stress and depression, and knew he could eat again in maybe an hour. He’d need at least the next pants size up by the time they got back to the surface. Story of his fucking life. 

Or, option two: take Pickles’ offer. It wasn’t like it was any less gay for Pickles to offer than it was for him to accept, so they were both implicated here. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he’d already passed desperate a few stops back. 

“Scho, it’sch come to thisch.” Murderface swallowed the last of his mouthful and sighed. He looked at the empty plate instead of his bandmate, because the longer he entertained the idea of actually doing this the more confining his shorts felt. “If you make fun of me for thisch I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Right back at ya, dood. So . . . is theat a yes?” 

“. . . . Yesch,” he whispered, and—he couldn’t help it—palmed himself through his shorts despite his sticky hand and the twinge of pain from his still-tender wrist. 

As soon as he said the word, Pickles leapt up, knocking his bench over with a clatter, and spun to yell towards the mess kitchen: “Hey, guys! Take a break for like, an hour or something! Lock it up and get outta here!!”

“Yes sire,” someone called back, and the confirmation was quickly echoed by the clangs and bangs of cookware being put in order for the coming downtime. 

An hour, Murderface thought, twitching in stunned anticipation. He fingered the button on his shorts but didn’t unbutton it until the shutter over the counter window had been pulled down and one of the hoods ran to close the mess hall hatch for them from the outside—their servants were nothing if not efficient. 

He could’ve done without his full stomach forcing the zipper all the way down as soon as he unbuttoned, but hey, pobody’s nerfect. Now that he was committed to doing this he was practically vibrating to get started, spreading his legs as wide as he could. 

“Scho, uh. . . . How are we doing thisch? Should I turn around or schomething?”

“No, stay right there.” Pickles grabbed at a random dreadlock and used it to tie the rest back.Then he winked and ducked under the table. 

“Oh fuck,” Murderface whispered, and leaned back to get a partial view of Pickles kneeling in front of him. 

With a mischievous grin, the drummer slipped his fingers up the legs of Murderface’s shorts, teasing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “It’s sexier if you don’t look, dood.”

“Right, okay. Schure.” He sat forward again hastily and his lip as he felt Pickles’ hands move to his stomach, palms warm through his t-shirt and against the sliver of exposed skin peeking out at the bottom, and then—

“Ow,” Pickles muttered. 

Murderface looked down, hoping against hope that he hadn’t somehow fucked this up already. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my wrists, dood. I can’t . . . ugh.”

“Can’t what?” Murderface pressed. He felt bitter disappointment already welling up like bile in the back of his throat, and honestly if Pickles ditched him at this point he probably would throw up out of pure disgust and disappointment with himself for fucking up such a wonderful opportunity by being so utterly repugnant. 

Pickles groaned. “Fuck. Look, there’s no good way to say this, but you gotta hold yer stomach up outta the way. My wrists won’t bend that way right now and it’s kinda . . . blockin’ stuff.”

Murderface felt his face heat up to approximately one hundred degrees, but when he didn’t immediately reply Pickles gripped at his thighs and whined impatiently. With that encouragement, he slid his hands under his belly and hefted it up. At another wordless whine, he stood slightly so Pickles could tug them down to his ankles and plopped his bare ass back down on the warm metal bench. 

“Thanks for freeballing, dood,” Pickles commented, and Murderface felt delicious chills from the drummer’s breath ghosting over his eager cock. “Saves valuable seconds in a sex emergency.”

He couldn’t see through the table, but Pickles sounded downright hungry for it. Just imagining the guy staring intently at him under there, maybe licking his lips, maybe already touching himself through his jeans in anticipation—

Then Pickles shocked him by enveloping him all at once, tongue sliding down the underside of his cock and lips closing possessively around the base as the head hit the back of Pickles’ throat and holy fucking shit. Murderface moaned so loud that he was worried the entire submarine could hear, but it wasn’t like his hands were free to stifle himself. He’d hold his fat belly out of the way for a million years without complaint if it meant being enveloped like this. Hands grabbed at his ass and tried to drag him forward greedily as Pickles began to bob expertly up and down his length with the perfect amount of suction, going from nose-buried-in-pubes to kissing-the-already-leaking-tip and back again, repeat and repeat and repeat, with an eagerness that Murderface had never once experienced before and zero hint of gag reflex. It was all Murderface could do to sit still and keep holding himself, biting his lip for dear life to keep his ragged breathing from turning into the breathy moans of the thoroughly fucked. 

Goddamn, this was going to ruin him for groupie blowjobs, wasn’t it? Fucking Pickles and his oral fixation, and his warm, wet, tight, talented mouth. 

It had been way, way too long, and Murderface was so hard up that he came embarrassingly quickly. He didn’t even have time to give a warning, but Pickles seemed to know. One hand stopped fondling his ass long enough to fondle his balls instead, massaging encouragingly as they tightened and tightened and—

Murderface couldn’t contain the wordless gush of sound that accompanied his orgasm, milked out of him without complaint as he bent over the table. 

His face was all but touching the empty, sticky plate before him when he finally managed to open his eyes again. “Fuck,” he breathed shakily. “Pickles. . . . That wasch. . . . Fuck, I don’t think I can schtand.”

“Push the bench back, then,” Pickles said urgently. Whatever he was doing down there, Murderface could hear shuffling and felt bare skin bumping against his hairy legs.”Cahm ahn, dood!”

It made him grin lazily to realize that Pickles’ accent must get stronger when he was horny, just like it did when he was super pissed or super wasted. He obliged, scooting the bench with a brief screech of metal scraping metal, and Pickles popped out from under the table like Jack out of his box. Murderface was half expecting him to sit on the table edge in front of him so he could return the favor, but instead the smaller man settled in his naked lap. 

Apparently Pickles had been shedding layers under the table, because he was equally naked from the waist down and grinding eagerly, wetly against the bassist’s middle, pushing his vest further open and his t-shirt further up. He grabbed Murderface by the hair and rammed their mouths together, eagerly licking his way in, the taste of spend on his tongue mingling quickly with the sweetness of cinnamon bun icing still on Murderface’s. 

There was something very unexpected about this that Murderface was too dazed and into it to quite pinpoint, but holy shit what Pickles was doing felt amazing. Like, fucking against his stomach? Which was kind of weird, but the force and desperation of it was blowing him away. 

Pickles whined in his mouth as though all this wasn’t enough, as though he wanted, needed more. His legs wrapped around Murderface and crossed at the ankles for leverage to grind even harder. Automatically, Murderface reached to support him—one hand splayed against the freckled back and another on his ass, where the muscles were already trembling with effort and eagerness for the building climax. 

And he was so wet. Had the guy come once already just from sucking him off? Murderface felt briefly lightheaded at the thought. Felt his spent cock twitch too, for all that he was still recovering from the number Pickles had done on him already.

Really . . . really wet. Not exactly leaking-dick wet. Not that Murderface had a lot of experience identifying that sort of thing rubbing on him, but still. 

. . . Huh. 

Pickles was still kissing and clutching at him, and Murderface was drowning in this unprecedented desire for this stupid body he’d always kind of hated. But Pickles didn’t seem to mind, did he? Really made it feel like he wouldn't have offered this to just anyone. 

A moment later Pickles shuddered, going rigid and squeezing him tight before relaxing completely, Murderface’s arms around him the only thing keeping him from falling back against the mess hall table. 

“Woo-oo,” Pickles mumbled, eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded. He patted the arm supporting his back. “That was fucking great, man. Ten outta ten, would ride again.” His tongue peeked out and wetted his kiss-redden lips. “Was it good for you?”

“Huh?” Murderface blinked, shook himself a little. He’d been staring intently at the tip of Pickles’ tongue. “Yeah! Yeah, that wasch. . . . I, we could do that again schometime. If you want.”

Pickles patted his arm again, eyes drifting shut. “Mmm, yeah, that album ain’t getting finished any time soon. . . .”

“Uh, Picklesch? Can I ashk you a perschional queschtion?”

“Heh, you just came down my throat, dood, Pretty sure personal questions are fair game.”

Murderface glanced uncertainly down between them, but with their lower halves still pressed together all he could really see was a bright red trail of hair leading downward and his own belly button. “Is there a. . . . Do you have. . . . Are you okay down there?”

Pickles laughed. “I’m more’n fine, dood, I’m great.” Then he cracked an eye open to study the other man’s face, one double-pierced eyebrow slowly rising. “What?” He followed where Murderface’s eyes were aimed. “. . . Don’t tell me ya never fucked a trans dood before.”

“I’ve never fucked any dudesch before,” Murderface retorted defensively. “And schince when are you transch?!”

“Dood, everybody knows. I thought you knew!” 

“Well I didn’t! No one tellsch me anything,” he whined, and in the strange clarity of his relaxed, post-orgasm state was entirely aware that the not being told part bothered him more than the trans part. Not that he knew much about what being trans meant, but . . . probably better to google it later than ask while they were still sitting junk to junk. He reached down to self-consciously tug his t-shirt down and felt wetness on his fingertips. After a moment’s hesitation, he brought his hand up to his nose and sniffed. “. . . Why doesch thisch schmell like pina colada?”

“It’s lube,” Pickles said with a chuckle. “I always keep it—” he absently patted at his own ass, then snorted “—in my pants, under the table. Back pocket. I don’t gaht a lahtta ‘natural lubrication’ so, y’know. Always be prepared or whatever. . . . I dunno, I was never a boy scout.” Stretching, he sat up and leaned in, resting his arms languidly over Murderface’s shoulders. Noses about an inch apart, he stared probingly into his eyes. “You weirded out?”

“Uh . . . no, I guescch not,” Murderface mumbled, going cross-eyed trying to return the stare. 

He felt . . . okay, actually. Wasn’t having sex with a bandmate supposed to feel like a mistake? Wasn’t he supposed to be having some sort of crisis right now? Because he’d definitely just had sex with a guy—he’d known Pickles for years, he was definitely a dude, trying think of him as anything else just didn’t compute. 

Pickles darted forward and gave him a wet snack on the nose, then pulled back with a pleased smirk. “Cool. ‘Cause we’ve got about, uh. . . .” He looked for a clock, finding one once he’d twisted almost all the way around—which just made Murderface think, Bendy, and then his brain fizzled a little at the possibilities. “About forty-five minutes left before anyone comes back. Whaddaya say we get some drinks and fuck some more? I’ve got a couple months of fantasies I still wanna try out.”

“Fa, fantasies?” Murderface stammered as the drummer slid off his lap (oh sweet friction) and bounded over to the counter to rustle up some bottles. His eyes were glued to that pale, freckled ass. “About me?”

“Yeah,” Pickles called. Regrettably, he and his ass had ducked out of sight for a moment. “I mean, fer pretty much everyone down here who has a face, to be honest.”

Oh, Murderface thought with a sigh.

“But hey!” Grinning, Pickles popped back into sight with a fifth of Irish whiskey held triumphantly in each upstretched hand. “Ta be honest, I’m glad this happened with you, dood. The ones with you in ‘em were my favorites.”

Murderface brightened immediately. “Really?” It almost didn’t even matter if that was true, he just appreciated Pickles going out of his way to say it. “Like  . . . like what?”

“Well, what we just did, fer one.” 

This had all happened because of curiosity (and a background level of horniness that defied physics and shit); Murderface saw now reason to change things up now. He asked, even as he drank in the sight of Pickles sauntering back towards him half naked, whatever secrets were hidden between his legs obscured by a thick forest of bright red pubes, “What elsche?” The words came out sounding breathless, and his cock was already stiffening again. 

After all, he’d come here in the first place because he was hungry. 

Smirking, Pickles came back around, moved the empty cinnamon bun plate down the table, and hopped up to take its place, legs spread. He handed Murderface one of the whiskey bottles, cracked open his own, and in between drinking and wantonly touching himself started listing every last, filthy little detail of things they could do to each other. 

It was going to be a very good rest of the hour. 

[kyle-valenti]

highschool milucho au drabble for @laufire

Lunch period arrives what feels like all too late after a hectic morning where Michael Guerin had punched Wyatt Long in the face for Maria. While she still thought he was an idiot for having done it, she downs a brownie for sustenance and brings Rosa along outside with her to go check on him. Unsurprisingly he was in the spot she had expected, clearly having ditched at least one class prior, and Rosa skipped over to him and roughly grabbed his hand to check on the bruise. Rosa scoffed, putting her hand to her chest with what was only half-kidding offense. “You fought him without me there? En serio? How dare you!”

Sitting up a little more against the metal bleacher column he had been leaning against, Michael gave a casual shrug. There’s still a smirk on his face as he does so. “Can’t help it if you’re always late to wake up, Ortecho.”

“He was dumb.” Maria said, a scolding look on her face that didn’t quite match her eyes. Both sat down without caring about chairs, Rosa too lazy and Maria liking to feel the earth underneath her. The shade provided overhead was just enough and while the teachers usually checked underneath here, the school was luckily short staffed due to a field trip. Also lucky was the lack of campus security in a small town. 

“No, he was right.” Rosa huffed. “Fuck Wyatt Long.”

“Thank you,” said Michael, turning to Maria with a smug look in response. Maria rolled her eyes, but Rosa still looked angry and displeased at the idea of Wyatt Long being within feet of Maria, because she continued, “Are you gonna hate me if I run over and slap him?”

“Yes!” Maria exclaimed. “Stop with the violence, you two! He’s not worth it.”

Rosa made a disgruntled sound, muttering, “Pacifist.”

“I am a lover, yes.” Maria replied with a teasing tone; one that Michael couldn’t help but use to flirt with a sultry, “Tell me more.”

She hit his arm and although the other girl rolled her eyes, Rosa was still distinctly smiling as Michael winked Maria’s way.

“Gross, stop.” She huffed, no meanness in her voice. “Even Kyle Valenti thinks we’re dating.”

“Kyle?” Rosa laughed. “Kyle’s not remotely observant enough to think that.”

Michael made a noise at that. “He was just being an ass because I commented on how he was clearly in love with Alex Manes.”

Maria glared now. “Be nice to my favorite gay and the clearly repressed football jock.”

“Here I thought you were about to pick a favorite bi.” Michael joked.

“Why would she?” Rosa challenged with a smirk. “I’m right here.”

“Right,” Michael drawled sarcastically. “Just because you two have sleepovers--,”

“Oh my god, you two.” Maria snapped, but that was the wrong decision because the two mischievous partners-in-crime looked at her with sudden interest. Michael was the first to pounce. “We making you uncomfortable, Deluca?”

He’s all but grinning, not even hiding behind a smirk, eyes alive. Even Rosa is clearly amused and holding onto laughter.

“Why the hell did everyone have to go on that museum trip?” Maria huffed, trying to ignore both of them and the feelings that rose up when the direct attention of two people who hated the world but liked her was suddenly her way. She definitely needed more friends, or at least less nerdy ones. “I need Liz.”

“You’d really use my baby sister to get out of flirting?” Rosa asked, letting out the laughter now.

Maria could feel her cheeks heat and she folded her arms stubbornly. “I’m about to use Kyle to get out of this. Luckily I have tests to study for.”

“What test?” Rosa replied, one eyebrow arched. “We have all the same classes.”

“And you suddenly pay attention?”

Rosa gave in with a playfully exasperated expression. “Okay, okay, mi vida; we’ll stop.” Then, amending as she looked conspiratorially at Michael, she said, “Well. I’ll stop.”

“I’ll try.” Michael shrugged, pretending to look as thought it would be heavy work. “I have considerably less self-control.”

Quirking her head, Rosa retorted. “Challenge accepted.”

Michael raised his eyebrows in response, before laughing. “Yeah okay.”

“Why am I always babysitting you two?” Maria sighed. “Please, tell me.”

“You’re the one who brought the pot brownies to school.” Rosa pointed out.

She couldn’t say much to that. Home had been stressful with her mother’s sudden memory lapses when it came to finances and worrying about colleges after SAT scores was even more anxiety inducing. If she was rich and privileged like Isobel Evans, maybe she could afford some xanax, but in the meantime her anxiety attacks would have to be treated herbally. Childishly, she pointed at Michael. “He’s the one who brought the flask.”

Definitely unapologetic, he shrugged. “Less teachers, more fun.”

“Fun?” Rosa asked. “We haven’t had fun in a while.”

“True.” Michael added, lighting up even further. Maria groaned. “Is this another ‘steal the principal’s desk’ situation?”

“No, but that was fun.” Rosa said thoughtfully. “We should have more… teenage fun. We have the drugs, the alcohol, now--,”

“I am not having sex under the Roswell High bleachers!”

Rosa gasped before laughing awkwardly, and Michael’s grin took an even brighter turn. “Wow, Deluca, I see where your mind’s really at.” Then he turned to Rosa, who noticeably looked pinker, and paused. Slowly, he inquired. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” Rosa replied. It wasn’t like she and Maria belonged to each other, true, but something about the mischievous Michael Guerin staying around after Maria’s slip seemed to create palpable tension. Fumbling, the beautiful brunette added, “I mean we’ve all kissed before forever ago, right? Why don’t you pick your favorite bi, Maria.”

“I’m not sure choosing favorites qualifies as fun.” She retorted, trying not to withdraw into herself. She was safe with them, she knew that, but it still felt dangerous somehow. She looked at Michael. “No sudden objections?”

Michael scoffed. “You actually think I’m going to object to being kissed by two hot girls? I’m only human, Deluca.”

Biting her lip after rolling her eyes, Maria tried not to think about how attractive her last name was every time he said it, because that was such a ridiculous thing to find attractive. Rosa had picked up on the habit, although used it far more rarely, and now she was stuck in between them.

“We don’t have to--,” Rosa began. Shaking her head, Maria came to an abrupt decision. “You decide who goes first.”

“Ladies first.” Michael declared congenially.

When Rosa turned to Maria she looked hesitant and unsure. Charged moments weren’t exactly new to them, but they didn’t exactly kiss outside of spin-the-bottle or seven-minutes-in-heaven games. Any heterosexual excuse to be made, somewhere between Rosa’s Catholicism and Maria’s fear of being vulnerable to someone. 

Only two seconds pass before the hesitation is over and then Rosa’s lips are soft and inviting like Maria remembered, tasting of cinnamon gum and tajin mango suckers. It’s an addictive flavor, especially with the flood of emotions it foretells every time. At first it’s closer to chaste than not, given the company, but like many times before it deepens until they hear Michael shift and quickly break apart. 

Maria expects some dumbass comment about not needing to stop for his sake, but either he’s too turned on to make it or he simply knows better for the moment. Shockingly, it seems like the second choice with the almost exposed look he has on his face now. For whatever reason, maybe because of his general outward mask, she had thought that while she’d be safe this would still be a fun game to him and not something where his eyes would be soft and his body language almost nervous.

More than anything else, that makes her choose to kiss him first. 

With Michael she can only taste the cheap whiskey he’s been drinking all afternoon, but his skin smells like desert rain, and it’s quite possibly the most confusing contradiction for him she could ever conceive. The shape of his lips might be a contrast to Rosa’s but he still uses them quite well and by the time she pulls back out of mindfulness for Rosa, she’s breathless yet again. 

 “Obviously I’m not actually choosing.” Maria said primly, trying to cover the fact that she had to clear her throat.

“Well I feel used.” Michael teased, but a miracle had happened because it looked like he was blushing too. Michael Guerin. Blushing.

Rosa made an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “As if you’re not getting off to this tonight.”

“Rosa!” Maria snapped, actual hurt rising. It was silly to be upset about offhand humor from either of these two, she knew that. They both felt more than they would ever let on and jokes and sarcasm were their defense for almost everything. Rosa went to apologize, but the overwhelming feeling in her chest was too much. ���Don’t. I’m just—I’m going to go sober up.”

They both called after her, but she ignored them both.

“I should really avoid weed, huh?” Rosa deadpanned sadly.

He raised his flask. “I can’t say anything. You gonna follow her?”

“You?” she asked without an answer.

“You’re her best friend.” Michael countered, and while it wasn’t technically sexist she still narrowed her eyes at the ‘you’re both girls’ vibe it gave off. Either way, it was still a painful statement and she muttered, “Yeah. Friend.” Michael went to say something—either an apology or a lecture—but Rosa shook her head. “I’ll give her a head start. You should check on her later too, though.”

Michael scoffed. “Come on, Rosa, she doesn’t want me. I’m just a guy she can use to pretend she’s straighter than she is.”

“Ay, you’re dumb.”

“And if she did want both of us?” Michael demanded, turning things back into their normalcy of confrontation and stubbornness.

“At least you’re not ugly.”

That seemed to take the wind out of his sails at least, but he did give her a look. “Glowing endorsement, Ortecho.”

She smirked. “And I guess you know how to kiss for a white boy.”

“That I’ll take.” He replied, chuckling despite himself and looking annoyed about it.

Rosa gave him a two finger salute as she got up to go after Maria.

[nefariouscryptid]

here's a fun one: dare you to do the entirety of that list with a character of your choice >:3c

Gotta do it with my boy Peter!

1. What is one word to shut them up?

Murray

2. What is the thing they feel the most guilty about?

He’s not torn up about it or anything but he feels bad about what happened to Mary, or what could of happened to her.

3. What is the worst pain they’ve ever experienced?

Getting your face and eye slashed open is pretty painful.

4. Describe their worst nightmare.

With his job being kidnapped and tortured is pretty plausible. He thinks about that one a lot.

5. List 3 fears; one “surface level” fear, one “repressed” fear, and one “deep dark” fear.

Surface: the ocean

Repressed: being taken advantage of without his knowing. Reminds him of his childhood.

Deep Dark: losing Jason in any form. He’s be a broken man left to his own devices, and his own safety would be completely compromised.

6. What is something that never fails to make them feel sick?

Gunshot wounds and deep cuts. He cringes at those.

7. What feature (physical or otherwise) do they hate most about themselves?

Physically he’s not a big fan of the scars he has or his general face structure but it’s not enough to keep him up at night. Mentally he doesn’t like how he gets when triggered and how easily it is to trigger him.

8. Do they have anything that triggers them?

Certain physical sensations but mainly what others do to him, such as rubbing their thumb on his hand, whispering behind him into his ear, stroking his hair while he’s standing, and certain phrases. If a woman talks seductively to him it’s easy for him to get triggered, but when men do it it’s a lot less frequent unless certain phrases are said. Country music is a big no go but he can listen to old country.

9. What is their greatest physical weakness?

He’s half blind and slowly going blind in the other eye

10. What is their greatest mental weakness?

How willing he is to throw everything away for someone (his Jason) and his apathy after the accident makes him blind to potential dangers.

11. Do they have any vices?

Smokes a lot of weed, used to be a heavy drinker but quit, did a lot of coke and before Durante starts he had just managed to escape a meth addiction.

12. Have they ever done something illegal? What was it?

His whole life is illegal. His worst crime would have to be aiding in terrorism

13. Which of the 7 Deadly Sins best describes them?

Greed and lust

14. Are they prone to outbursts (of violence, extreme emotion… exc… )?

Yes but he’s quick to calm himself down, and Jason can calm him near instantly.

15. Who do they hate the most?

Kind of hard to say, he hates a lot of people. He hates his parents but he’s since moved on as much as one could from them, he hates Anahii but he finds ways to tolerate her existence, and he hates Ivan for what he did to him but his breakdown made it impossible for him to really plan any retaliation other then killing his wife.

16. Is there anyone who makes them feel inferior?

Not that I can think of

17. What sound always gives them a headache?

Women’s voices lol. Mainly naggy ones.

18. Is there a certain flavor that disgusts them?

Hates bitterness

19. Do they consider themselves ugly?

Honestly yes, sees himself as a butterface.

20. Do they consider themselves unloveable?

Yes but it’s manifested and internalized more subtly and masked.

21. What is something that causes them great anxiety?

Broken glass and lack of contact with people he needs to be with.

22. Do they have any mental illnesses?

I’m not going to diagnose him specifically with anything. But short answer yes a lot.

23. Have they ever been assaulted/abused/raped?

Raped multiple times by his mom as a child, beaten by his dad, and you could call his and Anahiis marriage abusive.

24. Do they fear the possibility of being assaulted/abused/raped?

He feels he can defend himself better and stay out of situations where that would happen but it’s in the back of his head.

25. Have they ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust?

His parents

26. Have they ever been seriously injured?

Other then his face he has been shot before in the chest.

27. How many times have they been in the hospital?

About 7 times not including doctor visits after an injury (checkups)

28. Is there a certain type of person that disgusts them?

There isn’t really any person that disgusts him on a moral aspect. There’s people that he thinks are absolutely retarded and blind, but no one really makes him recoil.

29. Does what they cannot see scare them?

No, he pretty much knows it all

30. Have they ever been bullied?

Yes a lot in his school years.

31. Do they have self-confidence or self-image issues?

Yes but it doesn’t stop him from putting on a facade. Like I said early, it manifests differently.

32. Do they have a bad relationship with their parents?

He wishes he killed them.

33. Have they ever been in a relationship that didn’t work out so well?

Anahii lol

34. Have they ever self harmed?

Yes

35. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

If he can’t change the whole lot he won’t change any.

36. Are they in control of their emotions, or are their emotions in control of them?

He’s in control of his emotions for the most part.

37. Have they ever had their freedom taken away?

Sort of. He’s been in many holding cells and was in jail at one point.

38. Have they ever been imprisoned?

Yes

39. Have they ever been accused of something they didn’t do?

Many times but he’s been able to prove his innocence

40. Do they often blame themselves for other people’s problems?

Depends on the situation. He won’t blame himself he the problem can’t be directly linked to him.

41. Do they get sick often?

He gets eye infections sometimes but not much.

42. Are they comfortable with where they are in life?

Fuck no lol but least he’s well off financially

43. Do they wish that they could change their pasts?

Doesn’t do him good to do so, so no

44. What’s one thing they wish they could do more often, but can’t?

Take a break. He’s love to run away from his life with Jason but he knows they’re both too greedy to do so, even without being trapped.

45. What is the emotion they most commonly experience?

I would say apathy but it’s hard to explain. Other then that, yearning.

46. Have they ever contemplated suicide?

He’s attempted a few times in his life.

47. Have they ever gone so far as to attempt suicide?

Yes

48. Is there anyone that they would willingly kill?

His parents, Ivan if his job allowed it, Anahii if he’d have a chance, literally anyone Jason dates, whoever took Mary

49. If [name] was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through.

If Peter had to see Jason die, get tortured, have to kill him, or any other variation.

50. Create your own!

Would history repeat itself if he had children?

He’s observant and understands himself enough to see the patterns of his parents in him. Since he would love his children deeply he would be able to stop himself from being like his parents towards them, but he wouldn’t be perfect.

[killyourrdarlingss]

Posting this finally, a really fun piece I did for @softfuzzyships who was so nice to comm me. I'm so honored, seriously thank you so much dude ❤ literally everytime you ask me for writing I'm like YESS anyway I'm so glad and please enjoy ❤❤❤❤

Looking to the almost empty street in front of them, they realize the air is thick. Zach feels their throat sting with each gasp. 

A hand reaches for them, shrouded in black and their head aches as they feel it touch their hand, instantly hissing in disgust they slap it's hand away-- 

Wait, his hand…?

Was it really…?

The shadow retreats, no emotion on its blank face, their eyes stinging.

 Why are they stinging?

 It's another one of the mishaps that always seem to happen. They just always have to happen. Have to come in the form of thoughts… to think of him… of all people. 

But now, he's more smoke than anything else, he's a shadow that causes emotional distress. Anger, sadness… rage.

Tears spill from their eyes and they know they mean nothing, nothing more than frustration. They want to shove their hand into its stomach, pull out the innards, show it how they made them feel. 

They wipe away the tears that formed and look to Kurapika at their side, this creature-- some sort of amalgamation of memory had spawned… but how? 

Kurapika looked scared, he never looked scared. Zach feels the cold sweat of the night drip down the side of their face.

The faceless creature looks upon, emotionless and empty. Flinging a black substance at the ground that has them both jump back. 

From here, the image of the creature is more clear, a blacked out smudge, it's dark outside, but the glowing empty sockets where eyes should be, are gone. The memory only hollows into a pit of nothingness. 

Zach felt bile rise in their stomach.

The rustle of a chain stirs their thoughts and looking over to see red scarlet eyes overtake the hollow ones. The sound of a scream and fresh gravel underneath a shoe lunging forward is all the sounds before--

"Hey! Snap out of it--" 

A piercing sting across their face and Zach groans as they come to, Kurapika is looking at them and he looks worried, his hands are covered in black sludge, the byproduct now leaving a blackened handprint across Zach's face. 

"Oh, thank God-- I thought you were…" the rest is jumbled.

"Kura-- what..." touching the side of their face they hiss-- why was it so hot, what kind of nen… 

Getting up, they look upon the man. He's misty, like clouded in smoke of some sort but the vague details Zach can figure out and they feel sick. Some sort of illusionist nen type, making them both see things. 

Their hand comes away clean now, no pain as they shake their head and try to focus, just focus, that's all they need to do, focus.

"It's not him… it's just an illusio--" 

As they say it Kurapika is suddenly gone, looking around they're in a white room, a man standing before them with a smile they had long forgotten, their chest ached and the man beckons with his hand. 

Zach looks down to their hands, on one is a tattoo, it's smudged and streaked but its the word 'Again?' Question marks surrounding it in all shades of red. The other one a black stain, it was simple, a 'X'. They look up once they finish reading, the only thing they manage is to clench their fists and scream. 

But, it was silent. No walls to bounce off of, the white room just grew more vast underneath their feet, and the apparition grew closer, every memory didn't make sense, all the colors were off, his mouth was open but no sound came out, footsteps only sounded like dull splashing, too far off. 

Their memories were-- blank. 

Until, 

"It's... fa… Zach--!"

The voice was so familiar and looking up to the man it wasn't right coming from his lips, something was off something… 

Opening their hand, the one with the 'X' was now a jagged piece of mirror, a shard. Cutting dull into their skin but upon positioning it towards him revealed-- 

Escaping their lips was two syllables as they gripped the shard harder and looked up, tears in their eyes and now the man looked scared. The name they spoke was audible, and the distortion went from something familiar and wanted, to one of reality, anger, anxiety-- 

Zach lunged forward and buried the shard of glass into his neck without remorse, blood and black veiled smoke escaping while screams around them enclosed. As they pulled back, they stabbed again, screaming their curses into the holes they reigned upon the man's chest. 

Blood was pooling. The room wasn't white anymore, it was red, the body was limp against the hand against his collar and Zach stabbed once more, 

"Hate..." the blow hits, right into his chest and the man coughs out blackened blood, "all this hate--!" Tears stream down their face, "Everything I loved!" They twist their knife, 

"I'm taking it all back from you!"

The illusion breaks as Zach stabs hard enough into the man's heart, everything in the world going white.

-

They're in the middle of the street, only the dim lights illuminating the road. Soaked with blood and gore. Their knife was buried in the hunter's chest, buried in his heart.

It was not the man who they'd seen… but it… 

"Zach--!"

The voice is strained, and they drop the corpse instantly. Zach doesn't even take the time to rip the knife out before something warm is against them, covering their eyes. 

"Zach… please don't look." 

It was a horrific scene, thinking about how many blows they'd dealt, the hunter probably didn't even look human anymore… but, Kurapika had his hands over their eyes, Zach shivering in the night air, biting the side of their mouth and shakily breathing out. 

"Let's… let's go home, please." 

Kurapika nodded, a small approving noise and slipped a hand around Zach's waist to support them. Only taking the hand off their eyes once they were far enough away. 

-

Within five minutes of their apartment Zach finally made small talk, trying to ease the demons in their head and looking to Kurapika, it was the only thing getting them out of it. Any problem, they fixed by looking at him, even if he was covered in blood... and gore. The dried crimson flakes slowly off his features in the light breeze. 

Neither of them talked about what they saw. Nobody wanted to bring up the conversation. 

A late night walk turned into bounty hunting, realizing it now, as their memories started to come back, Zach remembered more. 

The man said they wouldn't remember him, he was sent to capture them both, some kind of paid job. Then grinned, all teeth as black smoke surrounded them. Then, only one sentence as he laughed out,

"I think your nightmares want to talk." 

Zach somehow managed to repress the emotion of complete disgust as it all came back, pushing down the feeling once more as they saw the lit doors of their apartment come into view. 

By the time they'd made it up the elevator and through the door, both rinsed in the  shower, they were both more than happy to just sleep. 

It came quick, the moment their head hit the pillows. 

-

Nothing is an inch out of place as Zach sits at a very well decorated table. The centerpiece is that of every flower imaginable and every color too. The wait staff are manning each dish on the table, placing plates with fancy gold cloches on top.

 As Zach's dish is placed onto their plate the weight staff freeze in place as if from a movie. They're sitting on the farthest end, a man no younger or older is sitting across from them. The sound of a cloche unveiling the stranger's food rings through the air, and there's nothing besides a splatter of blood on his plate. 

He eats it anyway. Fork and knife against the splatter, not making any means of a mess and bringing the stained fork tips to his lips, savoring the flavor. 

He motions towards Zach, the cloche still sitting atop the fancy dish. Zach looks down and sees their reflection in it. It distorts within seconds and the man across suddenly looks displeased.

The unsettling atmosphere almost makes them choke, the man's unblinking eyes, all the waiters and waitresses are looking at them now. Their heads turned at unnatural angles to make sure they saw them.

Zach shakes as they go to reach for the cloche, the audience of the wait staff claps as they do and a thick black substance starts to spill from the plate as they slowly lift it. The clapping reduces to a ringing in their ears and the man across from them grins like a fox who had just caught it's dinner.

The cloche is gone, Zach doesn't want to look down, the lump in their throat is suffocating but they lock eyes with the grinning man and he laughs. 

The table is gone, the room is deserted, blood pools at their feet and the man is beside them with a sharp clawed hand digging into their shoulder, 

"You should have looked down." 

They don't, they're forced to, and they're gripping something wet, bloody and spherical. No they don't want to look. They look towards the man but where he once was was only a familiar figure, a blade lodged in his heart, yellow strands of hair dyed red. 

His hand out reaching for them.

"Zach…?"

They only manage to scream.

-

A gasp of air, and they're pinned to the bed by a familiar face. They feel themself crying and panting, only looking up to make sure they aren't hallucinating.

Coming to, they see the worry in Kurapika's eyes is unlike anything else they'd seen. As if he'd already been awake and waiting, he looked exhausted. 

"Kura… I--"

"Nightmares, yeah?"

Zach nods, because at this point Kurapika knew him better than anyone else, 

"What happened with the hunter… it must have carried over to a nightmare." They shake their head and sit up, Kurapika shifting to sit close beside them, lacing their fingers together in a very tight hold. 

They finally speak, 

"I saw someone, from my past, who hurt me. A long story, but, I was so angry, so mad. He hurt me and this hunter, he knew that and got into my head." Zach sighs, "and I… I--" 

Kurapika hushes the thought, "you did what you had to do, Zach… you, you saved me." Kurapika has a melancholic smile as he says it. 

Zach stays silent but leans their head against his. 

"I was stuck in a loop, my… my family, you know it all but. It was different, as if I was watching a movie and couldn't help, I was forced to see it. Over and over." 

Zach swallows, and grips his hand tighter, looking at Kurapika and sighing out. "No wonder neither of us could sleep… even in my nightmare the guy… well, he's… he's dead. But-- he was there. Mocking me. Some fancy setup but, unnerving and awful. It's like I was being mocked… and then he… he…" 

Kurapika was closer now, arms around Zach and hugging him like their lives depended on it, "If anything bad is going to come out of your mouth next. Listen-- I'm alive, and I'm not planning on going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere without you." 

Kurapika holds them at arm's length and places a kiss to their forehead, 

"I promise." 

Zach felt tears tug at the corners of their eyes and they let themself cry, barely feeling them, 

"Good… that's all I ever want to hear."

They wrap their arms around him and sigh in relief, the exhaustion once more, hitting them like a pound of brick. But, even so, they both stay there until Kurapika finally breaks the silence, hand slowly moving through their hair. 

"Now lay down, I'll make sure you sleep well, I got a bit of rest so… relax, okay? I'm here." 

They do, resting their head against Kurapika's lap and letting his fingers run through their hair. Exhaustion washed over them again, as well as the feeling of Kurapika's fingers slowly massaging their scalp, and a soft hum escaping his lips. 

They yawned, nestling their head firmer against him, falling asleep to the beautiful tune. 

-

They wake, and it's not a dream, no horrors awaiting, no confusing dreams to scare them. It wasn't any of those things since they could smell clearly fresh cooked pancakes and hear the sizzle of butter hitting a pan.

Blinking their eyes, they push themselves up and look out from the bedroom to the kitchen, Kurapika hearing, and looking over, beaming.

"You're awake!" He seemed joyful, happy and grinning as he strides to the bedroom and sat down beside them, "Yesterday... sucked, so, I'm making your favorites. Hopefully they're good." 

Kurapika looked bashful, and in that moment, Zach just leaned over, crushing him in the strongest hug they could manage. Kurapika obviously returned the favor, a small gasp is all that escaped him.

"I love you, so, so much." they sighed out and buried their head against him. 

"I love you too-- now," Kurapika pats their shoulder, pulling them onto their feet, "let's go eat… because I might have--" he looks over his shoulder and sighs, "yeah something is definitely burning." 

A sigh, but Kurapika only shrugs it off, looking at Zach with a smile, pulling them into the kitchen for a well deserved meal. 

[master-sass-blast]

Suck It.

Laugh at my jokes, dammit.

Summary: You and Piotr beat the heat. Well, you do. By making a fire in your boyfriend’s pants.

I refuse to apologize for writing this.

Rated: T for a moment of sexual fantasy, abuse of popsicles, and the author’s stupid sense of humor.

Set after “Moving In” and before “Rubber Meets Road.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things

This has to be the single best idea you’ve ever had.

Or maybe the worst. It might be that.

Especially considering that it came to you in less than two seconds. Most of your “spur of the moment” ideas have a nasty habit of backfiring.

It’s currently the middle of summer. Even better, it’s currently the middle of a heat wave. You’ve taken to sleeping buck ass naked at night because it’s so hot –which has had a delightful array of side-effects, since you share a room with Piotr and he is very appreciative of your choices to forgo pajamas altogether.

Unfortunately, it’s the middle of the day right now –and you’re on “babysitting” duty with your darling boyfriend and a handful of other adult residents, so going au natural is not an option.

You are, however, dressed in the shortest pair of shorts you own –that are still appropriate for being around kids, you’re not looking to scar any young minds today—and a tank top, which don’t do much to help but do net several appreciative glances from your beefy boyfriend, which is always nice.

Except it just makes your current situation all the more frustrating, because all you want right now is to not be wearing the shorts or the tank top and dive into an ice cold shower with Piotr –ooh, and have him hold you against one of the tile walls, the cool ceramic would feel so good against your sweaty back, and then you’d be kissing him, clinging to him while he thrusts his cock into you, gasping and begging to cum while he—

Anyway. Back to the point.

Good idea. Bad idea.

Popsicles.

The freezers had been thoroughly stocked with all sorts of frozen confections and treats –and frozen fruit, because Piotr—in preparation for the imminent heat wave.

Suffering is unbearable, but suffering with mass produced ice cream dribbling down your fingers is slightly less so.

Except you’re aiming for popsicles because: A.) they’re delicious, and B.) you desperately want to figure out if you can deepthroat one and make Piotr’s face go as red as the “X” on his mission uniform.

Call it practice.

(Who knows? It just might land you that cold shower fantasy that much faster.)

You dole out cold treats to the kids first, then snag a cherry popsicle before depositing the box back in the freezer (you contemplate crawling in there with the box, but think better of it and close the door). “Ugh. It’s disgustingly hot today.”

“We should get rain in few days,” Piotr says, eating frozen blueberries out of a small bowl. He’s armored down to avoid scorching anyone with his armor, which means you get the lovely privilege of seeing his shoulders and arms in full, glorious view since he’s also opted to go sleeveless in lieu of the heatwave. “Things should cool down then.”

“Or they won’t and everything will turn into a muggy, hot nightmare,” you grumble.

“Have faith, myshka. Things will get better soon.”

“We can only hope,” you say amicably as you unwrap your popsicle.

“Agreed. You should drink some water also, moya lyubov’,” he adds, forehead creasing slightly with worry. “Sugar syrup is very dehydrating.”

“Already did, big guy.” You wink at him. “Drank two glasses before I handed out the treats to the kids.”

He smiles. “Very good. Thank you, myshka.”

“Of course.”

And then you dive in.

You start by innocently licking at the sides of the popsicle. It’s kinda fun; your tongue keeps sticking to the sides because the popsicle is that cold. All the fun of licking a flagpole in the middle of winter without the trauma-induced memory repression.

Piotr watches you, expression bemused. “I am not sure that is most efficient way to eat, myshka.”

“I know. It just needs to warm up a little first so my tongue doesn’t stick to it.” You grin and tap the side of your head. “I’m not as stupid as a look, Piotr. There is method to my madness.”

“Konechno –though I would say you are not stupid at all.”

You smile sweetly and lower your eyes. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

The popsicle, unsurprisingly, warms up quickly. Between the heat, the heat, and the heat, you’re surprised it hasn’t completely melted into a puddle of colored liquid already.

But it hasn’t, which is good for you and your good-bad idea.

You start off by wrapping your lips around the tip of the popsicle and swirling your tongue around it. The cherry flavor is kind of lackluster, but it’s cold and refreshing and you aren’t about to picky right now.

“You know—” You release the popsicle with a wet pop and lick the excess juice off your lips for good measure. “We should go to the chocolate shop this week, since they make their own ice cream.”

Piotr smiles and pops another blueberry into his mouth. “That does sound like good idea.”

You point your popsicle at him. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m full of those.”

“I never doubted, myshka.”

You grin, then lift the popsicle back to your mouth and get to work. You take it about halfway into your mouth and bob your head a little, flexing the muscles around your mouth so your cheeks hollow out a little. You let out a soft moan, as though you’re appreciating the flavor, then release the popsicle once more with a wet sucking noise. “Oh, we should hit the pool once the kids go to bed, too. I could stand to work on my swimming.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say your efforts were having no effect on Piotr –except the tips of his ears are starting to turn pink, which is a dead giveaway that he’s paying attention, as it were. “Is that so?”

“Hey, it’s good exercise and it’s a practical skill to have.” You duck your head so you can lick a little trickle of popsicle juice off your wrist; you shoot an “innocent” glance at Piotr, relishing the way he gasps softly and his pupil dilate. “That, and it’ll keep us cool without either of us having to spend money. I thought you’d be all over that.”

He ducks his head and grins –and his ears are definitely turning red now. “It might be good idea.”

“‘Might be?’” You place the hand that isn’t holding your popsicle, aka Weapon of Mass-Boner-Inducement, against your chest and feign hurt. “I thought you said I was full of good ideas!”

Piotr chuckles –his cheeks are starting to catch up with his ears now—and winks at you. “My faith in you is strong as ever, myshka.”

“I certainly hope so!”

And then you go in for the kill.

In your favor is that the popsicle is miles shorter than Piotr’s dick –and you would know—which makes deepthroating the thing that much easier.

You suck the thing all the way in until you can close your lips around the little wood stick, then let your eyelids flutter shut and let out an appreciative moan.

You can hear the way Piotr’s teeth click together and the strangled breath he lets out. “Myshka—”

You open your eyes and hum at him while you push the popsicle back and forth in your mouth. You’re careful to not make too much eye contact with him –the trick in these situations is to make everything look completely unplanned.

Piotr’s face is bordering on bright red, and it looks like the flush is starting to creep down his neck, too.

Good.

His eyes are wide as he watches you, and it takes him a couple tries of clearing his throat before he can speak. “Dorogoy, I think you best stop.”

You feign confusion, “hmm-ing” a little before pulling the popsicle out of your mouth with a wet schlock and offering it to him. “Do you want some, honey?” You smack your lips for good measure.

Piotr just stares at you, gaze burning, then stalks out of the room while muttering under his breath in Russian.

You quirk your mouth to the side, shrug, then go back to your popsicle. It’s well on the way to melting now, and since Piotr isn’t biting, you may as well finish it off. You suck the remaining ice slush off the stick –which isn’t nearly as appetizing as one might think—and swallow it down.

Not what you wanted to be swallowing, either, but a girl makes do.

You twirl the red-stained stick between your fingers, then stop and peer down at the little piece of wood when you realize that words are printed on one side of the stick. “Hey!” you say cheerfully as Piotr strides back into the kitchen. “They have jokes printed on these! Here: what did the envelope say to the stamp—”

He cuts you off with a passionate, bruising kiss, then slings you over his shoulder before you can react.

You brace yourself against his back, confused but not complaining. “Babe, what’re you doing? Where are we going?”

“Our room,” he growls, voice thick with arousal.

You blink, then giggle and let yourself go loose in his grasp as he takes the stairs two steps at a time.

Shower time is coming –in more ways than one.

[where-the-wilds-things-are]

Wild Meets Wild Chapter One

The Sun made the day bright. A set of slitted green eyes that belong to a tom with a beautiful spotted coat took in the sounds and smells of the forest that sang around him like a melody of home. But the focus of his attention was the plump thrush that was pecking at seeds in the grass. Slumping his body low into a hunter’s crouch, Rusty slowly made his way towards it. His ears could pick up its heartbeat and even the air leaving its lungs, telling him it is healthy. Unconsciously, his tail swung back and forth.

Suddenly the bird stopped eating, somehow alerted to his presence. Beating its wings, it took off for safety, and that’s when Rusty made his move. Controlled by something more primal than instinct, he bounded to where the bird stood and, putting all of his strength into his back legs, jumped for the skies.

In the air, the feeling of wind ruffling his fur with the ground far from his paws gave him a feeling that passed beyond elation. Stretching out his forelegs with unsheathed claws; he felt them sink into the bird, causing it to let out a pained chirp. Feeling gravity pull them down, he shoved the thrush in his mouth and landed on his feet. Feathers spun lazily to the ground as his jaws snapped its neck instantly. Placing it on the ground, he relaxed his muscles.

Happy, he was just about to enjoy his prey when a weird humming sound went off near him. Looking around for potential enemies that wanted his kill, he let out a growl. The sound got louder, closer, and more familiar to him. Rusty blinked open his eyes.

The forest had vanished. He was in the air-conditioned living room, curled up on the second level of the comfy and large cat tree. Moonlight peeked through the sheer curtains, casting warped shadows on the table, tiled floor, and stand that held the large, thin T.V. That blasted sound was the round circular object that moved on its own, picking up dirt and fur that littered the ground. He had had the dream for the third time that month, and of course, it got interrupted just as his fangs met flesh.

Sniffing, Rusty could smell the food his owners made that was in his dish, along with his sister, Princess. Before going to their room to bed; the Wintergreens will either give them deliciously ground meat meals, dry food with meat mixed within that had actual flavor, and even pieces of chicken or fish on a good day along with bottled water. Princess had told him that she overheard them say that they had “vitamins” to make them stronger and have shiny coats. Judging by the smell, it’s the ground meat for tonight.

Right next to the large silver fridge were two food dishes and his littermate, who was already enjoying her meal. Meowing a hello to her, he was quick to eat his dinner—while it was no prey that he caught and killed, he knew that they could have been given the dry and tasteless kibble that he knew cats unluckier than him had to eat. He took a glance at her; Princess had a pale tawny spotted coat with one splotch resembling a star on her left shoulder, one that he knew he had in the same place.

His own pelt was more of a red, something the Wintergreens took pride in. The young tom had the feeling that they were being prepared for being a Show Cat and repressed a shudder. While some felines enjoyed it, he saw the pressure that weighed some down like a stone around their necks. Other cats became vain and malicious, strutting around like a peacock and looking down on those who didn’t have good pedigrees and winnings as mutts and mixed breeds. He wanted no part in that mess and wished that he was free in the forest, like in his dreams.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly missed Princess meowing to him.

“Rusty. I need to ask you a very important question about something outside.” Taken aback at the serious tone, he wondered what it was about. Maybe how he nearly got into a fight with that irritable Russian Blue that seemed to exist to aggravate him? It wasn’t his fault that he said that Razoule’s family tree had to resemble a more of a wreath if he really was a purebred. It’s the truth!

Before he can ask if this was the case, Princess went towards the modified cat door that led to the backyard garden. Sighing, he followed her, preparing to defend himself if this was about yesterday. Flowery smells made his nose twitch as he stepped into the warm night air. Feeling the grass, wet from dew and rain, he passed by the stone bench and lavender pots. Seeing her by the rosebush, he plopped himself beside her. It was then she said something that made him reel in shock.

“Lately… I have been having dreams of being in the forest. There’s no collar around my neck and I catch prey, from birds to rabbits and even snakes. Then I bring them back to these faceless cats with no scents, and it’s like I’m home. It felt so real too! The dreams came to me three times this month, please tell me I'm not going insane.”

Rusty looked at her with wide green eyes. “You had those dreams also? I’ve dreamed of catching prey in the forest with no collar around my neck for the past month too. I… I was just nervous that you’ll tease me like you did when I decided to see that movie." Heat bloomed in his ears at that memory; watching that killer demon clown lurk in the sewers alone at night wasn’t his brightest idea.

Princess’s bright blue eyes widened and then looked contemplative. “Well, I don’t know about you, but when I had my second dream, I’ve been considering taking a peek there. Just a quick look really. Maybe it will make them stop?"

Rusty blinked before licking his chest. “I wouldn’t mind really. The Wintergreen hardly let us leave the house unless we are on our leashes for walks or going to the vet for shots. Besides, think of it as an adventure! We might even catch actual prey and not food made for us."

Trotting to the fence, he leaped onto the post with relative ease, with Princess doing the same. Turning his head, he could make out the dense woods that were a couple of gardens down. Making out the woodsy smells carried by the breeze, Rusty felt something stir inside him. A feeling was begging him to journey into it, to be wild and free. Leaping down on the other side, his name tag clicked against the bell on his collar. As Princess followed him, he heard paws climbing the fence, along with a familiar scent.

“Rusty! Princess! Where are you going?” called out a friendly voice.

Looking up, Rusty could see the black and white Turkish Angora tom try to balance himself on the fence.

“Hello Smudge," replied Princess, with him giving out his own greeting.

The tom righted himself before looking down at them. “You two aren’t going to the forest, are you?” With wide amber eyes, he went on. “Those cats that live there are nasty fighters and probably don’t even have their shots up to date. Who knows what diseases they have?”

Shaking his head Smudge looked contemplative. “Though to be honest, I can see you two stroll in there just fine somehow." Jumping down from his spot on the fence, the black and white tom stood with the littermates.

“We are just taking a look, Smudge. Maybe even catch a finch or two.” replied Princess.

“Be careful, Henry says that they don’t like cats from here at all. I think I remember him saying that some jumped up brute calling himself Thistle-something tried to jump him his own garden! And that he—"Smudge looked around and lowered his voice—"sent him screaming back to the forest after he bit off what made him a tom."

Rusty grimaced at his friend’s story. While Henry was never the same after he accidentally ate that weird bug that fell in his food bowl, no one could deny that he was a fighter in his younger years. The old Siberian tabby had the scars to prove it. Hot-headed toms and she-cats learned that he was no easy pickings for a fight even now with his… eccentrics.

Honestly, he can see him do it to some cat that pissed him off on his meaner days.

“Thanks for the warning Smudge, we’ll be on the lookout,” meowed Rusty. Then a thought hit him. “Hey, why don’t you join us? You’re our friend and it can be fun!"

“Rusty is right, you said you always wanted to try a mouse, and aren’t you at least curious about the woods?" Princess replied hopefully.

Smudge looked around nervously before sighing. “Fine, but only because you two are my friends."

“Well, it’s now or never, we’re burning moonlight chattering like birds when we can be exploring," meowed Princess, excitement clear in her eyes as her tail wagged. And with that, she went into the dense group of trees. The smells of earth and animals invaded Rusty’s nose as he followed, making his mouth water. It was just like in his dream, only better since it was real. Birds! Mice! Squirrels!

“Maybe we should slightly split up to cover more ground?” said Rusty, left ear twitching. He could have sworn he heard a heartbeat, but wrote it off as belonging to busy prey animals.

“That’s easy for you to say, you and Princess are big! And by the way, you sound like those guys in horror flicks who get splattered by the villain." softy meowed Smudge, making Rusty scowl.

“You should have seen him after he watched the remake of that killer spider clown movie, he refused to walk near sewer grates for a month!” teased Princess.

Rusty sighed. “Let’s just try to hunt before it’s too late. But sticking close sounds good. If trouble finds you, yowl, and we’ll be right there to fight off anything. Sounds good? Princess and Smudge nodded. “Great, now let’s go."

Princess unsurprisingly went forward while Smudge went to his left. Going right, the young red tom went deep into the brush, carefully avoiding tree roots and thorns along the way.

Ears fully pricked and tasting the air, he could sense that a mouse was close. Focusing his eyes on the spot, he could make it out, stuffing itself with seeds that were on the ground. Getting into the hunter’s crouch, he was just about to prowl forward when he heard faint paw steps crackling on dry leaves. The mouse dropped its seeds to dart away, and Rusty let out a surprised shriek as he barely jumped out of the way as a gray comet shot past where he once was.

The cat landed, turned around and hissed, showing white fangs. Crouching, he darted straight towards Rusty. Thinking quickly, Rusty shot towards the tabby, matching his speed. Just when they were a foot away from each other, he lowered his head and slammed his skull right into the gray tom’s chest, who let out a wheeze. Continuing on, he used his neck muscles to send his assailant crashing into the ground.

“Rusty!”

”Rusty!”

Princess’s and Smudges frantic yells heralded their arrival, with his sister in the front and Smudge on her tail. Both had their claws unsheathed, with Princess looking like she was about to shred a cat at any minute and Smudge’s fur spiked up on his spine.

“What happened? I was trying to catch a squirrel when I heard a shriek!” worriedly meowed his friend.

"Who’s that behind you, Rusty? Did he attack you? I’ll give him a lesson for attacking my brother!”

The said cat of Princess’s ire shook his head as he got up and blinked in surprise before jumping backward. “More kitty pet intruders!” Puffing himself up, he leaped from side to side. “All of you better leave before I sharpen my claws on your bones,” he yowled.

“Oh yeah? Well, all I see are three cats and one bouncing poof ball. And who are you calling kitty pet? You look like you can be the old lady’s lap cat who lives next to us,” replied Princess, ears folded back in aggression.

“Wait, let’s not escalate things, we mean no trouble at all here.  We simply wanted to look around and try our hunting skills,” said Smudge, though he didn’t sheath his claws.

“Prey stealers!” He hissed, “I’ll make you fear the name Graypaw!” Rusty could hear the obvious bravado in his voice.  While he can sense sturdy shoulders underneath this Graypaw’s shaggy fur; he was concerned about his odds taking on three unknown threats alone.

“Smudge is right, we didn’t mean any harm. We’re sorry if we trespassed in some way." The reddish tom knew if there was one cat around, there might be more nearby, and he didn’t want his sister and friend to fight off any cats who believe it’s the Wild Wild West.

Graypaw's fur was still puffy as he looked to Rusty, Princess, and Smudge. “So you didn’t catch anything and don’t want to attack Thunderclan?” When all three shook their heads no, his fur went down, though, like everyone else, his claws remained out.

The hostile air faded as the four calmed down when Princess noticed that he wasn’t injured besides being shocked at the attempted attack.

Sighing, he sat down and licked his chest fur. “I guess those ears of yours aren’t for show since you heard me and dodged my attack. I never thought you would charge at me." Looking at Rusty and Princess, he continued. “I thought I was looking at Leopardfur for a second with that pelt of yours! But I have to say it’s way more pronounced looking, even with you two being kitty pets. Are your names spot related by chance?”

“Umm, no. My name is Rusty. '' Using his tail, he pointed to his sister and friend. "This is Princess—my littermate, and Smudge, our best friend and neighbor”.

Meowing their hellos, Smudge stepped forward. “So Graypaw was it? What did you mean when you said Kitty Pets? Do you mean house cats?”

“I mean all of you by being kitty pets that have two-leg owners. The smell of that place is all over you and those two have collars prove it." Looking at Smudge’s neck, Graypaw cocked his head. “Though I don’t know what is that around your throat, though, it looks weird”.

“Hey, I like my purple bandana!”

Princess looked confused. “Two-legs? You mean Humans?”

“Humans," Graypaw said with a befuddled look as if the word was alien. “Look, if that’s what you call them, then yes. You all have ki... Housecat blood, especially with your friend having that shiny silky coat."

Ignoring Smudge’s loud “Why thank you," he continued to speak.

“But I won’t lie, both of you give off a weird feeling that I can’t place. And don’t take this the wrong way, but you look and sound off too. I have never seen a cat with ears that big or necks that long, and again your fur! I know some cats that would be envious if they saw it."

Rusty about asked what cats was he referring to when he picked up two heartbeats and near-silent paws coming towards them quick.

“Princess! Smudge! We have got to leave now!" Rusty had heard that those old stories Clan cats doing raids on gardens for no reason, what if they gave them justification for “trespassing?”

Graypaw must have noticed because panic came clear in his amber eyes. “Quick—run that way before—"

“What is going on here? Who are these Intruders?" Hissed a firm and menacing voice.

"...We get caught,” was Graypaw’s gloomy response.

The four cats watched as a large majestic gray Russian Blue she-cat, or at least a descendant of one came out of the brush. Her muzzle had streaks of silver, and a jagged scar separated the fur on her shoulders. Gray fur shone like silver in the moonlight, giving her an almost ethereal appearance.

“Bluestar!” Beside Princess, Graypaw crouched down and narrowed his eyes. He crouched even lower when a second cat—a handsome, golden tabby—followed the gray cat into the clearing. Smudge looked torn between following the gray tom’s lead or lowering his head. Princess though made eye contact with both. Belatedly, Rusty realized he was doing the same.

“Why were you so close to the two-leg place Graypaw? You know that we shouldn’t go near it." The tom said.

“I know, Lionheart, I’m sorry.” Graypaw looked down at his paws in shame.

“Who are these cats? Two of them look like the RiverClan Deputy," asked the she-cat.

Rusty held her gaze, though he bowed his head as a sign of respect. Her piercing gaze flashed before she swept it to Smudge and Princess.

“None of them are threats,” mewed Graypaw quickly. “They are not Clan warriors, just Twoleg pets from beyond our territories.”

Just a Twoleg pet! The words inflamed Rusty, but he held his tongue. That’s rich when I sent you flying to the ground. The warning look in Bluestar’s stare told him that she had observed the anger in his eyes, and he looked away to meet Princess so she won’t say anything rude. Judging by her narrowed blue eyes, she was about to go and do just that.

"This is Bluestar; she’s the leader of my Clan!” Graypaw hissed to them under his breath. “And Lionheart. He’s my mentor, which means he’s training me to be a warrior.”

“Thank you for the introduction, Graypaw,” meowed Lionheart coolly.

Bluestar went back to staring at Rusty. “You fight well for a Twoleg pet,” she meowed.

Rusty and Graypaw exchanged confused glances. How could she know about the confrontation?

“We have been watching all of you,” Bluestar went on as if she had read their thoughts. “We wondered how you would deal with an intruder, Graypaw. You attacked him bravely even when he was bigger than you, and even tried to scare off three unknowns.”

Graypaw looked pleased with Bluestar’s praise.

Bluestar then looked at the other two. “You actually had a squirrel in your paws, but let it go to help your friend,” she meowed at Smudge. He blinked in surprise.

She then gazed at Princess. “While you seemed to notice that Lionheart was watching since you kept looking at his direction when you were tracking that vole.”

“Sit up now, all of you!” Bluestar looked at the three house cats, and Rusty held eye contact as she addressed them.

“You reacted to Graypaw’s attack very well, kitty pet. Not only did you hear his approach and dodged, but you also charged head-on with no hesitation. I have heard of kitty pets fighting clan cats, but I never thought I’d see it."

Rusty and the others nodded their thanks, taken aback by such unexpected praise. Her next words stunned them more.

“I have been wondering how you two would perform outside of your garden. We patrol this border frequently, and every so often I saw you two looking at the forest. I even saw your friend do it, but now all of you have gotten the courage to set your paws here.”

Bluestar looked at them thoughtfully. “All of you seem to have natural hunting abilities, and I’m sure that all of you would have caught prey if Graypaw had not found you,” she meowed.

“How old are you three, if I might ask?” replied Bluestar. Graypaw and Lionheart had curious expressions as they waited for an answer.

“Well, me and my brother despite our size are six months old, and Smudge will turn six months this week,” replied Princess.

By the look of the Clan cats were giving her, they didn’t know what a month or week was. “Umm, let’s just say six moons and six nights since we use different words for time passage back at home."

Graypaw’s disbelief was apparent. “Six moons? But you two are already close to being the size of Tigerclaw! And he’s the biggest cat I know!”

Lionheart shook his head. “Bluestar, these are kitty pets. They should not be hunting or even be in ThunderClan territory. Send them home to their Two-legs!” His voice was respectful and insistent, but it was clear that he wanted them gone.

Rusty prickled at Lionheart’s words. “Send us home?” he mewed. He wanted to say that they didn't even catch anything yet, but a voice in his head told him that maybe he should keep that to himself.

That, Bluestar’s words made him glow with pride, and a quick look to his left showed him that Smudge and Princess felt the same.

Bluestar then turned to look at them. The way her eyes glowed, it felt like she was going to drop an anvil of a question. He was right.

“How do all of you feel to join our Clan?”

[fourthingsandawizard]

Dan and Phil Rize Summary, Sept. 4/5, 2018

-Dan started the stream before Phil could fully sit down in frame, and then Dan hit the wrong button and almost ended the stream

-Phil made Dan write the notification, Dan refered to them “Dip and Pip.” Our secret code has spread to them, what have we done??

-Phil said his quiff is droopy because he just woke up. He just had his coffee before the stream, so he said we should see him wake up in about ten minutes

-Dan’s response to why they chose this time for the livestream: “Earth man. It’s crazy”

-They’re staying in a rainforest in a house surrounded by birds and nature before they leave for Asia

-Martyn told them they were renting a place if D&P wanted somewhere to relax instead of a hotel, but neglected to tell them beforehand that it was in the rainforest

-A lot of “nature” keeps coming inside the house, including a very specific mosquito that made a very specific noise, which Dan and Phil attempted to imitate to show us.

-They spent about an hour trying to find the mosquito so they could get rid of it and get some sleep last night. Phil: “I think every clap [of our hands] made it stronger.”

-Dan said they’ve made it through Australia without seeing a spider, and Phil got mad because he was going to jinx them. Dan said nature was about to burst to life because it’s almost spring, and Phil then did a rendition of Chasing Cars as “Show me your beast bursting into life” which he said was by the band “Beast Patrol”

-Dan tweeted out the Truth Bomb question about superheroes while Phil was asleep, and Phil reminded him that they already gave a question about what animal Dan looks like last week. Phil laughed while Dan hid out of frame in shame, and decided that will be the question next time

-Phil bought some “exciting” new Tim Tams that are iced coffee gelato flavor that you’re supposed to put in the fridge. Phil said it had a 0.5 out of 5 health rating. Dan: “Same.”

-They went on a tangent about Woolworths because it’s a thing in Australia. Dan discussed the “family underwear” section; Phil said there was a section called “Manchester.” They couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to be because the rest of the aisle was diapers and stuff, so Phil suggested it was their “family planning” section

-Phil cried (on the inside) at Hobbiton, Dan ACTUALLY cried. Apparently you get on a bus, and then they start playing Frodo running through the Shire, and it made Dan a mess

-Phil said the best thing was the giant tree on top of Bilbo’s house, which is made out of steel, and Phil said, “It’s STEEL there!” Dan gave him a classic “this guy” look at the pun, and then the livestream broke. Dan: “I think Phil just made a pun so terrible, it crashed the app”

-After seeing their friend try to take a picture leaning out of the Hobbit-sized door that looked like they were sticking their butt out, Dan told them they looked like they were “Backin’ it up the Bilbo.” (For Bilbo? Idk, they were laughing too hard to understand). When the waitress at the pub wanted to take a group photo of them, Dan said they should all say that instead of cheese and the waitress seemed confused and horrified

-Phil told Dan to “let me talk about the glowworm thing.” Dan said he wasn’t going to stop him.

-They loved their glowworm cave tour guide’s accent because he sounded kind of like Taika Waititi’s character in Thor Ragnarok

-They bantered about the difference between stalactites and stalagmites, Dan got so annoyed with Phil that he shifted the angle of the live stream so he was the only one in frame to talk about the cave

-Dan said they shouldn’t have told them what the glowworms were before they went through, because they are basically giant maggots that hang from “spider silk” stuff coming out of them to catch bugs

-Phil said it was a beautiful experience, like looking at a galaxy, but they weren’t allowed to take pictures. It was apparently a bright, satisfying blue that he would have flown straight to if he were a fly

-The ice cream place they went to doesn’t let you see the ice cream before you ordered it, they just show you an iPad, and it comes in some weird cones that go around your face? Phil got honeycomb, Dan’s was really difficult to eat, but really good. You could also get ice cream inside a Yorkshire pudding

-Dan: “You got your toast violated by a strange person.” Phil: “I did! Someone buttered my toast for me!” They went on a tangent about how personal the “buttering” experience is, and Phil said he started thinking about how much the person must have touched the bread while doing it. He still ate it, though

-The bath in their 32nd floor hotel room had a window that showed the entire city. Dan used a bath bomb, climbed in with the window shade closed, then opened it to look, but then the window steamed up so he couldn’t see anything. Phil said he likes when windows steam up because you can draw pictures. Dan: “Someone has to clean that, Phil.”

-They saw some “urban explorers” next to their hotel who were balancing on the edge of the skyscraper across from them, and they made awkward eye contact through their hotel room window. Phil apparently peed moments before, and he thinks they probably could have seen him through the window next to the toilet

-Phil: “Swish, swish, bish, another fly in your mouth!” Dan said Phil’s song was worse than actually getting a fly in your mouth

-Phil showed off his Friends t-shirt. Dan said that Phil is a combo of Ross and Phoebe. Dan said he is mostly Chandler, but also a bit of Monica. They said Friends was highly problematic by today’s standards, but everyone should go back and watch it

-They “smashed” all of Olan Rogers’ Final Space episodes. Dan is happy that people are finally appreciating Olan’s work. Phil said it was very emotional, and Dan is excited for more

-Phil about AHS: “Sometimes they put all of their eggs in one basket, and I’m just like, ‘Guys. Don’t ruin the basket.’”

-They finished Big Little Lies, Dan’s official review: “Dank AF”

-Phil had to remind Dan about the rest of the bath story, as Dan “repressed” it. Dan apparently got in the bath, then housekeeping knocked on the door and came in to replace the towels. Dan was waiting for Phil to do “LITERALLY anything,” but Phil didn’t think about Dan being in the bath. Dan screamed “NOOOOO” to stop her from coming in, Phil said it was a haunting scream, and the lady just left.

-Phil: “I forgot. It was fine. She didn’t see you. You were showing your naked body to the whole city anyway!”

-They apologized for the Manila mix up, and said there are bound to be some hiccups on a big tour like this. (If you’re still confused, check the FAQ on the tour page!)

-Someone told them to get a cat. Phil said he’s more allergic to cats than dogs, so that wouldn’t be a good idea

-They dodged giving details about the ii movie, they still aren’t allowed to say anything. They ARE putting ii tour merch on the website on FRIDAY though

-Dan said Phil doesn’t wear his Introvert jacket enough because he wears his blue one more

-They started up Truth Bombs with “What animal does Dan look like?” to which Dan’s answer was a tired, greasy rat

-The first person’s audio came through, but not video. Dan asked if they were existing in the space between dimensions, and they said yes. They said their group chat decided Dan’s spirit animal is Big Bird from Sesame Street (because he’s big and awkward). Phil said he used to have nightmares about Big Bird being in his bedroom when he woke up

-The next person’s video worked, and they were wearing a Phil hoodie. Dan complimented their nails, which were black on one hand and colorful on the other. They had an answer for Dan and Phil, which was Timon and Pumba if their personalities were switched. Dan said it made perfect sense on “like five different levels…Freaky Friday Lion King edition, the AU that nobody asked for”

-They tried the dice option to call a random person, it didn’t work. Twice.

-The next person was the one to get Phil the Polaroid shirt. Dan said it’s covered in Sharpie now

-Their answer was that Dan is a howler monkey. Phil: “Dan HOWELL-er monkey!” Dan disapproved of the pun, but declared them the winner

-Next week’s question is “If Dan and Phil were a superhero duo, what would their powers be?” Phil said he probably shouldn’t be trusted with powers

-Before the great mosquito hunt last night, Dan went to get a drink and found a lizard. He wasn’t scared of it, he just kind of closed it up in the room to let it do its thing

-They tried the ice coffee Tim Tams, they both liked them and said they would dip them in coffee later. Phil: “Dip, dip, bish”

-They went back and forth with the chat on how to pronounce “mukbang”

-Dan hasn’t listened to Bloom yet. He was going to listen on the plane, Phil told him not to so the plane noises wouldn’t interfere. Dan agreed because he wants to take it very seriously to see how Troye has matured as an artist. Phil suggested that he “eat it with his ears.”

-There will be another “fun” DAPG video with “the thing with the thing” that is coming “soon...ish.”

-Phil tried to say he hoped we were having a nice day, and accidentally said “I hope you’re having a nice guy”

-They might do the next liveshow on a Thursday because they’ll be settling in Manila next Tuesday

[yourelost-itsokay]

Random stuff from the new vid, basically my running commentary

"Comment below, because the human connection will make me feel like a person again." mood

"Everything is going wrong in my life." mOOD

R: "What up, plebs" I never knew I needed to hear that

P: 🎵 "Singin to myself, cause I'm not uncomfortable at all" 🎵 poor Pat!

R: "Secret secrets are no fun, tell me now or else we're done." (Roman, you're doing great, sweetie)

R: "I have yet to receive my invite to the pity party." MOOD

P, dryly: "That's easy for you to say." (Huh.)

V: " What he means is that you're not a great judge of what is and is not an overreaction. Your most extreme reaction is an eyebrow raise." / L: "FaLSEhOOd!" / V: "I stand corrected." / P: "There's the one for the day." (Implying he screams falsehood every day at least once? I sure hope so)

V : "So I'm acting fishy. So sushi. I mean sue me." / R: "Don't act like that was an accident." My boys, I've missed you

4:26 V: "I'm gonna prohibit your breathing if you keep this up!" If you didn't hear that the first time, I beg you to go back and hear that part because it is golden, but if you'd rather not I get it

P: "2005's Just Like Heaven starting Mark Ruffalo and Reese Witherspoon?" / V: "Sure." He's so done

P: "You Ruffle-know it." First pun of the video!

R: "If they got married, then he'd be Mark With-his-spoon." Oh, I... I get it

P: "They'd be Mr. and Mrs. With-their-spoon." Pat no

R: "You hijacked my joke! You high-joked!" I stg

5:59 What. The fuck. That's so disturbing, just the fingers coming over the back of the TV? (But little did I know, it would get far more disturbing)

OH MY GOD, that mustache?!

P: "You killed him!" / R, on the floor: "Ughhghg"

What the fuck is this song? What the heck is going on?

Weeelllll then,,,

Deceit's 6 hands are back then,, and still a thing?

Well, we got a villain song, even if it wasn't the one I wanted. I'll just be patient.

"Look, Mr. Duke, I'm really stupid right now, just tell me who you are." What

Duke: "Black out all the juicy stuff." I'm sorry what

P: "Yeah, your... b-hole needs to stay zipped up in your pants where it belongs." What am I watching right now, did I take a left turn at Albuquerque or what

"I'm sorry I don't see the creative merit in 'juicy butthole.'"

UGH HE PULLED HIS EARS OFF HOLY SHIT THAT SOUNDED LIKE VELCROW UGH!

P: "You put those back on right now, mister!" uM EXCUSE ME SIR

L: "But you did exactly what I needed you to." / P: 🎵 "Patton, did a real good job." 🎵

R, mumbling on the floor: "No mommy, I don't want the mashed potatoes."

Duke: 🎵 "Hey prude, your art is bad" 🎵

That cackle! The Duke must've been both strange (and maybe in some twisted way, do I dare say fun?) to play

Duke: "What is my deal? B*tch, what is your deal?" The aTTITUDE

His outfit is so sparkly; wow my AD(H)D is everywhere

17:53 P: "................maybe"

19:08 okay I'm glad that we're pretending like that never happened, that was strange

V: "You bastard" / P: *gasps* / V: "Okay, you can't pretend that that isn't happening" (um, ew)

P: "That's what repression is?" (My poor baby, you shouldn't have to deal with all of that, my poor Patton. Also, I'm going to assume that response was because he has secret repression of his own but he didn't know what it was, ik I'm reaching with headcanons here)

L: "You're just para— expressing a healthy amount of concern. Thank you for being on guard." Logan knew that could lead to an argument, which is the last thing Thomas needs right now, so he changed what he was saying (maybe? people have mentioned Roman's "paranovigilant" so I'm not sure?)

L: "Ahahahah, I said figuratively, and that is why I say it." (What is this music?) "That 👏 is 👏 why 👏 I 👏 say 👏 it 👏" (Logan's clappy thing is back, is that a habit or just to accentuate his words, I wonder?)

Duke: "I looove being given two Ds at once." (Oh no, I did not need to hear that)

Duke: "Record scratch?"

L: "He's being too strict. Oh my goodness, Patton is being too strict? It's not me for once? What does that mean? Am I cool? Does this make me cool? Am I being cool?!" Logan, sweetie, you're cool, I promise! (He's so excited! ❤️)

The whole discussion about reek and the deodorant is the best ("pickled poo log") (" deodorants don't have flavors, you don't eat deodorants—" you were saying, Virge?)

"Dukey"

Ooh, Remus? That's a name

Duke: "I would never hide anything from you." Why did the camera pan to show Virgil looking guilty? Is he still hiding something?

27:49 what... was that? I think both Patton and Virgil display my reaction

I hate how much he sounds like Roman sometimes, but they are played by the same person and probably are supposed to sound alike

Logan's little "everything is okay" really got to me, it's oddly comforting

Duke: "It was just like old times." Yet more evidence that Virgil knows the Dark Sides! More theory fodder! Plus Virgil's "you /used/ to scare me" (turns out we don't need theory fodder anymore, it's been proved ^^)

They're all so excited to see Roman! (Especially Patton's "you're alive!")

Ahh, Roman & Logan are trying to get along now!

I don't wanna bring the Logan ships into this, but everyone's little smile at him before he leaves? I like him a lot more too after this episode

Roman's groan of "I don't like him" reminds me of how he used to react to Virgil

Roman & Remus left with the same "byeee"

Virgil's "the others", "I thought I knew how to handle them" (the music's crescendoing?), "Yeah, but I should know better" and fiNALLY "Because I was one of them." YESSSS OUR THEORIES PAID OFF I just went "wHOOO" super loud in the middle of my house

"partially due to a bad dream about demonic fridges" are we just... not going to talk about that? no??? He's pretending Gavin's just some kid who breaks into his house to steal his HelloFresh? "wHY DO YOU DO THESE THINGS! I HAVE CHANGED THE LOCK FIVE TIMES"

In conclusion, sorry guys, I don't really like 'Remus,' so don't mind me if I continue calling him the Duke. Now Sanders Sides to me will be associated with him, which is not a good thought. I finally understand why some people don't like our snake side, I might need to watch for trigger warnings for the Duke myself now. (Sorry!)

[bluerobokitty]

A preview of a Jizavi fic I’m writing that’s very porn with plot and feelings and all kinds of things. The preview itself is sfw, but sexy fun times definitely happened the night before involving a bottle of whiskey. I have no idea when I’m gonna actually finish this, it’s pretty long. Enjoy!

**

You’re probably wondering how sweet, innocent, all-around good girl Nadia Rizavi, who never broke a rule in her life (ha ha ha) got here, her delightfully naked brown body tangled up in the dark gray, somewhat sweaty sheets of James Griffin’s bed. Because why on earth would she ever want to her bang her extremely handsome yet extremely bitchy squad leader who also never broke a rule in his life (and that part was actually true)? Her pounding head, and their pile of clothes strewn around his room, her bra sitting so comfortably on top of his jacket, all reeking of whiskey, and the clock on the nightstand flicking to 11:32 am on a Saturday when they both would’ve been up hours before said all that needed to be said.

Ah, whiskey. The destroyer of comfort zones.

It had been quite the celebration last night, despite the somber events of yesterday. The mass funeral then turned into a mass wake where they celebrated alongside their mourning. Earth was free. Earth was safe. The Paladins of Voltron, still recovering in the Garrison hospital, had successfully protected their world from complete annihilation, and destroyed the Galra that had been holding their little blue planet hostage for the past four years. The sorrow of loss simply could not hold a candle to the relief of complete release, of everything being finally over. People laughed and cried and told stories and remembered and danced and celebrated, and at least two MFE pilots snuck away from the congratulating crowd to make love in the quiet dark now that nothing could hold them back anymore.

Her reasons for being here were far more complicated than just a bottle and a half of salted-caramel flavored whiskey.

She stretched, her body aching sweetly. Griffin stirred next to her, but otherwise didn’t move. She watched the back of his shoulder steadily rise and fall, subtly stretching and constricting his muscles and the deep red scratches crisscrossing the olive skin. It had been good. She might have been ten sheets to the wind, but it had been so good. He made her sleep until past 1100 hours, after all. And visa-versa.

Without considering the consequences, she leaned down to plant gentle kisses on his back, lips tracing an apology along those marks she made. It was when he stirred again that she realized the implications of what she had done. She needed to leave, now. Griffin was too fast for someone who was still mostly asleep, turning over, and arm snaking around her waist. Her body went very, very stiff, barely daring to breathe. That arm around her looked too much like it belonged there, his thumb tenderly brushing the underside of her right breast, and that scared her.

His eyes fluttered open and regarded her a moment with a blank lilac stare, as if he didn’t recognize her, a few strands of cinnamon brown hair clinging to the corner of his mouth. Then his eyebrows furrowed as if wondering what she was doing there, in his bed, under his arm, and her breath caught in her throat. He laid his head back down into the pillow with the slightest pathetic whine. “What time is it?” he moaned, voice muffled by the cotton literally and figuratively in his mouth.

“Just past eight,” she lied. Why did she lie? All he had to do was lift his head a few inches and see that the alarm clock next to them was going steadily toward noon. But he wasn’t about to lift his head anytime soon, not with the way he had been drinking last night. Some whiskey and a few shots of absinthe on a dare was all it had taken to bring out his wild side that she knew was there, just beneath the surface, that she could hear in his voice every time they ran drills with the MFEs. He was a stallion begging to be broken, and the boneless way he lay next to her congratulated her on a job well done.

But actions had consequences. No matter how casual.

“One more hour,” he mumbled.

Did... did she hear him right? His face was smushed against the pillow again, after all, but did she actually hear him right? James Griffin, the guy who roused the rest of the squad at 0400 for physical training and then drills, asking to sleep in? Why was she not recording this? Kinkade would holler, and that guy wasn’t in the habit of hollering for anything unless there was a damn good reason.

Drunk Griffin was a good time, but Hungover Griffin was an absolute delight.

She could stay.

It would be so easy. She could just slide a little down the mattress to nestle in that perfect crook in his arm, feel his gross morning breath over her hair where she couldn’t smell it, sleep well into the afternoon because she hadn’t slept so comfortably and so deeply these past three years. Feel once more how their bodies flushed perfectly together, a perfect fit, to use the old cliche.

Too easy.

The time it took for her to wrestle with her conscience was enough for Griffin to fall back asleep. Then she slipped from under his arm, padded away from the bed to carefully pick her clothes up from his own on the floor. Griffin snorted, mouth wide open, out like a fried fuse that had been overworked since the night before. Rizavi allowed herself one small smile of affection, then yanked her shirt over her head and pants up her legs. This was dangerous, much too dangerous.

It was one thing to sleep with your squad leader. Not like he actually outranked her so it didn’t violate any fraternization clauses, and no one would really care so long as it didn’t interfere with their formation. It wasn’t like either of them would allow personal feelings through the door, they hadn’t these past four years, and they weren’t about to anytime soon. Then again, they also hadn’t slept together these past four years, either for those very reasons.

Once her boots were tied, she snuck out of the room without looking back and without hearing a sound from behind her except for soft snoring.

It was entirely something else to sleep with your squad leader who also happened to be your ex-boyfriend, when your alcohol-induced passion was only the tip of an reminiscent iceberg layered with what-could-have-been and what-might-still-be, when your tongues confessed repressed feelings with more than just words.

If only the whiskey had been the problem. If only.

[fraink5-writes]

Human Qualification- Chapter 19

March 14

Please enjoy the good times while they last.

Thanks to @missmizpah @gracieuxetoile and @deathly-oreos for reading this over!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Knock knock. “Hey, Mister Romantic, can we come in?” A nostalgic voice rang through the door.

Having nothing better to do, Dazai had been waiting on stand-by and quickly flung open the door.

The shorter of the two men jumped back a little. “That was fast. Does that thing have rocket boosters?”

“That would be convenient,” Dazai sighed with a smile.

Without another word, the two men, Odasaku and Ango, had made themselves comfortable on the living room couch. They acted as though nothing had changed. Perhaps for them, nothing had. Dazai had met with them on occasion, and each time, Dazai was surprised at how similar they appeared, as though they had been torn out of a photograph of their last meeting at the Bar Lupin. Each conversation picked up as though the previous had only happened the day before. Even as they sat on Chuuya’s sofa, and Dazai, thin and frail, in a wheelchair, they were teleported back to the Bar Lupin.

“On your request, we came bearing gifts,” Odasaku said and gestured dramatically towards Ango, who raised the gifts, flowers and chocolates, with less enthusiasm.

Ango handed the items to Dazai before pointing back to Odasaku. “Of course, we also brought something for you.” Odasaku lightly shook the bottle in his hand.

Dazai’s chin fell. “What’s this? You didn’t need to buy anything for me.”

“We figured you weren’t getting many gifts otherwise—”

“No offense,” Odasaku added.

“Well, what am I going to do with gifts...” Dazai gazed at his lap, his immobile right hand.

“Drink it!” Taking his own initiative Odasaku poured Dazai a glass, then Ango, and finally himself.

“Right now?”

“Why not?” Ango tilted his head. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a drink together.”

“Alright,” Dazai couldn’t repress a grin. “Cheers!” Taking a slow sip, he let the liquid nostalgia warm his inside. Yet it didn’t go down properly. Something felt off, and Dazai had to force down a cough. Because he didn’t want to interrupt the mood, he masked his discomfort with a smile.

“So where’s the lucky guy?” Odasaku leaned in as if expecting gossip.

“Chuuya? He’s hardly lucky. I sent him away.”

“On White Day? How romantic,” Ango snickered.

“It’s alright. We’ll be gone before he even realizes we were here.”

Their time flew by faster than even Dazai could realize. Somewhere along the way Dazai’s drink managed to disappear along with his unease. He laughed so hard that his chest ached, but that too was dismissed by the merriment.

“I’m home.” Dazai heard Chuuya in the doorway.

“Shit,” Odasaku muttered. “It looks like it’s time to disappear.”

“It was fun, Dazai-kun. We should get together again soon.” With that and a brief greeting with Chuuya, Ango and Odasaku were out the door.

“Did you have fun?” Chuuya sat down on the sofa, stretched his legs across the cushions and, closing his eyes, threw his arms behind his head.

“Before you fall asleep—” Dazai interrupted the beginning of Chuuya’s nap—“I have a gift for you.”

“A what?” Chuuya half-opened one eye. Upon seeing the gifts in Dazai’s lap, both eyes shot open. “How the fuck…”

“That’s not how you say ‘thank you.’”

“Thanks...” Chuuya sputtered, face red.

“I had them delivered.” Dazai smiled, and Chuuya’s eyes, scanning Dazai, the gifts, and the door, widened with revelation.

“Say thanks to the delivery men then too.” Chuuya slowly took the purple flowers from Dazai and then the chocolates, which he placed on the couch. “I guess I should put these somewhere.” He stood up. “They’re very pretty, but um...”

“They’re hyacinths.”

“Yeah, sure, I knew that. So, um, how about I put them on the table? They can help set the mood later.” Even from the other room, Dazai could hear a familiar (and long missed) melody as Chuuya pruned and prepared the flowers. When he returned, he had a lighter step than that morning when he had trudged out of the apartment.

“About the chocolates, I couldn’t make them myself—obviously—but there’s a surprise in there for you.”

“Oh?” Chuuya grinned. “Can I try one?” Without waiting for a response, he was already opening the box. He popped a square in his mouth, and immediately, his face lit up with a smile. “Woah, that’s fucking amazing. You really know my taste,” Chuuya laughed.

“Of course, you’re my partner.”

“I really didn’t think you’d actually pay me back on White Day.”

“You know I would hate to be in your debt.”

“Is that right? Well, I hope you don’t mind if I give you this.” Cupping his chin, Chuuya kissed Dazai. Tasting of chocolate and alcohol, Chuuya’s lips seemed to sing that long-unheard tune against Dazai’s. How could Dazai mind?

“I hope you saved room for dinner.” Chuuya steered Dazai’s wheelchair into the dining room. “I made something special—tempura!”

“That’s not all that special.”

“It is for me; this time I made it!”

“Well, if it’s Tsuuya’s first time, it’s probably dangerous...”

“Is that right? Then you can keel over eating it.”

Although Dazai was secretly looking forward to the meal, there was indeed some fear; making tempura was an exact science, and Chuuya had no practice. Recently, his cooking had been on a good streak, and Dazai hoped that would hold up.

Luckily, Dazai was hungry enough, which meant less and less as time passed. As Chuuya laid out the platter of food, the puffy, yellow crisp was enough to get Dazai’s stomach started. It certainly looked edible. “I see shrimp, obviously. What vegetables are there?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to find out.” Chuuya winked.

“It’s eggplant, mushroom, and sweet potato, right?”

Chuuya stared blankly at his partner, a hint of irritation around his eyes. “Why’d you even fucking ask?”

Dazai laughed. “Alright, let’s eat!”

Despite Dazai’s enthusiasm, eating was unbearable as it was enjoyable. And it was undeniably enjoyable. Each bite was encased in a fluffy yet crispy coating while each vegetable still carried its own flavor underneath. But that was only when he could get a bite. In his quaking hand, the food often made it anywhere but his mouth: his cheek, his lap, the floor… His jaw wouldn’t assist in the effort either; it hung slightly agape and unbudging. It was repulsive. Was Chuuya equally disgusted? Dazai didn’t know; he wouldn’t dare face him.

Assuming a bite made it into Dazai’s mouth, the task of eating was still not any easier. Like a wooden spoon against solid butter, his teeth would grind against each bite; but they were unable to reduce it from its solid state. His tongue moved sluggishly, tasting the food, but never moving it. Thus, each morsel sat still, waiting for the digestive juices to corrode it away. They clogged the sink of Dazai’s mouth, unwilling to go down, so the water would pool and pool, threatening to spill over if Dazai didn’t force everything.

Sharp panic rose from Dazai’s throat. Something was there—stuck—a large object which scraped the walls of his trachea. Only tiny gasps of air escaped in desperate heaves. A flame seemed to burn in his lungs, scorching his trachea and eating up any air. Despite his coughing fit, he couldn’t make a sound. Lurching forward, he grabbed at his throat with his usable hand.

Agonizing seconds later, Chuuya’s eyes slammed open. “Dazai?!” He ran over and hesitantly wrapped his arms around Dazai’s chest. The blue death was growing, spreading rapidly from his lips to his face. One. There was a rapid punchlike impact in his abdomen, which rattled Dazai’s entire rib cage. Two, three, four… Finally, something was ejected, and a huge rush of air entered his lungs. Was it the air or some remaining food which made Dazai continue to sputter?

“Are you okay?!” Chuuya hurried around to look Dazai in the face. With a napkin, he wiped away the half-digested dribble which creeped down Dazai’s chin.

Dazai couldn’t speak; he could only answer with a subtle nod: yes, he was okay—the bare minimum. Nothing felt okay—not his scorching throat, not his exhaust lungs, not his frantic heart, not his scrambled brain—but he was alive. Instead of words, he used sighs, which conveyed relief, fatigue, and a multitude of feelings he couldn’t understand.

For a while, Dazai and Chuuya sat frozen in silence. Occasionally, Chuuya would eye the remaining food, but neither of them wanted to touch it. The savory smell had become oppressive. Finally, Chuuya, who had been shifting oddly in his chair, cut through the grim air. “There are still a lot left. Do you plan on eating anymore?”

“Nnnn.” Dazai couldn’t eat it. If he didn’t choke, he would certainly throw up. His stomach roiled at the thought. Even the lingering aftertaste, once so sweet, was bitter, a haunting memory. If Dazai could wash it away with water, he would, but he feared even that.

“Me neither. I’m going to clean up.” Chuuya rose from the table with a dish in his hand. He gazed at Dazai piteously before turning away to the kitchen. Dazai did nothing, watching lifelessly as the evidence of what happened disappeared. Nevertheless, the horrible memory persisted.

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[blame-canada]

On-Call Sinner, Full-Time Lover - Creek

The plot twist that was falling in love with the imp that stole him away from eternal damnation was something Craig couldn't say he would've ever expected out of life, but here he was, deep in the throes of twitterpated existence with an otherworldly creature that made his heart pound. Damning souls together paid the bills alright, but being on-call sucks regardless of your occupation- unless your assignment happens to be an old 'friend.'

Hello friends and welcome to the Tweekquel you’ve all been waiting for (or it was probably just me, really) to Tempt A Demon, Pay The Price! These two are just too fun to write. Read it on AO3 here. On with the show!

Waking up always felt a bit odd now, Craig had noticed. Sleep didn’t quite feel the same, and he wondered if perhaps the pillows were too flat, or the black-out canopy too stifling. It was probably the fire though. Everything was always a little on fire.

Everything was so on fire, in fact, that when he blinked awake slowly to the sound of noisily flapping wings, he looked down at his feet to find the edge of his sheets ablaze. He stomped at it lazily and it fizzled out, and the sheets regenerated to their normal, pristine condition. It was kind of really great to live in a magical Hell apartment. Well, besides all the fire.

“Babe,” Craig croaked, taking his time cracking his eyes open fully and squirming around in their king-sized bed while he stretched. “Babe, why are you up?” The canopy did a pretty good job of blocking out the flames and their light, but he could still see the shadow of his lover flitting about the room haphazardly. The shadow grew in size until a head of wild hair with pretty little horns popped in between the opening of the canopy to greet him, wide eyes and all.

“We’re on-call today, remember?” He shivered a bit, and Craig slow-blinked at him.

“Yeah, but we never actually get called. Come back to bed, honey, come on,” he begged lazily, reaching his hand out to scratch under his chin, and Tweek, the darling little thing, began to make the little rumbling sound that echoed from his throat like a cat’s purr. Nevermind the distant screeching of the damned souls that wavered beneath it. He relaxed into his scratches for a few seconds before coming to his senses, and he swatted Craig’s hand away.

“Y-you know that’s my weakness! That’s mean!” Tweek whined, and Craig groaned as his shifting about let more of the fire-light into his dark safe haven. “You come on. You know if you don’t take this job seriously, Satan will be seriously pissed off!”

“I know but Tweek,” Craig yawned again and Tweek looked marginally more mad, “we never get calls. Just come back to bed and we can turn the alarm up.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Tweek trailed off, and Craig could see his tail swinging behind him nervously, the spade tip twitching along with his usual tics.

“I’m the surest sure. C’mere.” He grappled at nothing in the air lazily, and Tweek giggled at him, his pointy teeth poking through his smile. He folded and tucked his wings, making them small for convenience’s sake with his fancy dark magicks, and crawled in to meet him. Craig ruffled his hair and kissed the crook of his neck.

Perhaps he should explain.

If the memory of the beginning of their passionate but sweet relationship escapes you, it’s likely you either read the tale too long ago, or never did in the first place. Here is a convenient link, so that Craig won’t feel the need to start at the very beginning. That would be annoying when the chronicle is right there, for your ease of access.

Anyway.

Immediately after having been teleported away from his false church through the infinite wormholes of Hell, Tweek had begun his training on how to keep a human being. Namely, learning that they frequently needed food and water, different from the usual sustenance he needed every few days that dripped menacingly from Hell’s stalactites. He found it annoying how much Craig needed to consume to stay alive, and though he’d tried to skimp out for convenience’s sake before, Craig was very good at being annoying about being hungry. He had begun to regret deserting for him.

Then of course, they began their very important and serious studies of Sodom and Gomorrah, and as they hopped from town to town to avoid the eye of Satan that wished to punish Tweek, they became very well-learned scholars. So well-learned, in fact, that their expertise were something to be quite proud of, and Tweek would never regret deserting Hell for him ever again. It had taken Craig a minute to get used to the, well, fur, and all, but the wings and horns and pointy teeth kind of made up for it. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already going to Hell or anything.

Fast-forward to when Satan did finally get ahold of them, and while Tweek groveled, Craig hung back, hiding behind his splayed, fearful wings. Tweek began to cry, his twitching and shivering increasingly distracting and difficult to speak through, and Craig watched Satan’s eyes grow soft as Tweek told their story. Lucky for them, Satan was a sensitive man and a sucker for young gay love stories, and they’d been granted their own Hell-apartment as long as they continued to collect souls of the damned. The rest was Sodom and Gomorrah-flavored history, and now they lied together in their luxurious canopy bed, on their day off but on-call, and it felt startlingly comparable to a regular life on Earth. Craig didn’t miss home much.

The warmth of Tweek’s unnaturally high body temperature easily lulled Craig into the beginnings of a light sleep, and he could feel Tweek’s body relax as it began to rest as well. He sighed lightly and wrapped an arm around Tweek’s middle, his head curled into his bare chest, and let his body sink into the incredible plush softness of their mattress.

Then the alarm went off.

Tweek had certainly turned up the volume, and from just outside the canopy blared something straight out of a shitty Halloween soundscapes CD. Seriously, Craig was pretty sure that was what it was. Tweek groaned from beside him and crawled out of their bed to slap the off button just as a fake wolf howl began its crescendo, and the little scroll that appeared out of thin air with their assignment arrived in a puff of black smoke under his clawed hand. He yawned loudly, the action appearing not unlike a cat, and rubbed his eyes awake. Craig did the same as he fumbled to get out from under the sheets and face the noise of their unfortunate paging.

“We never get calls,” Tweek mimicked, clearly irritated with Craig, as he collected the essentials. Craig rolled his eyes while he pulled on real pants.

“What do we have to do?”

“It says it’s another routine damnation, s-so it should be quick,” Tweek muttered, his speech impaired by the hair pin sticking out of his mouth. He pulled it out and stabbed it into his hair right around his left horn, disguised in its placement but effectively forming another sharp spike in his hair. Craig made fun of him for weeks for bothering to style his hair like that.

Craig yawned one more time as he buttoned up his black dress shirt, shifting the collar and shoulders forward and tucking it into his pants. It was annoying that he had to wait until they were at the surface to put on his collar, but it completed the aesthetic, and Craig cared about the aesthetic. He quite liked the routine he and Tweek had invented for their work.

“Ready?” Tweek asked, blinking over at him while he finished smudging some eyeliner under his eyes, and Craig nodded at him once.

“Ready. Fuck it up, babe.”

Tweek snorted, and with a wave of his hand, a portal appeared and screeched at them from their feet. They clasped hands, and together they stepped through, the whooshing sound of their descent whipping past Craig’s ears along with the screams of the damned. “I’m so glad we upgraded to the sound-proof fire,” Craig said, conversationally, and Tweek hummed his agreement. “I’m sick of all the goddamn screaming.”

“Yeah well, t-try thousands of years of it,” Tweek said, and then they were just below the surface, and Tweek got to work on his demolition.

This was probably the hottest part of the ritual. It was a bit archaic that they still had to claw through the ground to get out in the first place, but it also meant Craig got to watch Tweek’s back muscles and arms work their enhanced strength and magic to make a terrifying entrance. He still remembered the horrible cracks in the earth Tweek had made when he came to collect him, and he nearly sighed aloud at the fondness of their first moments together, so full of fear and also thinly repressed sexual attraction. God, he loved him.

The first sight of the Earth’s surface greeted them and it was night time, as was typical, and Tweek glanced back at Craig with a smirk before dramatically plunging his hand into the floorboards of their entrance portal. He took another quick look at his assignment scroll, suddenly hovering in his hand, and then hoisted himself into the land of the living. The high-pitched squeal from above was so satisfying.

Tweek let out a terrifying growl as Craig clambered out behind him, hiding behind his gigantic wings spread wide across what looked like a church. He would make his own entrance once he got his bearings and finished placing his collar. The pews were shoved back and crooked and at least one stained-glass window had blown out from the force. Craig tsked in his head at how cheap it all looked, like the church equivalent of a secondhand shop, but then he caught one of the programs tucked in a little caddy glued on the side of one of the pews.

Wait.

He snatched the scroll from Tweek’s side, exhilaration filling his chest, and then exploding when he finally read the name. He didn’t bother to make a super dramatic entrance, too high on the incredible irony of it all. He laughed, loud and unrestrained, and gently pushed his way forward to step in front of his darling imp.

“Oh my god. No way. No fuckin’ way.” He continued to chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair, the confidence of his position of power running through him like a poison. Sweet, sweet poison.

“W-what the fuh- Craig?!” their victim shrieked, and Craig laughed louder, practically giddy with the pleasure of what he was about to do. “We thought you fucking died!”

“Oh, I think you’ll find me very much alive,” Craig said, lowering his gaze so that he knew the fire surrounding him would reflect in them, forever an experienced showman even on the other side. He stepped forward, the clacking of his shoes reverberating through the room over the distant screams and hissing Tweek was adding to the background, for the atmosphere. A lovely touch, really. “What are the goddamn odds though, right?” He pulled out the scroll and his thick framed reading glasses, and read from it slowly.

“Imp Tweek, Fear Incarnate, Manifest 48: you are hereby summoned per your duties as on-call board-certified Damnation Technician to elicit justice upon the following sinner, predetermined to be damned to Hell under circumstances unnatural and premature: Mr. Eric Theodore Cartman, false prophet and solicitor of unmarked, unrecognized religion invented for-profit at the expense of compromised souls other than one’s own. This violates the code of conduct produced for directors of houses of worship, and sentences you to eternal damnation to Hell for your crimes against humanity.” He let the scroll snap shut and Cartman made a delicious flinch. “Do you have objections to this ruling?”

Cartman gawked, stuttering on a consonant and blinking wildly as his eyes darted all over the imp who shadowed him like a nightmarish silhouette. Tweek’s growling rose in volume and Craig smirked, hushing him with a harshly uttered “Heel,” a command that always pissed Tweek off later but proved effective in the moment. The more inhuman Tweek seemed, the better. Tweek, true to character, stopped with a vicious snarl, and flapped his wings once to force Cartman back in a gale force wind into the podium, much like Craig had once stood on his own failed Death Day.

“P-p-p-please, Craig, we were coworkers! Y-you must understand, we were all so worried for you, I’m seriously! Remember that one time when we, um,” he faltered, obviously unable to find a time Craig might be grateful for, his voice the high whine he reserved for when he begged his mother when they were young. Craig winced in disgust, and took off his glasses to tuck them in his breast pocket.

“Tweek,” Craig said, and that was all the command Tweek needed to leap over Craig’s head and land with a thunderous bang that broke the floor beneath him, leaving a puncture wound with the end of his pitchfork and his tail swinging wildly back and forth with excitement in Craig’s face.

“What is that thing?” Cartman asked shrilly, squeaking when Tweek took a tiny step forward in his crouched predator position.

“An imp,” Tweek and Craig corrected at the same time, and Craig swooned for him before continuing. “He's the creature sent to damn you to Hell for your sins. He’s also my lover, and we live together in an apartment in Hell.” The look on Cartman’s face made it all so worth it.

“You’re fucking kidding me. What the hell?” Cartman said, and Tweek snarled at him again, the gnashing of his teeth audible from behind him. He was probably intentionally salivating too, to get the full drooling-massive-sharp-teeth effect going to terrify him. His wings were tilted forward, a sign of aggression Craig had come to understand by observation, and with teeth bared he knew he looked like an absolute terror. It was delectable, the fear in Cartman’s eyes right now. He wished he could take a picture.

“No objections then? Okay,” Craig said with a shrug, and Tweek gripped his pitchfork tighter, pointing it at Cartman’s heart. “We hereby banish you-”

“Wait!” His eyes were wide and watery, and he finally dropped to his knees off his fat, wobbly little legs.“W-wait, Craig, buddy,” he tried, a nervous laugh in his throat, “you know I’m doing this to help them. They’re lost souls, and I’m giving them a God to believe in! What’s so wrong about that? Everyone needs a place to turn when they’re hurting, Craig, come on. You know it’s true. I’m giving them purpose!”

“All you’re doing is making them pay for some bullshit special effects and your fast food intake.” Craig yawned and blinked slowly, looking forward to crawling back in bed to nap once this was all over. “Take him away, baby.”

Tweek hummed, the sound especially supernatural above the surface, and stabbed the end of his pitchfork into the floor. From its entry point, a new crack traveled forward, splitting right between Cartman’s knees and glowing that terrifying fiery orange. It began to break in half and Cartman began to scream again, girlish and wailing, and Craig couldn’t help but laugh. “Really, the odds! Am I right?” he yelled over the screams of the damned, and Tweek took his chance to lurch forward and plunge the pointed ends of his pitchfork directly into Cartman’s chest. His screaming hitched and he coughed once, and Tweek howled blissfully into the night before using his cloven hoof to shove Cartman’s body off his murder weapon and into the crack that swallowed him whole. He flapped his wings slowly and powerfully as he watched him descend from the high ceiling, and Craig smiled, pride consuming him as the floor sealed itself shut. “Nice job, honey.”

“Thanks,” Tweek said as he dropped down to the ground, the screams having dulled to a distant thrumming so that they felt as quiet as they ever could be. “You were great”—he shuddered with a twitch—“mm, too!”

“Let’s go home,” Craig said through another big yawn, and it spread to his lover, his teeth glinting in the fire surrounding them while he stretched his mouth wide. God, it was hot. Maybe he wouldn’t go back to sleep.

Tweek smiled and took his hand, planting a kiss on his cheek, before walking him back to the hole from whence they came. “So you knew him? Do you feel bad?”

Craig scoffed. “Nah. He was an asshole. I have no reason to forgive him or care. Peru was enough bullshit for a lifetime.”

“Peru?” Tweek asked, but Craig just smiled and faced forward, and they stepped into the portal that would lead them home and back to bed where they would decidedly, most definitely, not be sleeping.

[kindsummer]

                                        AMBER LIQUID AND FOOL’S COURAGE

Arrianna Moretti was not a fan of the cold. She loved the aesthetic of the colder seasons, of course; who doesn’t like comfy oversized sweaters and pumpkin flavored drinks? The cold, itself, however, was something that seeped through your body, and seemingly your soul, no matter how much you were bundled up. So, obviously, moving to Forks, Washington, a location of perpetual rain and mid 40s temperature was not ideal in the slightest. Coming from Massachusetts, it wasn’t so much of a difference, only more elevated and constant, which is what caused the corner of her lips to curl into a very displeased frown when he father had told her the news. It was just as Arry had predicted.

Ever since Arry was a little girl, she had precognitive abilities. Normally, she saw just little snippets of the future; things that didn’t impact anyone’s life very much. It was genuinely sort of annoying. Other times, however, she’d predicted the death of someone, the abuse of a child, or a person falling into a state of impenetrable depression.  Sometimes, her predictions weren’t exactly correct (which she was hoping for in the case of moving) but more often than not they were at least on the right track. That being said, Arry kept her predictions to herself. She had no idea what people would do to her if they knew about her power, so, she kept herself safe and her lips stayed sealed for seventeen years.

Seventeen years that were now possibly over because the Moretti family was packing up and moving all the way across the country to a town so small you couldn’t throw a stick without hitting a red neck hick. On the lengthy car ride over, Arry couldn’t help but be wistful as the landscapes lost more and more buildings and gained forests full of trees. Endless trees. She missed her shitty food service job and airy New England home. She missed her friends. She missed not feeling so…isolated.

Boxes unpacked and parents out on the town, Arry had nothing better to do than sit outside on the porch and text her favorite person in the world, Teresa, and ramble in meme speak about how shitty Forks was. Shivering from the nightly chill, she pulled her blanket further up her body, over her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, Arry thought she had seen something glimmer through the trees. Shifting in the wicker chair, she squinted in the direction of the forest. Seeing nothing this time, the girl returned to a comfortable position in her seat and relaxed. Sadly, the relaxing was for but a moment before her body was stock still and a vision flowed in front of her eyes.

A pale boy with honey blond hair sat next to her in what appeared to be a history classroom. Posters of former Presidents were plastered against the walls; bookcases filled to the brim lined the back wall. The boy beside her was impossibly beautiful, amber eyes glowing as he cast his gaze over her. Scars were embedded into his forearms, but Arry could only see them the moment the light hit them right. He seemed to be amused, lip curled almost unperceptively at the edge. There was something about this boy that haunted her, made her heart race in both fear and excitement. The boy was otherworldly.

Breathing sharp and hard as she returned from her vision, Arry was dizzy with the possibilities. Who was this boy? Why did she already feel such a connection to him without even having met him? Settling back in the chair, Arry contemplated the future. It wasn’t guaranteed that this would happen tomorrow, but what if it did? What if Arry was going to meet this serious, captivating boy and it would alter her life forever? She repressed the urge the inform Teresa of her impending future, instead continuing their conversation on a new eye shadow pallet that had come out the other day. Soon, the girl was fast asleep, curled up in a little ball on the wicker chair.

The following morning, Arry was abruptly woken up by a frosty breeze gracing her cheek. Shivering, she furled in on herself for a moment and stretched out her limbs, the feverish cold inkling into her every being. Arry hadn’t even noticed that she had fallen asleep on the porch. Checking her phone, her eyes bulged out of her head. “Shit, I’m late!” It was already seven thirty and it took thirty minutes to get to the center of town. Realistically, Arry would be late even just throwing on the bare minimum clothing and necessary school items. Swearing excessively, the girl shoveled school supplies into her backpack, pulled together the warmest outfit and piled herself into her car, peeling out of her driveway at top speed.

It was at school that Arry noticed that she had left her earbuds at home, and, although she loved to socialize and meet new people, she wasn’t exactly ready for it on the first day after having an impromptu camp out. Making her way to the office, Arry patiently waited for the disgruntled looking secretary to give her her schedule, rolling her eyes when they commented on how in the future, she shouldn’t be late. As if it was her full intention to be late all the time. Nearly running down the hallway to what appeared to be a history class with one Mr. Flemming, she arrived just as the bell rang. Plastering on her most sheepish smile, she cast her gaze around the oddly familiar room—then, she saw him.

The boy from her vision. His eyes were just as mesmerizing in person, and, almost as if he could feel her shock, the boy arched his brow. The class was deadly silent, Mr. Flemming himself looking upon her questioningly. “Why are you late?”

Unable to help herself, Arry spouted, “Because of the sign.”

“What sign?”

“The one that says, “School Ahead, Go Slow.”

Mr. Flemming rolled his eyes at the honestly, God awful dad joke. The rest of the class was a smattering of giggles, while the mysterious boy himself actually seemed to be smiling. Arry couldn’t help but smirk, gazing at her teacher with an air of challenge. “Please find a seat, Ms. Moretti. Be mindful in the future that we start at 8:30 sharp.” Again, these people acted as if she was intentionally late! Jeez, Forks must have something in the drinking water. Casting her eyes around the room, Arry’s heart stuttered when she realized that the only open seat was beside the boy from her dreams. Adjusting the strap of her backpack, she made her way to the back of the classroom. As she neared, his eyes seemed to grow darker, and it didn’t look as if he was breathing. Thinking it was just her natural sexual charm, Arry tossed her hair over her shoulders as she slid into the seat beside him.

The moment her ass had landed in the seat, the boy was up and out of his, running out of the classroom at an almost inhuman speed. “Mr. Hale!” Mr. Flemming protested, to no avail, as the boy was already out of earshot. Arry inconspicuously sniffed her shirt, hoping that it wasn’t her own bad scent that had sent him reeling. At least she could put a name to the delicate face—Hale. Now, instead of giggles, the class was murmuring. Hearing the sound of chair scraping against tile, Arry turned to see a different boy in the seat beside her. He had thick, unruly hair that was the colors of a sunset and his warm eyes were framed by thick, hipster glasses. Arry gave him a look, “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Pete. Sorry about Blondie—he and his family are kinda weird.” The kid—Pete, apparently, held out his hand for a shake. Arry dutifully shook it, still giving him a dubious eye. “I’m Arry. Why, uh, why did you sit here?”

“Being a new kid sucks. Thought I could give you some company. Also, I saw the Kingdom Hearts pin on your bag and I knew we were destined to be friends; no one else around here has even heard of it!” Pete was a little bit over giddy, but there was something calming about it.

“Well, I could use someone to show me around. These buildings are way too confusing and big for a small town, and this shitty map for sure doesn’t help anything.” Arry lifted up the obviously photo-copied map of the campus on far too large green construction paper. Pete pulled the corner of the map, turning it to the other side. It had been upside down. Arry wanted to die. “Okay, in my defense, I am also too short to see through the crowds of giants.”

“Fair,” Pete nodded in acknowledgement, “I, myself, am not much taller than you, but I can put on this totally aggressive expression that makes people part like the red sea. There’s just something about me that screams murderer, I think.” It sounded like he was proud of it. “Anyway, I can show you around. And you can sit with my crew for lunch. Finally, we can fill the table so we don’t have some rando stealing the last seat so they can stare at us for the duration of lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Arry agreed, not fully understanding what she was getting herself into. Luckily for her, Pete had the next two classes (Biology and Statistics) with her, so the transition between each class and into lunch was an easy one. Pete was a little off, but he was nice, and seemed like a good enough guy to befriend in a shitty hick town, where she was sure there were worse people. The lunch room was packed with kids and loud chatter, and the food was mediocre. Which is why, Pete explained, that he brought his own lunch every day. Plus the fact that there was no vegan options, except for salad, which ‘sucked’, apparently.

Arry loaded up her own plate with mashed potatoes and some shifty looking chicken nuggets, subconsciously eyeing the rest of the room for her mystery guy. He was nowhere to be seen, so far, so resigned, she joined Pete’s table and tried to pay attention to the introductions being thrown at her in a spitfire fashion. “This is Amber. She’s the cool one,” Pete gestured to the girl beside him, who had the most colorful hair she had ever seen, and who was deeply entrenched in snapchat filters. He pointed to the somewhat plain, but fun looking person beside her. “That’s Casey. She wants to be a surgical assistant when she graduates.” Casey waved in greeting. Pete gestured to the girl at the far end of the table, who was watching a very loud music video that seemed to be in Korean. “And that’s Iva. Iva lives and dies for K-pop.” Pulling out a container from his backpack, Pete popped the sides open to reveal cucumber sushi. Of course Pete made sushi.

The lunchroom simmered into a quiet hush, causing Arry to look up from the dissection of her chicken nuggets. All eyes were on the doorway where five kids were entering in an overly dramatic fashion. “Who are they?” Arry nudged Pete, who was wolfing down two pieces of sushi at a time. “Those are the Cullens and Hales, respectively. They live together and bang, which is super weird, but to each their own.” He named each one as they came out; they were easy to distinguish despite the fact that they were all oddly pale and held otherworldly beauty. The first was a couple, one an excessively tall lumberjack type who had a shit eating grin on his face and the classically gorgeous number on his arm. “That’s Rosalie and Emmett. They’re the classic perfect, popular couple.”

Next was another couple, the first a boy with rusty colored hair and creepily intense eyes. He seemed to be amused by something that no one else could hear. The girl he was with, herself, didn’t match the rest, although she was pale, but she was sheepish, and curled in on the boy as if he was her lifeline. “That’s Edward and Bella Swan. They’re a newer couple, and obviously, Bella isn’t related. They’re oddly intense for someone who just met last year.” Arry could agree that yes, they seemed fairly intense. The last through the door was no surprise, but it still made her heart race. God, he was so beautiful Arry could barely take her next breath. “And you know him, obviously. That’s Jasper. The only single one of the bunch. I tried to ask him out one time but then I started laughing because of his Southern accent, and he hates me forever now.”

“Jasper,” The name tasted like fate on Arry’s tongue.

Her attention distracted by the most beautiful boy in the entire world for longer than at least a minute, it took a couple good smacks on her shoulder from Pete to get her to pay attention. “Arry! Geez, you seemed to be in space for a moment there. There’s going to be a party at La Push tonight. You in?” The boy arched a brow and adjusted his glasses.

“La Push?” Arry’s brows furrowed in confusion. That sounded either like an eighteen plus gay club, or some terrible ointment crème for vaginal itch.

“It’s the beach down in Quileute lands. They’re the native tribe that resides in this part of Washington. It’s a pretty popular spot for the kids here, and usually everyone goes to parties there—everyone except them,” He gestured to the paler-than-natural kids secluded at their own two tables. “So…are you in?” Arry was thoughtful for a moment, teeth tearing at the corner of her lip.

“Yeah, sure.”

Arry had gotten herself into more than what she had bargained for. Not only were there about ninety nine point nine percent of her class there (almost all of which she did not know), there was also the kids from the school nearby. They were all drinking, more so the kids from Forks High, but, enough to make Arry slightly uncomfortable. Masses of drunken teens roaming were never her thing, especially when she didn’t know them. But, she told Pete she’d be here, so here she was, not that she saw him.

Oh, no. There he was. Seated around the fireside were Pete and the rest of her new ‘gang’, along with a smattering of darker skinned boys who, she guessed, were contractually obligated to be shirtless. Arry hated fireside hangouts, usually because they got too deep and personal too quick and honestly? They were a little overrated. Making her way over through the crowds of drunken kids, finally, since Pete was now waving frantically (and rather drunkenly) to get her attention, Arry reached the group and took her seat beside Pete. He was wrapped around a taller and far tanner boy who had to be part of the tribe. The boy himself looked rather uncomfortable, and not nearly enough drunk for the conversation Pete was having with him.

“Ya—ya see, I imprinted on you, Seth.” Pete burst into giggles, resting his face on the boy’s shoulder. “I can’t help but be around you. I’ll die if I don’t.”

Seth eyed Pete; he seemed reluctant and rather ruffled, but it didn’t seem like he didn’t want the advance—he actually seemed like he enjoyed it. “That’s not how it works. You’re not a wolf.”

Arry arched a brow, “Excuse me—what?” This was probably the weirdest conversation for her to walk into ever. She definitely wasn’t drunk enough for this.

Snagging a bottle from the cooler beside her log, she turned her attention to the boy who started to answer her question only after taking quite a long gulp of alcohol. “There’s a Quileute legend. That our—ancestors had the ability to transform into wolves when threatened.” He hiccupped, eyes wide with humor. “Quil!” A boy barked at the opposite end of the fire, clearly not wanting him to go on. This might actually be serious. Arry gestured for the hiccupping Quil to continue. “Threatened by what?”

“The Cold Ones.” Quil said with as eerie a tone as a drunken person could. “They’re—they’re vampires. Leeches; pale skin, impossibly cold. They suck innocent people dry just to—just to sustain themselves. There’s a rumor,” He gestured around the circle with his bottle, “That the Cullens are vampires. That older members of the tribe are turning into Spirit Warriors like our ancestors—“

“Quil!” The same boy commanded again, eyes narrowed and dark. “You need to shut your mouth before you say something Sam doesn’t like.”

“Who car-cares about Sam? He’s not my master, Jacob.” The kid practically snarled, bottle falling from his grip and smashing apart once meeting the wood of the log. Arry slid as far away from the two as she could, eyes wide with horror. What kind of party was this?

Jacob was shaking, eyes so dark that Arry could barely differentiate them from the sky above them. “Jacob!” Now a taller, definitely older man was among their midst. He seemed to command the very sand he walked on, tone serious and shoulders steady. Jacob snapped his head towards him, nostrils flaring. The man grabbed his arm and dragged him away; soon, in the distance, Arry could hear a pained howl. Across the fire, Quil jammed his palms into his eyes, seemingly in an immense amount of pain.

Within a flash second, Quil was stumbling in the direction that the other two boys had went. Seth himself seemed to be leaning into Pete’s hold, not that he had much of a choice as the kid had practically been duct taped to the other. Arry took another long swig from her bottle, meeting eyes with Iva over the glass. “Is it true?” She asked, once her mouth was no longer occupied.

Iva finished a text before she looked up again. “I—I don’t know. All I know is that the Cullens and Hales are really, really cold—and I’ve never seen them eat. Their eyes are weird colors and change every day. They’re not normal, at least.” With that, her eyes were glued to her screen once more, Arry being left to let her gaze wander to the trees. Something flittered through them; bright, moving just as she let her eyes settle. As if it didn’t want to be seen.

Excusing herself from the campsite, Arry held her bottle close as she walked to the edge of the beach, a whistling wind picking up as she brushed past the first few branches. “Hello?” She asked, feeling rather stupid talking to nothing. “Is anyone there?” Arry shivered, pulling her hoodie closer to her shoulders. The sound of wind whistled past, much closer to her ears; the crunch of leaves had her turn her head to look behind her.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be out here all by her lonesome.”

Snapping her head back, her next inhale faulted in her chest as she saw what was before her.

Jasper.

          There was something different about Jasper since Arry had last seen him. His eyes were darker, hungrier, and seemed to swallow any light that passed through them. She could barely breathe—the chill of the air plus the growing darkness in Jasper’s eyes sent chills up and down her spine.

          “A pretty lady can go anywhere she wishes all on her lonesome because this isn’t the 1800s where I need permission from my father to go into town,” Arry grew more bold and true to her core with the aid of liquor. “I could say the same to you. Why are you out here by yourself and why are your eyes black when last I saw they were golden?”

          “I don’t need protectin’.” Jasper’s brows furrowed, and he turned to the sound of a twig snapping nearby. “I should not be here.” He murmured more to himself, nose scrunched as if he had caught the scent of something foul. More twigs snapped underfoot, and deep growling erupted from the left of Arry. Not a moment later did a fucking gigantic wolf step into the moonlit clearing, teeth bared, and eyes trained on Jasper.

          Upon seeing the wolf, flanked by a few others, Arry fell into a trance and her bottle fell victim, as Quil’s had only minutes ago, smashing as it hit the forest floor. Pieces of shattered glass embedded themselves into nearby skin and Arry fell backwards into a pile of leaves, eyes rolled back.

          “The Olympic Coven has decided to keep two pet humans? How foolish of them when they already are gaining so much attention.” A woman with deathly pale skin and vibrant red hair snarled, eying Edward, who stood in front of a shaking Bella. “The Vultori will applaud my efforts. Two risks taken out at once, vampires saved from the brutalist ways humanity will react to the knowledge of them.” She stepped towards Edward for a moment, then turned to Arry herself. “Where is your protection, little dove? Who will save you?” Arry felt a cold, strong arm wrap around her neck and squeeze, cutting off the air supply to her lungs. “Silly, fragile mortal.”

          Coming to, Arry wheezed, unable to fill her lungs with any amount of necessary oxygen. The burning pain of the glass pressing into her skin was a sharp contrast to the pain numbing her head, skull having hit a rock as she fell to the ground. Attempting to sit up, all was silent except the ringing in her ears. Stars danced in front of Arry’s vision, eyes taking a moment to adjust. Once she could see again, she stumbled backwards, palms slick with blood. The three wolves stood against Jasper, Edward and some guy who was definitely one of them, but not someone she had met. The ringing in her ears faded to a dull roar and she could hear the conversation between the men.

          “Why are you here, Jasper, we needed you. Victoria got away!” Edward seemed as mean and upset and Arry could foresee him being, teeth bared to the wolves. “Sam wants to kill us and forgo the treaty!”

          “I am truly sorry but seein’ as I was distracted by a smell, I couldn’t do much other than followin’ my instincts.”

          “So, you followed the girl?”

          “As if you can speak on the matter when you have continuously risked all our lives for your precious Bella!”

          “Boys!” The stranger snapped, “We have bigger matters at hand. We must go before Sam acts on his wishes.”

          Jasper took one last look at Arry, nearly desperate with a hungry edge, before the three disappeared into blurs. Arry’s head fell back and connected with the rock once more and everything faded from view.

          When Arry woke again, she was lying in a bed that was not familiar. There was a smell of crackling wood in a fireplace and a distinct feeling of home, something her own usually lacked. Shifting so she was sitting in the bed, Arry looked to her left and saw a plate with eggs and bacon as well as a steaming mug of what she assumed to be coffee. Patting her pockets, Arry noticed that they were not her pockets and none of her belongings were inside, including her phone.

          About to whip the blanket back and stand, someone entered the room. The woman had darker skin and a very pleasant smile, eyes warm enough to settle Arry back into her seat. “I know you must be confused as to where you are. My name is Sue Clearwater and you were brought here after you were found in the forest. You took a pretty nasty fall, there, and the boys brought you here, so I could bandage you up.”

          “The boys?”

          “You were at the party, right? Quil, Sam and Jacob found you. You must’ve taken quite the fall. That’s what alcohol does to you.” The events of last night started to flood Arry’s mind; the party, the talk of spirit warriors and cold ones, the clearing, Jasper, the wolves, glass pressing into her skin. Sue abruptly stood, opening the door and calling for a Seth.

          Seth. The guy Pete was fondling at the party. The boy trotted into the room, all bright smiles, his eyes just as friendly as his mother’s. He pulled up a chair beside the bed and handed Arry the mug of coffee. “Here., You might want this.”

          “You’re the kid Pete was crawling all over yesterday.”

          Seth blushed, looking away for a moment as if he was hiding something. Arry didn’t know what or why. “Yeah. I’m Seth. You must be Arry.”

          “I am.” Arry sipped at the coffee, grateful for the warmth filling her empty stomach.

          “You must be overwhelmed. You saw a lot yesterday, didn’t you?”

          “You mean the wolves or the stories I heard?”

          “And you definitely have questions, which is what I’m here to answer. The pack thought I was the best person to talk to as apparently I’m the friendliest.” Seth seemed proud.

          “I don’t care about what’s going on. I want to go home.” She had just moved to town after all, and this was a bit too much. She missed New England, she missed normalcy. Little did she know the drama was just beginning.

          “You can’t go home.”

          “At least,” Seth chuckled, making this much less menacing, “Not until we know you won’t spill our secrets.” Why send an adorable kid to divulge the news when you can’t even take him seriously?

          “What do you want me to do, pinky swear?” Arry stared at Seth, arched brows, as she sipped at her mug of coffee. “Sign in blood that I won’t talk about giant wolves and cold dead teens? I just moved here, I don’t even have any friends yet, who am I going to tell?” She was going to redact her statement and say maybe she’d started to get to know some people, but no one enough to tell secrets to but was interrupted by the devil himself.

          Not literally the devil. Just the face of a very specific boy peering around the doorway with a pout on his lips “What about me? Are we not friends now, Arry?”

          “It’s been one day. Not even—”

          “Pete, we’re kind of having a serious conversation here.” Seth spoke with a certain amount of authority in his tone, but the blush totally deducted any seriousness in his aura.

          “A serious conversation without me? I’m offended. I am the king of serious conversations and dramatic stares.” Pete plopped down beside Arry’s feet on the bed, resting his own on Seth’s thigh.

          “What is Pete doing here? Is he also a victim of a very serious, very drunken fall?” Arry passed her gaze between the two, sensing that something had happened.

          “Oh, he didn’t want me to drive last night because I was wayyyyyy too drunk, so he brought me here and we snuggled all night.” Pete chirped, taking a drink from a smoothie Arry definitely didn’t notice before.

          “Okay, anyway,” Seth continued, a dark red blush painting the back of his neck, “You can’t tell anyone about what you saw or heard. The wolves, the vampires, nothing. It’s our job to keep the humans safe, and we can’t keep them safe if they’re worried about us hurting them.”

          “Well, then why are certain humans allowed to know?” Arry questioned, noting the fact that Bella Swan apparently knew, Pete knew, and now Arry knew and they wouldn’t do anything about it except tell them to not blab about it.

“A select few being in knowledge wouldn’t do anything. Just like wolves imprinting on humans, it doesn’t mean anything unless rumors spread and it gets more intense, more widely known. What do you think the masses of kids at Forks High would do if they found out that the Cullen’s were vampires?”

          He had a good point.” So, okay, fine, I won’t say anything. Is that what you wanted to hear? What about this Victoria chick that I heard Jasper and Edward name dropping?”

          Seth swallowed hard and dropped his gaze for a moment. “She-she’s this vampire on a mass killing spree. She’s kidnapped dozens of people from the Washington area, kids even. The Cullen’s think she’s building an army to attack us. To attack them.”

          Arry sat up further, sufficiently knocking Pete off balance and spilling a little smoothie down his shirt. “There’s some sort of evil vampire doing evil deeds out there and y’all are just sitting here doing nothing about it?”

          Seth furrowed his brows, “We’re not doing nothing about it. We were in shifts chasing her down, but as of last night she left state lines into Canada and she hasn’t come back. We think that it’s because she’s preparing for a final attack.”

          “And-and what’s the plan, Seth? Are you all going to fight an army of evil deranged vampires?” Arry gestured with her hands, a massive amount of coffee oozing into the light pink comforter wrapped around her. Pete hissed as a few drops landed near him, irritated by this, but not enough to actually pay attention. The kid was on his phone apparently snapchatting Amber with very bizarre face filters.

          “Edward came up with it last night after the party. Jasper is going to train us, he has history with newborns and we’re going to meet up every afternoon to train until we know Victoria is on the move, ready to strike.”

          At the mention of Jasper, Arry’s heart stuttered in her chest. What was it about that boy, apparently vampire, that made her feel so off? “Well, since I know about you all…can I come along to these meetings?”

          Seth made a face, “I-I don’t know…I’m not in charge. But—I can bring it up with Sam.” He fidgeted nervously with his hands.

          “What?” Pete asked, mouth full of bread that he somehow had snuck in here alongside the smoothie. “Can I come then, too? I wanna see giant wolves fight vampires!”

          Seth rolled his eyes, “That’s definitely not happening, how am I supposed to keep you safe and fight the newborns—Wait, I-I-I mean,” The kid lit up in a blush. “I’ll ask Sam, okay? Just, Jesus, okay.”

          “That settles it,” Arry looked over at Pete with an odd sort of smirk on her face, “We’re gunna see supernatural a piss match.”

          After scarfing down the offered breakfast and profusely thanking Sue for her lodge and care, Arry headed out with Pete and Seth back to the beach. Seemingly, Seth couldn’t drive, so the trio was walking through the rainy, eerie forest, which I mean, totally fun, right? Stomping through the woods in clothes that weren’t hers or comfortable was absolutely the best way to spend her day. Her Saturday, the first Saturday in this hellhole known as Forks.

          “Those are my sister’s clothes if you were wondering.” Seth offered, ever present friendly smile bright. She wasn’t. “At least clothes from when she was younger—she was actually a shorter kid until she had a growth spurt. Runs in the family.” Arry wasn’t exactly a fan of small talk but it would do instead of the awkward silence.

          “And what about mine?” Pete questioned, linking his arms with Seth, because it totally wasn’t overdone and obviously that the two liked one another.

          “They’re-they’re mine.” Seth blushed, ducking his head so his eyes were on the ground. There was that awkward silence Arry was so worried about. At least the crunching of the leaves underneath their feet made it slightly less quiet.

          Once the trio had reached the beach they were previously at, Arry stared at the door of her car until she realized she didn’t have her keys. Seth poked her shoulder to get her attention and smiled sheepishly when Arry finally looked at him. Seth had her keys. Of course.  Handing Arry her wallet and her keys, he held out her phone as well a second later. “I put my number in there, just so you wouldn’t ignore my text on whether or not you can come. And other information.”

          “Like if a psychopathic vampire bent on murder is in town again?” Arry arched her brow, sliding her phone into her pocket. She noticed notifications but wasn’t particularly in the mood to answer them.

          “Exactly.” Seth chirped. Waving to her, he made his way over to Pete’s car and Jesus, Arry could see the blush from here. Would those two just get together already? It hadn’t even been a full day of knowing them and yet their gross love story was vehemently obvious.

          The drive back to her new home was filled with silence and Arry’s thoughts. It was a little hard to comprehend the existence of both the undead and werewolves all at once; how they were much different from her preconceived notions of what those monsters were, how they could hide so well in the human population for years without those around them realizing what they really were. It perplexed Arry, truly. What perplexed her more was her immediate attraction to one; she had been attracted to him in a vision, for God’s sake, what was it about him that drew her towards him even now? She supposed it must be the evolutionary way that vampires got their victims: attraction.

          Pulling up to her house, Arry noted that neither of her parent’s vehicles were in the driveway; not that that was so unusual for them, she almost always was left alone to her own devices. She checked her phone: about a million texts from Teresa, one from Pete, and a call from her mother. Along with it was a nondescript voicemail stating that her parents would be out for a weekend long business convention up in Seattle and that Arry would be left by herself for the duration of that time. Sending a quick ‘sorry, I was asleep’ to Teresa’s fifth time of ‘are u even ALIVE GIRL’, Arry sighed and unlocked the front door to an eerie quiet house. It was odd that the cats weren’t making noises, but not particularly unusual.

          Throwing her wallet and keys on the counter, she got a glass, so she could pour herself some orange juice. Pausing while opening the fridge door, Arry let it close with a click behind her and she turned toward the living room. Someone was sitting on the couch, watching the television with the volume muted. Heart hammering in her chest, Arry approached the couch with careful steps, as if that would help anything. They stood as she met the doorway, one foot in the room, the other still outside, and she stared with wide eyes. Of course, it was Jasper, who else would it have been? (Other than a murdering vampire out to ruin the reputation of the coven of vampires that lived in her area.)

          “What are you doing here?” Arry asked, voice quivering. She couldn’t move; all she could do was stare into those once again golden irises, mesmerized.

          “It would have been impolite of me if I had not elected to check on you after I was the cause of your fall the other evenin’.” Jasper spoke, voice smooth and soft as honey. “Are you alright?”

          “I’m fine,” Arry’s brows furrowed, “But you could’ve asked me that when I was at the Clearwater House, not alone in my own home. Why didn’t you then?”

          “The Quileute’s and our Coven have had a treaty for centuries that we will not step on their land to hunt or for any other reason.” That explained what Edward and Jasper were talking about regarding a treaty, and Sam wanting to break it, last night. “So, I had to wait until you were off their lands to check on you. I could not exactly appear in your car while you were driving, least you crash.” He smirked, a mischievous look in his eyes.  

          “What this doesn’t explain,” Arry put her glass down on the coffee table, now so close to Jasper that she could smell him. Okay, what a creepy thought. “Is why you keep following me. Or why you ran away the first time we met. What is it that you want from me?” The question made her heart ache for a reason she couldn’t identify.

          “Well that answer is simple: I want you, darlin’.”

“Well, we all want things, Jasper, but that doesn’t mean we always get them. Also, that’s vague and creepy as hell.” was what Arry should have said, but instead, she replied with, “Wh-what do you mean?”

         Jasper took a few steps towards Arry, arms crossed, smirk seeming to be plastered onto his face. “Well, according to Carlisle, you are my ‘La tua cantante’ and therefore, it is quite hard to resist bein’ around you.”

  “I’m your singing tuna?” Alright, to be fair, Arry had had a long night, and she took ASL at her old school, not Italian. Also, who the fuck was Carlisle?

   Even Jasper’s laugh was melodic and smooth, making something in the deepest corner of her chest ache. “It means blood singer. That your blood sings for me like no other and it is a need runnin’ through my veins to bleed you dry.”

          Okay, well, that was fucking disturbing, but also kind of hot? Arry was conflicted on the matter, but as someone who casually idolized suicide, it was sort of an ideal situation to die by getting bitten by a hot dude who was blood horny for you.

          The blond appeared to sense the tension, approaching closer with tentative, silent steps. A cold, unyielding thumb brushed against Arry’s cheek, an expression of worshipping reverie held in shimmering, golden eyes. A shiver ran up her spine, but she could not look away from his gaze. “But I don’t find myself wantin’ to eat you so much as to be close to you. You are…an intriguing young lady.”

          “I’ve been told that quite a few times,” Arry spoke, breathless, losing herself in those eyes. A part of her, the more logical part knew that she probably shouldn’t feel so safe with someone who had admitted to wanting to literally suck her dry, but also, he was cute and nearly a foot taller than her? Decisions, decisions.

          There were definitely sparks between them, Arry’s heartbeat began to hammer in her chest, and she was sure that he could hear it with the way his eyes darkened and the smirk growing on his lips. He bent to her level, now infinitely closer, her breath ghosting on his lips, his chest ever nonmoving. Inches from each other, Arry leaned in to press their lips together in a kiss when her phone went off in her pocket, causing her to jump and smash the top of her head into his.

          Groaning and rubbing at her probably bruised scalp, Arry gave Jasper an apologetic look as she pulled out her phone, brushing through the messages. It was another concerned text from Teresa, one from Pete, and a text from Seth who, for some reason, entered his full name as a contact, confirming that Sam gave her permission to join them at the training that was happening tonight.

          “So,” Arry posed, eyes meeting Jasper’s again, “Are you going to the training thing tonight, too?” Which, admittedly, she knew after the fact would be a stupid question, because, duh, who else would be going? Some imaginary other vampire family she had made up as a delusion? Likely, as she did hit her head.

          Either way, Jasper seemed amused, eyes glowing as he looked down at her. “I will be attending’, of course, as I will be the teacher of sorts in the fine art of destroyin’ newborn vampires.” Okay, woah. Where did Jasper get that kind of history? Almost as if he had read her mind, he continued to speak. “I have a lot of red in my ledger, and this will be an attempt to remove some of it.” He stopped there, however, Arry was more curious and arched a brow as if to ask him to delve deeper.

          “When I was first turned, a woman played with my heart strings as a corrupt puppeteer and in creatin’ her army, I was also given the task to get rid of those who did not last. My experience is unrivaled to anyone else’s, as I killed numerous newborns. I remember each and every one.” Something in his features grew hard, and Jasper looked more stoic than she’d ever seen him before.

          An awkward silence was blooming, and Arry couldn’t help but feel as though it was her fault. Gaze now on the floor instead of Jasper’s hypnotic golden eyes, Arry lost some of her courage, but was still as steadfast as ever. “Since you’re going, and the Pack has already said that they are okay with me coming, would you mind if I went with you?” It was new and fresh, but she couldn’t help but feel as though whatever was going on between them was something serious.

          Jasper’s hardened face brightened, and he was almost smiling, “It would be my genuine pleasure.” He offered Arry a hand, and awkwardly, she shook it, not sure as to why this was happening. There was that laugh again. “No, no, it’s just more efficient if I carry you.”

          “Uh, what?”

          “Vampires have superspeed. Did no one tell you?” No, no one told Arry anything about anything, in general, but what the fuck ever because now he was lifting her onto his shoulders, and they were broad, and he was cold, but also soft, and honestly, Arry didn’t much enjoy being manhandled, but this was nice.

Okay, she enjoyed being manhandled. “Not that I mind the whole no physical distance thing, but where exactly are we going via your very fast, very dead legs?”

“The meetin’. Jasper explained, hooking Arry’s limbs tighter around him. “It’s happenin’ any moment now, and I can’t miss it.” Without another word, they were flying out the door and Arry was left wondering if they should have locked it before they left, or if it really mattered when the worst out here were murderous vampires hell bent on revenge that could definitely break in, clearly, whether there was a lock or not.

It was a debate for another time.

There was something oddly comforting about riding a vampire, and before your mind immediately lands in the gutter, it was meant in the least sexual way possible. It was also partially terrifying, but feeling the cool breeze against your skin, the immoveable flesh beneath you, it was almost like you were invincible. Arry didn’t mind this one bit, and perhaps, she would jot this down as her preferred mode of transportation. Alas, all things had to come to an end, and after about ten minutes of running, Jasper began to slow down and eventually, stopped in a clearing. Arry could hear voices in a brief distance, so she was mildly confused as to why they stopped where they did, but, she kept her silence as she dropped from the blonde’s back and stretched her limbs, which now that she thought about it, felt a bit numb.

Jasper turned toward her, eyes alit with an emotion she could not read, and interlocked their fingers together. Arry wasn’t used to the feeling of his skin quite yet, couldn’t comprehend how it felt so smooth and hard at the same time, like a diamond, but understood when they stepped through a patch of sun—the undead man lit up and sparkled as though he was coated in glitter, and Arry knew then that she would be helpless to resist him. I mean, c’mon, who could resist someone who looked like a jewel!

“I just wanted to warn you, before the training. It might be a bit tense—the wolves and us aren’t really on good terms at the moment, both because of the Bella Jacob Edward love triangle and because of last night. It would probably be best if we weren’t seen being affectionate.” It was…definitely weird to hear that coming from someone Arry literally met a day and a half ago, as she wasn’t particularly affectionate with people she wasn’t close to, but even she could admit that she was already attached to the vampire. Which was probably dangerous and not at all a good idea, but yolo, right?

“I’ll try to my best to keep my hands off of you,” Arry replied, lips turning up in a smirk. Hey, she was a natural flirt, alright? It was part of her innate charm. Responding with a smirk of his own, Jasper released their hands, offering a press of lips to her knuckles; the contrast of their skin tones were alarming, but not enough to make Arry step away. “If you’d be so kind,” Jasper gestured for her to step out into the clearing first, not wanting for it to seem like they arrived together. How she would’ve arrived otherwise, Arry had no idea, but the looks on the other’s faces told her that they knew who she was with, and what had just transpired. One could guess that supernatural beings had super hearing, but did a non-supernatural being ever think about it? Probably not.

Sitting down beside Pete, who’s hand was fist deep in a wolf’s fur (she assumed Seth’s), Arry stuck her hands in her pockets, eyes travelling around the circle audience. There were about a dozen wolves, most of which she wouldn’t even try to guess who they were, on one side and the Cullen’s on the other side of the clearing. Neither group seemed particularly comfortable, and the wolves definitely stiffened when Jasper joined the rest of them, sending a knowing glance to Arry. Alright, perhaps she loved and stanned. “Have I missed anything?” She stage whispered to Pete, who seemed oddly out of it and less chirpy than she was used to. Pete shook his head, “They’ve mostly just been staring and growling slash hissing at one another. This is not as fun as I thought it’d be.” It was tense, so Arry would be quick to agree.

Arry watched as Edward and who she presumed to be Carlisle speak quietly to one another before the older man spoke out loud to the group. “Jasper has experience with newborns. He’ll teach us how to defeat them.” It was silent for a moment, then, Edward’s voice echoed through the trees.

“They want to know how newborns differ from us.”

“They’re a great deal stronger than us, because their own human blood lingers in their tissues. Our kind is never more physically powerful… … than in our first several months of this life.” Carlisle elaborated, then gestured at Jasper to continue.

“Carlisle’s right. That’s why they are created. A newborn army doesn’t need thousands like a human army. And no human army could stand against them. The two most important things to remember are, first… Never let them get their arms around you. They’ll crush you instantly. The second… Never go for the obvious kill. They’ll be expecting that. And you will lose.” Jasper had been pacing to and fro in front of the audience while he spoke, only pausing now as he gave instructions. “Now, pair up, one wolf to one vampire. I will inspect each bought in turn and give tips where necessary.”

Arry wasn’t one much for violence, and even if she was, she wouldn’t be able to truly see what was going on—the skirmishes were thoroughly too fast for her to be able to watch. Thus, she turned to Pete and conversed. This was the structure to two days after this—waking up, stuffing a backpack full of food for her and Pete, Jasper picking her up and small bit of romance between moments of training. She honestly didn’t understand how the wolves and vamps weren’t exhausted (perhaps they were, and she just couldn’t tell?), but with the tension growing more and more each day, Arry knew that they didn’t have the time to be exhausted.

The fifth day of living in Forks, Arry kind of actually had to go school, since the weekend was over. Shoving her backpack full of school supplies instead of snacks, Arry paused with her grasp around the strap, eyes rolling back into her head as she was sent into a trance.

The crunch of boots against leaves. A flash of pale, sparkling skin. Hair that seemed as though it was in flames. A figure outside Bella’s room, staring at her from the shadows. Blood splattering, a faint scream in the distance.

Breathing heavily as she came back to, Arry rubbed at her eyes before fishing her phone at out of her pocket, fingers shaking as she dialed the number. “Jasper, she’s coming. Soon. Today.”

So much for going back to school, right?

Not a moment later was Jasper running into the kitchen, arms wrapping around and securing Arry to his side, so the trance wouldn’t send her tumbling. “What did you see, darlin’?” She had honestly never heard him so concerned, and that sent a certain warmth blooming in her chest. “It was Victoria. She was watching Bella, she—she’s coming, Jas, she’s almost here. I heard—I heard Bella die,” Well, that was quite the uplifting start to one’s morning. Without a word, Jasper plucked Arry up into his arms and resumed the past few days’ ritual—arriving in the clearing, the vampire knelt down and deposited Arry beside Seth, who’s hands were stuffed in his pocket, concern very evident on his features. “Watch her. We must formulate a plan.” Seth nodded wordlessly, and Jasper sped off. Brushing her hair out of her face, Arry looked up at the kid, some sort of sass unable to roll off her tongue like it normally could. Her mouth felt dry, and she kind of wanted to throw up. Whatever, it was going to be okay, right? What could a murderous vampire do if it hadn’t done much of anything already?

“Did you really see Bella die?” When Seth spoke, it was clear that he felt just as scared as Arry did in that moment.

“I can’t be positive, but she was watching her. I heard a scream and I saw blood. Visions aren’t always helpful, I mostly see what I would see from my own perspective. I’m sorry—I don’t know.” Arry curled up into herself, tucking her knees underneath her and kept her eyes on the horizon. Seth stayed silent after that.

Minutes later, but what felt like grueling hours, Jasper returned, brows furrowed and stance one of irritation. “Arry, we’re going to have Seth carry you up the mountain to mask your scent. Hopefully this keeps you safe from Victoria, as we are attempting with Bella. I cannot leave you by yourself, though, certainly not with her on the loose. Who knows what she and her army are capable of?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Arry sighed and stood on shaky legs, allowing Seth to lift her into his arms, which was actually a little impressive, because he wasn’t a particularly buff looking fellow, but, again, there must be something in the water here in Forks. Resting her cheek against Seth’s shoulder, Arry watched his profile. “Don’t you think Pete will get jealous?” Well, at least she could still tease. That part of her was safe.

Seth’s cheeks heated with heady blush, and it was clear that Arry had ruffled him. “Probably, but he’s still asleep. You wouldn’t tell him, right?” Ha, and not see her new friends get in a bit of drama? As if! This was a tea friendly household, after all.

“Why is he still asleep? School started an hour ago, right?”

“We kind of went camping to find a spot for Bella and Edward to hide when Victoria’s army comes. He’s still crashed out.” Arry wanted to voice the implications of that statement but couldn’t bring herself to continue teasing the young wolf. Whatever Pete and Seth did in their free time while remaining vigilant about evil vampires was their business—and, Pete would probably tell her later.

          Once they reached their destination, Arry was again placed on the ground. Edward stood in front of Bella, though he relaxed in posture when he saw that it was just her and Seth. Arry stood off to the side, trying to shake away her fear. There was just a sort of feeling in the air, as though something was going to happen that none of them were expecting. As though she was forgetting something important. Edward and Seth stiffened all of a sudden, and Arry was sure that they could hear something she couldn’t. Bella watched Edward’s features with a gaze full of fear, and he spoke to her in low tones. Seth moved to Arry’s side. “Victoria’s here. I’m going to shift so that I can fight if anyone comes up here.” Seth squeezed Arry’s arm and disappeared behind the trees, returning moments later in wolf form.

          It couldn’t be thirty minutes later that Arry started to shiver, both the cold and the ominous feeling getting to her more than she’d like. Seth gave her a sympathetic look before his head snapped towards the entrance to their little alcove, teeth bared and growling. Following his gaze, Arry stepped backwards and nearly tumbled, eyes wide with fear. It wasn’t her, wasn’t Victoria, no, but it was a man who was clearly a vampire and his red eyes did not bode well for them, as she knew that the gold meant something entirely different.

          “She knew you’d be with me,” Edward seems shaken, hearing things that the others could not. “Riley… Listen to me. Victoria’s just using you, to distract me. But she knows I’ll kill you. In fact, she’ll be glad she doesn’t have to deal with you anymore.” The red eyed immortal appeared to hesitate, words resonating somewhere within him. Victoria emerged from the woods, beside Arry and Seth.

          “Don’t listen, Riley. I told you about their mind tricks.” Victoria’s voice is more frightening than Arry previously guessed, and it had her heart racing to be so close to the bad intentioned vampire.        

          “I can read her mind, so I know what she thinks of you.”

          “He’s lying.”

          “She only created you and this army to avenge her true mate, James. It’s the only thing she cares about. Not you.”

          “There’s only you. You know that.” Riley’s eyes lock with Victoria’s, and while for a moment, there seemed to be doubt in his gaze, it’s gone within a second. Victoria turns from him to the two beside her, small smirk growing as she saw that Arry was there, and in fact, a disposable blood bank. At least, that’s what Arry assumed. “Riley, distract Edward, please.” It happened within a flash—Victoria flung Seth against the rock face to the left and the boy howled in pain and went limp, while Riley held Edward in a headlock, the man struggled to fight against his hold, practically roaring as he glared at Victoria, who is only getting closer to Arry and Bella.

          “The Olympic Coven has decided to keep two pet humans? How foolish of them when they already are gaining so much attention.” Victoria addressed them, gaze flashing with malice.  “The Vultori will applaud my efforts. Two risks taken out at once, vampires saved from the brutalist ways of humanity.” She took a step towards Bella for a moment, then turned to Arry herself. “Where is your protection, little dove? Who will save you?” Arry felt a cold, strong hand wrap around her neck and squeeze, cutting off the air supply to her lungs. “Silly, fragile mortal.” Victoria tightened her grip, tongue lapping at dry, cracking lips. She was meant to be her dinner, wasn’t she? Arry slammed her eyes shut, fearful but welcoming her evident demise when, out of nowhere, the hand released her, and she crumpled in a heap on the ground.

          Gasping and blinking away tears, Arry struggled for breath. It was a blur, tears still soaking her vision, but she saw a golden-haired angel slam Victoria into the ground, groaning with effort as they attempted to shove her further into the patchy snow-covered earth. Victoria rotated and kicked out, the angel flying backwards and crashing through a few trees. The red head returned to her and Arry felt a sharp pain against her shoulder, suddenly weak, and cried out as poison pumped through her veins. The pin prick feeling against her skin was gone, but the pain remained, and Arry felt as though she was on fire. She couldn’t help but scream, back arching as she fell, spasming on the ground.

          There were sounds of battle around her, the crack of what sounded like two rocks colliding, and then the angel was in front of her, cold hands against her overheated skin. “Get Carlisle! She’s turning—Edward, please!” Edward and Bella disappeared and were replaced with what she thought was Seth and Pete, Pete groggily wiping at his eyes. “What’d I miss—holy shit, Arry!” He knelt beside her and grasped uselessly at her wound, eyes wide with fear. “It-it’s going to be okay,” She murmured in an attempt to wipe fear from his face, but it only made him panic. The pain reached a whole new level, and Arry let out a blood curdling scream before everything went black.

When Arry came to, everything felt…different. Before, she needed glasses or contacts to correct her vision, and had trouble hearing if she wasn’t paying close enough attention. Opening her eyes now, knowing she had neither glasses nor contacts on, Arry saw more than she ever had before. She could see particles of dust floating in front of her, the slight flickering of a lightbulb all the way across the room. She could hear conversation downstairs, birds chirping deeper in the forest. Arry felt new, and studier, and moreover, more than anything else, Arry felt starved. Her stomach ached, and it felt like the back of her throat was burning. She heard a steady thrum and the fire ignited, having her running before she even knew it, dashing out the window and across a lawn she had never seen before, and into the tree line. Arry’s body drove her forward instinctually and stopped only when it found what it was looking for. A man, hiking in the woods, nose huge and face looking similar to that of a pug’s.  Dashing up to him, Arry’s teeth tore into his throat and he let out a screech, hands pushing against her. Minutes passed as the new vampire drained him dry, gulping the life force from him. The man collapsed like a sack of potatoes against the forest floor, and Arry spared a moment’s glance to his name tag—which read JASON in all caps—before there were others upon her. Specifically, Jasper and Carlisle, one of whom looked utterly horrified, and the other actually smirking a little, as though he was proud of her. “Well, looks like she won’t need adjustin’, Carlisle.”

The trio returned to the house after they had covered the corpse with copious amounts of branches and the like, hoping that the man was unknown enough to not matter or for it to be a while before he was found. The course of the next week was spent teaching Arry the ropes—what she could do, what she was, and what she should eat; the evenings were spent in more fun ways, but the narrator is not one to divulge upon his friend’s sex life—let’s just say that the Major quickly laid claim to the girl upon her being turned, despite the negative circumstances.

Arry returned to her own home the following Sunday, knowing that her parents wouldn’t have even noticed that she gone, or even had come home themselves. There was a new note on the fridge replacing the one she had seen over a week ago, stating that her parents were gone for the month now, and honestly, Arry was not surprised. She literally died and came back to life and they hadn’t noticed. Unable to sleep, for obvious vampiric reasons, Arry spent the evening going about the house and cleaning and organizing, actually unpacking the remaining boxes left behind. She also made sure to properly feed before school, taking down a rather aggressive mountain lion and relishing in the feeling of the hunt. Perhaps she was a little to quick to the vampire lifestyle, but let’s all be honest here, it was definitely easier and more fun than being a human.

The following day started off almost as though she was still human—Arry drove to school and was actually early to class, delighted upon seeing Pete already sitting down. He hadn’t seen her since Victoria’s attack, and she could tell that he had missed her if the tight hug was any indication. “Thank God you’re okay, they said you would just turn, but I was so worried,” Pete sighed, releasing the other, “At least you’re calm enough that you aren’t trying to eat me.”

“Blood lust is somehow easier than everyone makes it seem. I only kind of want to rip out your throat,” Arry supplied, joking, though Pete did arch his brow in question. “What’d I miss? Did you and Seth finally get together?”

Pete literally lit up like a candle, and Arry knew that they had, “After the Cullens took you, it kind of all snowballed from there. Sam was pissed off but when he realized, by listening to Seth’s recollection of what happened, that you hadn’t been turned intentionally, they couldn’t do much. Seth and I snuck away, and we cuddled all night. And then, like, two days ago, we fucked, but I digress. We’re dating, and I missed you so fuckin’ much.” Arry was pulled into another hug and honestly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Between classes, Pete took a bathroom break and Arry murdered an annoying ass student who wouldn’t stop talking about his new hair behind the gym, but ya know, we all have our own breaks, and sometimes you just had to murder people named DeShawn who wouldn’t shut the fuck up. By the time Lunch rolled around, Arry was feeling more at ease and definitely satiated since her meal, sitting comfortably at her table of friends. Casey was oddly not there, and instead someone named Jordan was sitting in her place which Pete explained by saying that ‘they were contractually obligated to replace Casey because she was a boring character’. Arry also had a pleasant call with Teresa, who was beyond delighted to see that Arry was not dead after not having answered her calls for the past week, and who announced that she would be coming to visit in the next two weeks. Life was looking up, and already, Arry could tell that she would enjoy life more now that there was a bit of spice in it. Being undead kind of did that.

The cafeteria fell into a hush and if Arry’s heart could still beat, she knew that it would be racing—the girl knew what was coming next. The Cullen family entered the room in their usual dramatic procession, followed on the rear by none other than Jasper, who immediately met eyes with Arry across the room. Racing toward him, failing to control her new speed, Arry launched herself at him and he plucked her up, lifting her above him and spinning her around, laughing. “Well, good morning to you too, darlin’.”

Arry realized that this was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Luckily, she had just that. The future was looking bright.

                                                                   THE END

[murdocklovespage]

Alright, guys, I’m feeling pretty restless with the many multi-fics I’m writing right now. This is from a story that isn’t going to see the light of day for at least four months (if ever) and I just wanted to post it for happiness. 

Some context: Karen and Matt aren’t dating (yet) and they go back to her childhood home to look into something sketchy (not fully sure what that is just yet) with her family. She thinks he’s taking a nap in her bedroom and she goes into her treehouse after getting into a fight with her mother. 

The Treehouse

Karen heard a knock on the floor and wondered who was on the other side. Certainly not her mother- she had never entered Kevin and Karen’s wooden home away from home. She had always assumed it was because Penelope Page wouldn’t be caught dead climbing a tree, coupled with the fact that her 1950′s-looking Stepford dresses might get wrinkled if she had to sit on the floor. That was one of the many benefits of having a treehouse. Most of the other perks involved her brother, which made it all the more painful to spend time in her childhood hideaway, but she could take that pain. It never really left her anyway. 

She lifted the hatch and saw her favorite pair of brown eyes. “What’s the password?” she said in her best secretive voice.

He stroked his chin as he contemplated the answer. “I love Matt Murdock?”

“Nice try, buddy. But boys are stupid and I don’t even know who that is.”

“Damn,” he chuckled as she gasped sarcastically at his bad language. “Could you ignore my lack of knowledge of the secret password just this once if I had something to offer? Like snacks?”

“I’m listening,” she said as if she was meditating on his answer. He smiled like he was completely aware that he had found an in. Matt Murdock knew the way to her heart, and the path was littered with salt and sugar. He pulled two small yellow packages from his pocket and held them out to her like they were gold.

Karen’s eyes lit up. “Ok, Murdock, you can come up. Just this once.”

He smiled, deftly tossing them over her head and climbing the remaining steps. She scooped up the packages and went back to her corner, patting the space next to her and ripping one of them open. “Where did you find these?”

“They were shoved at the back of your second desk drawer. I hope you don’t mind. I woke up hungry and I could smell them from your bed.”

“I was going to say, my mother never let us have Gushers. But that means that I bought them, so they must be at least…. six years old?”

He laughed. “Oh, they’re well past the expiration date. But these super-senses tell me that they’re still good. Thank God for processed sugar.”

That was all she needed to dive into her package, pulling out a soft green hexagon that was filled red Iiquid and popping it into her mouth. “Mmmm. Just as good as I remembered.”

He opened his package and ate one, giggling as the sourness spread over his tongue. “We never had these at the orphanage, and before that, name brands were few and far between in the Murdock household.”

Karen nodded. “Penelope was always of the mindset that sugar led to fat, and God forbid her daughter gain a pound from anything that made her happy.” She knew she was being pretty harsh with her mother, but after their fight, she didn’t care. 

Matt shook his head. He never had to worry about his weight as a kid, but if he was being honest, a full meal was a little hard to come by. He couldn’t imagine growing up in the environment his friend had lived in, though. The moment he walked into the Page household, he felt stifled. Her description of the woman he’d just met definitely didn’t sound like an exaggeration. 

“So, Ms. Page. Now that you have the wisdom of your years, what advice would you give little Karen Page?

“Hmmm… that’s a good question.” She licked her lips and sank back into the crook of Matt’s arm, leaning her head on his shoulder as he sank further into her makeshift pillow couch. He popped another Gusher into his mouth and smiled at the new flavor. “I don’t think any amount of preparation would help me with my last few years here, so I think I’d try to assuage her fears about things she was actually worried about.”

Matt smiled. “Makes sense.”

“I’d probably tell her that bra shopping gets so much better when your mother isn’t judging you for being slutty because you like a little lace.”

She looked up at him and saw his eyes grow wide as she gave him that tidbit of information. “Believe me, you had it much better growing up as the opposite gender. I think I spent 90 percent of my teen years feeling completely mortified. I asked Kevin if he felt the same once and his look said it all.”

He nodded as she continued. “I’d probably tell her that most of the men I come in contact with in my adult years are much more handsome and far more interesting than Bobby Dresden. But that bar was pretty low.”’ She cringed as she said the name of her former crush. Every time she remembered the moments she wasted on that 16-year-old little shit, a familiar scowl returned to her face.

“Any in particular?” he flashed a smile at her and she felt herself cuddle against him without meaning to. It was enough of a move to end his cockiness immediately, and he realized his breaths were more measured as he wondered how much fruit snacks gave one bad breath. 

“I can think of at least one,” she flirted. “Hmmm… I think I’d tell her that sex isn’t a bad thing and she’ll actually grow to like it. Everything I learned from my mother was basically a scare tactic that was passed down from her mother before her. That side of the family is especially repressed.”

“I never thought I’d be talking about Karen Page’s sex life in her childhood treehouse, but this trip has already revealed a wealth of information I couldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams. Tell me more about these lacy bras that are lining your drawers back in New York, Ms. Page.”

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and shook her head quickly. “Not a chance, Murdock!” She felt like she was fourteen years old again, coming to the realization that boys were interested in flirting with her and responding with straight nerves instead of confidence. The fact that she was already cuddling with him didn’t even register. 

“I had to try.” He gave her a sideways smile and rubbed her shoulder. “Is that everything?”

“I think the final piece of advice would be… Don’t let the boys make fun of you for loving Bonne Bell lip gloss.” She chuckled at how superficial it sounded. “Enjoying the little things is what got me through some of my most difficult moments…” 

She thought about the moment at Kevin’s funeral when she found her strawberry lipgloss in the pocket of her black sweater. The last time she’d worn it had been at her favorite grandfather’s funeral just years before. She and Kevin had passed it between the two of them at the reception, putting it onto their lips and licking it off like it was their last meal. She never knew why pâté and caviar were the only foods offered at her parent’s shindigs, but she thought they were disgusting and so did Kevin. She had burst into tears the moment she found the little tube, distracting the minister as he was describing the tragedy of a child gone too soon, and garnering the worst glare she had ever received from her mother. 

That was the moment she decided she was going to leave Fagan Corners and never come back. But here she was, yet again. 

At least she had Matt. 

He could sense her shift in demeanor and tried his best to bring her back to a happy subject. “You mean those artificially flavored chapsticks?”

“Yeah. I should have known you’d be a snob. Artificially flavored,” she mocked.

“Hey, I’m not knocking them!” he justified. “I’m fairly positive my first kiss was made more enjoyable for the very fact that her lips tasted like strawberry.”

Karen giggled. “That’s pretty damn classic if I say so myself. Strawberry was always the best flavor.”

“It didn’t taste much like real strawberries, but it was definitely memorable.”

“So how did little Matt Murdock’s first kiss go?”

“That was less memorable. Her name was Caroline Carter, and I liked her up until that moment. I was ten and it was at recess…” his brain took him back to the smell of tire swings and bark dust as he remembered the time he usually spent getting ahead of the class with whatever subject he needed practice with “I was kind of a loner back then, and her friends definitely dared her to do it. None of the kids knew that I could hear from that far away.” He said wistfully. “Anyway, she put some of that stuff on her lips and tapped me on the shoulder. It lasted a whole two seconds and then she shouted, “they dared me to do it, Matt!” The next thing I knew, she was embarrassed and running away from me. Her friends thought it was pretty funny.”

Karen could sense his sadness as he shrugged. “Wait, you think that she did it–”

“Because she had to? Yeah.”

She laughed lovingly under her breath, which caught him off guard. “Oh Murdock, you don’t know girls at all. That was not a pity kiss.”

“How do you know? Have you been having secret conversations with my grade school classmates?”

“No, but I was a little girl once. Here’s how I know she wanted to do it. First off, grade school girls aren’t mean to their friends – that sort of thing comes out around middle school– and daring someone to kiss a boy in order to embarrass them is the last thing they’d care about–”

“Well, they definitely dared her to–”

“Because they knew she liked you, Matt. They were doing her a solid because she wanted to kiss you.” He tilted his head as he thought about the likelihood of that being true. She continued. “You’re sure she put on the lipgloss right before kissing you?”

“Yeah, I distinctly remember hearing her do that.” He could hear the clicking of the top and the way his hands shook as she walked over to him while rubbing her lips together.

“Because she wanted it to be good for you, Matt. She definitely didn’t do it for her. And last but not least, she wasn’t embarrassed about having to kiss you, she was nervous. Because she liked you. And her friends were probably giggling because they were happy for her. And because they were little girls.”

“Really? You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Did you talk to her again?”

“Not really. I kind of kept my distance after that. I didn’t think she actually liked me.”

“Wow, Matt, that’s pretty depressing. You really think people didn’t like you when you were a kid?”

“I was always treated differently,” he said sadly. “first I was the kid who was blinded in an accident and then my dad was killed… I didn’t have a lot of friends.”

Karen’s eyes filled with tears at her friend’s confession. “I’m so sorry, Matt. It sounds like you missed out on a childhood.”

He shrugged. There wasn’t much he could say about that. It was definitely true.

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him into a hug as she looked up at him and smiled. 

“I would have loved to have been your friend.”