#And I accidentally sliced myself between the fingers (and on the tongue) multiple times before but did that stop me? Absolutely fucking not

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Something tells me it’s not normal to want to use the top of your hand and your fingers as a chew toy

[bunnyywritings]

unconventional dates and kisses

tsukishima kei x fem!reader

𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 - 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 - 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥

[a/n: sorry for the wait but it’s finally here, part 3 of hollow words and misunderstandings, enjoy! -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

Things were different after the summer training camp. Akiteru could tell that his little brother was...different. It was a good change but it was a change all together. He wasn’t as on edge as he used to be, he was more content. No matter how much he pried and pressed, Kei kept his lips sealed.

It was the same with you. Your parents couldn’t help but notice that you were happier and less stressed when you got home from volleyball practice. They didn’t really ask much, they were just happy to see you happy.

There was a couple days before the start of the Spring High tournament. Everyone was definitely a mix of being super pumped but also terrified.

Practice had ended on a relatively high note, everyone cleaned up and went to change. The usual two were persistent on staying for extra practice, Yachi staying to help them too. You here back in your school uniform and waiting for Tsukishima to finish changing, practically shaking with nerves. Neither of you had explicitly announced your relationship but everyone suspected that there was something going on. Yamaguchi was the first to figure it out and confront the both of you before being sworn to secrecy. It was hard for the others to tell since neither of you were super affectionate during school hours or during practice.

Little did they know, it was the small things that they hadn’t noticed that were painfully obvious indicators.The both of you walking side by side after practice or sitting with each other during lunch, pinkies hooked. Or the gentle smiles and soft eyes that you two shared when no one else was looking or was around. Him buying you a drink from the vending machine or you sharing your breakfast with him after morning practice was over. The whispered sweet nothings and tender kisses shared when he walked you to the corner where you both went your separate ways at the end of the night.

Tonight, however, practice had ended earlier as promised by Ukai and you and Tsukishima planned to go on a date. A convenience store date but it was honestly all you guys had time for.

“What are you gonna do with your extra time, (y/n)?” You jumped when Suga had popped up beside you.

“Oh well I-I was thinking that I’d probably get a bite t-to eat and g-go home. What about you?” You weren’t exactly lying.

Suga squinted skeptically at you, “Hmhhm, well I was gonna get in some extra studying. Relax a bit.”

“I h-hope you enjoy!” You smiled awkwardly. You could see Tsukishima and Yamaguchi approaching in your peripheral view. “Well, I should get going. Goodnight.” Then you escaped and wedged yourself in between them.

“What are you doing short stuff?” Tsukishima snickered, hand brushing against yours.

“Trying to stop myself from accidentally outing us, beanpole.” You bit back, slowly hooking your pinkie around his.

“Why don’t you guys want anyone to know?” Yamaguchi asked as you guys walked off of school grounds.

“Are you kidding me? Letting those idiots know would be a disaster, they’re so nosy.” Kei huffed. You just nodded in agreement. That would be a disaster.

The three of you had walked in a comfortable silence, bidding Yams a goodbye at his stop. The two of you continued walking until you arrived at the store. Wandering around, picking up things you’d want to eat as you went along. After making sure you grabbed everything, you made your way to the register and set everything down. You reached into your bag to grab your money when Kei held his arm out to stop you, pulling out his own wallet. A blush burned at your cheeks as he handed the auntie his money, he was absolutely unbothered to pay for you. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ before taking your things and heating up what needed to be heated before going to the tables that were set up outside.

You had sat down across from each other, saying a quick ‘itadakimasu’ before hungrily peeling back the cover to your instant ramen cup and shoving some of the delicious noodles in your mouth. Something you came to instantly regret. Tears sprung into your eyes at the searing hot pain that was happening on your tongue and the inside of your cheeks. You turned away and exhaled and inhaled rapidly, chewing as much as you could all at once. Kei was quiet for a moment before breaking into boisterous laughter, his annoying cackle doing nothing to stop the embarrassment filling your body. He watched in amusement as you opened and closed your mouth like a little fish, before finally swallowing down the scalding hot food and desperately reaching for your water, taking greedy gulps to soothe the pain.

“Wow, I thought I was dating a dragon for a second.” You glared at his smirk over the water bottle, putting it down with a pout.

“Tsukki, it really hurt.” The quiet whine came out a little slurred.

“What? Would you like me to kiss it better, my little dragon?”

“Yes.” His eyes widened just a bit before smirking wider.

“So shameless.~” He teased, leaning forward before meeting your lips with a gentle kiss, not wanting to cause you anymore pain.

Once he leaned back in his chair, he saw the victorious smile on your lips.

“You’re ridiculous.” He shook his head in amusement before taking a bite of his onigiri. You guys continued to joke round and eat, showing each other some memes or something just for shits and giggles. After finally finishing and cleaning up, you started to walk to the break off point when a thought came across your mind.

“When do you have to be home?”

“Hmm, technically by 10. Why?” He was confused but waited for you to elaborate, seeing the gears turn in your mind.

That meant that he time to kill. “Would you like to continue o-our d-date? At my house?” You were fiddling with your fingers.

“And what exactly would we do at your house? What would your parents say about you bringing a boy over so late?” He wore a teasing smirk as he leaned down to meet your eyes but his heart was beating rapidly against his ribs.

You blushed heavily. “Well I was gonna surprise you with it tomorrow but I made you something. A-and my parents don’t get back from my grandparents house till this weekend so...”

“Alright then, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

So you made the trek to your house, your mind racing at the thought of being alone with him. Your hands shook as you unlocked the door and walked in. Kei nodded as he looked around, it was minimalistic yet still very warm and homey. He slipped off his shoes, the sound of something tapping against the hardwood floors caught his attention. A rather big dog coming around the corner was not what he was expecting. He watched as a huge smile spread across your lips.

“Hello Aki, I’m home!” You cooed as the dog jumped excitedly before it suddenly turned to look at him, head tilted.

“Aki, be nice. This is Kei, my b-boyfriend.” He thought it was sweet how you stuttered while introducing him to your dog. “Kei, this is Aki. My puppy.”

“Puppy?” He quirked and eyebrow, “That’s a bear, (y/n).” He stood straighter as the dog let out a quiet woof before approaching him. The blonde stuck his hand out and let Aki sniff him. Aki did just that before sticking his tongue out and licking at his fingers. You giggled at the grimace that appeared on Kei’s face before Aki started to jump up and excitedly greet him.

“He loves you.” As you said this, Aki nuzzled into the palm of his hand, basically begging for pets. “He’s a japanese mastiff. So even though he’s only 4, he’s pretty big already.” You explained before Aki made his way to the backyard doors. “Uhm well, make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna let him out real quick.”

As you did that, Kei wandered into the living room, the multiple framed photo’s littering the mantle caught his attention. They were pictures from volleyball the year before. He smiled at how happy you looked in the photos. Wide smiles and rosy cheeks.

“So, what’s my surprise?” He asked as you made your way inside.

“Oh, right.” You motioned him to the kitchen, washing your hands before heading to the fridge. Opening it an pulling something out. “I spent the weekend finding the perfect recipe.”

His eyes were huge, mouth slightly agape in disbelief. Sitting on the table was the perfect strawberry shortcake. It was perfectly round, the creme looked fresh and shaped into the perfect peaks, the strawberries were dark and shiny under the kitchen light.

“My mom owns a-a bakery so I-I made it there. She wanted t-to help but I insisted on m-making it myself.” He was at a loss for words. You laughed quietly and went to grab two plates and a knife. Cutting two triangular slices and placing them on the plate, putting the rest of it in the fridge and grabbing two forks. “You just gonna stand there or are we gonna eat some cake?” He huffed out a laugh and grabbed a plate and fork before following you back into the living room and onto the couch.

Enjoying a little slice of heaven while sitting next to an angel. There was some random show playing on the tv as you both sat and ate, exchanging words here and there. Plates clean and bellies content, you placed the dishes in the sink before going back to join him. Before you could even sit, he gripped your wrist softly.

“Thank you, that was delicious.” He held your chin in between his fingers and met your lips in a sweet kiss, lips melding softly as the remaining taste of strawberries and sweet cream lingered on each others’ tongue. Pulling away rather breathlessly, he moved to grip your bare thighs in his calloused hands and tug you down onto his lap.

Running one hand through his hair and the other cupping his jaw, no words were exchanged as your lips met once more. This time they moved hungrily against each other, his hands gripping your plush thighs while humming in appreciation. You had hoped he couldn’t hear your heart beating wildly in your chest, he hoped you couldn’t hear his as his tongue moved experimentally against yours when you had turned your head and parted your lips for a deeper kiss. You blushed when a soft moan escaped your moan at the new sensation.

Pulling away, chests heaving as your foreheads rested against each others. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes before he moved his head down and his nose nudged at the spot where your jaw and neck connected.

“Kei-” You were cut off when his lips suddenly met the underside of your chin, you gave into the sensation and leaned your head back to give him free range. His lips started to move further down to the base of your neck, both of your hands were in his hair, fingers twisted in his golden locks. He gave an experimental nip at your skin, chuckling at the surprised yelp that left your lips. He went back to working on your neck, both of you lost in this new experience. 

Aki came out of nowhere and barked very loudly, causing the both of you to pull away from each other in a panic.

“Oh my god...” You gasped, hand coming over your beating heart.

“I can’t believe I just got cock blocked by your dog.” Kei groaned as he leaned forward and rested his head against your shoulder.

“Kei! Don’t say that!” You blushed, slapping his shoulder.

“Am I wrong though?” He asked quietly, placing kisses against your skin once more before the buzzing in his pocket stopped him. You were going to get off his lap but he stopped you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you into him. You relaxed and melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and resting your head against his shoulders. Enjoying the warmth before he had to leave.

Thanks a lot Aki...

taglist: @ewwis

[monsterlovinghours]

yes hello could i get (1) beetlejuice in heat to go? musical beetlejuice going through like a blood red moon and it’s just h e a t time please and thank you i love the work you provide to the people

okay so heads up? it’s soft momther hours over here. i am incapable of being feral right now, so behold the softest heat fic anyone has ever written. sorry if that isn’t quite what you were looking for. 

“You...it’s...what?”

He rolled his eyes, still perched like a strange bird in the rafters of your attic, the place he could be as far from you as possible without actually going outside the house. Obviously, you had heard him, and you knew you had heard him correctly, but regardless, you needed to hear it again.

“Heat, babes. I’m going into a heat. Started like,” he cocked his arm and consulted the six or so watches he had strapped to his wrist, “twenty minutes ago. So I need you to go, lock the attic behind you, and just...ignore any noises you might hear up here, okay? It’s gonna be a rough few days.”

You didn’t think he was joking. He already seemed to be sweating, his limbs shaking, a strange glow in his cheeks as if he were flushed and feverish. All experience told you that biologically speaking, he shouldn’t be having anything resembling a heat. But, you reminded yourself, he wasn’t human. The biology you knew meant exactly nothing in regards to him. Still, you imagined by the way his pupils were blown and the noticeable bulge between his thighs, his heat remained true to the definition you knew. Something about the concept, the primal, animalistic urge of it all sent a tremulous frisson of heat through your body, and despite his warning, you didn’t leave the attic.

“Would you...maybe like some company?” His brows arched, but he didn’t say anything, and you asked without thinking, “Have you ever had someone to get through your heat with? Does it help?”

“Yeah,” he answered in a low voice. “It helps, but...babe, I don’t think you want that. Trust me, I know the thought of banging me for days sounds appealing, but it’s no walk in the park.”

“I can handle it, Beej, just let me have ten minutes between rounds to hydrate and-”

“No, no baby, you don’t get it.” He sighed, sliding off the rafter and landing on his feet, only wobbling a little bit. “You’re not built to handle this. You’re...y’know, alive. You’re more fragile than you think you are, and I…” Beetlejuice sighed, scratching the back of his head and looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here, doing anything but having this conversation. “I don’t have a whole lot of control when I’m like this. I’m barely holding it together talking to you now.” Now that you were listening, you could hear the strain in his voice, as if he were fighting to keep his tone level. “I could hurt you. Like, really hurt you.”

“You won’t-”

“Baby.” His tone was low, solemn, almost authoritative. “I’m not talking about pulling your hair too hard or leaving some bruises. I’m a demon. You forget it sometimes because I don’t act like it around you, but I’m dangerous. I’m what you’d call the next step on the food chain, and you could end up-” His sentence cut off, as if he couldn’t give voice to the possibility of him losing control with you. “I can’t take that risk, no matter how much I would love to fuck you through the floorboards right now.”

You took a deep breath, taking in everything he had told you. True, you did tend to forget his demonic nature at times, because he craved your softness, indulged in it, basked in all the cuddles and kisses and lovely things he had never experienced before, Even in the bedroom, when he bit into your skin and his sharp nails left red furrows down your thighs, it was balanced with sweet words and passionate kisses. But deep down, you knew who he was, who he tried to hide from you, that part of himself he kept locked away for fear you would be revolted by it, by him. You wanted him to know that beyond the lust and the idea of being fucked within an inch of your life, you loved and accepted even the darkest parts of himself, the parts he’d deemed unloveable. Slowly, you moved closer, noting the slight twitch in his stance, as if wanting to take a step back but not quite able to bring himself to do so. Your fingertips brushed his cheek, and he pulled in a shuddering breath.

“I’m not scared, Bug. I know the risk, and if it was just fucking, I’d take your advice and leave. But listen to me.” His dark eyes were pinned to yours, his hair violet, fading to magenta, with an unnerving shock of blue above his brow. “I love you, sweetheart. Okay? And because I love you, I want to be here for you; if having someone with you during your heat will shorten it or make it easier to bear, then I’ll take that risk. We’ll put some safeguards in place, we’ll establish a routine so I don’t get too tired and you don’t get too deep inside your own head, but we can make this work, baby. Just...please, let me be here for you, okay?”

He was quiet for a few moments, just listening to your breathing, your heartbeat, and you wondered if maybe you were wrong to press the issue. Then, he lifted a hand to curl over yours, pressing your warm palm to his cheek as he nuzzled into it. “Okay. I hate how fucking soft you’ve made me, but okay.”

Quickly, you two had a conversation about safe words and non-verbal signals, agreeing on signs for “keep going,” “slow down,” “I need a break,” or “stop.” Once agreed upon, he took your chin in his hand and lifted your eyes to his. “One last thing before we do this,” he rasped. “If I lose it, if you give a safe word and I don’t stop…” He paused, a pained look flickering across his face before he continued. “You need to say my name three times.”

Your brow furrowed. “But...won’t that banish you?”

“Yeah, babes, that’s the idea.”

Something icy coiled in your middle, and you shook your head. You had promised him so many times that you would never say his name more than once, that you would never send him away. How many times had he woken you up in the middle of the night near tears because he’d convinced himself you would banish him in the morning? “Beej, no, I can’t, I promised I’d never-”

“It’s okay, this is different. I’d rather be in the Netherworld myself than accidentally send you there.” The corner of his mouth curled up, but it was humorless. “Just...send me away, wait a couple days, then call me back.” For the briefest moment, you saw the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes, and you realized how much trust he was putting in you to summon him back, how hard it was for him to accept the risk that you might not. Your hands cupped his cheeks, stroking over the slightly glowing fever-patches, and smiled. 

“Okay, Beej. Cross my heart.”

He sighed, relieved, then that sheen in eyes was gone, replaced by the dull shine of feral need. “Now that we got the logistics out of the way, babes, you have exactly five seconds to get naked before I rip ‘em offa you.”

You grinned. “I only need four.”

It started slower than you expected, mostly in part because you assumed he was still holding himself back. Perhaps he didn’t want to tire you out too early. Once you were naked, there were hands all over you, more than just the two he normally sported, some attached to human arms, some sprouting from the ends of striped appendages that curled around your middle. He pulled you close, the tiniest slices of amber visible around the dark, vacuous pupils. Beetlejuice dragged you into a dark corner of the attic, and you shivered at the parallel of a predator bringing its meal back to its den. There were old blankets and stained cushions piled there, and you wondered how long he’d had this little nest set up for only a moment before he descended on you. His kisses were enthusiastic, but no more so than usual. So far, so good, you thought.

Then, you began to notice not only were there multiple sets of hands on you, but it seemed multiple mouths as well, wrapped around your nipples, cool tongues stroking along your skin. You reached for where you thought his head was, grateful to find the familiar texture of his hair between your fingers, and a grating sound rumbled to life at the touch, a sound that was both growl and purr. Something squirming and prehensile probed experimentally at your entrance, a pleased trill leaving him when your hips canted up toward it, and then it slid deep, curling inside. You weren’t sure if it was one of his appendages, a striped tongue, or his cock, but the pleasure of having him invade your body quickly erased any curiosity you might have had. As he was reduced to his most basic, primal form, so too were you, a moaning collection of nerve endings surrounding a molten core of pure need. 

The first six hours were slow, comparatively gentle to what would follow, more or less the foreplay round of the marathon the two of you were about to endure. When the timer on your phone went off and you gave the signal to stop, panting and trembling and sheened with sweat, the multiple limbs retreated into his body, and a more or less human-looking Beetlejuice sat before in his nest. He helped you downstairs to take a quick shower, brought you water and a snack and let you rest while he paced, the surface of his need barely scratched. You set your bottle of water down and eyed him, a satisfied little smile on your face.

“You know, this might be more comfortable if we moved to the bedroom.”

Almost immediately, he shook his head. “Huh-uh. Don’t wanna break your bed, sweetcheeks.”

You laughed softly, oddly touched by his consideration. “Alright, if you say so.”

When your thirty minute break was up, he all but bum rushed you back upstairs, wrapped you up so tight in his darkness, like a fly caught in a spider’s web, and you began to quickly understand why he had such fears about breaking you. His teeth sank into the back of your neck as he turned you over on all fours, slamming into you so hard it knocked the breath out of your lungs. Something cold and wet curled around the front to tease you, stroking and circling, coaxing a steady stream of orgasms out of you as he growled and hissed in the dark, the only light the glow of his eyes. His disembodied voice floated around you, sometimes snarling wordlessly, sometimes praising your body, your resilience, sometimes spewing mindless filth, and sometimes murmuring in a language not meant for human tongues. He drew blood, healed the split skin, only to wound it again, fucking you open without mercy or restriction. He knew you were his in every way, in every way he wanted you to be. His warm hole to rut, fuck, and spill into. His lover, to pleasure and tease. His love, to hold and cherish.

At the end of it all, his heat reduced to a mere thirty-six hours instead of a full week, you were utterly spent, weak as a kitten, hardly able to string two coherent words together. Lucky for you both that you were working from home now, because you definitely weren’t going to be able to get up for at least a day. He laid you out on the ripped remains of his little attic nest and licked you clean as best he could, taking extra care to be gentle, before gathering your limp form in his arms and carrying you back down to your bed. You were asleep before he finished descending the attic stairs, and stayed so for at least eighteen hours. He didn’t leave your side for an instant, curled up and purring in the bed beside you. 

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Part 25  (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 47,470

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 26, 

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else. 

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs. 

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 25:

(Words: 3,948)

“It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The thought of Peter making more of an effort, of him consciously choosing to pay me closer attention with the active intention of improving our friendship-- it isn’t the worst idea. If anything, it’s a rather attractive solution to a nonexistent problem. The suggestion alone is already prompting imaginary scenarios I refuse to acknowledge right now; though, inevitably, they’ll become daydream fuel within a couple days. Still, the whole plan is unnecessary, and I know it. I’m not angry with him anymore. I may have a few questions (some I plan on asking, some I’ll keep to myself), but if I do have any hidden resentment for his behavior stowed away in my subconscious, it’s as small and inconsequential as a handful of sand in the sea. Allowing him to carry this plan out would be using him. The pretenses would be false. 

Even apart from that, though, his texts gave off an odd, metallic aftertaste. The proposal reads mechanically-- it’s a scientific study with a simple hypothesis (and a reluctant dependent variable). It’s the idea of being a lab mouse, I think, that earns it the title the dumbest thing in my mind. It’s condescending. Even if tempting. 

Then again, I know Peter. I understand he doesn’t actually view me as a test subject to analyze and discard after the results come in. We’re friends. He feels bad and tossed out a poorly worded solution because he thinks I’m secretly pissed at him. It’s only an idea he offered, one I have full power to reject. 

Maybe I’m trying to dismiss it quickly because, if I’m being honest, I’m selfish. Selfishly, I want to say yes despite knowing the sort of negative message it would send to Peter. A small part of me is willing to let him feel worse so I can pretend his own guilty feelings are more significant than they really are. The possibility, the mirage just within reach, of balancing that tightrope between reality and fantasy with him is... alluring, to say the least.

And impossible. It would be wrong. Wouldn’t it? Of course it would be.

Like blades slicing fruit in a blender, my brain whips through these thoughts within seconds. Across on her bed, Michelle’s expression can only be described as disapproving or faintly disgusted as she too digests Peter’s idea. It’s the male stupidity is endless look we share when near particularly annoying men in public. It’s not often one we have to exchange in reference to the boys; their moronic moments tend to be entertaining rather than obnoxious, ignorant, or misogynistic.

She meets my eyes, and I wonder if my face gives anything away. 

“That feels weird to me.” 

The sentence is a verbal tiptoe forward, an almost-question probe.

“It did sound weird saying it out loud,” I agree. 

“You know,” she says, her tone mildly serious as she sits up straighter. “You’re not obligated to say yes to everything because you don’t want to disappoint someone. Especially a boy. And especially if he’s trying to fix his dumb mistakes by pressuring you into something you’re not comfortable with.” She pauses, glancing at the ceiling and raising an eyebrow. “If you want, I can make him come to his senses.”

Michelle tightens her fists and mimes three exaggerated punches. I imagine it, amused: Before the bite, Peter wouldn’t have stood a chance against her if she really meant it; now, he’d probably put his arms up to block her blows, minimally annoyed, and wait for her to tire herself out. I roll my eyes and can’t help mirroring her smile. 

Nevertheless, her wording is…. 

The same question pops up for the millionth time. 

Do I want her to know?

“It’s Peter, it’s not, like, ‘a boy,’” I say first, air quoting the last words. Maybe later, depending. But for now, I’ll avoid it. “And I’ll pass, but I appreciate the offer. I’m not uncomfortable and he isn’t being pushy or anything. I only meant that the…” nearly impersonal approach to our personal relationship? “the hyperconscious wording is weird. I wouldn’t turn down free snacks if the offer wasn’t described as a….” situation in which he views us as mere associates or abstract friends--

Again, I remind myself he probably doesn’t see it that way. 

“Monitored social experiment with unequal power dynamics?” she offers.

That fits.

“Precisely.” 

She snorts. Shaking her head, Michelle pauses for a few more seconds. Mentally chewing it all over again, her expression bounces from annoyance to curiosity to neutrality to annoyance again to what looks surprisingly close to compromise or understanding. In the meantime, I focus on watching her facial journey and not thinking. 

In the tune of surrender, she sighs before she speaks.

“I’m sure he’s trying his best,” she says reluctantly, her hands opening outward like a shrug, “his best is just bad. If it were anyone else, I’d tell you to refuse and block them. But, as much as it pains me to admit, I think we both know him too well to think his motives are as stupid as his phrasing. If anything, he’s probably excited about his ‘new genius friendship plan.’”

Nodding, relief hums under my skin: I know she’s right. I mean, how many people would fight crime to protect countless strangers in their city, then turn around and have cold, detached views of their chosen, personal friends? 

“That’s true,” I say. “I should probably text him back, then.”

She holds up a finger as I reach for my phone.

“Still,” she adds with a tone of subtle authority, “it’s up to you. I’m not saying you should say yes -- no obligations, remember? -- I just don’t think you need to worry that he isn’t trying or isn’t being genuine. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Michelle’s stare lasts a moment longer, her sincerity as visible and certain as the brown of her eyes. After a second or two, she sits back onto her pillows and relaxes, turning to face the t.v. once again, leaving me to work out my final decision on my own. As I allow myself to reiterate my own arguments in my head, the Cullen family discusses the mythology of half human, half vampire fetuses with Jacob. 

It doesn’t take me long to reach a conclusion. Maybe it’s because I’m pretty tired, but the answer seems obvious, straightforward and simple in logic. I unlock my phone with the feeling Michelle knows exactly what I’m about to type. I begin to write the message I had settled on before: “I’ll think about it.” Simple and honest. And temporary.

But then something else pops into my brain, and, foolishly, I write that instead.

“What about you? Do you need new reasons to be around me?”

I send the text without a moment’s reflection. Rereading it, it sounds a little… coded, to say the least. Like a Freudian slip. Don’t overthink it. God, I hate Freud. But it does sound desperate. And awkward. Damn. It definitely does. It reminds me of the embarrassing things I used to post on social media in middle school, which I really shouldn’t think about either. 

I only wondered if the idea should go both ways. Instead, the message sounds insecure... which I am, I suppose, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Bubbles appear on his side. I resist the urge to send a series of backpedaling messages. They disappear. Again. My self control dissipates and I quickly send the original one: I’ll think about it.

Unthinking, I pull the small keychain out of my pocket as I wait for his reply and massage the edge. Sticking the pointed corner into my thumbpad, I accidentally dig it in harder than intended. And I realize something. 

The keychain was the first. The gifts or incentives or things. 

A flat click of a nearby door closing snaps my attention. The boys’ room? Glancing up, I see flash of Edward pleading with Jacob on the t.v. screen, and to my left, a shadow stepping up to the door. A gap in the golden line of outside light.

For half a minute, nothing happens. Aside from Rosalie shouldering past Jacob as he walks in to speak to Bella. After that, when it does come, the sound is soft.

Knock. Knock knock knock knock, knock knock.

It’s Peter. Ned’s knocking pattern is shorter.

The sound jolts my heart rate a smidge, like a phantom defibrillator.

Michelle’s head rolls to one side to stare at the hallway, her shoulders slumped in an I’m giving up posture. 

“That’s very obviously for you,” she says, pushing herself up and tossing the Twizzler bag on the nightstand, “so I’ll let you go deal with it. I think I’ll brush my teeth and get ready for bed.” She hops off the mattress, raises her arms, and stretches them from side to side. “You okay if we call it a night?”

“More than okay,” I say, standing up as well, the carpet cool under my toes. Once I speak to Peter, I’ll need to knock out. Otherwise my brain will spiral. And maybe, if all goes well, my dreams tonight will be better than staying up to snicker at this hilariously shitty movie. “But what if it is for you?” 

She rolls her eyes.

“Tell them I’m gone. Missing, dead, whatever.” Michelle clamps her eyes shut and sticks her tongue out to mimic cartoonish death. Then she pops back to life with a fake warning glare. “So long as no one bothers me.”

She hits the off button on the remote, Jacob and Bella dissolving into nothing, and as she trudges to the bathroom, I slip the keychain and a keycard back into my pocket before copying her arm stretch to calm my buzzing nerves. Michelle salutes me before turning and closing the bathroom door. I walk to the hallway’s. The handle is cold to the touch.

I swing it open. As expected: Peter. The empty space surrounding him is relatively quiet, only muffled laughter and television sounds coming from rooms at the opposite end. The air smells like linens, cleaning supplies, and artificial lavender. This too is as expected: the typical, sanitary comfort of staying in a nice hotel at night. I tell myself it’s a calming environment. 

Peter’s in his usual pajamas, an old beat up t-shirt and sweatpants, standing slightly to the left, hands clasped in front of him. His height drops a tiny bit at the sound of the door, like he was rocking from heel to toe a second ago, and as his eyes lift from the floor to meet mine, he smiles. A warm swooping sensation envelops my stomach. 

“Hey! You answered.” 

He almost sounds surprised. I make a face in response. 

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

I mean this as a joke, a reference to the couple late nights he’s shown up at my door (window, really) to clean or patch himself up before going home. As he knows, I’m not in the habit of shutting him out. 

Still, his head tilts and his eyebrows go up into an expression of, Well, you weren’t exactly answering me before. It isn’t a challenging or upset look. If anything, it’s almost flustered.

“Fair enough,” I concede, lukewarm guilt sticking in my throat. “I was thinking about it though, I promise, I just hadn’t decided for sure yet.”

He nods, fidgeting with his fingernails and momentarily glancing at the floor.

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, looking back up. His ears redden. “I, uh, phrased it pretty moronically. Or at least that’s what Ned said.” 

He takes a step or two back, closer to his door. It seems like an invitation to make the conversation more private, so I close mine and Michelle’s and step forward.

“All I meant,” he continues, his hands rolling over one another in gesture, “was that I thought it might be helpful if I did a few nice things for you when we get back. Not like I’m actually trying to condition you, like a, like a--”

“Dog?”

His hands halt and his face pinches into an expression that practically reads I am painfully aware of every mistake I have ever made and how the number continues to grow in marker across his forehead. His eyes retain a lightness though, the sort that suggests he’s able to laugh about it. He runs his right hand through his hair. Mine twinges.

“Exactly. I feel like that makes it seem kind of, um--”

“Bad?”

“Very bad,” he confirms, nodding. He takes a deeper breath, half smiling in an embarrassed, self pitying way. “I honestly forgot about that Pavlock stuff, I was just trying to use psych terms to make it sound more persuasive and, um, I don’t know, impressive?”

He shrugs and offers an I know I’m an idiot, but thank you for being patient smile. I bite my tongue against correcting Pavlov, which he seems incapable of pronouncing properly. Even when we studied for that exam, he only said it properly a handful of times, despite Michelle flicking bits of paper at him each time he said Pavlock.

I smile too, noting the irony. And I think of what she said: he’s trying his best, his best is just bad. It doesn’t seem so bad when he’s standing in front of me, though. If anything, it’s easy. 

“You mean,” I begin to ask, more to tease than to clarify, “as opposed to the highly offensive and disagreeable, ‘Hey, I want to make up for being a jerk, so I’m going to stash some snacks for you in my locker’?”

He bites his lip as if it’ll keep his grin pinned down, though it doesn’t really. A blush spreads across his cheekbones and for a split second, he looks away to the other end of the hall. When he looks back, his smile falters, just a little. The vulnerability reminds me of his apology last night, when he thought I was sleeping. 

“I was thinking maybe it’d be more than snacks?” he offers. “Like, I don’t know, I don’t really have it figured out yet, but hanging out a bit more? Movie nights or that sort of thing? Or if you have a lot of homework, we could study together and help each other stay focused?”

That last suggestion seems like an oxymoron. Study together to keep ourselves on track? It’s a laughable concept. Well, only if it’s--

“Just us?”

Peter freezes, his shoulders straightening slightly, his height rising a few millimeters. 

That is the central question, though. Whether it’s a positive or negative point toward my decision, I can’t tell. All the same, it’s been ages since we last tried studying together, just the two of us. It works best with Michelle and Ned there as well, seeing as we tend to get distracted. 

His eyes move quickly between mine as if he’s trying to read my thoughts before answering. He squints.

“Is that okay?” he asks, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I understand if not, if it’s uncomfortable or--”

I shake my head, putting my hand on his arm to stop him, only realizing it when his eyes flicker to that hand.

“Of course not,” I say, removing it. “I mean, of course it’s okay. We’ve hung out without Ned and MJ tons of times before. It’s been a while but it’s no big deal. That’d be fine.”

“Okay, good!” he says, the tension in his body evaporating. “That’s great!” 

His eyes have lit up. I imagine he’s relieved those two won’t be around the whole time to make fun of his movie choices or whatever he has planned. I try to hold a smile to reassure him and clear his doubts while internally pinching myself to remember to not think too much on this. There’s no need to dust off those old, useless daydreams of movie nights and falling asleep on his shoulder with his head atop mine and May lightly laying a blanket across us and all the rest. Absolutely no need. Shut it down.

He runs a hand through his hair, nodding in a way that’s usually accompanied by him saying cool, cool, cool, cool.

“Would Fridays be good for movie nights?”

I barely register the question before I answer it.

“Probably, sure. That should be alright.”

His smile widens and he shakes his head once and continues nodding. 

“Perfect! We can have it at my place.”

I nod back, chest tightening as I process. At the same time, I beg my brain not to process. Just for a minute. But then, since I refuse to let them move forward, the gears in my head turn backward, thoughts reeling like a bicycle chain. Judging by the look on Peter’s face, we’re realizing the same thing:

“Wait,” he says carefully. “So you’re saying yes? Like, you’re cool with it? You want to try?”

God help me.

“I suppose so,” I say. At hearing my own answer, a different type of swooping feeling runs from my feet up. The looking over a high balcony type.

“And we’ll figure the rest out later?” he asks.

“Peter, really, if you’re still planning on the locker snacks, that’s more than enough.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, that’s what you think because you’re being lame. And limiting. And--”

“Leaving?”

It’s time, definitely. I’d forgotten how blinding Peter’s excitement and positivity can be without interference. Today has been full enough, I should end this now. 

“That’s fair,” he says. “I think Ned rubbed off on me. All that obnoxious energy.”

He shakes his whole body as if ridding himself of said energy and I restrain myself from making a joke about his word choice. Instead, I nod and with an exasperated “Night, Peter,” and step back toward my room. He does the same, heading toward his. Just before he makes to use his keycard, he pivots back. 

“Wait! I almost forgot.”

I turn around and he’s closer than before. Peter suddenly looks particularly nervous, his head angled to the side like a question, his hands fumbling over themselves. His cheeks are reddening again too, spreading from his cheeks to his hairline.

“Yeah?”

He steps forward to place himself directly in front of me. His eyes flit a quick path which his hands follow-- they reach out to touch my elbows before jumping up to my shoulders, settling there almost steadily before shooting a little higher to suddenly but gently hold my head. And then he leans over and firmly kisses my forehead. As he pulls away, one hand disappears and the other musses up my hair.

What is he--? 

We both take a tiny step back. My pulse pounds as my thoughts blur into nothing but impressions of nonsensical, ridiculous questions my brain won’t dignify with clarity. Peter’s expression is halfway between an apology and.. a dare? His eyes are as wide as I know mine must be, but there’s something playing at his lips. For a second, it feels as though we’re balanced on a challenge neither of us is willing to answer. 

The bubble of the moment pops as he shakes his head and gestures vaguely to his and Ned’s room, his floundering arm movements returning him to the strong appearance of embarrassment.

“May,” he blurts, “Aunt May threatened to, uh, um, well, that part’s not really important, if I didn’t pass that along with ‘all her love.’” The red in his face deepens. “Apparently she’s not too happy I didn’t do that last night too.”

Of course. It makes immediate sense. The memory rushes back. She told him to do that to all of us when she dropped us off at the bus that morning. I might laugh at my own stupid shock and poor memory but I can’t seem to manage it. 

“Do you want me to get MJ too?” I ask, realizing May likely demanded that he make the rounds. Maybe this is what started that play fight between him and Ned tonight. Either Ned dodged it or made a joke about wishing May were there to do it herself. 

It clicks together.

“What?” He looks lost, his head tilted to the side, brow knotted up. “What do you mean?”

“Unless, do you want me to pass it along from May?”

The realization hits across his face. He shakes his head rapidly.

“No, no, no, she’d probably kill me if I tried to do that to her. But, I mean, if you want to pass it along-- or just tell her to lie if May asks. She probably won’t, honestly, but, you know, just in case.”

His shrug and half smile are practically helpless. May ought to have more mercy on him. And me. 

“Alright.” A grin breaks over my face in a way I don’t quite understand and can’t stop. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Right. Goodnight, then. See you in the morning.”

“Night, Peter.”

Rather than stepping back, as intended though, I rush forward. Involuntarily, or at least I’ll pretend, since it’s just as surprising to me as it is to him, I lean forward and kiss his cheek. Or try to. It happens too quickly to register fully, but I’m almost positive I knick the corner of his mouth? That would definitely be unintentional.

“ThatwasforMay,” I explain, stumbling backward. Seeming to sense it, Peter grabs my arm to steady me before I trip outright. He releases his grip and stares, stunned. 

If I thought his eyes were wide earlier, it turns out they can open much wider. His pupils are comically blown open. 

“What?” he asks, seeming concerned. “What was that? I, uh, I didn’t catch what you said.”

“That was, um, that was for May. You know, in exchange.”

That’s perfect. For the first time in a while, my brain saves me.

His face, though still flushed red, relaxes.

“You’ll see her tomorrow,” he points out. “Like, we’ll all see her at the same time. It’d be kind of pointless to pass that on, wouldn’t it?”

Shit. My brain is useless.

“Then, uh… keep it?”

His facial muscles twitch as if he’s glitching between a smile and bewilderment. Then a flint of mischief.

“Unless,” he says slowly, “you want me to pass it along to Ned?”

“And it’s official,” I say, resisting the urge to smack him. “Goodnight!”

He grins as near as he ever gets to a smirk (a term I associate too closely to ass-hattery to assign to him) and I turn to my room as he repeats it back.

We both step to our doors and open them. I glance back just in time to see him practically jump into his room with a speed that reminds me he’s a superhero, even if he’s an idiot. Filled with tangled emotions, I pause, listening or waiting or catching my breath. I only need a moment.

Behind his and Ned’s door, there’s a sudden crash, a sound like leaping bedsprings and something smashing, immediately followed by Peter groaning and Ned’s mocking laughter. Right before I go to my own room, I hear Peter’s exasperated voice: Shit! Dude, can you help me fix it? 

The room is dark when I slip back inside but the alarm clock shines enough red to see vague outlines of the walls and dressers and beds. Legs slightly numb, I stumble my way to the small bathroom to get ready for bed. It only takes a couple minutes, distracted as I am. 

I slip into the blankets of my bed. The warm body heat next to me can only mean one thing: Michelle.

It’s just one of those unspoken things. 

Next update: God only knows.

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[myempireofsalt]

District - Prologue

It was seven forty-eight in the morning, and Anise had no idea where her mother, father, or little sister were.

Ranger was still there with her, of course, and he was the eternal guardian at her side, her very bestest friend ever. Like a silent shadow, he stuck close to her side, practically joined at the hip with her as she ruffled his thick fur, focusing on the wiry texture on top, the coarser fur underneath, and the really soft and silky stuff under that. Black ears were angled, stuck in what the nice people had called the “listening” pose. 

“Where's Mommy?” She asked him. “Find Mommy.” He walked forward, leading her to where the last known location of her mother had been.

Nobody home, and even Mommy's car was gone.

Her lower lip trembled, quivering as tears welled up in her eyes. It wasn't fair, why was everything going all wrong? 

First she hadn't gotten up on time and missed her favorite cartoon. Her cereal wasn't there waiting for her with her three-quarters full orange juice in her special glass, and no one had even come to kiss her good morning either like they always did.

Worst day ever.

A long, dark muzzle slipped beneath her hand, nudging firmly as one heavy paw reached up and planted itself against her leg, careful not to scratch with the thick black nails at the tip of each paw. His eyes, orangey like Halloween pumpkins, stared up at her as she sniffled. 

“You're right, maybe something happened to Amy and they had to take her to the doctor. I hate the doctors.” That had to be it, they wouldn't just all disappear, and Amy was always getting sick and being stupid and whiny and crying all the time.

But, what should she do now?

“Maybe I'll make breakfast like a big girl, what do you think?” She asked the dog, who whined and wagged his tail very slightly. 

“Yeah, me too. Mommy'll be so proud of me for being a big girl, maybe I'll even get to stay home by myself like Cassie did that one time.” Ranger accompanied her into the kitchen, sending the front door an inscrutable look as his nails clicked against the linoleum. She rummaged through the drawers, pulling out half a loaf of bread and opened it up to remove two pieces.

“I don't like toast,” she told Ranger. “but if Mommy sees I'm eating everything like a good girl, she'll know I'm grown up now.” She put two slices into the toaster and pushed down, watching in fascination as the darkness inside turned a bright red-orange in color. 

“I wonder why it turns that color but there's no fire? It's hot like fire, and it burns things too, but it's not fire at all.” Her mind thought on it, and she shrugged as a result. “It must be magic, Ranger, maybe someday we'll be able to do magic too.”

Ranger flicked his ears back and raised them again in response, watching her open up the fridge to get eggs and bacon. “Eggs are icky and slimy too, and bacon takes forever.” 

But it was all part of a balanced breakfast, just like the tv always told her. All the kids on tv ate eggs, bacon, cereal and toast with milk and orange juice.

Which sounded really, really gross when she thought about it. Who drank milk and orange juice together? That just didn't make any sense. Milk belonged on cereal or with strawberry flavors, that was it.

“Wanna piece, boy? I won't tell Mommy if you don't.” She asked, offering a strip of bacon from the package, shuddering at the touch of raw meat. So gross and greasy, she'd have to wash her hands like a zillion times before she'd feel clean again.

Never one to say no to an offered treat, Ranger sat down and lifted one paw in expectation for a shake. That was always the trick he had to do before any treat could be given. As expected, his paw was grasped, held and shaken vigorously before she tossed the meat to him. A flash of very sharp, very big white teeth and pink-red flesh and the treat vanished in a single snap.

“Uh oh, I can't use the stove.” Anise paused, looking at the bacon, and then at the stove. 

Mommy had been very clear; no oven, no stove. Not now, not ever and especially not when she was all by herself with Ranger. She might accidentally cause a fire.

Ranger gave a short woof in response, as if confirming her thoughts that the stove was completely off limits.

She frowned, the non-sticky greasy hand reaching up to scratch vigorously at her curly brown hair. Her face lit up a second later. She might not be able to use the stove, but people made breakfast in the microwave. And if you could warm things up in there, it'd probably make the bacon cook too, and maybe even the eggs! 

Anise hummed the theme song to her favorite show, dancing around the kitchen as she picked each individual piece away from the rest and set it on one of the plates. She focused on making criss-cross designs until all the bacon was loaded up on the plate and opened the microwave. “How long do you do this for? Maybe five minutes?” 

She frowned. Five minutes was an awful long time... but bacon not cooked right would make you sick. So five minutes would have to be right. She jabbed the instant timer five times and listened to it kick into life with a loud, droning hum.

Five minutes sounded good, she could get the eggs and toast ready too.

“Peanut butter is good for you, even if it does stick in your mouth.” She told her dog, very matter of fact in tone, and got the container down from the cupboard all by herself. 

She was getting taller and didn't need to open a drawer to use as a stepping stool anymore. Totally grown up thing to do, not using stepping stools. A butter knife was taken from the drawer, because butters knives were for butter and peanut butter had butter in it, so it had to be used for that too. She spread it thickly, clumsily onto the two pieces of bread, taking two more pieces out to toast and set the finished ones on another plate.

This was harder than Mommy made it seem, that was for sure.

“What next, oh! Eggs, gotta do eggs. I hate them, but Mommy says they're good for you. I'll make you some too, okay, Ranger? She told me it makes your coat all nice and shiny and soft.”

Ranger licked his chops in response, watching her move about the kitchen. Not much bothered the mixed breed when his person was around, and since she was in a good mood? He was too. 

A glass bowl was taken out from another section of the kitchen, and the corner of Anise's tongue poked out the side of her mouth in concentration as she focused intently on cracking the eggs just the right way. 

The first two eggs didn't crack right, and she muttered something about being too stupid for cracking eggs. She had to reach into the oily gooey mess and pick out the shells with a squeal of, “Ewwww, grossness!” and multiple giggles. Her attention was drawn away when she accidentally broke one of the yolks, watching in fascination as the yellow mess spread out like a cloudy stain and moved around whenever she poked her finger in it.

It was so squishy and oily and gross, but it was cool too. She took a piece of eggshell and poked the rounded dome of the unpopped yolk, squealing in delight as it too, spread like a yellow cloud among the paler, oilier sections. 

“I gotta make more, Mommy and Amy and Daddy'll be hungry after they get home.”

It was an excuse to crack more eggs and pop the yolks, of course, but Ranger wouldn't tell on her, and she wouldn't tell either. It would be another secret just between the two of them.

The microwave timer shrieking shrilly to let her know that her bacon was done cooking threw her abruptly out of a world she'd been creating where there was an evil yellow cloud trying to take over the light yellowish land of oily stuff and they were trying to fight back, but it wasn't working. An egg hit the floor with a crack and splat, Ranger instantly helping himself to the mess as she looked around, confused, and at a loss for what she'd been doing before she'd gotten caught up in her own little world.

“Mommy?” She called out, uncertain and more than a little afraid that she was going to be in Big Trouble.

The microwave beeped at her again, and she cringed at the sound, wandering over with sticky, oily fingers to open the door and make the noise stop. Steam burst out, nearly hitting her full in the face with a baked meat smell that made her gag. Her heart pounded and something dripped out of the microwave with a smell that made Ranger look up, tail wagging as he finished licking the remnants of the egg off the floor.

“Uh oh, I think I did it wrong.” She told him, frowning, and inched closer to see what had happened.

Grease covered the whole inside, and leaked off the round glass plate and pooled everywhere, dripping out of the microwave itself onto the granite counter top with its pretty silver flecks in the black shiny surface. 

“I think it's done, it looks like it.”

It was steaming though, so that meant it was way, way too hot to touch and she would have to leave it alone.

...but how was she gonna get the eggs in then?

“Mommy makes this look really, really easy, you know.” She told Ranger, the dog's shoulder coming up to her hip as she wandered away to the sink and washed her hands. 

“How come it's so hard? It didn't look so hard when she did it, and you know we always watched her all the time.”

He cocked his head to one side and, as always, said nothing. Brown-orange eyes blinking at her expectantly, hoping for more bacon without doing the Bad Thing that was begging.

“I'll make more toast until it's okay for me to pick up.” Anise decided, trying to find something to do while the bacon plate cooled down. 

Toast was easier, and she could spread peanut butter on there too. Several minutes later, when all the toast had been properly smeared with gooey globs of peanut butter, stacked on their very own plate, and set out on the kitchen table, Anise returned to the scene of the “crime” that was the microwave and poked the plate with one cautious finger, letting it linger just enough against the greasy surface to give her an idea of heat.

While it was still pretty warm, it wasn't gonna burn her like it would have before, she decided. Carefully, she picked up the plate and carried the heavy, greasy burden to the table with slow, careful steps. Her favorite shoes crunched eggshell beneath them, she'd have to clean that up before Mommy got home and got mad at her for making a mess again. 

“There, try some Ranger.” She grabbed a piece, bringing three stuck together and tossed it to her dog. Again, his jaws parted to reveal impressive teeth and snap snap snap and a gulp and a lick of tongue against his lips and the bacon was gone. 

“Was it good?”

She took the tail wagging happily as a yes, and beamed, proud of herself.

The eggs went in for five minutes too, and they made weird popping noises too, like mini explosions that popcorn made. She busied herself in the meantime pouring everyone a glass of milk and a glass of orange juice. 

Annie made a face as she used her special cups at the same time. This was so not okay, and the things she had to do to make Mommy see she was all grown up were really hard. 

Maybe I'll get a treat after all of this, she'll be so impressed she'll get me the Tinkerbell movie like I asked two days ago. 

The idea of being rewarded with her favorite movies cheered her immensely, almost enough to make her forget that she'd be drinking milk and orange juice at the same meal.

Almost, but not quite.

Ranger, at ease as he had been, suddenly moved to his feet, body going into an alert stance as a low rumble built in his deep chest. His hackles rose, teeth baring as he glared at the back door. 

Anise blinked, washing her hands for the sixth time and paused, dreamy smile fading as what her Mommy and the nice people had told her about Ranger slowly drifted back in. “What's the matter, boy? Why're you being mean? Is there a bad person?”

She jumped as the microwave shrieked again. 

“I hate you,” she told it with a hiss, smacking the button to make the door jump open and swing back shut again. She grumbled, sulking as she went to peek out the window, Ranger automatically putting himself in between her and the door itself. She didn't see anything weird.

Oh wait, there was Mister Fieldman.

But why was he in their yard?

“That's just Mister Fieldman, Ranger,” she told her dog with a perplexed scowl. “he always gives us treats and pulls quarters out of my ear. I don't know how, but there's always a quarter there and I never find 'em no matter how good I wash behind my ears.”

Ranger continued to growl, and Anise opened the door to poke her head out. “Mister Fieldman, are you lost again? Mommy's not home right now, so maybe you should go home too?”

Ranger made a sound more like a roar than a bark, bodily throwing himself against the door to shut it as her neighbor turned around at the sound of her voice.

Anise's jaw dropped, eyes wide at the red that covered him from the nose down. She looked, frantically, at the calendar. It wasn't Halloween yet, and it was past April Fool's day too, so then why was Mister Fieldman wearing a very scary costume? 

Why was it missing a lot of things on the face and all red and icky and gross and was that a bone sticking...

She whimpered and backed away from the window as the man shambled in a jerky, unstable manner towards them. 

“No,” she told the figure from inside the house. 

“No, no, no, no, no! Go away! GO AWAY!” She screamed. Turned around and ran away as the man slammed himself against the door, leaving red smears across the glass. His glazed, cataract covered milky-blue eyes rolled this way and that.

Ranger had her hand in his mouth, a firm but non-piercing grip as he led her to the front of the house, away from the frightening figure at her back door. The pressure enough to stave off the worst of the encroaching meltdown. If she melted down, she’d be in more danger and he couldn’t allow that.

She saw the phone, remembered her mother's words about emergencies only and grabbed it. Her shaking fingers, wrinkled from all the hand-washing, slapped at the numbers until she got the three she wanted and pressed send. Tightly held the phone up to her ear as she dropped to a crouch, hiding behind the couch in hopes the banging at her back door would stop.

911, what's your emergency?

She burst into tears, sobbing at the broken words coming across. Familiar, safe, and human. “There's a scary man trying to get me, and I don't know where Mommy is. I need help, can you come get me?” She begged the woman on the other end.

“Hello? You said there was-”

There was a click, two clicks actually, and then she heard screaming and crashing on the other end phone. 

She pulled it away from her ear, staring at it wide eyed, tears and snot dribbling down her face. “H-Hello? M-Miss 911? Can you hear me? Miss 911? Hello??”

Ranger made that same furious roar, placing himself in front of Anise's hiding spot, hackles raise, ruff out and sharp white teeth exposed and ready to shred if the threat came any closer. 

His bark was like thunder to her ears, loud, constant and jarring and scary as she heard the sound of something breaking, shattering glass crunching under foot as something hit the ground and kept coming for them. She heard a moan, thick and gurgling in nature, as something dragged itself closer and closer.

Anise's hands slammed over her ears and closed her eyes tight, feverishly whispering the magic words that would make her wake up from the worst dream ever.