What the gunk thinks

The... flower. Vase.

It was off.

It. Was. Off.

Obviously this was some sort of malicious and cruel mirage his evil Great-Old-Infested subconscious was trying to force upon him, trying to release all that which he locked upon several thousands of locks.

Obviously, this Great-Old-Infestation underestimated him. He, Death the Kid, son of the great Shinigami, was not going to be played with by a manifestation of black goop that had settled in his insanity.

Kid glared at the vase, nothing more. This was a plot by a pile of gunk to try and throw him off his game, the game in which he constantly had to fight his instinctive abilities. The instinctive hunger for everything to be perfect, absolutely perfect, nothing wrong, precise and Shinigami be damned perfect.

He glared again, more fiercely this time in an attempt to fix the two pixels off dirt set in the orange pot.

Now that he was focusing on the pot too, there was a shadow of a crack in it and orange didn't belong in his house.

His hand twitched. In a second the criminal pot and plant duo could be blasted into smithereens which would then be sent into the hell of oblivion for the murder of his precious sanity.

But alas, he was stronger than that. A pile of black gunk is not going to ruin his day, he was going to stay calm, not go on a hissy fit, no no, that would be childish and-

oh, fuck me.

The next second the plant was nonexistent.

And was half the wall.

He blew a hole in the other half just to be orderly.

Then he wondered if there really even was a pot of madness in oblivion or his subconscious gunk was toying with him again.

The son of Shinigami looked carefully at the holes in the walls.

"... Dear, Father, help me."

What the Shinigami thinks

It was all his city. All his world. He loved it. Relished it. After his father had unfortunately passed away a thousand or so years ago, it had all been given to him. To him. He was king, he was God.

Nothing could stop him. He was going to recreate this world perfectly, and then he would-

"WAAAAH! HE'S BIG AND SCARY! MOMMY, I HATE HIM!"

… The child's crying stopped him. It made him sad. He wanted his world to be perfect. Perfect was happy. The child had to be happy.

"O- Oh! I- I'm not scary! I- I just want everyone to be ha- happ-p-p-"

"WAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" the child cried more.

And more.

And more.

And suddenly Shinigami-sama's dream of perfection collapsed as he childishly cried with the child.

"HAAAAAPPPYYYYYYY!"

"SCAAAARRRRYYYYYY!"

… Leave the world order crap to his son when he got one.

Shinigami-sama would enjoy the world as it was.

… After he stopped crying.

"HAAA- AAAAA- AAP- P- P- PYYYYYY- YYYY!"

What the snakes think

"Let me see your hand."

"Nnn. Why?"

"Just give me your hand."

"In marriage?"

"Don't make me make it a threat, woman."

"Heheh. Still touchy, Soul?"

"I'm only here 'cause you've brainwashed me."

"And I hid away your girlfriend. Now, here's my damn hand. What did you want?"

Soul blankly stared at the woman's black fingernails. There was a perfect symmetrical yellow arrow on each – Kid should be here, not him, he'd love it – and he pondered what he would do.

Then the enchantress said 'girlfriend'. Maka was not his girlfriend.

Hot chick to look at, sure. Otherwise, not so much.

But for some reason it still pissed him off enough that Medusa trapped his partner to get himself captured.

He bit her finger.

"Sweet Jesus!" Medusa slapped him before glaring at him like a monster.

The snakes in his system suddenly flared up again.

"M- m- ma- a- ar- k- king you. M- m-… Mine."

The witch smirked before slapping her manservant again.

What the girl with the girly underwear thinks

Older men were hot. There was no doubt about it. So when Soul finally revealed he had an older brother (she'd been pestering him about his family for years) she almost jumped for joy. She'd imagined a more mature Soul, with eyes not covered in dark circles in bruises (Pre-Kishins were mean) and snow white hair that didn't look like it just went through a blender. She also imagined a more developed man, with hot muscles and hot pants and hot stuff in his -

Good lord there was something wrong with her. She was thinking about Soul's older brother like he was some sort of high class whore and she was the top dog pimp on the prowl and-

Good lord she hated her similes.

"So, Maka, this is Wes."

He was exactly how she imagined him.

And he wasn't wearing a shirt, for some apparent reason that must've been an inside joke between the two brothers.

And there was no guilty scar, either.

When the green-eyed girl's nose suddenly erupted in blood and she fell back on to the floor and started screaming and flailing her limbs in embarrassment, Wes stared at her funny.

"You didn't tell me she was flat."

"I thought I did."

"You also didn't tell me when she kicked her legs around like that, you could see her panties full well."

"Huh, she usually wears white. They've got hearts on 'em."

"Oh, yes."

Said heart-pantied girl stopped flailing on the floor. Let go of her nose. Just stared at the two boys relishing in her state of weakness.

"You didn't tell me she was scary enough to make you pee your pants.

"Also didn't tell you she carried around books bigger than your head.

"Thanks. No, really, Soul."

"Welcome, Wes."

"ALLLL OF YOU MEEEEEENN!"

What the word that rhymes with 'stove' thinks

"It's mauve as in rhymes with stove."

"It's spelled M-A-U-V-E. It's mauve as in rhymes with suave."

Meister glared at weapon and weapon glared right back. Blood and olive eyes flashed with anger and stubbornness.

This was his turf.

This was her turf.

Okay, so it was their turf.

A new song had come out – Mauve-iro no Sympathy – and they both loved it. They even sang it sometimes, dueting like the singers; they were drunk on this song. Soul loved the music, Maka loved the singing. Best of both worlds.

Maka got Soul into being okay with the color mauve because of it.

Soul got Maka into obsessing over heavy metal bands because of it.

But now it was war. The word mauve either sounded like it looked (what Soul saw) or it sounded like it rhymed with grove, stove, and loathe (what Maka 'knew').

The last one was a little off, but it fit the situation.

"Mauve as in sounds like stove."

"Mauve as in sounds like lahve."

"That isn't a word."

"Well, it sounds like a word!"

"It sounds how my retarded aunt – papa's side – says 'love'."

Blood red eyes twitched slightly before closing their vision to her olive orbs.

"It. Sounds. Like. Suave."

Maka opened her mouth to retort but closed it again immediately. She was not going to spend this day arguing with some white haired idiot.

"I'll convince you that it sounds like freakin' stove."

"Oh, really? And how would miss Tiny Tits do tha-"

He couldn't finish his 'that' before a certain pigtailed girl had tackled him onto the couch and had started ravishing him. Soul didn't even have time to register what before Maka's hands were trailing up and down his sides, teasing him and her tongue had forced itself upon his, clashing and exploring his mouth with seductive vigor.

And then when Soul finally processed that this girl seemed like she was ready to fuck his brains out, she had finished. She lifted herself off of him, unwrinkled her shirt, and walked to the sink to spit any cooties out of her mouth.

"It's mauve as in stove, alright?"

"Only if you do that again."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I love writing pervy Maka. BD And pervy Evans boys. I might try that again sometime. Please tell me if I've made anyone too out of character. D:

Aaaand

Death08kill; I love KidxMaka! Too cute. 3 And I hope you like what I wrote.

Ubyrai; You're so nice. You reviewed two of my stories. D; /hug

As always, PLEASE REVIEW! I WOULD LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER. I FANGIRL SQUEAL EVERY TIME I GET A REVIEW.

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