killin' it!

          it was one of those things that was so incredibly obvious, so much so that he felt like an idiot if he did say something --- and even more of one if he didn’t.  to the point that jackson’s mind was running wild with the possibilities to the question he hadn’t yet asked.  years ago, another lifetime now, he would have asked it with a smirk and a laugh, implying that he might even be proud  or impressed by whoever had given stiles a bruise.  he didn’t soon forget that he was once someone who pushed him into lockers and belittle him at any chance he got.          he’s not even listening to stiles anymore when he blurts it out, and his tone isn’t jeering --- if anything, it’s bordering on concern, an unusual flavor for jackson.  but he’s quick to reel it back in, a soft exhale that could almost  be a disguised laugh, raising a brow.  “ listen, i’m not an idiot --- besides, what kind of hazing would have you ending up like.... ” he gestures vaguely before crossing his arms. 

guess who finally fucking moved their isaac icons onto this computer 

          she looks around --- left, right, and then back to kira, brows furrowed and head tilted in an almost characteristically puppy-like manner.  often, malia’s own naivety goes against her, an illusion to what others might declare normal that she finds to make little sense at all.  this time, she searches kira’s face to try and determine if this is once of those instances, and after failing to come to any kind of a conclusion, she falters.  maybe she’s missing something bigger here, some joke that the rest of the world would find hilarious.           “ but --- kira ?? . . . this is your bedroom --- ” unless she means it quite literally; malia too suffered from the occasional night terror, those dreams that bordered on reality to the point that they shook her awake.  then again, maybe not.