.GOD. (This must be important, cuz I never do that). Princess of the Not-So-Alive (AKA, one of my personal fav authors on fanfiction….check her out if you haven't) is letting me continue her story! *Mini happy dance* Well, my brother and I are playing Black Ops (that's for all you guys out there that think girls can't kick a**)….so, out of pure boredom, I'm gonna update this…..then study for my Pre-Algebra exam….then read my L.A. book and questions…..then answer questions on the Philippines…..by the way, if any of you are from there, let's talk!

Oookkkkayyyy….babble fest done. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I no own.

~Elsie

(P.S, has anyone heard of the 9 year old girl who got pregnant? I feel so bad for her….poor baby….who had a baby…..:\)

Sturdy

Iggy had never really had anyone he could rely on. Well, he had the Gasman, but really, who was he kidding? He'd never have the same thing Fang does.

Fang has everything. He can see, he had girls swarming him, he can see, he's the second in command, he can see, he's smart….he can see.

Maybe, though, it was a little more than jealousy. Maybe Iggy just wants someone to talk to him and think of him the way Max is with Fang.

No matter how many times denies it, Iggy feels alone.

But, now that he thinks about it, he isn't jealous. No, far from it, actually.

He's just happy Max has found someone sturdy for her.

Brumal

My teeth were chattering in the cold air. I was on 2nd watch; that meant that I was the coldest in the frigid air. The rest of the Flock was far back in the cave, huddled around each other, surrounded by a burst of flames that licked that their numb toes and defrosted the thin layer of ice coating their feathers. Hugging my fur-insulated jacket that Dr. M got me around my body, I set my teeth together, determined not to wake anyone up.

"Fang?"

Looking up, I saw Max standing at the mouth of the cave, the fire just hitting her from afar, lighting up half of her face and making her eyes sparkle. Upon noticing me watching her, she looked down bashfully, her long eyelashes casting inky shadows down her cheeks. I pulled one of my knees up to my chest, letting the other one dangle off the edge of the cliff.

Max looked warm. Her cheeks were a rosy red from lying next to the fire, and she was wearing a sleek yet insulted blue Northface with a big black hoodie underneath it. She had my blanket wrapped around her shoulders and she was wearing a pair of brown Bearclaw boots tucked into her ratty jeans. Her fingers were shoved in her pockets, but I could see she was wearing Iggy's gloves.

Due to the lack of body heat I was now running off of, I felt the strange urge to hug her. Keep in mind that I'm not an extremely touchy-feely person, so this was strange for me. Yet, as I watched her sit beside me quietly and watch me with her melting brown eyes, I found my eyes flickering first to her lips, then to her blanket; I couldn't decide which I was more deprived of.

"Max?" I asked quietly, giving in. "Can you skootch over?"

She gave me a quizzical look, but moved.

Only she was moving in the other direction.

I did a mental facepalm, and twitched my finger at her in a "come here" motion. This time she looked down-right shocked, her red lips hanging open. I rolled my eyes in exasperation and grabbed her arm, plopping her next to me and wrapping a little of the blanket around me. Max, with lack of space, moved closer, until she was pressed against my side.

Steadily, as my watch faded and she fell asleep, my body heat returned to me, as well as a fire I didn't know was capable of being rekindled.

Curl

"Ouch! Mama that hurts! Quit it!" My five year old daughter exclaimed, holding onto her hair and glaring at me with her big black eyes. I smiled sheepishly at her.

"Well, if you hadn't gotten your Aunt's unruly curls that you can't comb through without loads of conditioner and constant grooming, we wouldn't have this problem." I replied, combing through her bangs. She glanced up at me from the angle she was sitting at, her look smooth and calculating.

"Well, I'm hardly to blame for that; it's all genetics fault." Korsynthia said, dropping off a large pile of clothes, her perfectly glossy red curls bouncing as she walked. K was Fang's blood-related sister. Recently, we had found his parents, and learned that his sister, whose name wasn't really Korsynthia but a much longer name that is extreamly weird and only used when with family, and Fang were both naturally born with pitch black wings. Weird as it is to comprehend, I really like her. She's funny and sassy, yet smart and giggly in a way that makes you truly admire her spirit.

"Can you help?" I asked, flicking my wrist so that the brush was pointed over my shoulder at Koda. She smiled sweetly at K; she had always had a soft spot for her Aunt.

"Sorry, I can't. I'm sure your daddy can, though. He helps Brookie and I all the time." And with those words and a bidding kiss on the forehead, she skipped out of the room. Brooklynn was one of K's daughters, who had inherited her mother's thick red curls.

As if knowing someone was speaking about him, Fang stuck his head in the door, watching his daughter spin around lazily in the swivel chair and me leaning against the wall with a frustrated expression on her face. Needless to say, I let him take over.

Watching him comb through Dakkie (as was another of her nick-names)'s wild and untamable hair, I noticed how he treated her like glass, lightly releasing each curl and watching it fall perfectly back into place.

Watching him with our daughter, I couldn't believe how blessed we'd been.

Or that his hair actually curled up at the ends.

Feral

Growling.

Ceaseless, dark growling.

There are plenty of things that name that noise.

Tigers.

Wolves.

Refrigerators.

Annoyed mothers.

Dogs.

Video Games.

Iggy when you wake him up.

Public speakers.

Homophobes.

Gazzy's stomach after taco night.

Yet, I would have never figured I'd hear that deep, feral noise come from Fang's throat.

Heebie-Jeebies

"You, my dear, creep me out," The Whitecoat informed me, tapping on the plexi-glass in the bullet-proof cage I was currently in. I smiled evilly at him, whipping blood off of my mouth.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Fine, take her away; we're done here." The Whitecoat then turned his back to me.

On the way back I found myself dropped off into my cage, the dark around me strangely comforting. Nursing my wounds, I stuck my injured hand through the bars of my cage, watching the blood drip from it steadily to the floor.

Then I felt lips on my hand.

I jumped, trying to pull my hand away and failing horribly as fingers tightened around my wrist. Irritated and worried I stuck my face through the bars to meet my capture's eyes.

Fang's dark irises pulled me in as his lips on my cut smiled against my fingers. Curiously, I watched as he took his time kissing each individual fingertip before he traveled down my palm to my cut. Stiffening, I almost shrieked when I felt his tongue slide across my injury, clearing it of blood.

Watching him lick his lips, I grinned, laughing when I saw his equally weirded-out yet amused face.

"Wow," I giggled loudly. "If that whitecoat thought I was weird, you would give him the ultimate case of heebie-jeebies."

Sorry it isn't a huge update. I don't really run on an updating schedule. Also, I'd like to thank PenWielder (Gosh I hope I spelled that right), because her review touched me. It was two reviews long!

So, I propose a challenge. Whomever can give the longest review, and it has to make sense, get's a virtual cake and gets to pick a word for me to do….and here's the fun part; You can do whatever you want to Fang in your drabble. Heck, it's all about you!

One condition; I don't write lemon. *shudders* Yeah, that'd be weird.

Please review! I expect to have an epic winner. Will PenWielder keep her title, or will one of you get it?

Peace!

Oh, and If you're wondering why Dakoda pops up a lot, read my other story, Untouchable. Maybe that will make more sense.

~Elsie