A/N: Hey, guys! Here's your first post-fic extra content scene! A lot of you requested a Piper scene, so here you have it. A day in the life of Piper Michelle Overon, as told from his POV. Just a warning, the language content is harsher than any of the main fic chapters.

Piper's Torment

Yo. The name's Piper. You's all know me pretty good by now, right? Yeah, yeah, you's knows all about my old crush on Dreamy on how much I hate Macbeth's goddamn guts.

But lemme tell you's.

You's have no idea how much of a pain in the ass that bastard really is. I'ma walk you's through a day in my god-forsaken life as the Night Terror's roommate, a'right? Hey, his name is "Terror" for a reason, you's hear me? As in, he's a terror to lives with. So, if you's think you's got sympathy for the guy after all this story and shit about his reformation and turnin' into a decent guy and whatnot, THINK AGAIN. I don't care how long he sticks around Fairy Tail, the guy's always gonna be a scumbag. I'll prove it.

So's, this is how my day starts:

I wake up about six. I used ta sleep in on weekends til nine, but not since tall, dark, and girly moved in and started ruinin' my sleep schedule with his goddamn snoring. So, anyways. I wake up about six. 'Course, Mac's still out cold, snoring like a bear, droolin' all over his pillow and shit (how the hell Dreamy can think about kissin' a guy who spews drool like a fountain is beyond me, but hey).

I goes to the bathroom to take a shower, brush my teeth, get ready for the work day, you's know. Back when I was a bachelor in my own pad, this was a nice relaxin' part to my day. But not anymore. No, now's I gotsta find my damn toothbrush on the counter. Listen, I ain't making this up.

There's this thick coat of dust on the whole left side of the counter—pretty sure it's the powder shit he puts on his face. Then there's his makeup case. It looks like a damn suitcase with about ten thousand compartments for brushes and pencils and paint and shit. Yeah, it looks just like Reedus's art kit, is what it looks like. Problem is, Mac never puts his damn stuff INTO the compartments. It's just thrown around, all over the counter and in a big shit pile in the center of the kit thing. Half of it ain't got the right lid on or got a lid at all, which means there's like fifty miscellaneous lids all over the counter and in the sink too.

Only part of his makeup he keeps organized is that damn purple lipstick. He's got it all set up in front of the mirror, TWELVE of 'em. And they all say some different color on them, but I'm tellin' you's they're exactly the same. "Midnight Plum," "Violent Violet," "Dark Delila," like what the hell is this shit!?

AND, he never cleans up after himself when he takes the shit off, because there's washcloths laying around with purple lip-marks all over 'em (I had to buy a whole new set of washrags thanks to that dick. Ended up buying him three packages of makeup remover wipes so he'd quit ruinin' my shit).

And like, it don't even make sense, you's know?! It ain't like the guy does his makeup different every day or something. He wears the SAME DAMN makeup every day, so how the HELL is there twenty-thousand different colors and tools and brushes and torture devices and stuff I ain't never seen before clogging up my living space?!

Oh yeah, then there's his straighteners and curlers. I say "ers" because he's got more than one of each. He's got a dry straightener and a "damp" straightener, whatever the hell that means. A bunch of different spray bottles so's he doesn't "damage" his "perfect hair" by burnin' the shit out of it.

Point is, there's black and white hairs everywhere—makeup dust on everything—mascara streaks on the mirror—and somehow, I gotta find my damn toothbrush. You know how many times I found my goddamn toothbrush buried under one of those lip-stick stained washcloths? Or knocked onto the ground because there was no room on the WHOLE damn counter for it?!

So's, I started just leavin' my toothbrush in the shower where I t'ought it would be safe. Plus, ain't nothin' wrong wit' brushing your teeth in the shower. Two birds, one stone.

The shower.

God. Dammit. The shower.

I gots a bottle of body wash. That's all I need. Shit, body wash works just as well as shampoo. What the hell you's need anything else for if you's just trying to get clean?

But Mac. He's got shampoo and body wash and facial scrub and I don't even KNOW what half of that shit is supposed to do! All's I know is that it takes up the entire wall, and the bottles of it used ta fall every time I took a damn shower and I'd trip on 'em and cuss Mac out while he was fast asleep—so's I bought one of those shelfs that hangs on the shower wall, you's knows? It WOULD help, if Mac even used it for god's sake. I swear on the First, he ignores it just to piss me the hell off.

So he's got all this girly smelly shit that's got our bathroom smellin' like the girl's dorms—gives me a damn headache every time I'm in there. Oh, and the guy's got a whole collection of pink razors. I don't even want ta know, but if I had a damn guess, I'd say he shaves his legs. Guess he's gotta when he wears tight-ass boots and shit. I know for sure he shaves his pits.

Seriously, is he even a man?

OH! And this bastard is one of those sickos who leaves his hair on the shower wall and doesn't clean it up after he gets out. So's, guess who's always picking up goddamn Mac hair every time he uses the bathroom.

You's guessed it. ME.

Basically, every morning gets off to a shit start livin' with this guy. I brush my teeth, take a quick shower with my one bottle of wash, get out in five minutes, get dressed.

Mac's still sleepin' of course, and if I don't wake him up before 6:30, he won't be ready in time for work. You's heard me right, it takes 'im two hours to get ready. Two. Damn. Hours.

So, since I'm already pissed about the bathroom, I wake him up by chucking one of his boots at his head (what else am I supposed to do, really? I ain't allowed to cross the blue line to his side of the room anyway).

"Fuck you," he says.

"Good morning, asshole."

This is how we greet each others on a good day, mind you's. Sometimes he wakes up an tries to force strangle me with his magic and I gotta throw casino chips at 'im to make him stop. Ain't gonna lie, a couple of times we've had to use his powder makeup shit to cover up bruises before we face Dreamy for the day. If she knew we beat the shit out of each other in the mornings…

I listen to him stretch and groan and wiggle around on his bed for somethin' like a whole half-hour while I eat some grub.

I labeled every goddamn thing in this fridge. I used the blue tape and a sharpie marker, but I KNOWS Mac takes my shit anyway. Especially the milk. How do I knows? I only use milk in the mornings with my cheerios. One half-gallon jug lasts me at least a week you's know? Not since Mac moved in, though. Now, a GALLON of milk lasts me THREE days. Try and tell me that bastard ain't stealin' my milk.

Bet he drinks from the damn jug too. Sicko.

I think I'm gonna ask Freed to enchant my milk so's he can't open it. Or maybe I'll rig it with an explosive so when he tries, it blows up in his girly face. Ha.

So, I eat my breakfast and read the paper while this guy wakes up. Like I said, takes him at least a half hour to get out of bed. He looks like hell when he wakes up too. His hair sticks all over the place, bags under his eyes, lookin' like a zombie. Wish Dreamy could see him like this—bet she'd be turned off real damn fast.

Then he goes to the bathroom and shuts the door, and it's kind of nice because I knows I ain't gonna hear or see him for the next hour and half, but it also pisses me off because I know he's makin' a goddamn mess in there.

Usually, I leave before he gets out. The more space I can put between myself and transgendo, the better.

Next time I sees the bastard is when I'm havin' coffee wit' Dreamy and Pops.

This used to be another relaxin' part of my day. A cup of tea and honey and a mug a joe while the sun comes up. Real nice. Dreamy'd talk all about her plans for the day, or the afternoon with Syllest. I could sit and listen to her talk for hours, man. Soothing as healing magic.

But NOW.

He sits with us. He smells freshly girlied up. Sidles right up next to my girl and cuts those nasty-red eyes at her. It's creepy as hell. He looks at her like… like he wants to eat her. I can't stand it.

Thank god, he doesn't stay long. He has his cup of tea, whispers some flirty, scary as hell shit into Dreamy's ear, she blushes like she wants to be eaten, then he walks off to bake cakes for the guild 'fore Erza comes huntin' him down. (Once she tells him: "I better have something on this plate. Frankly, I don't care if it's a cake, or your head." I cracked up so hard I almost bust my gut).

By 9:30, we're in the guild hall checkin' the job board. Somedays we find work. Others, we ain't so lucky. If it's a real slow day, Dreamy gets restless. She starts to help Mira behind the counter, or goes to the library with Levy, or works on all ours paperwork since she's just sweet like that. I play cards with Cana if she's around.

Usually, I ain't gotta deal with Mac until later in the day. But like I said, sometimes I ain't so lucky. Sometimes, my dice numbers are real low and that's when I just know that grimey son-of-a-bitch is gonna get on my last nerve.

Like this once, it's after lunch, right? Dreamy's gone off shopping with some girls. She invited me and Mac along, but I aint gonna get caught dead in some lingerie store with Dreamy, and Mac would rather sleep, so's we stay behind. I'm hopin' he sticks with Gajeel and practices guitar in the guild hall. I goes back to our room and get myself cozy on the couch in front of the TV to play some video games. Bix got a new PlayBox4, so I bought his version 3 for a damn good deal.

So's, I'm playing it, right. It's a damn good way to relieve stress, by shooting shit up.

Then the door opens.

And I'm like goddammit.

This asshole goes straight to the fridge, pops the top off of MY milk, and takes a loooong swig. I could deadass kill him for that, I swear to god. But I pretend like I don't notice cuz I'm TRYIN' to blow off steam, you's know?

He sits on his bed and I'm hoping he just falls asleep. 'Course I ain't that lucky. Instead, I feels him staring at me. There's no demon on Earthland with a creepier stare than Mac, lemme tells you's. It makes you's feel like… like a banana bein' peeled right open, right.

"What?" I snap, after I gets so nervous I die for the third time in a row on the screen. How the hell's I'm supposed to focus with Lucifer's eyes on me?

"…What are you playing?" he says.

"None of your goddamn business." I restart the level and try my best to ignore him again.

"…Can I play?"

He's like this sometimes, a'right? Like… he acts like he's a normal guy or something. It's weird as hell. The other day me and few guys was workin' out in the gym, right? Me, Gray, Laxus (by extension, Freed). And this guy comes along and, first of all stares at us, which is one-hundred-percent against heterosexual-guy-code. Then, he sort of creeps forward and asks if he can join.

Dreamy says its cuz he's tryin' to fit in. I says it's cuz he's a freakish devil-spawn with a mad confused sexuality.

"Sorry, bubs. Only got one controller."

I know he looks down at controller number 2 sittin' on the console in front of me.

He doesn't say anyt'ing again for a while. And I keep dyin' because I know his creepo eyes are drillin' into me.

Then this bastard laughs.

"What's so funny, asshole?"

"Your gaming skills are laughably pathetic," he says.

"Shut the hell up! I can't concentrate with you's staring at me!"

"Oh? Do I make you uncomfortable, Piper?"

"You're a sick freak, you's know that?"

He's quiet while I respawn.

"I bet I could destroy you at that game."

A'right, now he's officially pissed me off. So I pick up controller two and throw it at him.

"You're on, dickhead."

I knows he did that on purpose. Pissin me off so's he could get what he wants. But whatever. I'm gonna put the bastard in his place with some good ol' first-person-shooting.

So we's play for a couple hours. He ain't half bad, but he's not as good as he acts like he is. I even let 'im join in a co-op campaign after a while. Don't get me wrong, though. It ain't fun, and I still hate his guts.

I figure after this I'll work on Dreamy's birthday card. So, after we's declare a draw and I go to my side of the room, I sit at the desk to write. I ain't some great poet, but I'm thinkin' of doin' a little enchantment on the card, you knows? Make it really special.

Well I'm lookin' up easy enchantments in this book Levy lent me, when the door slams open so hard, it'd put a hole in the wall if there wasn't already a hole from it being slammed open too hard.

"Beth, are you ready?!"

It's Gajeel, with his electric guitar.

"Finally," Mac says with a yawn.

Gajeel cracks open an energy drink and hands it to Mac. He's got a bag of chips, too, which tells me they ain't planning on leaving the room any time soon.

Pretty soon, he's got Mac doing some god-awful vocal exercises. I already got a headache, but this is just gettin' out of control.

"Alright, here's your sheet music," Gajeel hands him some paper. "Ready to practice?"

He strums on his guitar, Mac waits for the cue, then he joins in with that… that… screaming, or roaring, or whatever the hell it is.

"GOD DAMMIT I'M TRYING TO FOCUS HERE!"

They ignore me, of course. I swear, Mac just screams louder.

So, I'm kicked from my own room while the boy-band practices.

Now my headache is ten-thousand times worse and I have a real hankering for a drink. So I goes to the bar and stare at the alcohol selection and wonder why the hell I ever gave it up. MJ passes me a Shirley temple cuz she sees me staring. Cana slides in next to me and lets me vent. She's good like that—always listening.

I hang out here for a whiles, until I think it might be safe to go back to the room. The guild's shut down for the night, now.

When I go back to the room, the bathroom door is shut and the shower water running—cuz for some unknown reason, sadist cross-dresser Mac has to shower twice a day. He's damn lucky we don't pay a water bill.

But that means, I'll have to take a piss somewhere else, cuz god knows he ain't leavin the bathroom for the next hour.

After I get laughed at by Gray for usin' the public facilities, I go back to our room. Mac's still locked up, and I don't give a damn, so I dig in the freezer for a frozen pizza.

The freezer's empty.

I swear to god, I'm gonna kill him. He's catchin' these hands the minute he comes out of that bathroom, that good-for-nothing sleazebag.

We're low on groceries (go figure) so I make do with a peanut-butter-jelly sandwich for dinner. I clean up my half of the room. Really wish Mac would clean his. There's empty wrappers everywhere, and a bunch of crushed energy drink cans. I figure, what the hell, and step over the blue tape to pick up his garbage.

"I hate you's, Mac," I say. I'm throwing a bunch of garbage in a bag. I'm picking up some pillows to toss on his bed when something falls out of one.

I seriously don't wanna know. I don't.

Goddammit.

I pick it up because I'm curious as hell. I can't says I'm surprised to see it's a picture of Dreamy. It's a dumb nice one too. She's on the beach and she's wearing that swimsuit. You's knows the one. The pinkini with those cream daisies that match her hair—two of 'em, plastered on the fabric right where it counts, if you knows what I mean. She's bendin' over in front of a sandcastle, waving at the camera, and the angle catches everything just right, from boobs to ass. Smiling ear-to-ear, wet hair, face a little flushed from the sun.

I'm staring at it (longer than I probs should be, to be honest), when it occurs to me that this picture was in Macbeth's pillowcase. What the HELL does he need a pic of Dreamy in his pillowcase for?

I gots one good idea why, and I suddenly want to punch the bastard in the throat.

I slip the photo into my pocket cuz there's just no way in hell I'm gonna put it back in his pillow.

An hour later I'm listening to music on my bed—real music, blues baby, not that metalcore shit.

He finally comes out of the bathroom. He takes one look at me and all of the sudden, my headphone cord is tightening around my neck.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

"You were on my side of the room."

"Let go of me, asshole!"

"You touched my stuff."

"What the hell's you's need a pic of Dreamy under your pillow for, huh?!"

I know I fucked up now. There's this certain look he gets when he's not foolin' around anymore. A real dark look. An assassin look.

He drops me and picks up his pillow. He checks it for the photo, which obviously is gone.

"Where is it?"

"You's don't need it, bastard. Dreamy know you's keep a pic of her for your personal use, sicko?"

Now I'm up against the wall getting crushed by magical energy.

"Give it to me, or I will make you writhe in the darkest pits of hell for all eternity."

"Not on your life, bubs!" I'm tossing cards.

He's dodging. I'm puching him in the jaw, he's kicking me in the nuts (asshole. That's another strike against guy-code). Before long, we've broken the lamp, the TV, and knocked over the fridge. We'd keep at it, too, if Laxus wasn't kicking the door open and threatenin' to kick both of our asses.

"You're as bad as Natsu and Gray," he says. "Take it outside so the rest of us can sleep!"

"Give me the photo," Mac says, ignoring him.

"You's can pry it from my cold, dead hands, asshole!"

"What photo?" Laxus is holding us apart by the collars. I ain't gonna show him but he gives me a glare that says I'm gonna face the wrath of Zeus if I don't, so I hands it to him.

"You're fighting over a picture of Dialga?"

"Dreamer," we says at the same time.

So, Laxus pockets it. "I'll keep this."

"Not you's too!"

Laxus smacks our heads together and shoves us to our respective sides of the room.

"Kiss and make up. If I have to come back here, you're sleeping outside."

Mac holds his tongue, cuz he's a wimp. I hold my tongue too.

Pretty soon it's us in a messy room with no light.

"I hate you's," I say, for probably the tenth time today.

"I'm going to make you pay for this," he promises.

"Go to hell."

"I am hell."

And finally we goes to bed. Except it ain't really sleeping because in less than ten minutes, Mac is snoring and mumbling in his sleep. And I'm laying awake, starin at the ceiling, thinking about how I'm gonna wake up at 6:00 tomorrow morning…

And go through the same. Damn. Thing. Again.

I hope you guys got a laugh out of that. xD

I have a few more extra content scenes I'm working on. I'm thinking... that I'll take one of your ideas and turn it into a scene. So, requests begin now~ What sort of scene would you guys like to read? And no, Middream lemon is not a viable option at this point. Ask me during the sequel. ;) Though... if sexually tense fluff is what you're after, we might be able to bargain.

Also, if any of you have questions or anything you want clarified about the story, ask away. I'm happy to answer questions. :)