#THIS TOOK SO MUCH WORK JEST IS CRAZY

[plumadot]

hi @jestroer just ruined my life on the server /affectionately

i buried myself in a hole and didn't come out for like 10 minutes (my love language)

[anantaru]

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ hit it till you catch a cramp

synopsis. ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ being intimate with wriothesley doesn't always go as planned. // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡

cw. rough syx, sweaty, awkward sex moment with the duke himself, fem! reader ♡

soft lips press against your forehead as wriothesley drags his hips against you with one heavy roll forward— and he's greedy, what more was there to expect when he hasn't seen you all week and could only dream on how you'd feel wrapped around him, with your walls twitching as your erect nipples scratch at his solid chest.

you feel your arousal drip out from each smack of his balls hitting your skin as it slid down your ass, turning you utterly absorbed as his hands freely roam over your naked body, your pussy rewarding him with a good squeeze due to his attentive ways of giving each and every part of you enough attention.

"t-that's good angel?" wriothesley drawls out a slow whisper before completely thrusting himself into you without warning, his weight dipping against your body as you're being pressed between his sweat afflicted chest and a doused mattress.

you're too much— and in his eyes, you're being way too irresistible tonight as well— no matter if it's due to the fact that he's been practically awaiting this ever since monday. not only that but the duke was forcing himself not to masturbate to the thought of you and instead, patiently sit still and focus on work until he was able to taste you again.

it had been utterly worth it in the end. always.

you're panting out, arching your back and gripping at his shoulders as he thrusts into you with an impossible pace, tossing his head back and exposing his adams apple upon swallowing thickly. you were certain that wriothesley had to be carved by gods, that his body was a work of art, meticulously drawn with blood, tears and passion, he was beautiful, and the love he gave to you was ravishing in its own rights.

he was yours, yours and yours and he makes you go crazy— yet, if only you were aware that you managed to make him become even crazier and more addictive to your complete person.

your personality, your beauty, your taste.

your skin feels sticky as wriothesley continues to drill the rummaging thoughts straight out of you, clenching his jaw in concentration as he wiped his forehead to get rid of the tousled bangs sticking at the glossy skin.

it's like time has stopped for the both of you, and your stomach was sitting heavy with a coil that was awaiting to be broken when in a trice, wriothesley's hips stutter in midst a long thrust, his previously rough technique turning messier when he tries to regain it, "ahh— wait, fuck," the duke chokes out, shooting you an aching look on his face before placing a palm against his flexed thigh, "just a second baby, yeah,"

"w-what's wrong?" you ask, dusted in lust and sweat as he slowly slides himself out of you.

instinctively, you pout and wince at the sheer loss of him, the fullness of his shaft melting into your softness that never failed to ignite a heat, a need, what it took to nurish your wanting, "is everything okay?"

your voice was firm as your eyes focus at your boyfriend, precisely his hand furiously rubbing at his thigh. he clears his throat as quietly as he could, as to not make a big deal out of it, "— a cramp, i got a cramp, fuck, hold on, okay," he frowns, his strawberry red cheeks refusing to face you before he climbs out of the bed.

his cock was still painfully erect with a condom wrapped around the shaft, glossed with your arousal. you grab onto the blanket to cover yourself a little before grinning at him cheekily, your body propped among pillows as you watched him.

"you're getting old, baby," you jest, smirking as his fingers dug into the plush of his skin, massaging the muscle, "i might need to go easier on you in the future," you add on playfully as at last, winning back his intrigued eye contact.

"you think so?" he clicks his tongue, his cheeky smile all set this time as he crawls back into the bed, his weight forcing the mattress to bounce a bit.

wriothesley finds himself in between your legs again before you welcome him back into your arms. there was so much love in his eyes, a pleading love— hand in hand with an unwavering loyalty as his breath wafts over your lips.

"you know what?" he asks.

"what?"

"it still hurts,"

you laugh to the point where your belly was starting to actually hurt, the blunt admittance said with a gentle tone might've been the best way on how to deliver this sentence to you, "i'm pretty sure i pulled a muscle,"

"i'm sorry but—," you snort before hiding your face in his neck to laugh out, pulling him into your hug tighter, "hey! i'm being serious, don't laugh, it's not funny," wriothesley speaks in both earnest and amusement before silently resting his head against your own.

your hands fall against his precious hair as you stroke over his scalp sensually, the both of you getting carried away by the soft, intimate moment of embracing each other in a raw, playful way.

by that time, you've long since forgotten about the couple minutes prior of skin clashing against skin as you cradle his cheeks to make him look at you softly, "lay down," you command, his marvelous eyes staring back at you, "i'll give you a massage grandpa," you laugh as he hums with a playful roll of his eyes before you frel his lips place a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"what did i ever do to deserve someone so beautiful such as you?"

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[clonecaptains]

Does He Know?

a jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader fic

warnings: giving this one an M rating for a very brief mention of masturbation; and some thematic elements like cheating (not jake or reader), some swearing, alcohol mentions; she/her pronouns used; no use of y/n

word count: 3.6k

summary: jake has been in love with you forever, but you belong to someone else. someone who doesn't treat you right. it all comes to a head when secrets are revealed at your friend's wedding.

a/n: this is a little different - it's from jake's pov! also credit goes to my bff @cowboytylerowens for naming reader's boyfriend!

--------------------------------------------

This isn’t easy for him. Not when you look the way you do. A flattering cocktail dress hugs your figure, it’s your favorite color. He knows it’s your favorite color, it’s the color you wear the most. The color you feel most confident in. He’s dying to tell you how beautiful you look because right now your body language reads that you are a little shy about the bold dress choice.

He could tell you, but it’s not the same. Not the same if you were his girl. And you’re not.

You’re not his girl.

There’s a party at the Hard Deck tonight. Bob is getting married, the rehearsal dinner finished an hour ago. The pilots are throwing him an additional party because he was apprehensive about a crazy bachelor party. The atmosphere here is loud, but it’s not anymore than normal. Maybe a little extra excitement and happiness for their friend.

You’re here because you work at the Hard Deck. Penny took you in several months back when you needed a fresh start. And after some time, you became friends with the pilots who frequent the place. Jake’s had a crush on you from the moment you walked in. He’ll never forget that moment, he felt like he’d been struck by lightning. He feels a similar feeling in his gut when he saw you in your dress tonight.

It kills him that you’re not his.

It’s worse because missed his chance.

You’re dating another pilot who got to you first. His name is Robbie, callsign Scythe. He’s been a rival of Jake’s since he got here, and taking you is another thing added to the list.

 Scythe doesn’t know how Jake feels about you, but he has noticed he’s gotten in Jake’s head. During flight training and regular work things Jake has excelled at – Scythe is just that much better. And he makes sure to let Jake know he’s noticed.

Jake used to be this way, getting in the other pilots heads. He still does but only in fun and to get his fellow pilots to do better. It eats at him a little seeing Scythe act the way he does. Just knowing he’s one step ahead – in everything.

Jake beats himself up about it, about you. He had plenty of chances to ask you out. To make his move. He knows fire when he sees it, and he really thought he felt it with you. But when Scythe swooped in as usual, Jake’s chance was gone.

So, there you are, looking like something out of a dream. And he can’t do a thing about it. That’s why he’s sitting at the bar with his back to you. Scythe has his arms around you “teaching” you how to play pool. He can hear your giggle, and it stings. He has no right to feel this way he thinks. He has no ‘claim’ over you – but he doesn’t know how to just turn off how he feels. How the sound of your laugh is downright musical to him. How your eyes and your smile have his heart squeezing in his chest.

This beer can’t nurse his wounds fast enough.

“Oh, I love this song!” Jake hears your voice perk up when a song starts playing overhead. When he tunes in, he hears that it’s “Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield. A little on the nose. Too on the nose. He looks over to the jukebox to see Coyote with a smirk and a shrug. Jake huffs out his nose, rolls his eyes, and takes a long drink of his beer.

Coyote’s the only one who knows. And while he played that song in simple jest, he does feel for his friend. He’s seen the shift in Jake since you came along.

The night goes on and Jake has done what he could do to avoid seeing you. He spent most of it at the bar, but then he remembered why he was here. This isn’t about his love life.

He cracks a few jokes with Bob. He finds he enjoys this company of people, and he almost forgets he was feeling sour. Then he hears your voice over the music and the crowd. It’s hard not to zero in when he hears you.

“Robbie! Stop it.” He sees Robbie get a little handsy with you against the pool table. He’s clearly drunk now and you aren’t enjoying it.

“It’s Scythe,” he tells you, and Jake watches you frown.

“Hey!” Jake speaks up, he doesn’t want to see you upset. He knows you could do better than Scythe. Jake doesn’t know if he is the best for you but if given the chance, he’d do his best to try. “She said stop.”

You look embarrassed, and Scythe grumbles out something about not needing to be told. He looks like he’s going to be sick, and he runs off towards the bathroom, leaving you and Jake alone by the pool table.

“He’s such a dick,” Jake huffs out, he’s not trying to bash your boyfriend necessarily, but he aches for you and it’s coming out in ways he’s struggling to control. When he gets near you, he forgets how to speak, and almost always puts his foot in his mouth. “He’s not good for you.”

“And you know what’s good for me? I thought you only cared about yourself,” you reply, embarrassment taking over and Jake can tell he’s upset you, so he starts to back off. But not before he hears the telltale bell ring up at the bar. He doesn’t even have to look to know if it’s for him. He can only imagine how it looked from the bar having a heated discussion.

‘Don’t disrespect a lady.’ He knows the rules. He doesn’t feel like arguing.

The back of his neck feels hot walking towards the bar to pay for drinks. He knows everyone’s eyes are on him, and normally he’d like attention – but not this kind. He’s quick to make his exit after paying.

He barely remembers his drive home. All he can think about is you and how he didn’t mean to embarrass you. He needs to get over you, but he doesn’t want anyone else.

There’s about a million things swirling around in his head. He feels a headache coming on. A hot shower and bed are his plans for the rest of the night. And trying not to think about you.

But damn it if he can’t stop thinking about you in that dress. And how you’ll be in another one tomorrow. Fuck.

He doesn’t feel good about it, but he lets his mind wander. Thinking about your smile. Your eyes. The way the dress hugged your body. Your laugh. The soft swell of your boobs, the curve of your butt.

Fuck. He lets himself get caught up in the moment. He wishes he could take you home. Peel that dress off you and make you see stars. To make you laugh, to take care of you.

Still in the shower, he comes hard in his hand. He doesn’t feel good about it.

And once he’s gotten in bed, it takes him forever to get to sleep. He wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat thinking about you. He knows he’s in love with you. You haven’t left his head since you first walked in the Hard Deck.

Flying was just about the only thing that could distract him enough from you. Until recently.

He has to get over you. He debates telling you how he feels, but he’s sure he’d make a fool of himself. And he’s done that enough.

Jake wakes up and decides to focus on the wedding. That’s the goal for the day. He’s in it, and he has places to be. He can’t let the thought of you being there distract him.

 He won’t lie that he is a little excited to see you even though nothing will happen.

He just doesn’t want to see you hurt when it all comes down to it. He doesn’t want you to break up because of him – he wants you to be happy. And if Scythe makes you happy? Then so be it.

But that’s easier said than done.

He wants to be the one to make you happy. To get you to smile. That cute shy one.

His mind is wandering again. And he needs to get ready for this wedding.

He loves getting the chance to wear his dress uniform. It’s crisp and clean when he pulls it out of the closet.

Like most things in his life, there’s order and neatness. Except how he feels about you. Maybe that’s why you’re under his skin. You’re the one thing he doesn’t know what to do with.

Flying is easy. Keeping a routine is easy. But you? You’re in his head and he doesn’t know which way is up.

Maybe having fun at this wedding will keep him busy. He knows he looks good in this uniform, maybe he can flirt a little bit, get his mind off you.

He hasn’t been to a wedding in a while, and he’s happy to be there with his friends. He’s in a good mood. He tells himself he’s fine, that he doesn’t care that he hasn’t seen you yet.

Until he does. It’s not until the ceremony has begun. He’s standing up in the line of groomsmen, and he sees you out in the audience. You look absolutely beautiful, and it’s a punch to his gut.

It’s hard not to watch your face during the ceremony. He wishes he could kiss you. The soft romantic look on your face while you watch two people pledge their love for each other. Scythe is barely paying attention to you. And Jake can’t decide if he really is just an asshole who doesn’t know what he has, or if he’s just so intensely jealous of him. Jake knows if it were him, he’d have kissed your cheek at the very least to make you smile and remind you of the love you have.

After the ceremony is over, and things get started at the reception following – Jake is glad for the break. He needs some air, so he heads for the bathroom to splash water on his face before mingling.

He shoves the bathroom door open with one hand and heads right for the sink. Grabbing a few paper towels, he wets them – then rubs his face and the back of his neck. He’s managed to calm down for a moment when he hears a couple giggling in one of the stalls. He smirks at first, someone’s getting lucky.

Then the couple comes out of the stall. Jake’s anger boils up in him again when he sees it’s Scythe and another woman.

“Bagman!” Scythe seems almost happy to see him.

“Scythe,” Jake replies, his head feels like it’s going to explode. “So did y’all break up then?” Jake asks, he mentions your name. There is no way he’s going to let this one go, not when he knows it’ll hurt you.

“No,” he scoffs. The damp paper towels in Jake’s hand are getting squished in his fist.

“You mean, she’s out there in that dress looking like that and you’re in here?” he motions to the woman he’s with.

“She wouldn’t put out. But this one here,” he lewdly kisses her, “will. Several times. And she’s not going to find out about this.”

Jake is fuming. Things like this always happen at weddings, he knows that. But he can’t bear the thought of you being hurt. He knows this will break your heart.

“Wait, are you sweet on my girl?”

Jake’s nostrils flare, his anger giving him away.

“You’re sweet on my girl,” Scythe continues, talking of course about you. Jake doesn’t like how he sounds with your name on his mouth.

“She’s hardly yours if you’re treating her like this,” Jake says and yanks the bathroom door open to get out.

Now he’s seeing red. His job is high intensity but it’s easy for him to shut off his emotions up in the air when it’s all business. He has to go out here now and eat a meal with his friends and pretend like you aren’t about to get your heart absolutely shattered.

He can barely stomach the food. From his table, he can see you and Scythe at yours among some other friends. You have no idea what’s just happened, and Jake can’t take it. Scythe makes eye contact with him and raises his glass in a mock cheer at Jake.

“What’s going on with you?” Coyote leans over to Jake, he can tell something is wrong. “You look pissed as hell. We’re at a wedding!”

Jake leans in to his best friend, “I caught Scythe and someone else in the bathroom.”

“Shit.”

Coyote knows as well as Jake. You need to know, you need to be told. But it’s going to hurt, and Jake doesn’t want to be the one to bring you that bad news. The rest of the meal he sits on it.

It’s when the bride and groom are doing things like cutting the cake, that Jake decides to go talk to you. He has no clue what he’s going to say. He goes up to the bar to get a drink to calm him down, when he sees you nearby.

“Hangman!” you call him, and his heart jumps in his chest. Excited to hear your voice, but guilt at knowing what he knows. It’s such a mixed bag of emotions he feels dizzy with it. Or maybe it’s just how beautiful you look. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night.”

“What are you sorry for?” he asks you, he’s been through so much in the last 24 hours he couldn’t pretend to know.

“For accidentally getting you in trouble and buying all those drinks. Let me get you one?”

“It’s an open bar,” he teases. He’s finding his rhythm.

“Still,” you reply with a laugh. There’s your smile he loves. He tells you his drink order, humoring you.

“Having a nice night?”

“Yeah!” You tell him sipping on your own drink while you wait for his. “I want to dance but I have no clue where Robbie, I mean Scythe is.”

“Want to dance with me in the meantime?” Jake offers you, his hand. He’s not sure if you’ll take it, but when you do, he gives you a big grin. He couldn’t hide it if he tried.

He leads you towards the dance floor, and you join other couples in a slow dance.

He finally has you in his arms and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Your hand on his chest is burning through his uniform.

“I really am sorry about last night,” you say again. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Well, I probably deserved it, I am cocky.”

You share a laugh, then there’s a few moments of quiet. Just enjoying the dance and the music and good company. But his brain won’t leave him alone. He won’t ruin this nice moment, but you need to know at some point.

“Does he really make you call him Scythe?”

“Well, he-“ you pause. “He likes it.”

“You’re too nice to him. And everyone. Except me apparently,” he teases.

“Well, you said it yourself- that you’re cocky-“ You don’t get to finish your sentence because there’s a commotion happening nearby.

A couple stumbles out of a photobooth, and Jake sees it’s Scythe and that same woman from before. Jake calls your name, he doesn’t want you to see it but it’s too late.

“Robbie???” You leave Jake’s arms and head towards your boyfriend. He tries to give you the ‘it’s not what it looks like’ excuse but you don’t buy it for a second. Jake watches your heart break before his eyes, and he feels a little pride when you grab someone’s drink to splash it in Scythe’s face.

You take off, Jake can tell you’re crying. Everything in him tells him not to follow, to give you some space. But he doesn’t want you to be alone.

He follows you, he doesn’t see exactly where you went, but he hears a door close. You’ve stepped into a closet, and he can hear your sobs through the door.

His heart hurts, it’s killing him. You’re in so much pain – he can hear it in your cries. He waits for a moment, to let you cry – even though he wants to hold you now. He wants to give you a moment.

But when he hears you breathing heavier, he raps on the door with one knuckle. He gently calls your name and waits for you to answer.

“Hangman?” you sniffle.

“I’m here,” is all he can think to say right now, but it’s the truth.

The door opens and you look awful. Your eyes are puffy and snot all down your face. Jake spots a box of tissues behind you in the closet and grabs it. “C’mere,” he says reaching for you. He hands you the tissues and you wipe your eyes and nose.

You start to cry again, “how could I be so stupid.”

“You didn’t know.” Jake tries to comfort you as best he can. He’s wracking his brain.

“I did know. I knew. I didn’t want to accept it, but I knew.”

“I- saw him. With her tonight earlier and I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”

“I should have ended it a long time ago,” you say with a heavy sigh and sit down on the floor.

“Why didn’t you?” Jake asks, sitting down next to you. He leans his head against the wall, listening.

“I was in over my head, he was fun at first.”

Jake thought that hearing you talk about him would make him jealous. It hurts him more to think about you going through something like this than his own pride. Maybe in a small way he feels better knowing it wasn’t just in his head about how Scythe was as a person.

“You wanna know something?” you look over at him. He leans forward to look at you. Damn, you’re pretty.  “I only said yes to dating him to make you jealous. I wanted you to make your move.”

Jake’s heartrate starts to pick up. Is he hearing what he thinks he’s hearing?

“I was nervous, you made me so nervous. I didn’t know what to do and so I said yes to him and then I got in a messy situation. And I didn’t know how to climb out.”

“I made you nervous?” a slow smile forms on his face. Cheeky. You elbow his arm with a shy little laugh. He’d eat you up right now if he could, you’re adorable.

“You still do,” you bite your inner cheek.

Jake reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry all this happened, should have just asked you sooner.” He elbows you back playfully, “but you could have asked me out…”  

“Hangman, honestly,” you laugh and shove his shoulder. “I could barely talk to you as it was! This is stroking your ego too much.”

“Damn straight,” he laughs back, cocking his head as he speaks.

 You take a deep breath, the you tell him, “Help me up.”

You start to stand, and Jake is quick to jump to his feet to help you. You grab him by his jacket and pull him with you into the closet. Your lips on his in an instant. He’s quick to follow you, and he’s closing the door behind him and kissing all over your face and neck.

“Hangman!” you squeal between kisses.

He pulls back to look at you, “it’s Jake.”

Your eyes well up just a little bit and you exchange smiles before you kiss each other again. This time you bump teeth and are holding onto each other giggling in a supply closet.

His kisses get more heated. He shoves your dress strap down and plants open mouth kisses on your bare shoulder.

“You want to use a line so bad right now I know you do,” you giggle into his neck. “About how you’ll be better than him.”

“Well? If it’s the truth?” Jake gives you a little smirk. But then he watches your face fall.

“That’s one of the reasons I should have ended things,” you tell him. Your bodies are so close, you’re fully pressed up against him. The buttons on his dress uniform are digging into you. “He was moving too fast, and I wasn’t ready.” Your lip trembles and you start to cry again. “I really did like him and then he made me feel so bad about myself.”

“Listen,” Jake slowly puts the shoulder strap back up your arm and gives it a little kiss. “I just want you. Doesn’t matter how fast or slow. You’ve been in my head for months. Just being able to call you mine?” You slowly start to smile at him. “If that’s what you want of course.”

“Jake,” you squeeze his arm. Then reach to touch the hairs on the back of his neck. “Why do you think I pulled you into this closet to make-out a little bit?”

He grins and leans in to kiss you some more. His hand cradling your head, and your hands in his hair.

“We should probably get back to the wedding,” you gasp suddenly. “People might be wondering where we are.”

“Let ‘em wonder,” Jake kisses you again, hardly believing this right now.

“I want to dance with you again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grins and opens the door. You both smile at each other adjusting your hair and rumbled clothes. Jake has lipstick all over his face, and he’s not sure if he wants to wipe it off.

“C’mon Lieutenant,” you smile tugging his arm.

“So, I really made you that nervous?”

“Shut up Seresin!”

[storiesfromafan]

Look Who's Jealous Now - Benny x Reader

A/N: I was surprised by the amount of interest in the sneak peak I posted got. Thank you all!! Forgive any grammer or spelling mistakes 😅

Previous part: Jealousy Does Look Good On You 😊

Also, I posted this challenge. Feel free to check it out and make a request 😊😊

Tag list: @strayrockette @thegabbyh

Being Benny's girl meant being by his side, arm around you or his jacket. His stormy blue eyes seeking you out in the bar, sparkling when finding you sitting with Kathy or other Vandal women. Him picking you up after work. And taking you for rides on his bike.

Which led to today's Vandal ride. A group of you going to a car show. Those that didn't ride, gave the bikers looks of disgust or distaste. All the while, other biker clubs gave some sign of recognition. You found it all fascinating, how bike owners and car owners didn’t get along. But there were a few exceptions.

You were sitting on a blanket with a few other women, Benny was standing near by with Johnny in conversation. Both men drink in hand and laughing at something Johnny said. You smiled at your man, admiring the boyish smile on his face, or when he'd laugh. Then those eyes were looking at you, as if he'd felt your gaze on him. Benny gave you a soft warm smile, which had you melting.

“Give it a rest, will ya" jested Betty, pushing your shoulder.

Braking eye contact with Benny, you looked back to the older woman, as well as Kathy and Gale as they laughed at you. After that night a month ago, hearing what happened with Benny after you took off. The women had teased you on and off. And every time you and Benny gave each other the goo-goo eyes, one of them told you to give it a rest. You couldn't help it, you were in the early stages of this relationship.

“Sorry my happiness offends ya" you retorted sticking your tongue out.

Once more the women laughed, this time you joined in with them. You felt light and happy. From both the women around you, but also because of Benny. If someone had told you a month ago this was what was install for you, you wouldn’t have believed them. Right now you were happy, even if the road to get here was crazy.

Benny watched how you laughed with the other women. Smiling happily that you were having a good time. For him this month has felt like being on the open road, content and freeing. Finally making you his girl made him feel complete. But also, part of him still felt bad for upsetting you that night. It wasn’t his intentions when being around Angela. But he didn’t feel bad for using her to bait your outburst. He liked that you’d been jealous, made him feel good to know you wanted him, just as much as he wanted you.

“Stop it with the goo-goo eyes, will ya” Johnny said with a roll of his eyes, bringing Benny’s attention back to the older man. “Ya makin’ me sick, kid”. He joked with a laugh.

Benny laughed, sticking his free hand in his jeans pockets. “Whatever old man".

Johnny smile warmly at the younger Vandal. “Nuh, I’m happy for ya, both of ya. It was ‘bout time ya made her ya girl. You’d both been tippy-toein’ around it".

Benny felt embarrassed hearing those words. Because it was true. But you were different to all the other girls – women – for Benny didn’t want to show off and take you just on a ride of his bike. That would have been to easy. That’s why he spent the time with you, talking with you. He wanted to know you. And he did. But then he got nervous and somewhat shy to ask you out. He found himself second guessing himself.

Benny told you that, opening up to you as best her could. And since then you have done everything to reassure him that you wanted him. If you could tell Benny was starting to doubt or second guess himself, you’d be there, doing everything to show him he was good enough or right. Then when it came to you, Benny was pushing you out of your comfort zone also. The best example of that was when you’d ride with him. He’d go so fast on the open road that you would be cursing, telling him to slow down. But he’d always say you’ve got nothin' to worry about sweetheart, I won’t let anythin' happen to ya. And you would believe him. You always will.

“Yeah...she’s really somethin'" Benny said with pride, his eyes going back to you.

You got up from your spot on the blanket, along with Kathy. You both needed to use the restroom. The short walk was filled with conversation and laughter. Kathy being one of the women you were closest too. You thought she was nice and honest, no beating around the bush with her.

After doing what you both had too, you began to walk back to the others, only taking your time to look at the cars in passing. Neither of you knew much to do with cars, but you admired their looks.

“Such a nice colour" Kathy commented on the current car you were both looking at.

You nodded. “It really is, bet she sounds good too".

“You should see her on the road" came a familiar male voice from behind you.

You turned around in shock to see your old family friend Victor. You smiled brightly, taking in how he had changed since you had seen him last, which was before he went back to college. He looked fitter, and tanner. No doubt from playing football. He was the boy next door mixed with jock.

“Victor! My gosh!” You said with amazement, before moving to give him a quick hug. “How have ya been?”

Victor laughed as he hugged you back. You stepped back and looked at him with amazement. Remembering Kathy by your side, you apologized and introduced the two. Victor shook Kathy’s hand with a warm smile, as he said hello. Kathy looked between you too, finding it all to amusing to see you both reuniting.

Unfortunately for you, someone else had been watching. Benny had seen you and Kathy making your way back, but stopping to admire different cars. He smiled at how cute you were. He was making his way to you when he saw the athletic young man step up. And then watched the surprise on your face before you both shared a brief hug.

It left a sour taste in Benny’s mouth, seeing you smile and talk to this guy. And usually he’d find your sheepishness cute – when it’s aimed at him – but he strongly disliked it when it came to this guy. He asked himself who was this guy, anyways?

Slowly Benny crept forward, catching the end of whatever you’d been saying to Kathy.

“...our families have been so close, especially after Victor" – so that’s his name, Benny thought – “and my brother played together on the football team. Guess you went on to play college ball, huh?” You softly laughed, looking to Victor.

Yep, Benny didn’t like this guy. He did not like the preppy look of him. And he really didn’t like how you were all smiles and giddy. Dare he say, Benny Cross was jealous of the guy you were with? Yes, a hundred percent he was.

Stepping up to you, as your back was to him, Benny put his arm around you. Drawing you close before putting a kiss to your temple, all the while staring down Victor. “Hey sweetheart" he greeted with his deep voice.

You jumped before realising who it was. Relaxing, you turned to Benny with a bright smile. Leaning up to place a peck to the corner of his lips. “Hey".

Once you moved your head back you noticed that Benny’s gaze was focused on Victor, his eyes drawn in and sharp on the young male. Whom was standing there looking at Benny, with a smile upon his face, not a care in the world. You shot Kathy a confused look, which she shrugged at. Though you both could feel some kind of tension between the two males.

“Ah, I think I’ll head back” Kathy slowly said, deciding to remove herself from the situation.

You shot her a sour look before she took off. Leaving you with the two males from and in your life. Neither male looked away from the other. You guessed Benny was staking his claim to you, as he probably didn’t know who Victor was. And Victor, being like a big brother, was working out if Benny was good enough.

“Well...” you said clearing your voice. “Benny, this Victor, an old friend to my family. Victor, this Benny, my boyfriend".

You looked a little shock after calling Benny your boyfriend. That word never leaving your lips before. Sure, you’d called him it in your head. You felt a warmth rise in your chest after voicing what Benny was to you. As you were known as Benny’s girl. With a silly smile upon your face you turned to your boyfriend, placing a hand on his chest. Which seemed to get Benny’s attention.

Looking to you, he was greeted to the sight of you smiling up at him. Seeing that silly smile warmed his heart, almost making him forget the man who’d hugged you. He could see a twinkle in your eyes, like something perked you up more. Whatever it was, Benny liked it and always wanted you be like this.

Victor cleared his throat. “It’s nice to meet you".

Both you and Benny turned to face Victor. “Yeah, nice to meet ya". That pointed looked back on Benny's  face as he looked to the man before him.

Victor nodded his head. “Well, as I mentioned before, this car" – he moved to stand by his car – “is amazing on the road. I’ll have to take you for a ride, hey cupcake".

You rolled your eyes at the old nickname, but bashfully smiled. “Vic...not that nickname. Let it die, please”.

Victor laughs at your words. “I will never let it go, cupcake”.

You moved forward and swatted Victor’s arm, making him laugh more. And then you laughed as well. All the while Benny watched the playfulness between you too, and not liking it one bit. Especially when Victor put his hand on your arm, holding firmly to stop you once and for all. The way this guy looked at you, the familiarity and warmth. It was off putting for Benny. This guy, even if he’s an old family friend, having his hand on you and looking at your warmly, ticked him off. That green eyed monster rising.

“How about that drive sometime?” Victor’s voice brought Benny back to the matter at hand, the male speaking.

“Ah, yeah. That would be” – you looked to Benny, but am surprised to see the unfriendly look directed to Victor – “...great". Great coming out unsure.

Your old friends face lit up when you agreed, not noticing the uncertainty in your voice. Going on about where you both should take a drive too. All the while you were unsure on how Benny was taking all this. Though with every passing moment that look seems to get darker, and getting annoyed.

That’s when it hit you. Benjamin Cross was jealous. Jealous of your old family friend Victor. Turning back to Victor, you couldn’t help the wicked little smile that crossed your lips. Now would be the best time to give your boyfriend a taste of his own medicine. Finally you could show him how you felt when he spent time with Angela.

“I don’t mind where we go" you replied, placing a hand on Victor’s arm. “As long as you can open that car up".

Benny’s gazed moved to you, not impressed with your reply.

“Of course! She’s made to go fast" Victor laughed.

You continued to smile, looking at Victor. You both talk about his car, you asking any and every question you can think of. All the while feeling the dark cloud that was Benny behind you.

And oh Benny was not enjoying the attention you were giving this guy. Nor did he like the way Victor was smiling at you. He knew he was an old family friend, friends with your brother. But a small part of him wondered if you had ever had a crush on him. If Victor had liked you. Did either of you act on it. Was there hand holding and cuddling. Or did you ever kiss. Every thought making the jealousy in him grown.

Then he did it. Victor held your hand as he led you around behind his car. Leaving Benny standing there seething. This guy had the audacity to take your hand and lead you away from him. Benny’s hands clenched for a moment, before he unclenched them, for he had to control this anger, to control the want to lay hands on this man. He wouldn’t – couldn’t do that, for you would not forgive him if he did.

Next minute he heard your loud giggle. That was it. Snapping out of it Benny made his way to you both. You were leaning against the back of the car, still in conversation with Victor, who stood too close to you with that charming smile. With a small growl, Benny walked over between the two of you. Victor taking a few steps back.

“Benny?” You asked confused and concerned at the annoyed look on your boyfriend’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything alright?” Asked Victor, which made Benny turn and glared at him.

Without a word Benny pulled you from your leaning position. And without an ounce of trouble, he picked you up so you were over his shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp. After realising what had just happened you started to hit at Benny’s back and saying for him to put me down. But it fell on deaf ears, as your boyfriend then stomped off, back towards his bike.

“Ah, sorry Vic!” You called, throwing him a slight wave.

The man you’d just called to looked at you with a shocked expression, returning your wave awkwardly. With every step you continued to hit Benny’s back and repeating your demand to be put down.

“What is ya problem!?” You practically yelled, now gaining an audience as you both moved on.

Benny huffed. “Had enough of him" was his gruff reply.

You blinked, taking a pause from hitting your boyfriend. “Come again?” You asked in confusion.

“I said, I had enough of him" Benny stated, like it was fact.

“Hmm" you hummed.

You took a moment to let his words sink in. As well as his actions. You smiled at your jealous boyfriend, before starting to laugh. Your plan looked to have worked. You got under his skin. You practically cackled, which had Benny questioning you on what’s up with ya?

You smiled brightly. “My, my, my. Looks who’s jealous now, huh?” And again you laughed.

Benny huffed, jostling you on his shoulder, silencing you. He smirked at that. Though it didn’t last for long. As you began to sing that he was jealous. Reaching his bike Benny planted you back on your feet, met with a big grin on your face.

“Admit it, you were jealous~” you sang.

Benny rolled his eyes, but feeling embarrassed by the weight of your attention on him. Yes, he was jealous. And a small part of him feared it could be the start of loosing you. You noticed how Benny looked away, his eyes looking worried. Your smile dropped. You stepped closer seeing how worried he was. You brought your hands up, cupping his face and turning his gaze back to you.

“Hey, you have nothin' to worry about" you said softly, eyes boring into his beautiful baby blues. “If ya think I’d want Vic, no chance. I want my bike riding Vandal any day".

Hearing those words, Benny let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His eyes softening, the worry slowly leaving. Replaced with warmth and endearment for you, which is everything you had for him.

You pulled Benny’s face towards yours, the Vandal not putting up a fight. You brought his lips to yours in a soft, tender kiss. A reassurance he needed, and felt from you. Wrapping an arm around you, Benny drew you in close. You smiled at how needy he could be at times. But you wouldn’t push it away or say no.

Pulling back you looked at your man. “I still can’t believe ya got jealous" you giggled.

Benny groaned, hiding his face in your crook of your neck which only made your giggle turn into a laugh. Retaliating, Benny began to nip at your neck. Which earned him a small squeal from him, and a playful slap to his shoulder. You both laughing at it all.

“Yeah, I’ll admit I was jealous, happy?” Benny muttered against your skin.

Smiling triumphantly you said, “good...now ya know how I felt".

[glitterwordsdarkthoughts]

Chris had been acting weird all day. The two of you were supposed to get lunch, but he'd changed plans at the last minute and requested that you meet him at the studio instead. "I want your opinion on a song."

It's odd because you're not musically inclined - he knows this. Still, you settle into the desk chair he steers you into, ready to listen earnestly. "I kind of - um, wrote it about you. or with you in mind?"

It may take longer than it should to realize that the song playing is a love song. The song about you that he wrote while thinking about you is a love song. It shocks you a little, makes you sit up straighter, carefully taking in every word. "Play it again."

He does hands shaking. You could listen to his confession forever, but you're afraid he'll shake right out of his skin from nerves if you make him play it a third time without saying anything. "I love it," you admit, "I love you too."

He deflates in his chair. "You couldn't have said that the first time you listened to it," he whines, relieved.

You grin, "Play it for me again."

"You really like it that much?"

"Yeah, I do." And you don't just mean the song.

You were a little confused by the things Minho kept presenting you with. At first, you thought nothing of it. Snacks every now and then - normal. The coffee you love - very sweet of him. Stickers after you complimented the one on his phone case, a keychain, a cute stress ball: it isn't until the items become a collection of things that you question it.

You want it to mean something, something crazy like he likes you. But you're terrified it doesn't mean anything at all. You've convinced yourself that he's just being kind. You don't want to mention it and never receive another thoughtful gift from him. Each item brings you so much joy. Curiosity is eating you alive, though.

"I really appreciate everything you give me, but why?" You ask, fiddling with the newest gift, a cute cat plush.

He looks startled, like a deer in the headlights.

Chan chuckles from behind you, "It's because he likes you!"

Minho looks horrified, hissing, "Shut up! I'll kill you." Then to you, "I can stop if it's making you uncomfortable."

"No!" You startle; that's the last thing you want. Calmer, you add, "I really enjoy it because it's you, and I like you, too."

"I want you to stay," Changbin murmurs against the bare skin of your shoulder.

Your skin is tacky with sweat, and your brain is a little foggy from your last orgasm still. "What?"

His arm tightens around your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear. "I want you to stay."

"Like for now or?" You question because you desperately need clarification, your heart beating wildly.

"Forever."

You roll over abruptly, fighting against his firm hold to face him. "Say that to my face."

"I want you to stay with me forever. I love you, and I can't stand to watch you walk away anymore."

You don't know if you're more relieved at finally hearing those words or pissed that it took so long.

"Can I look?" You gesture toward the sketchbook on the table, and Hyunjin agrees, distracted. Usually, you'd work on your own project while he worked on his. Still, you just can't find the motivation to be productive today. If you don't distract yourself with something, it's only a matter of time before he catches you staring.

It isn't until after you start turning pages that he remembers what's in that particular book. The damage is already done, though; before he can resend the agreement, your wide eyes are already taking in page after page of you. The whole book is a character study of you.

"Wow, a little obsessed, aren't you," you try to joke, but it doesn't land. You don't know what else to say, hating the sudden tension.

"I am," he admits after a beat of silence, "you're sort of amazing."

"Sort of?"

He glares, "Stop fishing for compliments."

"But I love getting compliments from you."

"Why?"

Feeling brave, you drop the playful jesting. "Because I'm kind of in love with you."

Jisung's lying on the couch, phone held above his face. "You're cute," you declare, just to watch how his cheeks color.

"Don't tease me," he grumbles, turning to pout at you.

"It's not teasing if it's true."

He rolls his eyes, focusing back on his phone. You've liked him for a while, always complimenting him, and his blushing and stuttering are rewarding, but you'd really like to know how he feels about you. Seungmin had said Jisung's an idiot, and you would have to spell it out for him.

"I like you! Like a want to date you - like you."

The phone drops onto Jisung's face. "Ow! Wait. Really?" He questions, turning so fast he nearly rolls off the couch.

"Yeah."

He beams, "I like you too."

You blurt out, "I like you!" It's a poor excuse for a confession, and immediately, you regret the words. You stuff the cookie Felix made into your mouth, so you can't speak anymore. Clearly, you shouldn't be allowed to talk.

He laughs, his smile lighting up his entire face; it distracts you from your embarrassment. "That's good because I've been trying to seduce you with baked goods for a while."

The sound of your surprise is muffled by the cookie in your mouth.

"Please, don't choke. I won't be able to kiss you if you do."

At the admission, you do choke, struggling to swallow and coughing to clear your windpipe once you do. "Not helpful," you complain.

He giggles more, enjoying your reaction, and is relieved that you are both on the same page.

"I wish you'd look at me like that," you mutter, wistful; maybe you've had too much to drink.

"Like what?" Seungmin questions.

"Like you want me."

"You're drunk," he points out. The words sting like the worst rejection. This isn't the first time you've told him you liked him, hinting at your desire. It's also not the first time that he's brushed you off.

"Not so drunk that I don't know what I want." You stand abruptly, having to use that table to steady yourself.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

He sighs heavily before following you outside. He pulls you to a halt on the sidewalk. "Are you serious?"

You stare, confused and hurt.

"Do you really like me?"

Huffing, you demand, "Haven't I told enough times?"

"Just once more - I'll take you seriously this time."

There's something earnest about the way he says it that makes you swallow your pride. "I like you, you asshole."

"I like you too."

"I'm sick of going on blind dates," you complain over coffee with Jeongin.

"Then why do you keep going on them."

You stare him down momentarily, weighing the pros and cons of honesty. The silence stretches so long it pulls him from his phone. You decide to be honest; lying to yourself and going on stupid dates hasn't lessened your crush on him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, or some shit like that. "Because I can't go on a date with you."

"Why can't you?"

You gape at him. There's a list of reasons, starting with him being your friend and not liking you romantically, but this is the day for taking chances apparently because instead of answering, you ask, "Will you go on a date with me?"

He smiles, "I'd love to."

The easy agreement leaves you a little baffled and angry at yourself; if only you'd known it would be that simple.

[scara-meow-che]

𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 ┃ phantom longing with childe

CW. NSFW (MDNI), afab! reader, ANGST!!!, brief mentions of having underaged sex, name calling (princess, good girl), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (WRAP IT), marking, porn with bits of plot, a bit OOC childe, infidelity

AN. this fic used to be an old kuroo prompt of mine but childe fits this idea so much, i just can't let this go to waste. anyway, enjoy this word vomit of mine :D also i'm sorry for those who found the "kuroo" errors in this bcs i legit worked on this prompt around 2AM (　；∀；)

you keep on longing for the ghost of the past—from the rotten body of a relationship.

it was on the third tick of the minute, on the fifth desperate attempt to distract yourself from the man who sits in front of you.

time had no mercy in gracing him with features deprived of stress brought upon a successful man's life. his toned arms were a delightful sight as they flexed under a red button-up rolled up on its sleeves, a habit of his that you knew like the back of your hand. the boyish ginger hair you grew to love now framed his face with its curly long ends and he is, as crazy as it seems, still godly than ever.

nothing has changed about him, even your feelings.

"f/n-chan! aren't you at least excited to see older brother?" teucer had enthusiastically nudged at your distracted form, pulling at your arms, beaming brightly as if to blind you with that smile. teucer and the rest of childe's family never had a clue how much the lil' partners-in-crime grew something more behind closed doors, especially after the years that had passed.

"yeah, aren't you glad to see me?" childe jests, eyes carefully scanning a subtle hint of vulnerability to ever dance in your features. but, even after a few seconds of admiring your cherubim beauty, he failed to grasp any information to know how he should act around you.

"f/n, i always thought you and childe are closer than tonya here," his mom added, nodding at childe who seems engaged in fishing out what was swimming inside your pretty mind. "you two often eat out at night. ah, i remember your father fuming at the poor boy!"

and they all laugh but your heart continues to ache for the visible longing only childe knew you were feeling at the moment. he noticed, of course, he is as perceptive as he can be. but what he made out of is not the melancholic pain strung upon this happenstance because he knew the attraction left lurking in your hearts.

oh, how funny it would be if they knew that the boy who took your virginity is right in front of them. well, there's no point in telling how the comforts of your room that day were painted with your salacious moans and childe's deep grunts. the blazing passion offered, love that used to enrapture whatever force binds you with one another—sadly, everything was of the past.

how hilarious it would've been if they knew how dirty you felt because a part of you still misses his body snuggly attached to the warmest parts of yours. every time your eyes would accidentally stop to stare at his, your soul is pulled toward him. it's as if you were falling over and over again.

oh, how ironic it would be that you wanted childe far away from you but at the same time, you want him to ravish you in a way you'd be left satisfied.

just like before.

he was perfect, too perfect for your liking. once you've tasted this perfection, the polished palate of desire can no longer forget how it felt pleasurable on your mouth that it left you thirsting for more.

you shouldn't be too attached but here you are, helplessly smitten just to feel him touch you once more—to kiss you, to praise you for being his good girl, anything that he used to do before. pictures, posts, and messages, it was as if you'd been deprived of every need, starved of anything about his whereabouts that you shamelessly devoured what you possibly could get from him.

despite him being the one who ended everything, you never had the guts to hate each fiber of his body. broken promises of yesterday had crumbled down with the future you longed for. the innocence of love is a double-edged sword that you have used against yourself. and now, you continue to bleed your emotions for the man who left you dying.

food had already gone cold and bitter on your tongue that used to glaze on honey-smooth skin belonging to this celestial god who had wrapped his presence on your heart.

bitter, yes, bitter. the sharp yet addicting bite of the love harbored for him still lingers in you. maybe it was because he's your first love that still occupies the majority of your own silly heart? Everything involving his being was complete bliss—a plethora of happiness you can only feel from him.

a credulous admiration can only go far if not for the risk one can take but you choose to let go of all of your morals and logic, blissfully dancing through the danger of his song.

the first kiss shared on the first peak of daylight; the first night he laid his hand on yours as a freckle of winter snow fell from the heavens; the first dreadful goodbye whispered alongside the strong waves ebbing on the harbor; he is the first of all firsts there is and how wrong were you to give him everything.

time may have passed together with all these fleeting memories but your feelings fluttered still.

the dining hall felt suffocating, the bubbling chemistry of both longing and denial clashed when your eyes stared at his alluring blue orbs. you wanted to throw up. your head was spinning so badly. you never wanted to be stuck in this dilemma. your insides twist and turn as they continue to spit your name together with his.

tonya somehow noticed how quiet you'd been for the past hour and gave you a soft squeeze on the shoulder. the small gesture had helped you snap out of the flummoxing reverie because of an orange-haired man. and it's yet another battle to avoid his overwhelming presence.

it felt long eating with them and to make matters worse in your favor, they opted to spend the remaining hour catching up on everyone's plans for the future with a cup of hot cocoa.

as the hand of the clock strikes 7, you can hear their voices gleefully bickering and leaving a melodious chatter across the hall you settled in. the vigorous movements etched on each body around you felt slow while you washed the dishes.

"can i help?"

towering behind you, a fresh scent laced with a musky undertone of his cologne coiled itself on your quivering frame. the territorial instinct he had on your submissive body left you breathless when he lay a gentle hand on your shoulder slowly moving down to your waist.

if not for the logic gradually fogged by this attraction, you would've already succumbed to his hand and let him take you right then and there. but you stood firm, not giving him a chance to slip for him to devour the flickering courage you have left in you.

it would take him more than that but the heart wants what it wants.

"as the man of the night, he should be reserved to mingle around his family and shouldn't even be here to help." your ears picked up how soft your voice was. it always was, for him. you always have a soft spot for him.

"oh? then as the special man of the night, i won't allow my guest to even do the dishes, let alone someone as important as you to the family." were you, really?

childe took his sweet time in dominating your senses, his hand moved across your lower back up to the side of your hips. his other hand also went in to dip into the curve of your chest down to your stomach. you felt him close in the distance, your back firmly pressed against his built torso.

"p-please."

you didn't know whether that was a plea for him to leave you alone or not but when he took a good whiff of air, letting a guttural groan when you buckled close to him—a stutter amidst the calm shook all the grounds you stood and it was when you lay all your cards for him to see.

childe lowered his tall frame to look over your shoulder. the view was of an innocent gesture but hides the intent of making you yield to whatever his mind was thinking. it was unfair, it was cruelly unfair how he can control you to such extent.

"use your words f/n. i taught you better than that."

he traced delicate and sensual lines on your burning skin. you choked on your breath when you saw him smiling at you, seeing how roses flushed vivaciously on your cheeks to his advances.

"use your big girl words. come on."

oh, how did your body laid enervative under his mercy?

childe was selfish, you know he can never let you go. you were practically made for him and yet he was gluttonous just to have you putty in his hands again. just like when you two were just 16, right before he left to continue his work throughout different regions across teyvat, miles, and miles away apart from the icy land of the tsaritsa, away from you.

he wasn't the ajax who you fell in love with. you can see the little details of the canvas of his soul, colors you knew that weren't yours dominated each hue you have left behind. the art which you two have made as a masterpiece was left tarnished by another one. this man behind your back, savoring miles of skin his eyes can roam to, isn't the one who used to satiate the void you felt by warming you in your bed.

the man you fell in love with is a ghost settling in this body that you crave for.

you hated yourself, more than anything there is. you were hungry, deprived of this euphoric feeling of the past, touch-starved, guilty for wanting him to be there for you even if you no longer have the right to be claimed as his.

as everyone grew tired, retreating to their rooms, why? why did you hold him back from going to his room? why did you lead him back to your chamber? why did you let him in? why did you have the heart to let him in?

to whatever gods are out there must be looking down in at you in disappointment, but you don't care. childe had trapped your body between the door that was quietly shut close. the doorknob had hit your back but you didn't care, not when he finally molds his lips on yours; not when he firmly grips your jawline as he dips his tongue to your mouth, catching up on the years he wasn't able to be with you.

the passion in every motion, the discord in every emotion—it was there. the ghost of the man you loved was still there. and this is when you'll take advantage of it, this was the only chance you can hope on and maybe, the empty promises wouldn't be left in vain.

feather-like touches littered on your skin as childe's nimble hands raised the shirt that suddenly felt too suffocating for you. you were distracted, too drunk to think of anything else while he moves in a leg right between your thighs.

next to his actions was to skim right above the skirt you regretted wearing for this night. it was too short, you noted, enough to titillate the attention you wished from him. each pad of his fingers felt addicting like everything happening right now was like the way before. like nothing had happened; like nothing had ended; like nothing had ever torn you two apart.

you saw him smirking when he felt the soft material hanging on your hips and he slid them off with ease. his eyes were focused on you when he let his body slide down along with your underwear. and he left it there, pooled on your legs as he moved back up to tease you, to make everything in you want him.

as if you didn't already.

the crippling embarrassment had invaded your mind when childe slid in his fingers to the soft skin between your thighs, looking straight into the gates of your soul. rich and smooth blue orbs were glinting in lust, never in the idea of love. and that's when he dips in and searches through the sensitive bud of skin protruding in arousal.

"you always look pretty when you want me." childe devilishly grins as the visage of you, eyes closed and left amenable, was exactly as he remembers it before.

you bit down on your lower lip, eyes closing at the immense pleasure sent by his skilled digits finally going in and out of your leaking hole. the rushed movements, ragged breathing, and vehement waves of his deep voice resonating deeply to strum painful chords on your heartstrings—god knows you missed this but you knew how wrong this was.

this was wrong, he shouldn't do this.

the frilly lace that barely covered your dripping cunt laid idly on the floor, your legs trembled when he particularly hit one spot inside. you strained down the moan bound to escape your lips while he left salacious kisses on your exposed neck.

"childe, please, more." you don't want him to stop, it was too addicting. he knew where to exactly touch you, he always fucking knew everything there is to know about you.

you can feel yourself drip down on your thighs and covering his hands with your juices. you gripped down on his lean arms to stop how fast he was thrusting in and out of you but he was enraptured to see your cunt enjoying the attention, he can't help but fuck you more.

"see? you're taking me so good, princess. you're so good at taking me. you always do." you looked down and you saw him going up to the hilt, reaching places none have managed to. you love this, you hate this. you want him to stop but you also want him to continue. why were you so conflicted when it's wrong, this is clearly wrong, the ring says it's wrong.

but no, you wanted him. years, you have longed to feel this affection for years and finally, he's in your arms. how can you let go of him?

"you're drooling badly, is this all for me? did you miss me so much?" like the empyrean life who kissed the earth with color, childe blessed your skin with blue and purple clouds. the vainglorious spirit of this towering male screams on the name he had marked on your body.

that you were always his. that you always belong to him. that no matter how much you try, in the sea full of strangers, it's always him who you look for.

but no, no, no.

it wasn't soon when he perfectly scraped the side to look for the spot that makes you mewled and moaned lasciviously on his arms. the velvety texture of your walls lovingly squeezed on his fingers; you shake in delight, quivered in happiness, trembled along with the submission to love, and shuddered in the intimate warmth he has as your home.

you can never call him home. you shouldn't call this home.

unabated thrust and rut of his slender but thick fingers fill you up, the honey you produce pours out from your lips as it flows in the harmony of your whimpers. the slick and squelching sound your cunt produces was filthy, you felt filthy but anything for him.

bleary-eyed, hands grasping whatever surface it can hold unto, legs twitching when you feel the tight coil in your core about to snap in two, you are near the peak of heaven made by childe himself. this was heaven, yes, it was always like dreaming on cloud nine with him.

he's just a ghost of the past.

you didn't listen to the whispers buzzing in your mind because all you can focus on is the way he deliciously hit on that one spongy spot that was to die for. your eyes beamed in tears, making childe glow in pride.

he's not the ajax that you knew from before.

"you look beautiful when you cum, princess. you're creaming with just my finger then what more to my cock?" he was selfish, insidiously selfish.

but why didn't you stop him when he removes each article of clothing separating his skin from yours?

why didn't you stop him from kissing you with such fervor and longing?

why didn't you stop him from connecting himself to you?

"please, please, please, make me cum." you whispered, head moving up to get him back in kissing you. your hands were held above your head, his grip was so tight you never want it to let go of you.

"yes, princess. just stay still and fuck," and you tightened around him, his expression right above you showed how it always has been. how it should've been but what was your reason for letting him do this?

it was love, a disillusioned love that kept holding back for the ghost of the past.

"let me hold you, please." you begged but what exactly did you beg for? was it to hold him to be yours again or just this physical chemistry happening between you two?

but childe understood it as the latter, letting go of your wrist and encasing your hands inside his. one was on your side and the other was what he kissed adoringly. and then you saw it, a small piece of gold tying him down. a beautiful, gold ring.

where's the other half of the ring?

"fuck, f/n. i love you, i have always loved you." and you cried, seeing the painful expression to cross his features while climaxing inside of you, the tears coming from childe that fell on your cheeks.

the last kiss he gave on your hand and on your lips. the shaking body clutching tightly on your defeated form. the sobs escaping from his lips as you pulled yourself away. you felt empty.

of course, a ghost can never fill you in.

⠀⠀scara-meow-che © 2023 ┃ do not copy, modify, or repost ANY of my content

[ebongawk]

How about ways Eddie and Chrissy deal with or comfort the other when the other is anxious or mad about something? You can choose who or do both, your pick 😊

It was abnormal to get home from work and have total silence in the apartment. Her husband (her husband, wow, she still got such a rush when she thought that) was a force of nature. Constantly in motion, he vibrated at a frequency that seemed to create its own energy from the rapidity of his molecules rubbing together. She jested often that someone needed to study him under a microscope, to find out what made him go.

She didn't really know until they moved in together that Eddie also had moments of stillness.

(Maybe she would've learned it, if anything about them had happened slowly. But the surety of them, of their crazy connection and natural way of being had Chrissy happily moving at an Eddie pace, instead of allowing him a moment to calm down, and the steps they took in their relationship were much closer to jetpack-equipped leaps across entire canyons. Almost-strangers to friends to lovers to apartment hunting to married in hardly six months. She'd loved every single moment of it.)

And there was beauty in that, too. Beauty in the quiet, in the contemplation he wore when he slowed down enough to relax. Sprawled across their couch with a book, his ankle calmly swaying back and forth to some rhythm she couldn't hear. Sitting with his back against the kitchen cabinet, notebook sprawled in his lap as he scratched pen against paper and wove new worlds into existence. Or outside on the fire escape, cigarette dangling from his lips as he passively tugged at a few guitar strings, not so much to create a melody as to ground himself. A reminder of his existence outside of his own mind.

But nothing was ever silent. If it wasn't Eddie himself making the noise, it was the soft thrumming of his tape deck playing at a volume acceptable to their complex of neighbors. It was the low murmur of the television, playing background noise as Eddie invested his concentration into drawing or painting, his imagination bleeding in rainbow cascades to invent entirely new colors from his artwork.

"Eddie?" Chrissy called, hanging her purse on the hook in the foyer (the one she'd installed herself! All on her own!) and toeing off her work flats before pattering more fully into their apartment.

The door was unlocked, which meant he was home. Eddie would forget to turn off the shower or leave the fridge open, but he'd never do something that would compromise Chrissy's safety. She knew that. Eddie always triple-checked the doorknob if he was leaving, just to make sure he locked it.

Besides a few new breadcrumbs on the counter, the kitchen was as she left it that morning. The throw blanket that normally sat on the back of their couch was crumpled against an arm – Eddie preferred it to a throw pillow because he could dictate how it sat against his spine. The bathroom light was on, and their bedroom door was closed––

Oh.

Their bedroom door was closed.

Okay. Chrissy nodded to herself, slipping back into the kitchen and grabbing a glass from the cabinet to fill with water. Then, she quickly made a sandwich – turkey, lettuce, mayonnaise, red onion – and sliced it into triangles. Eddie thought triangular sandwiches were hilarious, and he was normally too impatient to do it for himself.

Pattering back over to the door, Chrissy knocked five times, then turned the knob and let herself in.

Eddie was sitting up against the side of the bed, his back against the mattress and his hair a mess of riotous curls around his shoulders. Chrissy loved Eddie's hair. It was as crazy and untamable as he was, even despite the conditioner that she knew he'd started using under her influence.

Setting the snack and water on the nightstand, Chrissy crawled across the bed, kneeling just above his shoulders and gently scratching her nails against his scalp.

Knees raised and arms propped against them, Eddie kept his face resolutely hidden, his shoulders going rigid with Chrissy's gentle touch.

"I don't need it," he mumbled after a minute, twisting his shoulders like he could shrug her away.

"Okay," Chrissy responded, continuing her slow brush, fingertips running down the length of his neck over and over again.

"Just go away, Chris," he tried again. "I don't need your fuckin' sympathy, alright?"

"Alright," Chrissy agreed, shifting her hand until it was gliding back and forth across the length of his shoulders.

"Ugh, Jesus Christ," Eddie mumbled, scooching out of her reach and still keeping his face firmly tucked into his arms. Which was exactly what Chrissy needed, using the new bit of distance to slip behind him and wrap her arms around tightly his torso. Eddie stiffened in her embrace. She only hugged him tighter.

"Did you not hear me or something? I said go away," Eddie hissed, his voice thick where it escaped beneath his arms. Chrissy nodded against his spine, pressing her cheek there and listening to the rapid inflation and exhalation of his lungs.

"Heard you," she replied. "Remember what you told me, though? You said not to leave."

"Yeah, well, I fucking lied, alright? Leave."

She didn't let it hurt, even if a little pang echoed through her chest at his callous words.

The first time this had happened – something that triggered bad memories from his childhood, though Chrissy knew little beyond that; just that they were about his parents, typically, from before Wayne came in and fought for custody – he'd clammed up completely. And his clamming up made her anxious, which had her shutting down, which only made his emotions spiral further as he unintentionally pushed her away.

They'd talked about it in-depth, once the storm had passed and they were cautiously peeking at one another in hopes of sunshine, and Eddie had said what worked best was reminding him that he wasn't alone.

"I will try so fucking hard not to say dumb shit, sweetness, I promise. But I can't really guarantee it, because, y'know, there's a disconnect somewhere between brain and mouth. Hah. But I just... I need the reminder that you're there. The touch, the safety. I... Sometimes it's hard for me to remember that you chose me, you know?"

It had been a while since he had an episode like this. Chrissy had thought that maybe he was realizing that she was gonna keep choosing him, no matter what.

Chrissy chose to say nothing. She just squeezed him tighter, bringing her knees up around his hips so she could press as close as possible to his body.

Eddie scoffed. Sat, stone-still like a statue, as if waiting for her to get tired of his marble shoulder and leave. Because he expected her to, even if she'd spent the last year reminding him that it wasn't an option.

How could she possibly leave when she loved him so much?

It took a few minutes, but, ever so slowly, the tense muscles against her body began to relax. Rippling like the tide of a beach finally receding, until he was letting the tiniest amount of his weight rest against her. A few minutes more and his arms carefully came up to cradle hers, then squeeze. Squeezing even tighter, until she was smooshed up against their bed and he was trembling in her grasp. And still, she did not move except to fist her hands in his t-shirt, anchoring him to this little slice of reality they'd carved into the earth for themselves. Spilling every ounce of adoration she had directly into his flesh, until his breathing hitched and he was scrubbing his hands down the length of his face to stave off the tears.

"Shit," he gasped. "Shit, baby, I'm so––"

"It's okay," she told him before he could fall into his spiral of unnecessary apologies. "I'm here, Eddie, and it's okay. It's okay. I'm here."

Eddie nodded, bringing one of her hands up so he could kiss her palm. He pressed her hand to his forehead, holding it there like he needed some part of her as close to his brain as possible to extinguish the bad thoughts.

"You're my paladin, baby, you know that?"

"What do you mean?"

"My knight in shining armor. The thing that gets between me and the shit I can't seem to let go of."

"My paladin," Eddie whispered against her wrist, kissing her there and gradually making his way up her arm.

It took some time, but eventually Eddie had enough fortitude to peel himself off the floor. Chrissy grabbed a tape at random and stuck it in the stereo, gently easing Eddie into the bed and climbing in next to him, sandwich and water in tow.

He pulled her legs across his lap, settling the plate between them as he thanked her profusely for the water.

And Chrissy knew he'd be okay.

Because when he looked at those little sandwich triangles, he laughed.

[brainwroms]

sloppily worded stream of thought

been trying to put words to this dread rn. a lot of people kind of knew, or felt, subconsciously or from looking into things. like the pattern was there to recognize and people did recognize it its in public its all in video. like it was all there to read into. and it just feels kind of crazy how much patterns of behavior that was visible that was passed off as quirks or jest or persona or a randomly common theme of his personal work. its in his damn songs 😭😭he put it in his damn songs 😭😭😭 and how much was it passed off as just disjointed parts of mental illness 🤷 self pity and sadness never took away from any harm a person is capable of but nobody wants to kick someone who always seems kicked. im glad the foot is put down. im glad the willful ignorance is being dropped. i hope the absolute best for shubble

on another note i hope i never get into things with real people again theres too many factors to a whole person and fame and parasocialness(of which i am very susceptible to) and i cant turn off assumptions my brain gets into. its all too easy to read into i cant be this invested in something so explosive again

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity Ch 18

Michael Myers x ftm reader

Read on ao3

Laurie picks up on the last ring sounding out of breath.

You frown towards the phone. “You good?”

“Yeah, I just had to run up the stairs to reach the phone.” She breathes out. “So, you want to talk about yesterday?”

It’s less of a question and more of an expectancy with a verbal cringe.

“Mhm” you grimace, remembering. “Was he always like that? Because I can’t imagine you wanted to work with someone so…”

You blank on the descriptor. Perky. Flirtatious. Touchy.

“-Pushy.”

You can hear Laurie’s twitch over the phone “Ugh, He wasn’t like that when we met. He actually sounded smart, like an investigative reporter, ya know?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d send him over if he was creepy.”

“What do you mean?”

“He came over while I was decorating outside a couple days ago and said you sent him, for like, an interview and stuff.” You gently remind her.

“I didn’t do that.” Her tone was grim, but your brain quickly rationalizes it for you.

“Well, it’s not like he couldn’tve just found the house on his own after talking to you, so it’s not that bad.” It wasn’t great either, but it’s easy to accept.

There’s a pause before Laurie responds.

“Hmm, maybe, but I still don’t like how he treats this like a game.”

You open your mouth to reply but she cuts you off in a fury.

“-use you as bait? Is he crazy?-”

“-Yeah, I didn’t like that very much. I mean, how does he expect me to-” you interject but then look around and speak softer like someone might hear. “Get a picture with his mask off?”

“Exactly. The shape wouldn’t take its mask off if it was on fire.” She sounded annoyed and angry, so you’re glad she couldn’t see the reaction on your face.

You draw a blank on what you were going to say next as the weight of her words hit you. The image of Michael’s face under the mask floats into your mind followed by a seeping guilt. The heat of attraction and shame burns across your cheeks as you spit something out to keep the conversation flowing.

“Do you- do you think we could pull it off?”, before you even finish your sentence you’re shaking your head and clarifying yourself with a stutter. “I mean, like physically take it- the mask- off, but I guess it could be the same thing if we could get away with it at all? anyway…”.

“Geez, you need to take a breath. But…I know how you feel. How scary the idea of seeing him again is after what he’s done to you.” Her jesting tone softening with empathy.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” The resoluteness of her statement is jarring, and you agree almost too quickly.

“I know. I mean- I trust you and I could always get a taser, so…” you end with an awkward laugh.

You already know that you aren’t in any danger. Or at least much danger.

Laurie makes a disapproving noise at your confidence but doesn’t say anything further. You suspect that she wants to quip about a taser not working against the shape, but holding back so as not to scare you. Thinking back, if he can stop a bat with his bare hands and survive gunshot wounds, you don’t think a taser would stop him either.

You have to excuse yourself to get ready for work later, but with a promise to get together at some point. Just the two of you, no Jed.

Your hands pull at your hair. It sucks to have to deceive Laurie, but now it feels like betraying Michael. Talk about a rock and a hard place.

He wouldn’t take his mask off if he was on fire. But he took it off for you.

Your shift ends after the library closes, but you put the books you borrowed in your bag to return through the book drop. Michael’s room is a mess and you find the one you gave him underneath the blankets where he sleeps, luckily not too worse for wear.

He isn’t home, so you don’t know how he’d react to you touching his things, but a small fantasy plays in the back of your head as you step out the door to work.

You can’t help it- living together is intimate and every so often your mind will wander to that tight black t-shirt and soft pink lips. And your hands will wander when you hear Michael’s soft groans under the shower spray…

The nippy weather is enough of an excuse to shield your flushed face with your hands by the time you arrive for work.

***

A steady stream of shoppers keeps you and Quentin pinned to the registers while Dwight makes the rounds and maintains stock. By the looks of it, Halloween is still on, considering nearly every customer has snagged one of the bulk candy packs from the sale section.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a child run towards the candy aisle.

“Oh-hey no running!-'' your words don’t land. You, Quentin, and the child’s parent watch as the child runs gracelessly into the M&M's display. The child hits the ground first, followed by the crash of cardboard and chocolate 3 long seconds later. After the kid notices everyone watching, they begin to cry.

Dwight, appearing at the other end of the aisle, simply sighs and heads toward the broom closet.

Finishing the last transaction at your checkout and flipping your light off, you nod to Quentin-the two of you have an almost nonverbal understanding at this point- and start performing first aid on the cardboard M&M man.

Dwight returns with a broom and dustpan and scoops a split bag of loose candy into it, before stacking up the intact ones to pile onto a spare shelf.

As you work, Dwight looks in your direction once before making some conversation.

“Oh, by the way, you left early from the cookout…”, he states rather neutrally.

You sweat, it had just seemed like time enough had passed that it wouldn’t be brought up.

“yeah, sorry about that, I was a little nervous to drive home after it got dark. I got lost a couple times trying to find the place.” you’re glad he isn’t looking you in the eyes. Had he seen?

“No wait, sorry, I mean-”, he apologizes in return, “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, I was going to ask cuz you missed it, David wants to throw a halloween party. Do you want to come?” Dwight stands and wipes his hands on his kakis.

You chuckle in relief, thinking of David, “you didn’t seem like the halloween type, but I’d love to. Where and when?” Laurie’s plan flashes in your mind after you reply, so you quickly tack on that you can’t make it on the 31st.

“I’m not! I had to have David promise not to jump out at me.” he looks exasperated. “Same place, on the 30th. Don’t worry, I have to work until six on Halloween, so I’m not going out either.”

He promises to tell you the time for it when he figures it out himself, and you head back up to the registers.

You stop, confused for a moment, when you see that there isn’t anyone up there. More specifically, Quentin isn’t at the register, but there’s only one person who seems to be waiting.

“Sorry about that, I hope we didn’t keep you wait-”

Brown curls, square glasses, beanie, smug looking face.

“Hmm~ hey (Y/n), fancy meeting you here.” Jed looks at you like you were exactly what he was waiting for.

“Yeah, hi…”, you log into the register to look anywhere but him, “I didn’t know you lived in the area.”

“Oh you know, I just had to pick up some stuff to get ready for the holiday, that’s all.” You look at his items. Bulk assorted candy, duct tape, trash bags, bleach. You swallow thickly.

“Now that I have you, is there any chance you’ve had a change of heart? I know you probably think you’re safe, but you never know what could happen.” He leans on the counter with his forearms and looks up at you with a pout as you finish the transaction. “I’m here to help you, (Y/n), but you act like you have some huge secret you’re keeping.”

You’re thankful that another customer enters your line and you don’t have much room for more than a ‘see you later’.

You finish your shift with a cold anxiety in the pit of your stomach and don’t look at Quentin whenever he returns.

*** Hugging your jacket close and looking behind you often, home doesn’t run up to greet you as fast as it should. Crossing the threshold suddenly drops the exhaustion of the day on your shoulders and you trudge up the stairs, wanting out of your work clothes an hour ago.

It takes a second to register in your brain, the sight of your bedroom door wide open with Michael in the middle of the room. Caught red handed (though, not literally) with his hands in your underwear drawer.

[thecoolerlucky]

I Got Roped Into Being A Hero

Chapter 1: Kidnapped by The Hero

Contents (Warnings/Mild spoilers): Introducing Matchbook and how he became a sidekick to one of the strongest hero in the world.

Wordcount: 3,300+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some believed everyone's sudden gain in unique powers or features was due to the next step in evolution. Others said it was a crazy attempt at making a zombie apocalypse. The work of gods, a meteor that changed their biology, or the results of a secret alien invasion.

No one really had an answer. As far as everyone knew, it just happened. 

It sent the world into chaos, and it took a long time for it to be calm again. Not that it was without turmoil, but they had systems in place for that. All mighty heroes watching over the cities all over the world, helping take down those that decided to use their powers against the less fortunate like...

"Hey, Match, can you give me a light before you go?" The grungy, pot bellied guy with a toucan head said as he wiggled the cigar in front of him. 

You can't even use them right.

"Sure," Matchbook sighed as he let go of the sandwich shop's back door. The heavy weight of it slammed it shut behind him.

He put his fingers together and in a single snap they created a flame atop his middle finger. He offered it to Little Oscar's cancer stick. 

Little Oscar chortled the best he could and lifted his cigar to meet it. "I get it, you hate me asking." He jested, poking fun at the lad. 

"It's the easiest finger to light," he explained  and saw himself explaining hundreds of more times in the future.

After Little Oscar lit it and nodded gratefully, holding it between his beak, Matchbook left. 

He shook his hand to put out the tiny flame. He couldn't make flames bigger than that of a match hence the nickname he had since elementary school. 

He wasn't as gifted as his parents or sister. His mom was a fire manipulator and conjurer, while his dad could heal from injuries at a near instantaneous rate. And his little sister was a fire breather. 

She created sparks much like their mom, except in her mouth. They learned this when she accidentally sneezed as a kid and set Matchbook on fire. 

On the same day, he learned he was immune to heat, just like his mom and sister.

He kicked up a pebble as he strode the sidewalk. He struck it as much as he could on his way home, avoiding the construction specialist setup repairing a damaged city block from a recent villain attack. Most people didn't have too many powerful abilities, but those that did didn't hesitate to make a mess. 

He lost the poor pebble on the way when he kicked it into the fresh and still drying cement. He picked up his pace after that.

It was a long hour walk before he saw his apartment in the distance. If I still had my bike I'd get home so much faster. He recently lost it during a jelly Villain attack and the collateral claim had yet to go through for a replacement. I should move closer. 

Matchbook worked at that shop for a year and enjoyed the mundane task of making sandwiches. It made it easy and gave him time to think about-

"HEY!" A feminine voice shouted far behind him. 

He thought about looking back until a nearby  RuuMmbBBleEe of the destruction told him to head home instead. He subtly picked up the pace. I'm not getting caught outside during a fight. 

"HEY, SIR!"

Sir. I'm barely 22. He pretended he didn't hear them but they were getting closer. He wasn't good at power walking. I can't break out into a full sprint.

A hand firmly gripped Match's left arm to seize his motion.

Oh great. He turned around, holding a forced friendly half smile like he wasn't trying to ignore them a second ago. 

“Oh sorry, I didn't…” He trailed off. 

She let out an exasperated huff in front of him and hunched over to catch her breath. The parts of her blond bob cut hair that didn’t stick to her face from sweat fell forward as she did. 

It wasn't that hot outside, it was a crisp cool sixty degrees, with a light breeze through the buildings. Has she been chasing me for a while? I didn't hear her. 

His eyes drifted to the notepad in her one hand, and as she lifted her head, she smiled. Her glimmering determination reminded him of his little sister.

“Are you alright?” 

She nodded, stood up straight, and adjusted her white blouse. “Yes, sorry, sir.” Do I really look that old? You look the same age as me!  “I’ve been chasing The Hero around all day, and lost him, have you seen him?” 

“Which one?” He mentally kicked himself when he asked. Why did I ask which one? I hadn’t seen a hero all day. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, “this always happens. Why did he pick such a vapid name?” She removed her hand from her nose, “The Hero is his superhero name.” Matchbook heard the hint of disdain for that hero's name. Although he recognized it, he didn't keep track of any other hero's besides his mother and sister.

She rolled up her sleeves, unintentionally drawing his attention to her forearms. He took note of her muscles. More defined than I ever had. She’s in pretty good shape for a journalist? If that’s what she is.

He guessed by her question and notepad. 

“He's one of the strongest heroes in the world, the one who..." she curled her fist, and much like an elderly man complaining about his lawn, shook it at the sky. "Somehow has a backstory that can’t be traced back past surface level research. A person born with a power like him would have been talked about for years, glorified in the media, but it’s like he appeared out of thin air."

She continued her spiel and Matchbook bobbed his head, trying to think of the best way to get out of this conversation. He didn’t know this woman, he barely said a sentence to her and she explained all the inconsistencies with The Hero’s story. I’m not big into hero scandals. 

Regardless, Matchbook politely replied. "It sounds like you have a vendetta against him." I want to go home and relax, no matter how nice you seem.

"I do." She held up her notepad, "I have been chasing that idiot all over the city! So again, have you-" There was another loud bang, and turning back, the two could see the furrow of smoke not that far away. "seen him…?"

He glanced back at her. She looked ready to run toward it.

She's going to get herself hurt. He tugged her attention back, "I haven't, but by the sounds of it, if you don’t live nearby you should get to a shelter.” He noticed the few people on the streets were doing just that. There wasn't one that far from his apartment.

"No way, it might be linked to the hero!" If she’s willing to run into danger, she probably has a power to back herself up. 

He lifted his hand and the next eruption stole his chance to say goodbye. On the fifth floor, overhead, an object crashed straight through the building and partially into the one next to it. They both instinctually ducked at the noise, Matchbook covered his head and saw whatever the object was, it brought some of the second wall down with it and landed in the alley a little bit further back from where they currently stood. 

The woman’s arm whipped up and grabbed at his shirt. She got him by his uniform and yanked him into her. She threw them both back. Neither of them fell, only stumbled as a few pieces of the apartment came down. They fell into the sidewalk where he once stood, exploding into dust upon impact near his shoes. 

That wouldn’t have been a fun trip to the hospital. 

The streets were empty, everyone either got home or went to a shelter. He looked up, seeing that was his apartment. So, unfortunately, he didn't have a room to hide in. He ran around her, expecting to hear her steps behind him. She didn’t follow.

You gotta be kidding me. “Lady, we should get to a shelter! If there’s a villain we can get hurt!” He wasn’t quite running yet—he was slowly moving toward the direction of the shelter a few blocks away. 

She ignored him. She went toward the alley. What is she doing! 

He followed her. His objective was to pull her like she did him. 

Matchbook barely caught her whisper. “Which hero is that?”

He felt his eyes drawn to the entity standing there. The man was in a luchador wrestling outfit, adorned with a sparkling cape. Though, Matchbook tore his eyes away as it looked very very ‘form fitting’ bright red suit. That's a colorful outfit, he's probably some hero?

The man smiled, leaned at them, and threw himself forward and into the woman. Matchbook couldn’t track the speed he moved. Nor did Match move fast enough to get out of the girl's way when she went to dodge. 

The man got the woman with both of his meaty hands. He squeezed at her waist and she ordered him to let her go. His muscles and body looked to swell the longer he held her. His uniform threatened to tear at the seams.

He cackled as he shook her like a toy. “You're gonna be my little hostage.”

What should I do? I can't fight him, he's huge. He was bigger than most body builders, muscles the size of Matchbook's head. 

When he got close enough to her face, she threw a punch. It connected with his nose, making him coil back and cuss.

She whined as he squeezed tighter. 

He might kill her. Matchbook thought, his heart pounded in his head, along with a giant whistle from farther behind him. What if it's another Villain? He didn't want to turn around and find out. 

I don't know her. He heard the woman whine out again as the man laughed, ignoring Matchbook's pathetic presence completely. 

He threw himself forward, snapping the fingers on his right hand, and moved his tiny flame near the villain's cape. It didn't take long for it to catch fire.

He jumped back and shouted, "OH NO, Your cape's on fire!"

The fire spread faster than Matchbook expected, bringing that man's attention off the woman. She took her opportunity while being dropped to hit the hulking guy with a firm blow to his crotch.

The man hollered, weakly undoing his cape from the ground.

The whistling behind Matchbook got louder, he ran to her and got her arm. “Come on!”

She followed his tugging and the two could hear the villain getting up. “YOU BRATS!” He shouted. 

His feet pounded against the street like he grew with their fear, or at least Matchbooks. 

“TO YOUR RIGHT!” A voice yelled.

They ducked to the left as another being slammed into the paved streets. His palms collided with it first and he ran on his hands for a few extra feet, making humongous hawk wings that protruded from his bare back melted quickly and rejoined his flesh. The helmet clad, muscle ripped individual threw himself up and into a standing position. 

He stood much taller than the average hero, more the size of a villain. He dusted himself off, unscathed after his theatrical landing. He pressed a button on the side of his visor, staring directly at the woman and Matchbook, as them and the Villain were motionless during the escapade. His eyes were a vibrant, shimmering purple with meshes of pink. 

He walked calmly to them.

“Are you two citizens, alright?” His voice carried the same sweet sincerity as a grandmother who happily overfed her grandchildren. 

Match nodded.

"The Hero! I need to talk to you." She declared, forgetting about the trouble behind them. Not that Matchbook was any better.

The villain snapped out of his trance. Matchbook didn’t look back in time for the hunched man to hook his arm around his neck. He brought him up, “you stay back or I’ll kill him,” He flexed his much smaller muscles. Dangled up, unable to move out of fear that the grip would crush his windpipe, he felt small and helpless.

The Hero put up his hands and didn’t move. “Put him down.” He advised, keeping his eyes tracked on Match. I gotta do something.

Matchbook snapped his fingers again and put the flame to the man’s arm. He had never used it against someone like this, but he didn’t see much choice. The man cried out, dropped him, and the Hero snatched Matchbook up and brought him to the woman. 

“Is your throat okay?”

Once Matchbook was safely on the ground, he rubbed it. “I’m okay.” He was lucky the Villain didn’t put too much pressure on it.

The Hero sighed with relief, “good. Now, you two, stay back.” His eyes shifted, though his head barely turned. His pupils looked to expand as they twisted in the villains direction. “I’ll handle the villain.” The tonal shift made him jump.

The Hero’s face rose in a smile, revealing sharp incisors that Match didn’t see before. The wrestler, or villain dressed as one looked thinner. Matchbook didn’t know if it was because he was being compared to the Hero, or because of something with his ability. 

“You destroyed property, attempted robbery, and threatened a civilian’s life.” The Hero’s voice boomed, silencing everyone's hearts and breath. His statement was followed by an air vibrating laughter. 

It knocked the man on his butt. His muscles were reduced so much that he looked like he had been starving for two weeks in the tundra. 

“I’m sorry- I’ll g-go quietly.” 

The Hero grabbed his helmet, he tossed it off. It bounced on the floor like a toy as his own size increased. His white hair flourished in the open. 

“You’ll go quietly?” The Hero mocked as he swayed like a drunkard. 

The fear-stricken villain tried to rise to his feet, he bumbled to stand. 

The Hero stood over him, crouched down to grab him. He got the villain picking him up with one hand, wrapping it around his waist. 

“They’re never quiet.” 

The villain pushed desperately at his hand as the steadily growing Hero brought him close to his head.

Matchbook’s eyes couldn't look away when The Hero's mouth opened wide. It made the villain frantically yell, and it was quickly silenced by The Hero's tongue at his face. It partially coiled around the man's head before bringing him inside his maw.

Matchbook’s mind was blank. He could only watch The Hero swallow down the villain, his throat expanding as he did, and what was left outside flailing helplessly in the air.

The act disturbingly reminded him of a nature film, where a snake slowly, surely, and efficiently gulped down its prey. 

Except this man was very much alive. He kept struggling even though he was pretty much fully inside him. 

Match didn't know how long he watched. It felt prolonged but in reality it took a minute. The last bit of the villain vanished and The Hero exhaled into the air afterward.

The Hero’s previous devilish demeanor dropped and he smiled, childishly. He glanced down at his middle, "Secured.” He said a loud, while his midsection was lively from the movement within it. “Calm down, Villain, I'll take you in soon."

Villains eat people. Not Heroes. Matchbook thought still awestruck by disbelief. 

His shoulders then rose when he saw The Hero was walking to him again.

The woman's voice, slightly perturbed, but determined to talk to him rushed forward, "YOU'RE GOING TO ANSWER MY QUESTIONS THIS TIME!" She bravely stomped to him, disregarding the massive height difference between them now. She barely came up to his knee, if at all. 

She got within a few feet of him, so his stomach wouldn't obscure either of them from seeing the other. How can she even talk to him like that? Did she not see him eat someone? Does she not see the human-like shape inside him?

Matchbook took the opportunity to start walking backward from the madness.

The Hero put up his hands, as if she held power over him and his smile wavered anxiously. “I think you have mistaken me for someone else…” He poked at his stomach, “and even if I was the right one, I need to finish talking to my sidekick and get this criminal to the authorities.” 

“Sidekick?”

The Hero looked over at Matchbook and so did the woman, he froze once they did. Why are they looking at me? Why is The Hero looking at me!

Matchbook hunched inward, afraid of the approach. He stumbled over the curve and The Hero loomed over him. He dropped into a squat, used to the moving weight, and harmlessly smiled at Match. 

They were nearly level with one another—it didn't stop Matchbook's eyes from continuing to trail away from his face. 

“I saw your heroics while I was overhead trying to find this dastardly Villain.” Matchbook didn't need The Hero to gesture anything. “You did great.”

His hand reached out to pat Match’s head. The best he could do was tap it with his finger tips. “Are you another hero’s sidekick in training?”

He heard his question, his attention was too drawn to the woman who willingly tugged at the pant leg of his stretchy costume. Why is she okay with this? It’s not like he hadn’t heard about another person getting eaten but never had he seen it outside of shows. 

“HELLO?” The Hero waved his giant hand before Match’s face. “You didn’t get hurt did you?” 

The concern shoved Matchbook from his thoughts. “N-no.” His brain processed everything that had been said. “To both questions.” 

The Hero’s hands slammed onto the ground, eagerly. “That’s perfect!” His hand came up and grabbed Matchbook before he could react. “I’m in desperate need of a new sidekick!” The Hero, leaving little room for Match to rebuttal, threw him over his shoulder and held his hand over him securely. 

What is he doing?! Matchbook could barely wheeze out a, “huh,” as the ground was farther from him. 

“Don’t you dare run off again!” She said, as The Hero hunched back down, his body tensing as he did. 

“Now, citizen, please stand back.” 

The Hero nudged her with his leg and she complained further. “Quit it!” 

Matchbook’s vocabulary returned, “Hold on, I didn’t agree to be your-” The next thing he knew, the air was knocked out of him as they shot upward. Matchbook couldn’t hold in his scream as the contents of his lunch threatened to come back up.

He sealed his lips, still held and feeling the incredible force against his body. His eyes, barely open, saw the beautiful city they flew over. Something he would have admired if he was looking at it through a computer screen on the GROUND. 

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, clutching as hard as he could into The Hero’s flesh. Please, please, PLEASE put me down nicely!

The wind whistling fast past his eardrums slowly dissipated and he finally heard The Hero’s voice. “Whoops, I overshot the docks again!” 

He opened his eyes, squinting, as they were across the water. The docks were in the distance and they were flying much slower now.

“Just fly us back there! You have wings!” Matchbook whimpered, still clutching what he could.

The Hero laughed, “Ha, you’re right!” Then the force shifted and Matchbook felt his body being pulled upward, away from him as they were falling. “How do I do that again?”

“WHAT!” Matchbook shouted. They were rapidly approaching the water.

The Hero twisted himself and Matchbook in the air, He swung Matchbook in front of him, pushed him with whatever force he could, and got his back ready to strike the water. 

And the last thing Match saw before they struck was The Hero mouthing the word, ‘sorry’.

…

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Next Chapter

Catch up, see some art, or check the latest release dates down below  ↓ ↓ ↓ 

I Got Roped Into Being A Hero!

[calx-bdo]

A CRUEL EMERALD

` satosugu fanfiction

` fluff, angst / hurt-no comfort (probably)

` before shibuya arc, from s2 to jjk 0

` i wrote this half dead

` a/n : i used "gojo" and "getō" in shoko's pov, but "suguru" and "satoru" in getō's pov. if u caught onto that, good job !! (kisses you consensually)

gojo satoru was perfect. he was more than perfect. the strongest sorcerer, six-eyes, his own technique? it was crazy how fufilled and perfect he was.

except for one flaw. and only suguru getō knows about this.

gojo satoru cannot see the color red.

it was all grey to him, bright red, dark red, neon, dull, all just shades of grey. and it was up to getō to help him fix that.

gojo had never understood the appeal of colors since he was young. sure, they were bright and shiny, and eye-catching, but what's the use? all it adds is just unnecessary flair to plain objects. he has lived by this reasoning ever since he realised that he couldn't see red. and in his eyes, the only thing that he can do to cope with this imperfection, is just, to ignore it.

"surely you jest..no way the perfect satoru can't see the color red, hahahaha!!!" shoko let out a laugh. it was impalpable. gojo satoru, who constantly flaunted his perfection, was in fact, not perfect. it was hilarious. getō listened onto their banter in silence. while shoko was unable to see how gojo's eyes flickered when she was busy laughing, getō could. he always did, anyways. it was always him that could tell the smallest changes to satoru. satoru was his, his best friend, his everything. he cannot bear to even entertain the thought of losing him.

and so getō waited. patiently, for shoko to leave them to their own devices.

she left. suguru inched closer to satoru on the couch.

"are you okay?"

all it took was three words for satoru to break down into tears.

all of this was obscenely embarrassing. satoru? the strongest sorcerer of all time? breaking down into tears? jesus, might as well put him on a stake and burn him alive. not like he could even see the fire anyways.

but getō was there. suguru, was there. he always was. for him, for him only. the slow comforting pats on his back to the low tone of his voice, saying that it's alright to be insecure, has wormed its way into the back of satoru's head. a comforting reminder that there's no need to uphold the clan's wishes. for him to be perfect in every way. for him to have such an insignificant flaw, can be devastating to the clan. it would mean that their life's work was worthless, and the last thing satoru wanted was to be a disappointment.

so suguru went on a mission. gojo satoru couldn't understand the appeal of colors, yes? well, suguru would just make him understand. lead him, and help him. satoru was his, after all. helping him was second nature.

and suguru set on this path. every time they come across something red, suguru manages to explain it. in detail, describing how it was used, why it was used, and where did they use it. soon, this logic was applied to all shades. suguru noticed satoru's lack of interest to anything. there could be a mystifying splash of rainbow, beautiful, mesmerising, gorgeous, and satoru would always find a way to ignore it. suguru caught on, like he always has. and he changed it. he brought suguru around town. they went ahead and explored, suguru's favourite hideouts, satoru's beloved ice cream parlor, and of course, the beachside. the walkways, the shimmering emerald sea lapping across the golden sand, creamy sea foam licking the soles of their feet. satoru takes a liking to green. emerald green, specifically.

so it should be no surprise that their promise ring would be emerald green. satoru, in all his riches, also appreciated simplicity. it was a nice ring, silver bands wrapped around their ring finger as a emerald was cut perfectly into the ring. it wasn't the basic, rectangular cut emerald, no, satoru wasn't one for the plain and boring, but much rather an interesting shape, one that both satoru and suguru held close to their hearts. suguru had always taken a liking to satoru's round, circular glasses, after all. the emerald on the ring rests on their finger, its circular shape reflecting the moonlight.

so it shouldn't be a surprise that the robes suguru dons on comes in emerald green, should it? it's owner waving to satoru, a smile on his lips, and with the most warmth a person could ever exude, saying his name, satoru, almost purring his name, like it's the last word he'll ever say. in the setting sun, backdrop of orange he'll never comprehend, satoru catches something. something shining, reflecting at him. the emerald ring, glimmering in the sunlight.

satoru's own ring twinkle, as in a response to suguru's ring. the rings show off what the owners cannot do. they meet each other through reflections of light, each twinkling and glimmering in their own rhythm, but matching the other. satoru and suguru wishes life were so simple, but it cannot be.

it will never be, the only closure they'll ever get is the cold metal that rests on their finger. a cold emerald, a cruel emerald.

[luckyshotwrites]

Chapter 1 - Kidnapped by The Hero

Contents (Warnings/Mild spoilers): Introducing Matchbook and how he became a sidekick to one of the strongest hero in the world.

Wordcount: 3,300+

Side note: ENJOY!

_______________________________________________

Some believed everyone's sudden gain in unique powers or features was due to the next step in evolution. Others said it was a crazy attempt at making a zombie apocalypse. The work of gods, a meteor that changed their biology, or the results of a secret alien invasion.

No one really had an answer. As far as everyone knew, it just happened. 

It sent the world into chaos, and it took a long time for it to be calm again. Not that it was without turmoil, but they had systems in place for that. All mighty heroes watching over the cities all over the world, helping take down those that decided to use their powers against the less fortunate like...

"Hey, Match, can you give me a light before you go?" The grungy, pot bellied guy with a toucan head said as he wiggled the cigar in front of him. 

You can't even use them right.

"Sure," Matchbook sighed as he let go of the sandwich shop's back door. The heavy weight of it slammed it shut behind him.

He put his fingers together and in a single snap they created a flame atop his middle finger. He offered it to Little Oscar's cancer stick. 

Little Oscar chortled the best he could and lifted his cigar to meet it. "I get it, you hate me asking." He jested, poking fun at the lad. 

"It's the easiest finger to light," he explained  and saw himself explaining hundreds of more times in the future.

After Little Oscar lit it and nodded gratefully, holding it between his beak, Matchbook left. 

He shook his hand to put out the tiny flame. He couldn't make flames bigger than that of a match hence the nickname he had since elementary school. 

He wasn't as gifted as his parents or sister. His mom was a fire manipulator and conjurer, while his dad could heal from injuries at a near instantaneous rate. And his little sister was a fire breather. 

She created sparks much like their mom, except in her mouth. They learned this when she accidentally sneezed as a kid and set Matchbook on fire. 

On the same day, he learned he was immune to heat, just like his mom and sister.

He kicked up a pebble as he strode the sidewalk. He struck it as much as he could on his way home, avoiding the construction specialist setup repairing a damaged city block from a recent villain attack. Most people didn't have too many powerful abilities, but those that did didn't hesitate to make a mess. 

He lost the poor pebble on the way when he kicked it into the fresh and still drying cement. He picked up his pace after that.

It was a long hour walk before he saw his apartment in the distance. If I still had my bike I'd get home so much faster. He recently lost it during a jelly Villain attack and the collateral claim had yet to go through for a replacement. I should move closer. 

Matchbook worked at that shop for a year and enjoyed the mundane task of making sandwiches. It made it easy and gave him time to think about-

"HEY!" A feminine voice shouted far behind him. 

He thought about looking back until a nearby  RuuMmbBBleEe of the destruction told him to head home instead. He subtly picked up the pace. I'm not getting caught outside during a fight. 

"HEY, SIR!"

Sir. I'm barely 22. He pretended he didn't hear them but they were getting closer. He wasn't good at power walking. I can't break out into a full sprint.

A hand firmly gripped Match's left arm to seize his motion.

Oh great. He turned around, holding a forced friendly half smile like he wasn't trying to ignore them a second ago. 

“Oh sorry, I didn't…” He trailed off. 

She let out an exasperated huff in front of him and hunched over to catch her breath. The parts of her blond bob cut hair that didn’t stick to her face from sweat fell forward as she did. 

It wasn't that hot outside, it was a crisp cool sixty degrees, with a light breeze through the buildings. Has she been chasing me for a while? I didn't hear her. 

His eyes drifted to the notepad in her one hand, and as she lifted her head, she smiled. Her glimmering determination reminded him of his little sister.

“Are you alright?” 

She nodded, stood up straight, and adjusted her white blouse. “Yes, sorry, sir.” Do I really look that old? You look the same age as me!  “I’ve been chasing The Hero around all day, and lost him, have you seen him?” 

“Which one?” He mentally kicked himself when he asked. Why did I ask which one? I hadn’t seen a hero all day. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, “this always happens. Why did he pick such a vapid name?” She removed her hand from her nose, “The Hero is his superhero name.” Matchbook heard the hint of disdain for that hero's name. Although he recognized it, he didn't keep track of any other hero's besides his mother and sister.

She rolled up her sleeves, unintentionally drawing his attention to her forearms. He took note of her muscles. More defined than I ever had. She’s in pretty good shape for a journalist? If that’s what she is.

He guessed by her question and notepad. 

“He's one of the strongest heroes in the world, the one who..." she curled her fist, and much like an elderly man complaining about his lawn, shook it at the sky. "Somehow has a backstory that can’t be traced back past surface level research. A person born with a power like him would have been talked about for years, glorified in the media, but it’s like he appeared out of thin air."

She continued her spiel and Matchbook bobbed his head, trying to think of the best way to get out of this conversation. He didn’t know this woman, he barely said a sentence to her and she explained all the inconsistencies with The Hero’s story. I’m not big into hero scandals. 

Regardless, Matchbook politely replied. "It sounds like you have a vendetta against him." I want to go home and relax, no matter how nice you seem.

"I do." She held up her notepad, "I have been chasing that idiot all over the city! So again, have you-" There was another loud bang, and turning back, the two could see the furrow of smoke not that far away. "seen him…?"

He glanced back at her. She looked ready to run toward it.

She's going to get herself hurt. He tugged her attention back, "I haven't, but by the sounds of it, if you don’t live nearby you should get to a shelter.” I noticed the few people on the streets were doing just that. There wasn't one that far from my apartment.

"No way, it might be linked to the hero!" If she’s willing to run into danger, she probably has a power to back herself up. 

He lifted his hand and the next eruption stole his chance to say goodbye. On the fifth floor, overhead, an object crashed straight through the building and partially into the one next to it. They both instinctually ducked at the noise, Matchbook covered his head and saw whatever the object was, it brought some of the second wall down with it and landed in the alley a little bit further back from where they currently stood. 

The woman’s arm whipped up and grabbed at his shirt. She got him by his uniform and yanked him into her. She threw them both back. Neither of them fell, only stumbled as a few pieces of the apartment came down. They fell into the sidewalk where he once stood, exploding into dust upon impact near his shoes. 

That wouldn’t have been a fun trip to the hospital. 

The streets were empty, everyone either got home or went to a shelter. He looked up, seeing that was his apartment. So, unfortunately, he didn't have a room to hide in. He ran around her, expecting to hear her steps behind him. She didn’t follow.

You gotta be kidding me. “Lady, we should get to a shelter! If there’s a villain we can get hurt!” He wasn’t quite running yet—he was slowly moving toward the direction of the shelter a few blocks away. 

She ignored him. She went toward the alley. What is she doing! 

He followed her. His objective was to pull her like she did him. 

Matchbook barely caught her whisper. “Which hero is that?”

He felt his eyes drawn to the entity standing there. The man was in a luchador wrestling outfit, adorned with a sparkling cape. Though, Matchbook tore his eyes away as it looked very very ‘form fitting’ bright red suit. That's a colorful outfit, he's probably some hero?

The man smiled, leaned at them, and threw himself forward and into the woman. Matchbook couldn’t track the speed he moved. Nor did Match move fast enough to get out of the girl's way when she went to dodge. 

The man got the woman with both of his meaty hands. He squeezed at her waist and she ordered him to let her go. His muscles and body looked to swell the longer he held her. His uniform threatened to tear at the seams.

He cackled as he shook her like a toy. “You're gonna be my little hostage.”

What should I do? I can't fight him, he's huge. He was bigger than most body builders, muscles the size of Matchbook's head. 

When he got close enough to her face, she threw a punch. It connected with his nose, making him coil back and cuss.

She whined as he squeezed tighter. 

He might kill her. Matchbook thought, his heart pounded in his head, along with a giant whistle from farther behind him. What if it's another Villain? He didn't want to turn around and find out. 

I don't know her. He heard the woman whine out again as the man laughed, ignoring Matchbook's pathetic presence completely. 

He threw himself forward, snapping the fingers on his right hand, and moved his tiny flame near the villain's cape. It didn't take long for it to catch fire.

He jumped back and shouted, "OH NO, Your cape's on fire!"

The fire spread faster than Matchbook expected, bringing that man's attention off the woman. She took her opportunity while being dropped to hit the hulking guy with a firm blow to his crotch.

The man hollered, weakly undoing his cape from the ground.

The whistling behind Matchbook got louder, he ran to her and got her arm. “Come on!”

She followed his tugging and the two could hear the villain getting up. “YOU BRATS!” He shouted. 

His feet pounded against the street like he grew with their fear, or at least Matchbooks. 

“TO YOUR RIGHT!” A voice yelled.

They ducked to the left as another being slammed into the paved streets. His palms collided with it first and he ran on his hands for a few extra feet, making humongous hawk wings that protruded from his bare back fizzle out and back into their flesh. The helmet clad, muscle ripped individual threw himself up and into a standing position. 

He stood much taller than the average hero, more the size of a villain. He dusted himself off, unscathed after his theatrical landing. He pressed a button on the side of his visor, staring directly at the woman and Matchbook, as them and the Villain were motionless during the escapade. His eyes were a vibrant, shimmering purple with meshes of pink. 

He walked calmly to them.

“Are you two citizens, alright?” His voice carried the same sweet sincerity as a grandmother who happily overfed her grandchildren. 

Match nodded.

"The Hero! I need to talk to you." She declared, forgetting about the trouble behind them. Not that Matchbook was any better.

The villain snapped out of his trance. Matchbook didn’t look back in time for the hunched man to hook his arm around his neck. He brought him up, “you stay back or I’ll kill him,” He flexed his much smaller muscles. Dangled up, unable to move out of fear that the grip would crush his windpipe, he felt small and helpless.

The Hero put up his hands and didn’t move. “Put him down.” He advised, keeping his eyes tracked on Match. I gotta do something.

Matchbook snapped his fingers again and put the flame to the man’s arm. He had never used it against someone like this, but he didn’t see much choice. The man cried out, dropped him, and the Hero snatched Matchbook up and brought him to the woman. 

“Is your throat okay?”

Once Matchbook was safely on the ground, he rubbed it. “I’m okay.” He was lucky the Villain didn’t put too much pressure on it.

The Hero sighed with relief, “good. Now, you two, stay back.” His eyes shifted, though his head barely turned. His pupils looked to expand as they twisted in the villains direction. “I’ll handle the villain.” The tonal shift made him jump.

The Hero’s face rose in a smile, revealing sharp incisors that Match didn’t see before. The wrestler, or villain dressed as one looked thinner. Matchbook didn’t know if it was because he was being compared to the Hero, or because of something with his ability. 

“You destroyed property, attempted robbery, and threatened a civilian’s life.” The Hero’s voice boomed, silencing everyone's hearts and breath. His statement was followed by an air vibrating laughter. 

It knocked the man on his butt. His muscles were reduced so much that he looked like he had been starving for two weeks in the tundra. 

“I’m sorry- I’ll g-go quietly.” 

The Hero grabbed his helmet, he tossed it off. It bounced on the floor like a toy as his own size increased. His white hair flourished in the open. 

“You’ll go quietly?” The Hero mocked as he swayed like a drunkard. 

The fear-stricken villain tried to rise to his feet, he bumbled to stand. 

The Hero stood over him, crouched down to grab him. He got the villain picking him up with one hand, wrapping it around his waist. 

“They’re never quiet.” 

The villain pushed desperately at his hand as the steadily growing Hero brought him close to his head.

Matchbook’s eyes couldn't look away when The Hero's mouth opened wide. It made the villain frantically yell, and it was quickly silenced by The Hero's tongue at his face. It partially coiled around the man's head before bringing him inside his maw.

Matchbook’s mind was blank. He could only watch The Hero swallow down the villain, his throat expanding as he did, and what was left outside flailing helplessly in the air.

The act disturbingly reminded him of a nature film, where a snake slowly, surely, and efficiently gulped down its prey. 

Except this man was very much alive. He kept struggling even though he was pretty much fully inside him. 

Match didn't know how long he watched. It felt prolonged but in reality it took a minute. The last bit of the villain vanished and The Hero exhaled into the air afterward.

The Hero’s previous devilish demeanor dropped and he smiled, childishly. He glanced down at his middle, "Secured.” He said a loud, while his midsection was lively from the movement within it. “Calm down, Villain, I'll take you in soon."

Villains eat people. Not Heroes. Matchbook thought still awestruck by disbelief. 

His shoulders then rose when he saw The Hero was walking to him again.

The woman's voice, slightly perturbed, but determined to talk to him rushed forward, "YOU'RE GOING TO ANSWER MY QUESTIONS THIS TIME!" She bravely stomped to him, disregarding the massive height difference between them now. She barely came up to his knee, if at all. 

She got within a few feet of him, so his stomach wouldn't obscure either of them from seeing the other. How can she even talk to him like that? Did she not see him eat someone? Does she not see the human-like shape inside him?

Matchbook took the opportunity to start walking backward from the madness.

The Hero put up his hands, as if she held power over him and his smile wavered anxiously. “I think you have mistaken me for someone else…” He poked at his stomach, “and even if I was the right one, I need to finish talking to my sidekick and get this criminal to the authorities.” 

“Sidekick?”

The Hero looked over at Matchbook and so did the woman, he froze once they did. Why are they looking at me? Why is The Hero looking at me!

Matchbook hunched inward, afraid of the approach. He stumbled over the curve and The Hero loomed over him. He dropped into a squat, used to the moving weight, and harmlessly smiled at Match. 

They were nearly level with one another—it didn't stop Matchbook's eyes from continuing to trail away from his face. 

“I saw your heroics while I was overhead trying to find this dastardly Villain.” Matchbook didn't need The Hero to gesture anything. “You did great.”

His hand reached out to pat Match’s head. The best he could do was tap it with his finger tips. “Are you another hero’s sidekick in training?”

He heard his question, his attention was too drawn to the woman who willingly tugged at the pant leg of his stretchy costume. Why is she okay with this? It’s not like he hadn’t heard about another person getting eaten but never had he seen it outside of shows. 

“HELLO?” The Hero waved his giant hand before Match’s face. “You didn’t get hurt did you?” 

The concern shoved Matchbook from his thoughts. “N-no.” His brain processed everything that had been said. “To both questions.” 

The Hero’s hands slammed onto the ground, eagerly. “That’s perfect!” His hand came up and grabbed Matchbook before he could react. “I’m in desperate need of a new sidekick!” The Hero, leaving little room for Match to rebuttal, threw him over his shoulder and held his hand over him securely. 

What is he doing?! Matchbook could barely wheeze out a, “huh,” as the ground was farther from him. 

“Don’t you dare run off again!” She said, as The Hero hunched back down, his body tensing as he did. 

“Now, citizen, please stand back.” 

The Hero nudged her with his leg and she complained further. “Quit it!” 

Matchbook’s vocabulary returned, “Hold on, I didn’t agree to be your-” The next thing he knew, the air was knocked out of him as they shot upward. Matchbook couldn’t hold in his scream as the contents of his lunch threatened to come back up.

He sealed his lips, still held and feeling the incredible force against his body. His eyes, barely open, saw the beautiful city they flew over. Something he would have admired if he was looking at it through a computer screen on the GROUND. 

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, clutching as hard as he could into The Hero’s flesh. Please, please, PLEASE put me down nicely!

The wind whistling fast past his eardrums slowly dissipated and he finally heard The Hero’s voice. “Whoops, I overshot the docks again!” 

He opened his eyes, squinting, as they were across the water. The docks were in the distance and they were flying much slower now.

“Just fly us back there! You have wings!” Matchbook whimpered, still clutching what he could.

The Hero laughed, “Ha, you’re right!” Then the force shifted and Matchbook felt his body being pulled upward, away from him as they were falling. “How do I do that again?”

“WHAT!” Matchbook shouted. They were rapidly approaching the water.

The Hero twisted himself and Matchbook in the air, He swung Matchbook in front of him, pushed him with whatever force he could, and got his back ready to strike the water. 

And the last thing Match saw before they struck was The Hero mouthing the word, ‘sorry’.

…

THANK YOU FOR READING AND HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!

Next Chapter

Catch up, see some maps/art, or check the latest release dates down below  ↓ ↓ ↓ 

I Got Roped Into Being A Hero! (Synopsis/Chapter List)

[walpywalpy]

Happy birthday, Weiss! You’re a queen and your girlfriend loves you!

Weiss wakes up with a yawn and rubs her eyes. She looks around the dorm and she finds herself alone. She checked if Ruby was on the top bunk and the bed was empty. She even saw that Ruby made her bed, which is a rarity for Weiss to see. ‘Where is everyone?’ Weiss asked herself. She sighs and slowly changes into her uniform. She then realizes something: she didn’t have any classes today. Usually, Ruby would remind her that it is indeed the weekend and there were no classes to attend. Weiss began changing out of her uniform and into a more casual dress. She began brushing her hair and thought of what to do.

Nothing came to her mind.

She puts down her brush and sighs. She looks at her reflection in the mirror. “Mirror, am I alone?” she asks. Of course, no answer came. She gets up, picks up her handbag, and begins to roam the hallways of Beacon.

No sound came from the hollow hallways of the school except for Weiss’s breathing and her footsteps. She could almost hear the walls inhale and exhale. She could feel her mind slip with the lack of noise, which was new to her because she always complains that her team was so much louder than she was. ‘I guess the noise kept me sane.’

She leaves the main building and walks by the cafeteria, where she sees Ruby running towards her. “Weiss!” Ruby exclaims.

“Ruby!” Weiss exclaims with a smile. Her smile disappeared when she noticed that Ruby wasn’t slowing down. “Wait! Stop!”

Too late. Ruby jumps and tackles Weiss in a bear hug. “Are you crazy?!” Weiss shouts as she gets out of Ruby’s hug.

“Follow me, Weiss!” Ruby beams, ignoring Weiss’s question.

Ruby takes Weiss’s hands and leads her toward the garden. Weiss didn’t visit the garden much, but she remembers how beautiful it was with the lilies, roses, lotuses, and chrysanthemums it grew there. However, the flowers weren’t the focus of the garden this afternoon. Rather, it was the balloons, table cloths, the rest of team RWBY and JNPR, and the large cake. “Ruby, what is this?” Weiss asks in exasperation.

“Well, you told me you never had a birthday party,” Ruby says, “so I made it my mission to give the best birthday party ever!” Weiss drops her bag as she hears this. “Happy birthday, Ice Queen!” Ruby gives Weiss another hug as Weiss holds back tears.

“Look, she wants to cry,” Yang teases. Weiss wipes her tears away.

“Shut up,” Weiss moaned. “This is a lot to take in, okay.” The rest of her team went to hug her.

~*~

“Cut the cake!” Nora shouted. “Make a wish!” Weiss laughs as Ren lit the candles.

“We have to sing her happy birthday, of course,” Pyrrha reminds everyone.

“She’d probably criticize our singing,” Yang jested.

“Quiet, you!” Weiss says as her cheeks glow red.

“C’mon, everyone!” Ruby exclaims. “On the count of three! One, two, three!”

They all began singing and Weiss stared at the scene with a stupid smile. She looked at everyone singing and her eyes stopped at her partner. Ruby singing at the top of her lungs with a giant smile on her face. Weiss’s face began to heat up as she continued to look at Ruby. “Happy birthday to you!” the group finished off.

“Go on, Weiss,” Ren says. “Make your wish.” Weiss thought of what she could wish for. It had to be perfect. Her grades? No, they’re already the best they could possibly be. Her team? She knew deep down that they could manage anything. She looked at her team, however, to get ideas and smiled. She knew what to wish for.

She took a deep breath and blew the candles out. Her friends cheered for her, and Weiss blushed at the attention.

~*~

“Come on,” Blake says. “We all need to clean up.” Ruby and Yang groan as they look at the mess that was left behind. Weiss wastes no time in cleaning up.

“Weiss, you don’t have to help,” Yang says.

“No,” Weiss affirms. “I have to help.”

“You really don’t have to,” Blake assures. “We’ll take care of it. You can go back to the dorm. We won’t be long.” Weiss puts down the cups she was picking up and sighs.

“In that case…” Weiss puts her hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “May I borrow you for a second, Ruby?”

“Oh,” Ruby mumbles. “Uh, sure.”

“Don’t take forever!” Yang exclaims. “You still need to help, Ruby!” Ruby gives her sister a thumbs up, and the pair begin walking toward the dorm.

“So…” Ruby started. “Why did you need me, Weiss?” Weiss glances at Ruby with the sunset perfectly reflected in her silver eyes and blushes slightly.

“I…wanted to thank you for the party,” Weiss whispers. “It meant a lot. More than you know.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ruby giggles. “What are partners for?” Weiss looks down at the path below.

“Right. What are partners for…”

Was that all? Their entire relationship was built on an arbitrary rule that caused them to team up at first sight. Was that truly all? Couldn’t it go beyond the rules Ozpin made? The rules her father made? The rules the world has made? She wanted more. Something more special.

“Weiss?” Weiss looks up at Ruby. “Is there something more you wanted to talk about?” Weiss played with her hair.

“Well, maybe.” Weiss rubs the back of Ruby’s hand with her thumb. “It has to do with my birthday wish.”

“Your wish?” Ruby asks. “Oh no, you can’t talk to me about that or it won’t come true.”

“Can this be an exception?” Weiss pleads. “I need you to help.” Weiss stops waking and Ruby stops in front of her. “Please.”

“You sure?” Weiss nods. “Okay, what is it?”

“I…want something more with someone and I’m scared it may not work out,” Weiss admits. “I don’t think I’m good enough.”

“Weiss, you could pick up any guy you wanted,” Ruby assures. “No need to be scared. I’m sure whoever it is, they’ll say yes.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?”

“One hundred and one percent, Ice Queen.” Weiss laughs and sighs.

“Okay, I’d you're so sure, I’ll tell them tomorrow.”

“That’s my partner!” Ruby cheers. “Do it ASAP. Get it over with!”

‘ASAP?’ Weiss thought. “You know what? Yes, I will do it ASAP.” Weiss hugs Ruby. “Thank you, Ruby.” Ruby returns the hug.

“Anytime,” Ruby smiled.

“I love you.”

The world froze for a second as they both took in what Weiss said.

“You…” Ruby mumbles. “I…um…” Ruby steps back from the hug with her cheeks flaring as bright as her cape. “Am I-” Weiss turns red and nods.

“Yes,” Weiss admits. “You are my birthday wish.” Ruby awkwardly walks back up to Weiss and hugs her.

“I- ahem. I love you, too,” Ruby chokes out. Weiss gasps and looks at Ruby. “I was scared when you asked me that you liked someone. I’m just glad it was me.”

“You mean so much to me. You were my first friend.”

“You made me feel like I had a place here when you told me I could be a great leader,” Ruby explains. “I’m glad my crush on you meant something.”

“So…” Weiss begins. “What does that make us? Are we dating or…”

“Do you want to date?” Ruby asks, and Weiss’s cheeks become pink.

“I do. I’ve just never dated anyone.”

“So I guess we’re dating now.”

Weiss looks at Ruby’s and then at her lips. Ruby notices and she giggles. Ruby kisses the corner of Weiss’s lips and Weiss reciprocates the kiss. Ruby takes hold of Weiss’s hand as Weiss cupped Ruby’s cheek. They let go with rosy red faces and giant smiles. “I should get going back,” Ruby says.

“I guess you should.”

Ruby kisses Weiss’s cheek and she walks back to the garden. “Love you!” Ruby says giggling.

“I love you too.”

[lillax-writing]

Street Smarts: Chapter 31

Tucked away somewhere within the crevices of the city, beyond the reach of its countless citizens, stood a pair of twin pods that illuminate a brilliant glow; combined together to shine nearly as brightly as the sun itself. That very glow starts to dim as the power that flows within these machines slows to a crawl; the room growing darker until the only source of light that remains belongs to a single light bulb that hangs overhead. A sharp hiss reverb through the chamber as the pod lids begin to open, the haze held inside parting to reveal the twin bosses of the psychic criminal syndicate that once slumbered within. The duo rise up from their chambers as they return to the waking world, the psychic of space between them gazing to the palm of their hands as he feels a newfound power coursing through his body. Starring into his own hand does his newfound power let him behold all the minuscule atoms that make up his entire palm, a site of which he feels is simply a preview of his overwhelming abilities. And within his own atoms can Cen bare witness to the spacial power that now courses through his very veins.

“You feeling this, bro?” he questions his time controlling sibling. For the first time in a long while does Tury share the same sentiment as his brother, genuinely astonished by this grandiose and amazing evolution they had both undergone. Countless thoughts race through the business man’s mind as he felt the aspect of time itself were no longer applicable to him. “I do. Its…incredible. I feel time itself coursing through my veins. No longer is it an unwieldy tool I have to work with, as it now feels like a part of my very being. I feel the meager seconds flow beside me akin to a man standing in the midst of a never ending river.” he finally responds. “Wow, Tury. I never thought you had those kinds of poetry chops in you.” his spacial brother claims. “It was simply the most accurate way I could describe it.” “Guess my more artistic side must be rubbing off on you.” jests Cen, climbing out from the pod. “I suppose.”

The first step out from the comfort of the evolutionary chamber, the newfound possibilities begin to flood their minds as Cen can’t help but let out a giddy little giggle, soon going: “Imagine what all we can do now. The pieces I could create, the opportunities that stand open for us. The world can be our oyster.” “As much as I share your enthusiasm, we still have some loose ends to tie up before we can continue.” “What, you mean dad? Forget crawling back to him. We don’t need his approval anymore, he’s beneath us now.” “That’s not what I’m referring to. No, I’m hinting over the vine of thorns that have been scratching away at our sides for the past several months.” Tury corrects. “Oh, you mean Wedsle and his band of traitors. I’m sure the scions have took care of them by now; I mean with all of them having evolved, what are the chances that all three of them are-” “They’re dead.” Tury confirms, a phone put to his ear. “What!? All of them?” “All of them.” “Even May?” “Especially May.” “Aw, man! I liked her. She was real fun…Do we have anyone else?” Cen then wonders. “No one qualified enough it seems.”

A loud groan bellows out from the spacial psychic’s mouth as his head slumps down; his disappointment swiftly dashed as he pulls himself back up with a clap and goes: “Whelp…Guess the old adage stands as true. Want something done right, you do it yourself.” “We’d have to find them first off and who know’s where they may be hiding?” Tury then states. “I might have some idea about that.” “How so?” “Call me crazy, but I’ve been feeling something real strange about the city as soon as I woke up. Like I can peel back layer after layer of the space that New York occupies. Imagine finding a small bump under your carpet you haven’t noticed before, and when you look underneath, you find an entire nest of vermin buried right under your house boards.” “Intriguing. Lets try pulling the carpet off and see what we can find.” Tury suggests, his spacial brother strolling over to the door.

Placing but a single hand right over the door’s face, the spatially inclined half of the duo begins to run his newly evolved powers throughout its steel; all the while keeping his mind acutely focused on the space that the entire city stands within. He peels back the curtains separating the layers of space from one another, searching through what lies in between them to soon discover a lone door dressed in a red aura; one whose face his so finely etched with such polished detail. The moment his palm lands upon the carved face, Cen backs off from the doorway to present his time managing brother with; this entrance having completely replaced the steel doorway from before. Such a display of spacial reconstitution lends him an applause from his more cut throat sibling, praising him with: “An impressive display, indeed. It makes me wonder how my own powers have expanded.” “Care to take them for a test run?” Cen offers, opening this new door. “Lets.”

“And there.” the lively psychic goes. Withdrawing her natural green aura way does Satette look upon the work she put in healing the last of Frida’s body; the wall merging gun woman pulls her hand back to inspect the work for herself, finding not even a trace of burns or sores anywhere. “Fine work as always, Sat. Can’t even tell I got burned. All the searing pain, just gone.” “Don’t mention it. Believe it or not, you were the easiest one to work on. You should’ve seen the Wedsle before I worked on him. He had puncture wounds that came from underneath his skin. How the hell does that happen?” “Sounds like a real field day; but what about you? We can’t just ignore what you went through putting that scion down. From the way you describe it, the kind of punishment you took would kill someone lesser.” “I mean, even with how little I can work on myself, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just need some R and R, some love from my GF, and…maybe the hardest drink we got.” “On it, girl.” Frida departs with. The moment that the 2nd dimension traveling psychic steps out of the office, Satette can’t help but let out a relieved breath as she plops herself down on the nearest chair, finally letting herself slump over and relax. “I’m gonna need that drink. Pain train in me’s going top speed til the last stop.”

When Satette hears the door open back up however does she begin to tense up once more, thinking one of her crew mates might be coming back for more; but again relaxes when finding it to be only her spouse. “Oh, Janna. Its just you.” Sat sighs. “How you holding up Satsy?” “Gotta be honest. I feel like complete shit. Putting down that scion practically took everything I had; I’m barely standing as is.” “About that; I’ve been thinking.” “Janna.” “I know you’ve been doing all this for a good cause, but you’ve done a whole lot; so I don’t think anybody would blame you for calling it quits.” “Janna, I can’t quit now. Not when we’re so close to the end.” “But look at yourself, you barely hanging on by a thread at this point.” “I’ve bounced back from worse.” “Satsy…” Janna sighs. “Tell you what, with the rest of the team patched up, I’ll sit out whatever comes our way. None of them’ll object to it after seeing me like this. Beside, I’m sure that whatever pops up anytime soon won’t be that serious.” “Hmm…Fine.” Its upon this that Sats GF leans down to sit alongside her injured and resting lover, nuzzling closely as she continues: “Just promise me one thing.” “What’s that?” “That once this is all over, you’ll leave enough for me to love.” “Sure thing…”

Coming into the kitchen, Frida is met with the strange site of a shadow slithering across the tile from behind the center counter top, quickly sliding back as she enters; the dimensional psychic reaching into her jacket for her gun as she slowly encroaches upon this mysterious figure. The gun woman quiets her breath as she approaches; her aura slowly emerging she prepares herself. Leaping right around the corner of the counter, she aims her weapon towards the shadows origins. “Whoa, whoa whoa! Jesus!” she hears being shouted as she discovers the shadow belonging to the violet psychic himself. “Oh…Its just you.” “The hell you mean “Its just me.” You trying to give me a heart attack or a bodyshot? Holy shit, woman!” “Sorry, Weds. I’ve just been on edge for a while now. Guess that fight with the scion made me pretty jumpy.” admits Frida. “Christ…Not the worst surprise I’ve had, to be honest.” jests Wedsle, kneeling back down to the cabinet.

“What the hell are you even doing down there anyway?” Frida then takes the subject to. “If you must know, I was down here procuring the blender to make myself a milkshake. Figure with all we’ve accomplished I deserve a little something.” “Well, since you’re down there, mind pulling out some Vermouth and some gin from the rack?” “Mixing together a martini, huh? Never took you for a blooming alcoholic. Course with you’re history, I shouldn’t be as surprised.” “It’s for Satette, you asshole. If there’s anyone here that deserves a break around here, its her.” “Ain’t no arguing there. Doing that scion in and fixing us all up. That’s girls been hitting the clock since joining us; I imagine we couldn’t have gotten far without her.” he compliments, passing a bottle of gin and vermouth. “She’s something special. I’ll give you that.”

Frida sets the pair of bottles onto the center counter top right as Wedsle heaves the blender onto the table opposite to her; the gun woman glaring to her reflection held in the bottles as while the liquid inside swivels and shakes. “Yo, Weds.” “Yeah?” “You got any plans once we make our way to the top?” “Thought we figure this out. Use all that power to help those screwed by the system.” “Ever thought about how we go about doing that?” asks Frida, a question of which makes Wedsle suddenly cease. “What, uh…what do you mean?” “I mean how are we gonna do that without pissing off the wrong people. We might be operating outside the law, but that don’t mean we can’t ignore it. Even if we’re doing right, people see a problem big enough, they’re bound to do something.” Wedsle hesitates to answer, his silence ironically telling Frida of how clueless he truly was. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it that much.” “Well, its not like we haven’t had the time.” “Still; its what we’ve been fighting like hell for. You seriously standing there and telling me you haven’t even gave it a passing glance?” “Look, its more complicated than I thought, okay. I can lead a motley crew of supernatural outcasts against a criminal syndicate; but running said syndicate afterwards, that’s a helluva lot more complex.” Weds defends himself with. “Well, we can’t just leave the top spot empty for any greedy and malicious bastard to take for themselves.” counters Frida. “I know that!”

Upon this does the violet psychic lets out a disheartened sigh, something of which makes Frida quite uneasy from it being the few times Wedsle has shown great uncertainty and doubt. “I know its something I have to face eventually. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that being at the top spot is way bigger than I could ever imagined. It all makes me wonder if I’m really the right man for the job.” “Wedsle.” utters Frida. “Look, I might not show it most of the time, but even I can’t deny that I’m a giant mess. Part of me thinks I wouldn’t be here if I had the very least tangential idea on how to put myself on track. The best I’ve done with it was making sure all your lives didn’t spiral out of control like mine. If I barely have any modicum of sway for my own life, how can I be expected to take charge of the lives of potentially countless others.” To this can the gun woman only answer with contemplating silence, both of them truly stumbled over the uncertainty of their future after all this is said and done.

“You uh…”Frida then breaks the silence with. “You mind passing me a glass.” Reaching his arm to the cabinet above him, Wedsle opens the lid to purview across the countless cups and glasses lined up within, stopping when his fingers brush against the rim of a fancy wine glass. Grasping the neck of the glass, the violet psychic tosses the cup right behind himself and over to his wall merging crew mate; Frida catching the glass with but her finger and a thumb. “Thanks.” Turning back to the bottles of liquor set behind her, Frida glances back over to Weds and tries to comfort the conflicted purple psychic with: “If its worth anything; you’ve done a good job making sure all of our lives didn’t turn out as bad as they could’ve.” “If that’s true, at least I did one thing right.” he softly laments.

Out along the end of the safe house’s corridor, Thursotte races across the hallway towards the bathroom on the other side; holding onto his crotch in an effort to hold his bladder back as he desperately hurries. Once racing right on into the bathroom, the chaos triggering psychic suddenly stops when hearing one of the showers running on the other side; his bursting bladder suddenly corked when he finds an unfamiliar voice singing from the end. Thurs’ first instinct is to be cautious as he carefully approaches the showers; the steam sticking to his gun as he pulls the weapon out from his holster. Slowly does the young man sneak his way towards the side of the bathroom as he prepares to face off against who or whatever may be lurking around the corner. Its after a moment or two of bracing himself that he finally takes the initiative and leaps out from the corner with his weapon aimed squarely inside. To his horror does he behold something far worse that whatever assault he thought may be waiting, for he lays eye upon the bare naked body of his middle aged former cop turned crew member Tuesco; both of them letting out blood curdling screams.

“Aaaugh! God!” Thurs yells, reeling back to the corner he leaped out from. “Jesus Christ, kid!? What the hell you think you’re doing!?” Tues demands to know. “I heard singing, so I thought somebody broke in! I’m sorry!” “How would anybody even…Look, everything’s fine. That was from me, alright.” “Oh, that didn’t sound like you at all.” “Yeah, I got that a lot back on the force. My Folks wanted me to be an opera singer, but chose to be an officer instead. Didn’t stop them from making me practice bravado, though.” “Sounds really good.” “Thanks…was this all you came in here for?” Tues then brings the subject back. “Uhhh…Oh right, bathroom!” Thursotte remembers, dashing straight into one of the stalls. “Bout gave me a heart palpitation from that. The heck’s got you so jumpy anyway?” the psychic of solid air wonders. “Sorry about all that. Usually after we get a well earned win in, some catastrophe comes charging out from around the corner after. I guess I was just prepping myself up for the worst.” “I’d relax if I were you. It’s been, what like, 3 days, since we took care of the scions. You wind yourself up too tight like that, you’re just gonna break yourself.” “Yeah…you’re probably right.” “And besides. You won’t have anything else to worry about once this all gets wrapped up.” “Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m not sure what I’m gonna tell my family once I get back. Even if I told them the truth, I doubt they’d believe me.” “I’m sure you’re folks’ll be happy you made it back regardless.”

“What about you?” “Me?” “What do you think you want to do once this all over.” “Whelp, first thing I seeing myself doing is getting the hell out here. Maybe move out somewhere way quieter and calmer. I’m thinking…Montana be nice place to unwind. Like to see any goons try and follow me out there.” Tuesco claims. “I’ve always fancied taking a trip to California, maybe take my family to the beaches if I come back over here.” Thursotte mentions. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Just watch where you step, ain’t no telling how many syringe needles are buried in the sand.” “Why would somebody bury needles in the sand?” “Oh, you poor innocent lad.”

All remains dark and quiet within one of the safe houses many bedrooms, lulling the sound controlling kid that rest upon one of the beds inside into a well deserved slumber. Sunny lets himself be plunged into the soft cotton blankets as he lays atop the cushion like mattress, welcoming its plush surface as he prepares to sleep. But right before he could truly let the realm of sleep take him, a sudden bang echoing not too far away jerks him right back into alarm; his eyes, adjusted to the darkness, drawn towards one of the bedroom drawers. Switching the lamp atop one of the nightstands on, little Sunny notices the entire clothes drawers beginning to lightly quake, as if something was inside and squirming around for a way out. Rather than wait to find out what was making such a commotion within, the prepubescent boy instead decides leap off the bed to push it towards the dresser, hoping to trap whatever may rummage within. Whatever could be hiding within the dresser starts to grow irate as it struggles to push against the side of the bed that keeps it pinned inside; Sunny pushing against the side of the bed in hopes of pinning what rampaged inside for as long as he can. Try as he might to hold on however, what lay inside bursts all the drawers of the dresser wide open and pushes the bed Sunny had held it back aside; the boy himself knocked right over as whatever he had been holding back slowly rises up from inside one of the drawers.

Sunny’s overwhelming fright starts to drain away when the lamp beside them reveals them to be the very proprietor of the very safe house him and the rest of the gang stay; July left clearly upset over the struggle of escaping from inside the dresser drawers. “What the hell is your problem!?” he shouts at Sunny. “Mr. July. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in there.” “Who else do you think it’d be rummaging inside these drawers kid?” “Why are you inside the drawers?” the boy can’t help but ask. “Meh, that purple jackass borrowed one of my lighters and I’ve been going through these drawers looking for it.” “Maybe I can help. What’s it look like?” “Its a custom made lighter embroidered with some emeralds from Brazil. Got this particular cut with some finishing touches that make the most middle class schmucks commit tax fraud and land themselves in the big house just to nab one.” “Gosh, and you Weds borrow it?” “I know, sounds like a bad idea when you say it out loud, don’t it?” “No, I just meant that, well, you must trust him a lot with something like that.” “Yeah well, knowing the guy since he was around your age leaves quiet the resume for people like him. Might act like an ass sometimes, but you don’t come around people like him that often. Hard to believe a sorry kid like that turned his life around the way he did.” “Wow, I wish I could be like him.”

To this statement can the safe house keeper not help but burst out laughing; Sunny left quickly offended by the unexpected outburst. “What’s so funny!?” “He he he he he he. Nothing, just I’m sure he’d tell you to aim somewhere else.” “Well, where do you expect me to go.” “I don’t know, where you think?” “Why are you asking me? I slept on the cold hard streets before you guys came and got me.” “Wait, no. That’s not what I-” “Everyone might not say it, but I know they’re gonna go there separate ways once they kill the bosses. But where does that leave me. Its not like I can go back home. I don’t have one anymore.” he laments, seeming on the verge of tears.

To the young boys welling sorrows does July let out a slight sigh before putting his hand on Sunny’s shoulder before going: “Kid, you got a good number of years before figuring out where you wanna be. So how bout til you find that out for yourself, you can rest here.” “Huh?” “Most kids like you don’t have the second chances in life you’ve been given. And I really don’t think the guys around here are gonna just dump you out when all this is done. Even if they ain’t got the time for ya, you can always chill out here if the big world out there gets too much for ya.” “You…You really mean-” “But, you wanna stay here. You gotta earn it. It takes a lot to keep a place like this spic and span, and despite my powers, I can’t be everywhere all at once. It’d be nice to have another pair of hands helping out. What do you say, think its a deal?” Wiping away the tears from his eyes, Sunny puts in a smile as he reaches over to shake the safe house owners hand to agree to his terms with; “Deal.” “Glad to hear. Be sure to wear gloves when moving the boxes of spare organs.” July warns. “He he…what?” “I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t let you handle that stuff now…Maybe when you’re older.” “…”

Though the pain through her worn and busted body surges through just about every inch of her, Satette nonetheless feels a deep comfort knowing the woman she loves is resting by her side; her warmth and love almost being enough to help mend her wounds. “You know, despite the unending sore sensations I feel across my entire being, I almost don’t want this moment to end.” the lively psychic goes. “Me neither, Sats. Me neither.” “Can you move off my arm though, Janna? I can feel my fracture bones poking my muscle.” “Oh, sorry.”

In the middle of cuddling one another are their eyes drawn to the door as its knob starts to turn, opening wide to let Frida waltz her way inside with a freshly made martini in hand. “Somebody order a drink on the rocks?” the wall merging psychic enters with. “Shaken or stirred?” wonders Sat. “Shook to its very core.” “This is a surprise. You rarely ever drink.” Janna brings up, her girlfriend taking up the glass. “Yeah; figured with all I’ve done this week, I deserve a swig.” claims the lively psychic before taking a sip.

Stepping out from the safe house’s bathroom and into the hallway, all the steam built up from inside wafts into the corridors at the same time Tuesco steps out; the length of hot air trailing off the man’s body like an aura. All the trailing steam is but lite compared to the near deafening quiet that haunts the halls; the solid air psychic failing hear so much as a peep as he wonders through the corridors. It was almost eerie how only his own footsteps echoed around him, a haunting quiet he wasn’t used to. Thurs just got out of the bathroom before me, I at least should hear him. But there’s nothing…We’re these hall always so quiet? Its after another moment or two of walking that Tues begins to catch the sound of footsteps out of sync of his own; the proof of another wandering the same halls as he. “Thurs? That you?” he calls forth. When his voice baits no response from whoever may roam the halls, he then begin to follow after the echoing footsteps in thinking it might be someone else; turning corner after corner until he comes upon the source of the sounds.

Around the corner and on the other side of the hall before him stood a man finely dressed in zebra patterned business attire; looking around as if wandering where he is. “Can I help you?” Tuesco questions him. The well dressed man quickly jerks his icy blue eyes across the hallway, a sudden stare that sends chills across the solid air psychic’s body. It felt like an eternity as silence haunts between the two as both attempt to get a feel of one another; the well dressed gent deciding to break the silence by responding: “Actually, yes. I seem to have gotten myself lost in this strange, yet homely labyrinth. May I ask, which way is the living quarters.” “Were we expecting you?” Tuesco questions first.

“Hmm…Seems Wedsle forgot to announce my arrival. If you must know, I am an accountant that he has hired to manage his finances once he takes charge of the criminal syndicate. Surely you know the abundance of money that swims through this cities seedy underbelly. Thus he had sought my aid in managing it for him. I’m sure it’ll be a load off his mind.” “Huh…That’s the smartest thing he’s ever thought of. And what a hell of a first impression your lending; nicely dressed, if your dress code is as good as your resume; you land the job for sure.” “I certainly hope so. Reliable help can be so hard to come across in this day and age.” the well suited man claims. “Amen to that. Anyway, you were looking for the living quarters, right? From here, you wanna take a couple lefts before going straight; stop just a the middle of the corridor before you head right. If you end up in the living room you’ve gone too far.” “Thank you kindly. A pleasure speaking with you, Mr…” “Tuesco.” “A splendid name. I’ll be sure to remember it.” the well suited gentleman parts with, taking the directions that Tues had bestowed to him. Clean cut, well dressed, sharp eyes; a finer man if I’ve ever met one. Hopefully a guy like that can get Weds on the right track.

Elsewhere among the safe houses winding corridors, Sunny wanders through the pastel white and red hallways ever so lost; the boy clutching his stomach as it lets out a loud growl. Getting spooked by Mr. July like that took more out of me than I thought. I know he wants me to start cleaning, but I could really use a bite to eat before I get started. Despite his belly begging for sustenance is the sound controlling kid left hopelessly lost among all the samey looking corridors, the young boy taking whatever turns he stumbles across in his search for the kitchen. Its not long before Sunny find himself hopelessly lost in the winding halls. Which way did I come from again? That way? No, maybe that way?…I can’t tell. I don’t know weather I’m getting out or going back in the same hallway. It all looks the same. I gonna end up starving to death wondering around before I even find the kitchen.

Its in his over exaggerated childish panic that Sunny takes yet another turn, finding a shadow slithering from the other side of the hall; his brief moment of desperateness vanishing as he hurries towards the figure. Yet when turning the corner is he surprised to find the shadow not belonging to anybody he particularly knows; instead finding a rather unkempt and loosely clothed man set wandering the safe house halls, his attention fixated on the carvings and details strewn about the walls. Right when he thinks about slowly retreating away from this stranger does the man suddenly turn his attention over to him, his icy cold eyes betraying his seemingly relaxed stare. “Oh, hey there kid.” he greets with a friendly demeanor. But even with this enigmatic man’s approachable attitude, Sunny still remains cautious as he keeps his distance while he hesitantly responds. “He…hey…” “You live here?” “…Yes.” “Really? Damn, you pretty luck crashing somewhere like this. The carvings on the door frames, the detailed paintings along the walls; and these decorations. Mwah. Gorgeous.”

Despite this mysterious man’s seemingly casual attitude over breaking into their private abode, Sunny still keeps his distance away from him as he admires the decorations; the boy tempted to race away in hopes of running into a familiar face for a hand in their intruder. Before the kid could so much as take even a step back that his needy stomach gives him away; the boy’s growling belly echoing throughout the entire hallway, drawing the enigmatic man’s attention back to him. “Eesh, heard that all the way from here.” the man remarks. “I’m guessing you haven’t had good bite to eat in a while, have ya?” Knowing his position had been compromised, Sunny figures there’s no point in denying the intruder’s questions and answers: “I skipped breakfast…before I had a bit of a nap.” “Well, I might have something that’d curb your protesting stomach.” the man claims, reaching from behind his own back.

From behind himself does the man pull a meaty burger from seemingly out of nowhere, still freshly wrapped in a shiny tinfoil that preserves its succulent taste. In opposition to his begging belly, Sunny refuses to so much as take a step forth towards this still unknown figure; the lessons of not talking to strangers engraved in the boys instincts. “Not even moving an inch, huh? Meh, I get it. Don’t trust strangers and all that. Alright then, catch.” the man then goes, tossing the partially wrapped sandwich towards the boy. The burger ends up perfectly landing right into the boy’s grasp, almost as if it were guided into his waiting palm. Sunny doesn’t hesitate to unwrap the meal from its protective layer of tinfoil, but is cautious enough to check every layer of the sandwich for anything suspicious hidden between. “Hey, its clean, I promise.” When he fails to find anything odd in between the layers of the burger, Sunny holds all together in the palm of his hands as he takes his bite; the sandwiches succulent juices seeping down the kid’s chin as he chomps down. “Mmm…A little cold.” “Eh, maybe. But you can taste everything, right?”

Seeing Sunny nod to this has the casually dressed man let out a giddy little chuckle before he goes: “Good. They say a man’s eyes is a window straight into the soul; the view of which we see the worlds beauty. Its funny, almost everyone can look at these halls and admit how the finely carved walls, decorations, and paintings come together to compose a scene. Its called a feast for the eyes for a reason. But we were born with more senses than that. Taste, touch, smell; they’re all ways our mind interprets everything too. How’s the burger, by the way?” “Its…good.” he utters. “How’s it taste?” “…Its nice.” “See, you get me. The condiments underneath, the pickles in between the patty, the cheese, the tomato. It all blends together so wonderfully. I want you to remember the way that burger tastes, take that sensation brushing against your tongue and remember something.” “What?” “Art isn’t exclusive to the eyes. Its in everything we experience. Life is a canvas, kid; and you’re mind is the brush. We only got so much time, so paint away with everything you have.” the man claims, turning away from Sunny as he begins to stroll away. Sunny’s eyes lower down to the burger he holds in his hands, staring at the bite he had taken out of it to find the pieces of tomato, lettuce, cheese, and so much more in between the patty; his lips smacking as he partakes in what flavors rest on his tongue. Its when the boy finally has the courage to speak to the man once more that he looks back up to find not a sign of the messy dressed man anywhere in the halls, leaving Sunny to wonder of not just his mysterious appearance, but the words he had imparted with him as well. Say what you will about the guy, but he definitely left an impression.

An eased sigh seeps out from between Tuesco’s lips as he strolls through the safehouse’s hallways, the shower having helped him unwind after the stressful and dangerous mission he had been on with Wedsle. Approaching one of the doors does the solid air psychic turn the knob and open the door, finding Sat, Frida, and Janna hanging out on the other side; the girls turning their attention away from one another as he enters. “Oops, sorry about that, ladies. Hope I’m not interrupting something.” he goes, ready to turn around. “Hey, ain’t know problem Tuesco. Come on in, Frida just came in with some stirred Margaritas.” Sat welcomes. “Yeah, how bout a drink?” offers Frida. “Eh, why not. Been a while since I had a sip.” the psychic of solid air gives in as he steps inside, plopping his ass down on the nearest chair.

“We were just talking about what our next steps are once we end up overthrowing the mob.” states Janna. “Get out. I was just chatting with Thurs about that. Glad the kids getting the chance to finally fly back to his family. I told him about leaving this city myself, maybe go out and retire somewhere in Montana. I’ve frankly had enough action to fill five lifetimes.” “Glad to hear at least some people hear have a plan. When I talked to Wedsle about it earlier, he said he might not be the best guy for the top spot.” “Really?” Sat goes. “Yep, he said something about doubting how he could be put in charge of so much without screwing something up. And with how he frames it, I kinda get why he’s so against being at the center of it all. Takes some real grit to lead a whole crime syndicate the way you want to.”

“Well, if anything’s putting my mind at ease about all that; its that you guy’s will be behind him all the way to make up for whatever shit he gets into. You all and that new accountant he hired.” Tuesco claims. Him mentioning the accountant stops all the girls from taking another sip of their drinks, Frida the one among them to ask the obvious: “Wha-what accountant?” “The accountant he hired in helping him manage the syndicate finances once he takes over.” “I never heard anything about an accountant.” “Wow, I guess Wedsle really did not bother telling anybody, did he? The accountant that’s staying here for the time being. I just met him before I came in here; nice guy. Clean cut, zebra suit, blue eyes and…wha-what are you guys looking at me like that?” The mere description of this mysterious man that Tuesco had ran into is enough to leave both Satette and Frida with enough fright to have their blood run cold, knowing only one man that could fit such a specific description. “Satsy?” Janna utters in worry.

“Where the fuck is my burger!? I had it here just last night as its gone! How the hell can I be expected to enjoy a milkshake without a boss ass burger?” Wedsle shouts as he rummages through the fridge. Among searching through the ice boxes drawers and tables is the violet psychic’s attention drawn over towards the door along the side of the kitchen, distraught to find Sunny stepping inside and discovering only a quarter left of the sandwich in his hand. “Sunny; how could you?” The young boy is left hopelessly confused over Wedsle words, looking at him and back at what remains of the succulent sandwich. “Huh?” “Don’t “huh” me! You know better than to take something out the of the fridge without asking…And get caught doing it. What have I told you about returning to the scene of the crime?” “I-I-I didn’t I swear!” denies Sunny. “Then what the hell’s in your hand?” “I got this off of a guy I met.” “Don’t lie to me, Sunny. That’s the same tinfoil it came in when I ordered it.” claims Weds. “It is?” “Fucking got it off some guy. Nobody else can even come in here without one of July’s keys, you know that.”

“No, I’m serious. I was looking for the kitchen when I found this guy wondering the halls looking at the paintings and stuff. He pulled this burger out from behind and gave it to me. The guy had real long, messy hair, worn out clothes. Droopy eyes…” Just when he was about to take a sip of his freshly mixed milkshake, Wedsle hesitates the further the boy before him described his encounter with this enigmatic stranger that he claims to have wandering the halls. “You remember what this guy said.” he prompts. “He went on this weird rant about the five senses, saying it was how we process art or something. Didn’t entirely get it, but he sounded really into it.” Such a description could belong to almost anyone left dirt ridden and hung to dry in the big apple, yet it was this strange rant over the nature of art and how people process it is what struck him as off. Almost sounded like some wannabee artist boasting as if he’s a master of the craft. Sounds familiar, but where could…

Right then and there does he begin to get a more clear picture of who this stranger that Sunny had ran into may be; Wedsle feeling a strong dread as he begins to realize who this intruder might be. “Sunny!” he blurts out, causing the boy to flinch. “I-I didn’t mean to eat your burger, I promise.” “Forget the burger. Just tell me one thing you’ve noticed about this guy.” requests Wedsle, his tone hardening as he kneels down to Sunny’s level. “Wh…what is it.” “What were the color of his eyes?”

Through another section of the safe house does Thursotte wonder his way through halls in search for where everybody may be; checking through every door and closet he comes across in hopes of finding them. Yet no matter which way the young man goes, no matter how much he attempts to back track, Thurs can’t make heads or tails of any of these well dressed corridors Its been about a month or two now since we all packed up in here and I’ll never figure out which way is which around here. Doesn’t help that everything around here looks the same; if you’re going for a style, guess being consistent is a must, huh?

It isn’t until Thurs checks another of the rooms that the faint whispers of pained grunts reaches his ears that he actually enters; the lights from the hallway flooding through the shadows as he makes his way inside. Its not long after inviting himself in that he is horrified to discover what could be making all the noise; the light of the hallway revealing the very master of the abode sitting against one of the walls, left bloodied and bruised from what seemed like a very recent struggle. “Mr. July!” Thursotte exclaims dashing to the injured landlord side. “What happened, who did this to do you!?” “You…You all need…to run.” utters July. “What!? Why!?” “The safehouse, its been compromised. They found us.” “Who did?” “The…Bosses. They both found us.” “They’ve woken up already? It hasn’t even been that long.” “It doesn’t matter anymore. Find the others and get the hell out of here right now!” “And just leave you here to succumb to your wounds? That’s not gonna happen.” Thurs denies, reaching down in attempting to pick the master of the house up.

Yet when the young man’s hand near is July quick to swat them away as he exclaims. “There’s no time! You need to get everyone out of here before its too late.” “I’m not just gonna abandoned you like some callous- “You don’t understand, Thursotte. This safe house was made from my own psychic power. If I die, it’ll all collapse and take everyone inside with it.” Hearing this terrible omen has the young man retract his grasp away from July, the conflict of simply leaving the middle aged master of the abode worsening when July claims how: “When we first met, I had to rely on the power I wield over this place to fend you all off. I’m not as spry and tough as I was back in my prime; and it seems I don’t have that much time left. Just about the best thing I can do to help everyone now is to hide so I can buy as much time for you all to escape.” Despite being conflicted on the issue, hearing all this from the home’s master is what convinces Thursotte follow his words and make his way towards the door, leaving the old man to hide within the shadows. Yet just when Thurs reaches over to the doorway does then hear July call back for him with: “Oh, one more thing.” “Yeah?” responds Thursotte, turning back to hear his request. “When you meet back up with Weds, tell him its been fun. And with Sunny…Tell him I’m sorry.” With these final words does Thurs finally make his way out and leaves the master of the house concealed in the shadows, fighting against his mortal wound to give his guest the chance to escape.

Fully realizing the danger that has worned their way within the safe house, Frida and Satette frantically dash through its halls in a search for an escape before the looming threat finds them; Tuesco hurrying behind them in his efforts to keep up. “Satsy!? What’s going on!? Why are we running?” Janna worries, being carried by her lively psychic girlfriend. “The bosses. I don’t know how, but they found us. We can’t stay here anymore.” Satette answers, fighting through the pain coursing through her body. “The bosses!? Like the boss of the mob!? The guy I ran into was same one we have to do in!? Why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance!?” Tues questions. “Probably didn’t know you’re with us. But that’s not what’s important right now. What matters now is figuring out where July keeps the damn keys outta this place.”

“Janna.” the lively psychic looks down to her lover with. “Yeah, Satsy.” answers Janna. “You still have that sleeve I gifted you last week?” “Yeah. I’m wearing it right now.” Janna confirms, rolling up her pants sleeve to reveal the rugged green stocking hidden underneath. “Perfect.” Satette claims, grasp at her girlfriends legs. “Sat!” But against the suggestion Janna thinks her girlfriend may want, Janna witnesses the stockings that were hidden underneath her pants rapidly unravel across the skin of her leg; the thread that makes up these socks revealed to be living plant fibers. From her lovers legs do the thread wrap themselves around Satette arms, transforming into an entire green gauntlet. “Sorry about that. I need the ammo, you know.” Sat apologizes. “Oh, don’t be. It kinda liked it.”

Ahead do the four witness one of the doors creak open to let somebody on the other side make their way into the hall; utter dread spreading across their faces when witnessing the man coming out from within being the more business, cut throat half of the bosses; the psychic of time himself stepping into the hall as his ice cold gaze locks to the group of four. Yet in what felt like the blink of an eye does the man of time suddenly vanish before their eyes, all without a sound or even a hint of his bright white aura flaring from his body; something that throws Satette completely off. “What!? Where did he-” she frantically wonders. Just then does the Satete suddenly hear the wall merging psychic beside her let out a guttural scream, looking over to discover Frida having been stabbed right in her eye with shard of busted pottery; streams of blood seeping down from her stab wounds and down her cheeks. “Frida!” she exclaims.

“What…What just happened!?” Tuesco utters in terror. “I should be thanking you.” he then hears be said from behind. Quickly turning back around is Tues shocked to find their time manipulating foe standing right behind him, meeting with his chillingly cold and merciless glare as he backs away from Tury. “You’ve done an excellent job leading them right to me.” The moment he realizes that their dangerous adversary stood before them is Tuesco quick to erect a thick barrier of solid air, taking up every single corner so that the wall stands with not even a single centimeter of space to squeeze through. In front of the solid air wall does the time controlling psychic brush his fingers against its surface, the timely businessman’s fingers plain to see from the other side of the barricade. “Fascinating. So you are with them after all. A shame, I admired your clean cut and no nonsense demeanor.” From the other side of Tuesco’s barrier do they witness their foe’s timely white aura flare; Tury’s power showing to be far more densely packed as his power irritates their vision. “Is he glowing?” Janna utters.

“Did you know that if molecules move fast enough, they can pass through solid objects? Allow me to demonstrate.” From there do they watch their foe’s body start to rapidly move in place, almost seeming to vibrate as Tury pushes his whole hand against the barricade. All of them look on in shocked horror as they witness the boss live up to his words as his hand starts phasing straight through the solid barrier. Tuesco backs away behind the girls as he struggles to keep his solid air barrier standing, despite the boss already having phased halfway through his defenses. “If any of you ladies got a game plan, now would be the time to do it.”

Staring down at their time manipulating foe as he reaching out to them all from in the middle of the barricade, Satette, in the few precious moments she has, peers down to the woman who had been with her throughout this entire catastrophe, be it from the background or right by her side. Janna looks up to her girlfriend in kind to discover the torn look in her eyes, all while tears begin to streak down Satette’s face. “Satsy? What are you-” “I love you.” Without so much as a single warning does Satette fling her lover towards the solid air psychic behind them, Tuesco holding out his arms to catch Janna while he keeps the barrier up. “What!?” Tuesco shouts. “Nothing you do is gonna work on this guy. Best thing is to take Janna and find a way outta here right now.” This severity of the situation is cemented further upon peer past the girls to witness Tury on the cusp of fully phasing through his defenses; the dire circumstance having Tuesco give in to Sats request and retreats down the rest of the hall behind them, all the while the woman he carries struggles and squirms in his grasp. “Sat!?” Janna exclaims.

Once witnessing both of them turn the corner, Satette immediately reaches over to the wall merging psychic beside her and clutch the side of Frida’s visage left littered with porcelain shards; the lively psychic healing the side of the gun woman’s face while extracting the sharp pieces that puncture her skin. Opening her eye back up, tears run across half of Frida’s face as her vision begins to return; her eye healing just in time to witness their time controlling foe begin to fully emerge out from the other side of the wall of solid air. “Thanks.” “Don’t thank me yet. Something tells me this is far from over.”

The very moment that the time manipulating psychic reaches the other side and stops vibrating in place does Sat cast her lines of plant fibers towards their foe like a whip; but the vines of green simply lash right through the man’s very figure rather than striking him. Yet just before they could so much as even wonder what they had just witnesses, Satette feels a hand clutch at her neck from behind; Frida horrified to witness Tury strangling the lively psychic from behind. Rather than question what she had witnessed, the gun woman immediately goes on the offense and whips her pistols out against the man; the timely businessman instantly throwing Satette straight into Frida with enough hastened strength to burst through the hallway wall.

On the other side do both Frida and Sat come careening right into one of the safe houses offices; papers and miscellaneous office supplies scattering all over the place alongside the debris. Arising from the office tile do both women peer back to the hole in the wall they broke out from, witnessing their timely foe emerging out from the cloud of dust; almost a little unsettled when watching him take a big whiff of the air around him. “Ahh; the scent of standard 8.5 by 11 printing paper. How nostalgic.”

Finding a moment to strike, Satette is quick to lash out against the chronic psychic standing before them with her vine of collected plant matter; Tury vanishing in the blink of an eye before the whip could even make contact. In the midst of this instant assault does a finely sharpened pencil suddenly pierce through the front of Satette chest faster than a bullet. The gun woman follows where the pencil had been thrown as she pulls an AK-47 out from the depths of her jacket, finding their time bending foe standing atop one of the filing cabinets. Frida takes but an instant to aim her weapon directly at the timely businessman before pulling the trigger, sending a flurry of bullets towards their chronic manipulating adversary. But despite seeming to hit their target, the entire barrage goes right through him without so much as putting a hole through; almost like the man had become completely intangible. All but one of the bullets simply phase right through him, one that he manages to catch in his grasp. Witnessing the mob boss of time stick the lone piece of led in between his finger and his thumb, as if he was about to flick it right off, Frida quickly starts to delve into floor beneath her to go on the evasive; the dimensional psychic only managing to sink all but her hands into the floor before Tury flicks her own bullet back at her. Rather than fruitlessly flicking the bullet into the floor, the time bending businessman instead aims it directly right at the hand Frida holds her rapid fire weapon him; the returning shot knocking the AK-47 out from her grasp as she retreats.

Before he could give chase after the dimensional psychic, Tury is unexpectedly slash in the side by a thorny vine; the strike breaking through his suit and leaving behind lacerations. Following the length of the whip show exactly where the lively psychic had struck from; part of her dress torn to reveal the part of her chest he stabbed shielded by a thick layer of wood. Its realizing this that Tury decides to take a far more direct approach and appear before Satette in the blink of an eye, clutching the woman by the wrist of her only arm. Before she could even attempt to fight her way out from his grasp, Sat feels a terrible sensation surging through her body; witnessing her own flesh rapidly wither away under Tury timely power. In what seemed like a brief instance is all of Satette’s time sapped away, reducing her to a trembling elderly woman just moments away from death’s clutches.

Yet among stealing Sat’s time does something unexpected wind up happening; whole plant saplings come sprouting out from the lively psychic, rapidly growing alongside her to jut out and impale themselves across her foe’s body. Its midst being utterly perplexed over how this development was even possible that Tury scans across where these mysterious plants had sprouted to discover them emerging from numerous seeds left sown underneath her own skin. With little to no other recourse at his disposal, the timely businessman is forced to restore his lively foe back to her original youthful self and in turn the numerous plants that had stab him back into the seeds they sprouted from; the plants retreating back into their seeds as the wounds they had jutted from are closed shut. Once turning back the clock on his foe, the chronic bending psychic retreats atop the desk standing in the middle of the office in an instant; left with numerous puncture and slash wounds for his troubles.

And things just go from back to worse for the time bending businessman as he catch faint glimpses of cyan swiftly scurrying across the surfaces of the office; slowing time to a crawl to discover these being the bullets from the gun woman he had evaded earlier; each of them emerging out from the walls straight towards him. In the brief moment before the shots could strike, the time bending psychic accelerates to pluck each of them right out from the air; Satette utterly astonished to witness her well dressed foe catching every single bullet in between his fingers. There was however little time for the lively psychic to even process how the man did this as Tury flings each of the bullets he had caught at her all at once. Yet not one of these bullets would make their mark as Sat is suddenly pulled right into the floor, the lively psychic feeling the shot just barely grazing her head as she his pulled out of the way. Witnessing the dimensional psychic escaping alongside her life bending ally, Tury gives chase after the two as the all the wounds he had been inflicted with begin to close underneath the businessman’s power over time.

“Let go of me!” demands Janna, squirming in Tuesco’s grasp. “I can’t just leave Sat. She’s too hurt to go against somebody like that.” Yet no matter how much the woman in his arms fought, begged or, pleaded with the man, Tues refuses to turn an inch around at Janna’s behest. “Young Lady, if there’s anybody that knows we can’t do anything for them right now, its her; so just simmer down already!” Tuesco harshly scolds, his words getting Janna to stop fighting him. “But…but we just…” “Might sound harsh coming out of my mouth, but she knows the best thing we can do for them right now is get out of their way.” Disheartening as it may be for her to hear, Janna know’s the solid air psychic’s words ring true as she gaze back the way they came; the only thing that she could do now was hope that her lover would return alive.

Somewhere at the other side of the safehouse does the violet psychic race across the halls whilst carrying Sunny on his shoulders, the sound controlling kid struggling to hang on as Wedsle frantically dashes through like a mad man. “Wedsle, slow down. I can’t hold on.” “We can’t kid. If they guy you ran into is who I think it is, we don’t have a second to waste.” “Is he one of the bosses you guys were planning on killing?” the boy asks him. “The very same. We barely got away last time we tried to do them in. And sound like to me they’re skipping to the part where they kick down our front door.” “But you guys can beat them this time, right? Right?” questions Sunny. Despite the kid’s hopefulness, Wedsle silence more than show’s his uncertainty in the face of this overwhelming threat; still remembering barely escaping with his life the last time. “Sunny, listen. If we run into him, you have to run and not look back, okay?” “What, I’m not gonna-” “This isn’t about you not being strong, independent, or whatever. These bastards won’t hesitate to kill you if they find your who you are. Its the only way I can go all out on these guys without having to worry about you. Are we clear?”

Yet there was little time for Sunny to take all this in as he is suddenly swept away from over Wedsle shoulders, the violet psychic stopping dead in his tracks and turning back to behold the threat that had overwhelmed him standing from where he had just came from, holding Sunny by the shirt collar. “Hey Weds, Been a while hadn’t it?” the spacial psychic so gleefully remarks. “The kids got nothing to do with this Cen, put him down now!” “Damn, bitch. Looking at me like that. What’re you running an orphanage now? Or maybe there something about this little guy you’re keeping from me.” the space controlling psychic ponders, tightening his clutches against Sunny’s shirt collar. Wedsle, for the first time in a very long while, is left paralyzed over the situation, knowing at any moment that his foe could rend the boy to pieces in but an instant. “Come on, Weds. Lemme hear it.”

In the midst of this tense stand off does Cen suddenly feel an overwhelmingly intense pain drill in his ears as a harsh screech reverb across the entire hallway; Sunny letting out a high pitched whistle, amplified by his power over sound. Such a whistle was comparable to that of an ear shattering screech, one that gives the noise controlling boy the chance to slip out from the space psychic’s grasp; Sunny immediately bolting away from danger as quickly as he could. Yet Cen wasn’t willing to take this unexpected assault on his ears lying down as he reaches out for the escaping kid, eroding the space between them as Sunny is pulled back towards his clutches. “I’ll shut you’re god damn mouth!” Cen furiously roars. But when the space surrounding them was about to bring Sunny back into the spacial psychic’s clutches, Cen’s grasp instead meets with Wedsle’s own; the violet psychic having halted his foe’s reach. Attempting to counter from this does Weds pull his foe in and throw punch straight at the space controlling boss’s head, his swing being bent in such a way as to sail right past Cen’s head. Regardless of weather the violet psychic could strike back, this lets him witness the sound controlling kid successfully escape around the corner of the hall. Good quick thinking kid.

Despite the sound controlling kid having successfully escaped from this dire situation, Wedsle himself is far from being out of the woods as the space bending psychic he faces gathers his newfound power into his palm; Cen threatening to outright erase the purple punk with but a swipe of his hand. Yet just before this devastating swipe could so much as touch any other part of him, Wedsle manages to catch his erasing swipe with his aura coated hand. Their evolved power clashes in spectacular fashion as sparks of deep violet and black flash across the hallway; the intense struggle causing the corridors to tremble. Among this struggle does the spacial psychic decide to break away from the violet traitor, pushing Wedsle off before lengthening the halls they stand within. After literally growing distant from his spacial controlling foe, the purple psychic looks to the palm of his hand he used to stop the space bending boss’s erasing assault; Weds left astonished to see the palm of his hand whittled down to the very muscle. In peering back to his foe does he then witness the spacial psychic spreading his influence across every inch of the hallway; the corridors contorting and bending akin to malleable molding clay according to Cen’s influence. If only I could think as fast.

Against his desires to turn right around and help, Sunny rushes through the halls away from the brawl between Wedsle and the spacial intruder; the boy falling flat on his face as the corridors rumble from their ongoing struggle. Regardless over his uncertainty concerning the matter, the sound controlling kid picks himself right back up and continues his way through the corridors as they crumble around him; left only to pray that the man that had taken him in can survive this unexpected ordeal. In his sprint through the safe house halls does the kid take the corner, only to wind up bumping right into somebody going just as fast; this figure knocking Sunny across the floor and into the wall. Peering up to whoever he had literally ran into, his panicked terror deflates when he finds it having been a familiar face. “Sunny! Oh, thank god you’re safe.” Thursotte goes. “Listen, we don’t have much time. The bosses just broke in and are-” “I know. Wedsle in the middle of fending one of them off right now.” exclaims Sunny. “What!? Where!?” “Right around there. I wanted to help him, but he told me to run away as fast I could. I…I don’t think he really know’s what he’s up against.” worries Sunny. “What do you mean?”

“That man wound up grabbing me, and when I managed to slip away; he tried to reach out to get me again. When he did, I felt like everything around myself pushed me towards him. I don’t know how else to put it, but when he did that, I could feel him all around me. Like something that wanted me dead trapped me in its grasp. Whatever that man is, I don’t know if Wedsle can handle it.” the boy begins to weep. “Don’t go talking like that.” Thurs then interrupts, kneeling down to the frightened boy’s level. “You should know better than anybody that Wedsle can take whatever’s thrown his way. Even at the expense of himself, he’s the one that avenged your parents from the bastard that took them.” Hearing this does the boy begin to wipe away the tears streaking down his face, gazing up to Thurs as the chaotic psychic concludes with: “Tell you what, you go and look for the others while I go over and give Weds a hand. From the way you put it, it sounds like he could use the help.” “Right.” Reinvigorated against the ongoing crisis, Sunny strides off in the other direction with newfound confidence; knowing that as capable as Wedsle can be against their overwhelming foe, he’ll have a hand as he sees Thurs bolt back from where the boy had come.

Though Sunny race off surefooted, Thursotte on the other hand was beginning to feel more uneasy and tense in contrast; wondering if refusing to point the boy in the direction of the dying house master was the best choice. Sure, it would’ve seemed like guiding him back to July was a good idea; but once the bosses realize they haven’t finished him; it’ll be a massive target on his back. And I dare not imagine what would happen if Sunny got caught in the middle of that crossfire. No, the best bet right now is sending him off to go look for the others. Hopefully, they will have better luck not running into the other boss and finding their way out.

In his continued hurry through the corridors of the safehouse, Sunny could feel the struggle the others face fending off the bosses as the entire hall violently quake beneath his feet; the very walls threatening to crumble apart as the seems as the shaking nearly has the boy nearly falls over. But when he is about to fumble does Sunny keep his footing against the terrible tremors and remains standing; keeping his ground all the way until the trembling ceases. I can’t stop now, I gotta find the others. The moment he is about to continue, the sound controlling kid spots a pair of figures coming around the corner ahead of him, preparing to turn the other way in the fear of more dangerous intruders. But just when he was ready to flee does a pair of familiar voices reach the boy’s ears; voices that have him take another glance back to discover the figures being those he recognize. “Sunny, hang on.” pleads Janna. “There you are, kid.” Tuesco goes.

“Janna, Tues! I’m glad I ran into you two.” “We’re we about to say the same thing. Thank goodness.” states Janna. “Where are the others?” “Wedsle and Thurs are fighting off one of the bosses.” Sunny informs. “Them too? And just when we thought Sat’s and Frida’s hand we’re already full dealing with the other one.” Tuesco laments. “What! What happened!?” the boy exclaims. “Doesn’t matter. Right now, we need to find out way out. Dammit, if only we knew where July kept the keys leading back outside.” the solid air psychic curses. “I know where he keeps them.” the boy then brings up. “You do? How?” asks Janna. “I sometimes…use them to sneak out sometimes?” “Sunny!” Tuesco says with disapproval. “What? It gets boring being cooped up in here all the time, I wanna go out and get some fresh air sometimes.” “How many times do we have to tell you that-” Before Tues could begin to chastise Sunny over his reckless trips out from the safehouse, again, another terrible tremor rocks the very halls they stand inside; the three witnessing massive fractures begin to form across the floors, walls, and ceiling with every quake. “Less talking, more moving.” Janna between them demands. Taking this suggestion do the three rise off the walls to hurry down the halls as the ceiling threatens to cave in over their heads, a threat more prominent as the cracks spread more and more.

The entire hallway Wedsle stands within is barely recognizable as the spacial psychic he faces twists and warps in such drastic ways; parts of the wall lunging out at him in the form of dangerously spike shapes. It wasn’t just the hallway itself that had turned on him, for Weds very sense of gravity betrays him as well; the violet psychic tumbling all over the elongated hallway as he frantically evades whatever sort of assault the corridors he had called home thrust upon him next. Stretched out pieces of the hall threatening to envelope him, abstract shapes emerging out from every angle attempting to impale him, even the very gravity of the room lending him growing vertigo; Wedsle held very little chance to so much as even approach the psychic orchestrating this madness as the distance between them remains the same. No matter how much he dashes, no matter which way he lunges after, the spacial mob boss maintains the gap keeping the purple psychic at bay. The distant between himself and the spacial bastard refusing to charge, Wedsle opt to scoop up the nearest décor within reach and chucks them straight towards his space bending foe; Cen not moving even a single inch as the pictures, paintings, and metal decoration simply brush aside him. A couple of these decorative pieces he ends up catching to gauge a closer inspection, not even paying an iota of attention as the other stuff throw his way is simply hurdled aside. “Oh, love the colors with this one. The composition here is just right. Very unique. And this one; the metal finely crafted and bent into such intricate shapes. That old fart had better tastes than I thought. Might just keep some of these.”

The last piece of décor he could nab being a finely polished golden spear, Wedsle hurls the pointed piece of gold with all his might, infusing his violet aura into its metal as it rapidly careens towards its target. Yet the very moment that the spear threatens to impale itself against Cen’s head, it suddenly just stops right in the middle of the air; still twirling as if it was careening while at the same time stuck in the middle of air. “This one looks a little too tacky for my liking, you can have it back.” With nothing but a single flick of his finger, the space bending psychic flips the sparkling spear right around before sending it dashing straight back towards its sender; Wedsle barely able to evade the decorations pointed tip as it brushes past his side, ripping a piece of his purple jacket off. Yet this attempt to skewer him served as a distraction, Weds caught off guard as the part of the hallway he’s in rapidly shrinks; the violet psychic struggling to hold the receding walls and ceiling back from crushing him entirely. “Actually, the more I think about it, the more I realize all that gold would actually look quite nice on you; something to accommodate all the purple you got on. The only question is where I should stick it.” Taking a glance behind himself does Weds discover the golden pike he had just dodged spiraling its way back towards him; the violet psychic having little room to evade the returning spear as the shrink part of the hallway keeps him bound.

Yet just when the tip of the golden spear was ready to pierce through his body does a miracle happen in the form of another metal decorative piece clashing against the head, throwing the lunging weapon just off course enough to streak right past the violet psychic. Its target missed, the shimmering spike hurdles itself towards the very same man that had returned it; Cen splitting the scepter straight down the middle just before it can hit him. Wedsle finally pries himself out from the closing portion of the twisted hall, donning a more confident grin as he goes: “About time some backup came.” Hearing this does the spacial psychic swiftly turn back to discover the helping hand his foe had described; Thursotte rushing down from the other side of the hallway with his pistol out, taking some pot shots right at Cen. Without so much as a second thought does the space bending psychic swat these stray bullets aside like incoming flies, unaware of the chaotic orange power that coats their very led. From being mindlessly swept aside do the bullets careen right past Wedsle and straight over to one of the metal decorations that litter the warped corridors, causing it to shoot out towards one of the stretched out pieces of wall. Slamming right into the elongated piece of the hallway, the metallic decorative piece breaks off a sizable chunk of the wall right off and careening Weds’ way; the violet psychic managing to catch the splintered piece of wood in the palm of his hands.

Its after catching this miscellaneous chunk of wood that the purple psychic’s face begins to form a devious grin, immediately turning back to his space manipulating foe and yelling: “Hey, Cen. You like art pieces? How bout a piece of this!” His attention baited back to the violet psychic, Cen witnesses Wedsle hurdling the splintered wooden piece like a javelin; the spacial psychic erecting a pair of worm hole in between himself to have the thrown chunk of wood pass right by him and straight towards the chaotic psychic. Thurs is quick to catch the splintered spear of wood in the palm of his hand as he continues to charge out against the space bending mob boss. Stepping right aside one of these twin portals does Wedsle lunge after the spacial psychic, attempting to deliver another blow directly against his foe; Cen himself prepares to swipe at the approaching traitor with a handful of matter erasing power in the palm of his hand. The mafia boss’s attempts to counter attack are dashed when the psychic of space is stabbed straight into his midsection by the broken off piece of wood he had just cast aside; glancing back to discover Thursotte having been the one to impale the stake against him. Yet there was little time to process this unexpected back stab as he then feels Wedsle fist being driver right into his face; the surprise pinching assault having successfully caught the spacial mob boss completely off guard.

From the sheer impact of the facial blow, Cen is sent flying into one of the doors that make up the spatially warped hallway, crashing through the face of the doorway and into one of the safe house’s bedrooms. Right before he could slam into the wall, the spacial psychic catches himself in the middle of the air; Cen reclaiming his center of gravity as both of his foe’s come in through the broken door. The very moment that they step into the bedroom, Thursotte fires several pistol rounds out against their space bending foe; none of these shots so much as even reaching the man as Cen simply stops everyone of them in the middle of their air as he reaches down to his midsection. The volley of bullets that the chaotic psychic had shot are swatted right back against both Wedsle and Thursotte, forcing the duo to evade the returning fire as Cen pulls out the piece of splintered wall plunged into him. Using his own spacial power, the psychic mob boss closes the nasty wound left behind by the impaled piece of wood, bringing together the gap until it completely shuts. “Phew, talk about splinters.”

Its right after tending to his wound that Cen’s spacial aura surges across every single inch of the bedroom, beginning to twist almost everything that resides within; the walls, the drawers, the beds, lamps, even some of the decorations contorting into impossibly warped shapes. Grasping at the space surrounding them like a handful of molding clay, the spacial psychic stretches out and spreads it out so thin as to resemble nothing of its former self; Cen having transformed the humble room meant for respite and relaxation into a large canvas of his own making. “If you got any idea’s, now would be the time to spit them out.” Thurs urges. “Gotta be honest. I’ve mostly been winging it so far.” Wedsle admits. “A crying shame, but I understand.” they then hear their foe join in with. “A good piece takes time to come together. But its a tragic you both don’t have that much time left.” Declaring such does the psychic of space elongate about everything in the room after the two traitors, throwing just about everything at them.

Slowly dying among the shadows of a miscellaneous room, July remains resting against the wall as he fends off the results of his life threatening injuries; the house master fighting off the sweet release of death as he too feeling the overwhelming quakes as his precious home is torn asunder. Dammit! At this rate, none of them are gonna escape in time before death comes for me. Upon this realization does the dying master of the abode begin to arise from against the wall to stand once more; despite being in utter agony over his inflicted mortal wounds. Yet the elderly man fights against the pain coursing through his entire body as his entire body begins to glow in a flash of bright red aura; July sending his power into the walls that surround him and surging across the entirety of his own home.

“I still can’t believe you thought of that.” Frida remarks, both her and Satette racing through the safe house halls. “I mean lacing plant seeds underneath your skin to fight against that guy?” “Well, I figure he might try and pull a stunt like that, so I had to think of something. I wanted to use tree seeds at first so it’d be more effective, but they wouldn’t fit.” claims Sat. “Still, it seemed like it worked well enough. It should buy us enough time to get the others and-” Yet boldly dashing their efforts to gain distance, the very timely psychic they had ran away from suddenly appears before them, preparing to send them both packing. “Or not.” The moment the two are close enough does Tury drive his foot right into the two woman to send them straight into the hallway wall with just a single powerful kick.

Crashing right through, the ladies wind up careening right into the living room; Satette letting out a pained hiss as she rises out from the rubble. The moment that Frida pulls herself back up does she fire out the hole they had burst out from, unleashing several shots into the hallway before the dust could even settle. Unexpectedly is she in turn shot from the other side of the cloud of debris, the lone bullet piercing into her side. The moment that Satette attempts to rush to her friends aid is she suddenly stopped right in her tracks, feeling the cold hands of her foe wrap around her neck; Tury lifting the lively psychic off her feet as he starts strangling the lively psychic. Attempting to stop him from choking Satette out, the gun woman swiftly whips her firearms straight at their business like foe fires but a single shot towards him.

Yet the lightning fast bullet would never so much as reach the time bending psychic as it suddenly stops in the middle of the air alongside everything else in the room; both Satette and Frida left suspended in stasis against Tury’s power over the flow of time. With the lone bullet meant for him completely frozen in the midst of its flight, the chronological manipulating mob boss takes the suspended shot and uses nothing but his finger and thumb to simply turn it right back towards its sender; Tury flicking the back of the bullet before he releases his grip from the flow of time. The moment that the clock starts to tick once more, the bullet that Frida had fired upon their foe is sent her way, puncturing the gun woman’s side.

Countering one of his foes, Tury’s attention is drawn back to the woman he strangles when feeling something slither against the length of his arm; the business man peering to his sleeve to discover small strands of plant roots burrowing their way across. And from one problem to another does he suddenly hear the sound of gun fire reach his ears; almost instinctively slowing the clock to a grinding halt as he readies to deflect yet another shot. But much to his confusion does he peer over towards the gun woman to find her aiming nowhere near him, rather shooting out just above his head. Following where the shot had careened towards does he discover both he and the lively psychic standing right underneath the chandelier; the chain keeping the lights suspended to the ceiling having been shot off, sending it downwards towards the two.

Try as Tury might to escape from the chandelier’s awaited descent, he soon finds the plant matter slithering across his arm having taken root through his skin; the vines left among the stopped clock making them next to impossible to weed out. And almost as if putting salt in the wound, looking to the lively psychic keeping him grounded has him discover the satisfied, nearly smug grin plastered across her face; both of them knowing that he had fallen into their clutches. Yet even having consequentially stepped into the ladies trap, the timely businessman is determined to let them enact their sneaky little ploy; letting the river of time resume only to a slow crawl. Among the slow seconds does he lift the lively psychic right over his head to hold her right over the dropping decoration like an umbrella; Tury making Satette take some of the plummeting chandelier’s impact as it comes crashing down on the two.

“Sat!” Frida yelp. Fighting against her bullet wounds, the gun woman hurries over to the destroyed ceiling decoration to push it right off her life controlling comrade; Frida discovering Satette left worse for ware from having taken the brunt of the hefty over decorated ceiling lights. When the she sweeps Satette right off the broken flooring, the wall merging psychic suddenly feels her body tingle as she looks down to find the lively psychic’s natural green power encompass Frida’s bullet wounds; feeling the searing pain fade away as the holes are swiftly healed. “We can’t have you fighting this ass hole with those kind of holes in you.” the psychic of life goes. “Can’t say the same for you though, there ain’t no way you can keep fighting like this. Lets get you outta here before that time bending bitch makes another move.” “I’ve afraid you’ve ran out of time.” they then hear Tury states; the distinct sound of a gun cocking echoing against the back of Frida’s head. Their chronicle manipulating foe was aiming a gun against the back of her head, the gun woman peers down to her hand to find one of her own beloved pistols having vanished from her grasp; Frida realizing their foe was putting her at gunpoint with her own weapon. “Mother fucker.”

The moment that the timely businessman is about to pull the trigger, the entire room begins to violently tremble, throwing Tury off and giving Frida the chance to make a play. While their foe was distracted attempting to find his balance, the gun woman quickly swipes her weapon right back from the chronic manipulator. Yet when she flips the pistol back at him, the wall merging psychic is quick to find the man having vanished. Before she could so much as blink, Tury suddenly strikes at Frida with enough of an accelerated punch to send both her and Satette careening towards the side of the living room; the gun woman using this as an opportunity to merge into the side and attempt to escape. Tury instantly appears before them to slap his hand against the side they slither across, using his power to make the wall rapidly crumble and decay before them. The dimensional psychic thinks fast on her feet and moves towards one of the picture frames, spared from all the fractures left in the wall from its rapid crumbling. Swiftly accelerating over to the front of the picture frame, the timely business man is just about to shatter the frame with his bare hands when he suddenly feels the living room tremble once more; the picture frame both girls hide behind slipping off the wall as the entire chamber begins to tilt.

In a matter of moments is the entire living room tilted in such a way to send the frame careening towards one of the doors; a familiar red aura encompassing the door making it open wide and lend the ladies a chance to escape. Frida takes the opportunity to slip out from the careening picture frame and escape through the open doorway. Try as much as Tury may to follow after the two, the door they had slip into slams shut before he could have the chance to stop the clock once more. And things go from bad to worse for the timely psychic as the living room begins to shrink as the walls around him close right in like a crumbling wad of paper. “Foolish old man.” he remarks every side of the room lunging at him.

Wedsle and Thursotte are force to race across the lengthened space making up the bedroom as the room they had once rested at is pitted quite literally against them; the furniture that made up the room stretching out after them like reaching arms. Neither of them have that much of a problem dodging whatever is thrown their way, that is until they suddenly feel their center of gravity being thrown off; Thurs falling upwards as Weds plummets towards the edge of the room. Waiting for Wedsle at the side of the enlarged bedroom stood a set of drawers that pop out and expand at him like rising pillars; the purple psychic clutching the side of one of these ascending drawers as the others close in on him. Weds waits until the very last moment to leap off the side to bait the drawers into crashing against one another leaving behind an exploding plume of metal hinges and wood chips. Despite dodging the collision, the debris that scatters from the explosive clash sends several shards of wood and metal raining down upon the violet psychic; his back pelted by the rapidly descending barrage.

Among being hurdled up towards the top of the bedroom is Thurs met with the site of the light fixtures enlarged to ridiculous proportions, their glass splitting apart as they open wide like massive electrical maws. In the midst of dropping towards their waiting maws does the chaos triggering psychic cloak his lone pistol in his own chaotic power before firing a couple of shots against the lamps. One of these bullets end up hitting against the lamp’s side and jerks it right against the other, the open light fixture getting caught onto each other and lending the young man enough room to safely land onto their side. Sparks start to go flying as the twin lights are tangled against one another as Thursotte slide along the edge of the lamp, leaping right off them before they explode in a spectacular show of haywire lights, a display of which lends him applause from the space bending psychic.

“Bravo, bravo. You know, my brother might say otherwise, but I think you’ve could’ve gone far sticking with us, Thursotte.” claims Cen, a comment of which draws Thursotte’s attention. “Imagine mastering such unfolding chaos; riding it gracefully like an untamed beast. You’ve spent so much time trying to control such power, when you never thought of what you could do if you simply go with its flow instead of fighting it.” Hearing these words coming from their space controlling foe has Thurs begin to wonder of the potential he had been holding back; so weary of its unpredictably, never realizing how he could work with it. “Yeah, you could’ve rode that storm of chaos all the way to the top, too bad you chose to stand on the wrong side.” Cen continues, pulling at the space between them with his bare hands.

Briefly distracted by the mob bosses words, Thursotte fails to see coming an enlarged end table that lunges toward him like an oncoming missile; Wedsle tackling the young man out of the way right in the nick of time. “Pull it together, Thurs!” the purple psychic scolds. “Right, thanks for the save.” Thursotte goes. “Don’t thank me yet. Not until we pull off something that I just thought of.” “You finally got a plan?” “Maybe, depends on how long you can keep his attention.” Weds whispers. “I’ll give you as much time as I can.”

At the cusp end of this brief exchange do they witness their space bending foe begin to conjure something in the palm of his hand; the spacial mob boss tossing this gathered orb of concentrated power against them, something that both Thurs and Weds split apart from to evade. Amidst its flight does this pitch black ball suddenly stop in the middle of the air, the two traitors the boss faces beginning to feel themselves be pulled towards this ominous sphere of darkness. While fighting against the orbs growing pull against them, both Thurs and Weds are forced on the evasive as several of the bedrooms twisted furniture comes careening after them among the gravitational force; the duo ducking and rolling aside the drawers, tables, and beds that come flying at them as they resist the pull beckoning them from behind. Its not long before all the furniture in the room is gathered around the newly formed gravitational center and begins to be crushed underneath the growing force, congealing together into a cobbled together mess of broken wood and metal. “Mmm…nah, I can do better.” the space bending mob boss critiques.

With but a simple snap to the finger does the rugged collection of mangled furnishings suddenly explode in a reversal of gravitational force; chunks of the ruined furniture scattering across the enlarged bedroom like grenade shards. Some of these chunks careening his way, Thursotte fires several chaos infused rounds against the incoming pieces of busted tables and drawers to knock them off course; the shots knocking the mangled pieces of broken furniture against one another. One after the other do these cobbled messes of broken wood go flying across the room as the Thursotte’s chaotic power spreads with every pieces clacking against one another; whole chunks breaking apart the pieces of crushed furniture as they collide. Before long is the entire bedroom swept up in this storm of chaos; a typhoon of discord that begins to encroach upon the space bending mob boss.

The chaotic maelstroms approach concerns Cen very little as he simply waves away whatever debris it throws at him; yet it serves as a perfect distraction for Wedsle to approach as he rides one of these flying pieces of debris that careen behind the space manipulating mob boss. Leaping right off the careening chunk of destroyed furniture, Wedsle prepares to deliver a blow right to the mob bosses head; his descend grinding to a halt when Cen quickly turns back to literally pull the space from right underneath him to stop him in place. This seemingly failed ploy is enough let Thursotte aim his pistol towards a couple of broken off table legs hurdling right above; the young man firing but a single bullet at one of the legs to send it careening straight towards the other, clashing together to send the other diving down towards the waiting mob boss below. Yet the space bending psychic saw even this little misdirection coming as the broken off leg suddenly stops just an inch above the mob bosses head. “Wedsle, you really think I’d fall for that bait and switch again? You insult me.”

Swiping the table leg that was meant to stab him from over his head, Cen twirls his finger around to command the leg to rapidly spin in place; all the while focusing his power in the tip of his finger. Touching his finger against the gyrating leg does the mob boss begin to carve away at its surface, the violet psychic he keeps suspended in the air perplex over what he could possibly be making. Cen pull his finger away as he makes the leg stop spinning, revealing how he had cut its wood into a finely carved spike engraved with swirls that meet at the very tip. “Mwah, another fine work. Pretty nice, don’t you think.” “Meh, I’ve seen better.” Wedsle criticizes, something that irks the mob boss a bit. “Well, you know what they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?” Cen remarks, aiming the tip of the finely carved spike towards the Wedsle eye.

In the brief moment before the spacial psychic could drive the finely carved stake into his foe does he suddenly stop when witnessing several bullet come flying across the room, ricocheting against the metal that makes up the broken furniture; Cen watching where these shots fly across the room in hopes of predicting where they may come at him from. But distracted by a couple of these wayward shots, the spacial psychic couldn’t predict one of them come flying out right from behind, the unforeseen bullet going straight through Cen’s back and out from his chest. This surprise attack lends the purple psychic the chance to swipe the finely carved stake from the middle of their air and turn its tip directly against the man who cut it; blood splattering as Wedsle drives the pike right into his spacial foe’s stomach. “A fresh coat of paint can bring out the best in wood work. The shade of your split blood brings out the carvings pretty well.” jests Wedsle. Driving his feet upon the base of the spike, Weds kicks he stake deeper into his foe as he leaps off away from the space bending psychic; Cen left a bloody mess from the string of assaults.

Returning to his chaotic triggering friends side, Wedsle high fives Thursotte as he compliments him with: “Nice work. Real good job reducing him to a sniveling little shit stain.” “Thanks. I mean with an ego that big, I’d be as easily distracted too.” Thurs banters. “Guy was so busy playing around that he forgot about all the empty space in his fucking head.” “Enough!” they both then hear their space bending foe exclaims. Glancing back up do they witness Cen pulling out the wooden pike that Wedsle had driven into his stomach, using his power over space to quickly close the wounds he had endured shut. “I’m a finely tuned originator; I didn’t struggle in the realm of creativity to mocked! I deserve some respect, dammit!” “I think your struggling with more than just your poor art skills.” Thurs throws out. “Hot damn, Thurs! Where’d that come from?” Wedsle wonders aloud.

An enraged growl seeps out from the spacial psychic’s gritted teeth as power flare in his hands once again; Cen gathering aura into both hands before furiously throwing out against his foes in the form of a massive deep space black ball. Weds and Thurs are quick to evade this oncoming mass of power to discover all that stood in its path are erased, with groovs in the floor left in its wake. Glancing back to their foe do they witness him send out waves of this all destructive power against them, immediately running across the wall the stand atop off for their lives as they dodge all the erasing power thrown against them in volleys; these consuming waves leaving behind holes all throughout the enlarged bedroom. It among dashing away from this approaching destruction that all of them feel the entire room begin to tremble; these unexpected quakes tripping Thurs up and having him fall to his knees atop a door. Wedsle is quick to turn back for the young man just as their foe throws out a massive sphere of all erasing power against him, leaping out in hopes of saving him in time. In that very moment does the door beneath Thursotte open wide, letting the young man plummet down into the pitch black void waiting underneath; Wedsle incidentally dropping down into the abyss after him before the door suddenly slams shut.

Following after the two does the furious space bending psychic drop down upon the door, readying to swipe them to oblivion with a handful of all consuming space as he clutches at the door knob. When the door refuses to so much as budge, the spacial mob boss instead uses the power in his hand to erase the door and the surrounding wall away; his anger diminishing when discovering what lies on the other side. Rather than the pair of traitors he had been contending with, Cen is puzzled to find nothing but an assortment of clothes hanging in the closet; it taking the mob boss a second or two to realize who was behind this unexpected Houdini act. “I guess that old bastard’s more resilient than we thought.” the spacial psychic deduces with a brief chuckle.

From their last second escape do Satette, Frida come rolling right out the other side of the door, tumbling across the floor until they slam right into the wall; the lively psychic letting out a terrible hiss as a result of the rough last minute retreat. “What happened?” she asks, slowly pulling herself off the floor. “Seems like we went through a last minute escape without any warning. I don’t know weather to be annoyed over not getting a good hit in, or thankful we got outta that with our lives.” Looking to where they had wound up, Satette and Frida are left shocked over the sate of the lobby they had just rolled right in; left cracked and crumbling at the seems. “Wow, this place sure has seen better days.” the lively psychic remarks. “Guess we were playing way more roughly than I thought. I hardly recognize this place.” In the midst of perusing the damage done to their once beloved abode does one of the lobby’s other doors swing wide open; both ladies preparing themselves for whatever may come out from the other side.

Out from the doorways shadows do a pair of figures come launching right out from the other side and go hurdling across the lobby; Sat and Frida leaping away from their path as the two men fly straight into the wall. A glance back to these figures has the girls discover them to be both Thursotte and Wedsle, the two sliding off the wall and falling onto the floor. “Thurs, Wedsle!?” Frida exclaims. “Are you two alright?” worries Sat. “Yeah, no worries. I’ve been kicked out of places in worse ways than this.” claims Wedsle. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” utters Thursotte.

Yet before the four could continue to exchange words with each other, part of the ceiling above them opens up when a trapdoor swings out; letting the last of the crew drop down. The first of them to harshly crash onto the floor below, Tuesco acts as an involuntary cushion for both Janna and Sunny to land on; the solid air psychic giving a pained groan from the last minute landing. “Satsy!” exclaims Janna, rushing over to her lover for an embrace. “Are you okay? What did they do to you?” “I’m alright, Jan. I still got enough in me for another round-” Yet despite her attempts to claim otherwise, the lively psychic’s attempt to stand are mired by the injuries plaguing her and threatens to collapse, Janna helping to prop her wounded girlfriend to keep her from falling over. “Okay, scratch that. Maybe I need an intermission first.”

Wedsle gazes down to the downed former officer as he stands right over him, offering a hand to help the psychic of solid air off the floor with as he asks: “You still with us, soldier?” “Little bit of a stomach cramp, but I’ve been worse.” remarks Tuesco, taking the purple punks hand. The moment violet psychic pulls the air solidifying psychic off the floor, Tuesco lets out a winded breath while he stumbles about; Wedsle left worried over the middle aged man’s condition as he prepares to catch him. “You sure about that, big guy?” he goes. “Maybe not, I guess I’m getting a little too old for this kind of action.” the former officer second guesses as he finds his footing. “You kidding me? Tough son of a bitch like you’s at least got a few good years left.”

Helping her chaos triggering friend off of the floor, Frida heaves Thurs right back on her feet before she asks: “How you holding up?” “Little dizzy, but other than that, I’m fine.” “Good, cause something tells me it won’t be long before those pair of douches come and find us again.” “If they do, then their going to have a real rough time with all of us together.” “Thurs is right.” they all then hear Sunny state. “If we take them both on together, we might just stand a chance.” “Lil guy might be onto something.” Frida agrees. “Apart, we barely scraped by. But against all of us, those two jack asses won’t know what hit them.”

“Don’t even think about trying it.” another than speaks up to deny. Following this interrupting voice over towards the front of the lobby, almost everyone is terribly shocked to find the keeper of the abode before them; Mr. July left barely standing as he suffers from the bleeding wounds and blisters covering his body. “Mr. July!” Sunny exclaims, horrified to see the man in this condition. “Jesus Christ, July! What did those bastards do to you!?” exclaims Wedsle. “Just fighting one of them is a struggle. Facing those two together…its a guaranteed death sentence. You’re only recourse is to take this with you and escape.” he strains to say as he delves into his pocket.

From the depths of his pants does the house master pull out a box made entirely of lead, the gang left puzzled as Tuesco among them objecting: “A box? Surely a box isn’t worth risking your life over!” “This box…harbors the one thing those two have torn my beautiful home to pieces in hopes of finding. An artifact of which many have slaughtered one another to possess. A brilliant light exudes out from the crack as July opens the small container, letting all of them behold what its lead case hides; a single stone that erupt a powerful glow from beneath its cracked glass shell. “The psychic stone.” Satette utters. “Indeed. If those two get their hands on it, the future of this city and its people are doomed. No matter what happens to me, you must not let either of them take it.” the house keeper pleads, shutting the box’s lid as the light the stone shines vanishes.

From the other side of the room does July tosses the box containing the stone Wedsle’s way with the violet psychic catching the small container with the palm of his hand, the violet psychic quick to shove the box into one of his pockets. “But what about you. It ain’t like you can fend them off in the sorry ass state you’re in.” he then questions. “I know. Its why I’ll keep them here for as long as I can.” the house keeper remarks. “But July, you said this place will collapse if you die.” Thurs worryingly reminds, a fact of which takes all but Wedsle aback. “If it means that it will stop those two monster’s for good, I’ll take them and my lovely home with me if I must.”

“A truly noble effort.” From seemingly nowhere do are a pair of fist driven straight through July’s torso; the two arms lifting the mortally wounded keeper off his feet as the others are left mortified, all of them witnessing the twin bosses quite literally behind this gruesome display. “One that will sadly fail to arise.” Tury proclaims. Despite each of them desperately wishing to retaliate for what the twins had done to their friend, the powerful pressure both of them exude is enough to keep them from moving an inch; each of them feeling as if the very forces of time and space look upon them.

“Let him go!” they all then hear being shouted. Standing before them with tears streaking down his cheeks be the sound controlling kid himself; Sunny’s aura wildly flaring as he refuse to kowtow against the absolute terror that he faces. “Right now!” the boy furiously screams. A gleeful chuckle escapes from the space bending boss in looking upon the small child that dares to defy them, seemingly amused by this display of bravery as he goes: “You know, I was on the fence about him at first, but I’m starting to like this little guy. Standing alone against the impossible while the adults around him piss and cower in fear. A site that brings a tear to the eye. How about instead we make a little exchange, instead?” “Oh, what the hell do you bastards want now?” Satette questions. “Don’t play dumb, you silly bitch. You think we broke in here just to have some fun wrecking the place? Well I mean, we kinda did. But we really just came to get our property back.” Cen claims. “You’re property?” “The stone, for this old fool. A decision I suggest you take soon.” Tury takes no time to state plainly. Their backs against the wall, the over intensive power they face crawling across their skin, and one of their own held for ransom by their twin foes; the odds begin to bare down against Wedsle as he slides his hand back down towards his pockets.

Yet before the violet psychic could even so much as clutch the box hidden within his pants, a defiant voice cuts through the tension. “No!” The closest against the bosses, July springs back from his dying stupor to take a tight hold of the very same twins that had punched through him; the house keeper clutching tightly at their wrists. The pair of bosses are left astonished that their victim still had some fight left in him as they attempt to slip their arms out from his body, yet July refuses to let go of either of them no matter how much they struggle and squirm inside of him. “Wedsle. I never built up the gumption to tell you this, but I think I speak for both Monty and I when I say we’re both proud of you.” Mr. July takes the chance to say, his bright red aura flaring brightly with every word. “You’ve grown so much from the angry little street kid that we took in so long ago; and here you stand now with a crew of you’re own, those who’ve stuck with you from thick and thin. I know that if Monty were still here, he’d be proud of the man you’ve become.” “Quit…Quit talking like that, dammit! We can still-” the purple punk shouts, tears beginning to well on his face. “There’s no time left. The people of this city, maybe even the world; their fate rest on you all now.”

“Damn you, sorry old fool! What ploy are you indulging now?” Tury growls, struggling to fee himself from the house keepers body. “Yeah, you seriously still trying shit in the sad state you’re in? Nobody likes a sore loser, you know.” Cen adds. “You two horrible miscreants made your last mistake making me the target of your ire. I shall take great pleasure in bestowing the consequences you both deserve myself.” “July…” Wedsle utters. “Go! Now!” the keeper of the safehouse shouts, tilting the entire room around to make those he had housed plummet towards the doors as they open wide. Satette, Janna, and Sunny drop down one door, Frida and Thursotte in another. Tumbling out the final door with Tuesco by his side, Wedsle reaches out for the keeper of the safe house; forced to only watch as the man who had given him a home all these years vanish as he falls through the doorway.

Ejected out from the comforting walls of the safe house they had just got used to calling home, Wedsle and Tuesco tumble out into the wild and unfamiliar streets of New York; those few strolling the streets left astonished seeing the two come flying out from the door. Without even a second thought does the purple psychic scramble back on his feet to rush straight back towards the door as he closes; Wedsle reaching for the handle just as the door slams shut. Opening the door they had just been forced out of fails to show them the safe house however, finding nothing but the living room of an abandoned home waiting on the other side.

The second to arise out from this last minute eviction, Tuesco gets back up just in time to witness the violet psychic constantly beat against the face of the door they had just been shoved through; its iron face denting with every strike inflicted. “Wedsle?” “What the fuck was that all about, you old piece of shit!? You go and say all that whole being proud speech just as your about to die, not even giving a damn what I have to say about it!?” the purple psychic rants in his rage, continuing to beat against the door. “Wedsle.” “You never thought about everything I wanted to say about you all, one of the first real families I’ve ever had!?” Taking one last, furious hit against the doors heavy iron, Wedsle breaks it right off the walls hinges; the slab of iron left utterly bent and deformed from the furious blows as it crashes against the abandoned abodes floor. “Wedsle!” “What!?” “You’re scaring everybody.” True to Tuesco’s words, Wedsle turns his attention back towards the streets that surround them and discover those few standing among them left utterly terrified of the display of raging strength and he had taken out against the door behind him; some of which seem about to bolt the other way, others putting themselves in between this tantrum and their children. This sobering site is what gets Wedsle to collect himself and wipe away the frustrated tears rolling down his face, stepping away from the broken down door and return to Tuesco. “We need to find the others.”

Satette, Janna, and Sunny are thrust out from the waning safe house into the unknown streets through another door, the city lights beaming down upon them as they seem to have been ejected somewhere in the depths of the city. The first of them to recover from the tumble, Sunny desperately attempts to race back towards the doorway they were flung out of; Janna reaching out to him as she exclaims: “Sunny, no!” Try as the boy may to return to the house keepers side, the door that ties the outside world and the safe house together slams shut moments before he could even so much as brush up against its face; Sunny gazing in distraught as the red aura surrounding the door dissolves. The sound controlling kid collapses to his knees as the door returns to its previous state, nothing but an ordinary locked door to an apartment complex. “Why…Why did you promise me all that only to die?” the boy cries, trying in vain to turn the locked door knob.

Hearing the child utter sorrow, Satette fights against her collective injuries to pull herself off the cold hard concrete to hobble over towards the distraught young kid; her lover left worried over the lively psychic as Sat seems barely able to walk. Constantly jerking at the doorknob enough to nearly break it off, Sunny only stops his frantic desperation when he feels the soft hand of another gently rest upon his shoulder; the boy peering behind him to discover the hand belonging to the lively psychic. The boy finds her left battered and beaten by not just her previous struggles, but against the danger that had so insidiously crepe upon them. But despite it all, she still holds herself together, only kneeling down to comfort him. The futility of the situation finally sinking in for him, the only thing that Sunny could do against it all was let flow all his tears as he parts from the door and into the lively psychics embrace.

And yet the boy can’t revel in her embrace for long as Sunny feels the lively psychic collapse onto the streets; Janna quick to rush over to his side in helping Satette off the floor. “Ooh, boy; I’m more out of it than I thought. Who would’ve guessed tussling with a time controlling mob boss wouldn’t be good for your health.” Sat attempts to lighten the mood with. “Can you walk?” Janna asks. “Barely. Long as I don’t have to take on anything else tonight, I should be golden.” “I think we should take you to a hospital first.” Sunny suggest. “With how high medical bills are here, kid?” “We can just sneak out after they patch you up.” the boy then suggest. “You know, I wonder weather or not Wedsle is a good influence on you.”

Freshly expelled out from they’ve come to have known as their only dwellings, the twilight sun washes over both Frida and Thursotte as they sit against one of the financial districts many businesses, stewing in all that had transpired. “Its my fault. I should’ve stayed with him. Maybe then he would’ve have had to go out like that.” Thurs laments. “Thurs, come on. That ain’t true and you know it. Things might’ve turned out more ugly if he didn’t send you Wedsle’s way.” denies Frida. “You really think so.” “With how fast shit was hitting the fan for us all, he might’ve made the right call booting us out. At the very least, we can rest assured that he took the bosses with him.” “So…its really over. Isn’t it?” “I guess so. Nothing standing in our way from taking the control of the mob for ourselves.” “And I can finally go back home.” Thurs states, hope beginning to return in his voice. “Let’s take it one step at a time. We better find the other’s first. Who know’s where they wound up.” With the thought of this entire mess finally behind them, Thursotte rises off from the building wall and stands alongside the woman who had help him thus far; both of them beginning there stroll through wall street.

Yet only just a few steps into what they thought was the end of their long journey do both of them suddenly feel a dreadfully familiar pressure flooding out from behind them; Thursotte and Frida glaring back to discover a site neither of them dared to imagine. Adjusting the tie around his neck, wiping away the blood and dust from his zebra patterned suit; one of the men they assumed to have perished stands glaring upon them both with his piercing icy gaze. Tury stands behind the descending twilight glistening in the horizon; his bright white aura over compassing his shadowed figure; lending forth to a man shrouded in darkness cloaked in bright white; with nothing but his chilling eyes visible through the imposing image.

Both Wedsle and Tuesco share in the same horrifying disbelief as their gaze his drawn to the city skyline overhead; those few street goers that still remain are just as mesmerized in witnessing a man hovering before them. Coated in a power as starry black, Cen floats above the streets with his arms spread and his scraggly hair flowing; the light of the waning sun shining against him to bestow the site of a figured bathed in light shining among the darkest reaches of space, but akin to a bright star. The only feature that pierces through this near godly presentation was the frosty cold gaze that he looks down upon them all with. “So…” both of the bosses speak to their foes with. “Shall we get back to business?”

[snuffbby]

omfg HI i jest wanted to say thanks for the nice comment abt my jewelry and 2) i was meaning to send this earlier but i forgot till now, yr CRAZY talented dude yr fight club fics r INSANE/the most in character crazy stuff ever written like its basically bible for if tyler was a real guy your pen is insane just had to let u kno , peace and luv 🙈💚

thank you SO MUCH im sorry this took me forever to get to, i really appreciate the kind words and for you taking the time to read any of my work. <3 and i LOVE your jewelry!!!! keep it up!!

[gravidtopiary]

hrt update 0332mst 04-08-2023

over two months of estradiol patches on my butt now, and ~8-9 months of spiro and where am i now :

now that the estrogen has started to do it's work it seems that it's a lot easier for me to get Depression of the "capital-D and checking off all 14 signs on the Mayo website" variety if i don't get enough sleep or i only eat one meal a day or if i don't run my body to the point of exhaustion. i was depressed when i was full of guy juices but this depression is like out of "infinite jest" it's this feeling of revolted irritated nothingness that doesn't let anything good inside. but if i actually take care of myself i feel pretty okay -- i could definitely feel BETTER but pretty okay is already a tremendous improvement on the decade+ where the baseline was "numbly terrified" whenever i wasn't drunk

i get crazy high on not much weed so thumbs-up estrogen!

if i drink more than a cup of coffee it feels like i'm going to die of panic so it's green tea now, yeesh, thumbs-down estrogen!

my boobies are growing but not as fast as my butt and my gut are growing and like c'mon that's not fair, also the left is growing faster than the right which politically would be fantastic but in terms of boob symmetry is not

i'm insanely weirdly horny in so many new ways but i have no idea what to do about it. it took me way, way too long to figure out how to orgasm "normally" as a teenage guy, like we're talking YEARS before i figured out the hands-on approach. and now i have to do it all over but completely differently and plus i'm thirty years older? fantastic, great, piece of cake, i'm going to die alone and ugly and unsatisfied and even my cats won't eat my body

i should probably delete that previous thing