#i can’t even accurately describe my disappointment

[hella-hound]

we’ll have to see what they do in episode 6 with the lotus hotel but so far episode 5??? Where is the silliness?? where is annabeth, adamant that she will not enter the tunnel of love with pErCy JaCkSoN??? WHY was annabeth so nasty with Ares in the beginning? annabeth stealing waterpark clothes and percy being like, “uhhhh is that allowed??” the spiders, her showing (not life or death) fear! i’m ill over these changes. even in her most rational moments, she’s still 12!!!

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[nightghoul381]

Ellis Twilight ~ Chapter 9-His Side Story "Unconsciously Crawling Out”

Disclaimer for route warnings | Masterlist

*** Side note*** This is the side story for Chapter 9 but the content of it is his perspective of Chapter 8!!

Additional Content Warnings: None

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Kate: “I’m glad the lost child found their home.”

Ellis: “Yeah. It was easier to find when he stopped crying and described its features.”

Kate: “That was all thanks to your excellent comfort, Ellis.”

Kate: “Oh, I need to tell the police officer that I just called out that the child got home safely… I’ll be right back.”

While on ‘patrol’ with Kate, she called out to me and quickly ran to the street corner.

(Kate’s footwork is so light at times like these.)

Before I could say I was going too, I saw her running off.

Suddenly, a bracelet displayed at the front of an accessory shop caught my eye.

(…That would look good on Kate.)

Recently, it had become common for me to give gifts to Kate.

I don’t think I’ve fully grasped Kate’s tastes, as she seemed both happy and confused every time.

(Would you like it?... What would you think.)

What do you like, what do you dislike, what makes you happy and sad?

In order to make someone happy, you have to take a good look at things like that.

I was at a loss, but when I imagined Kate wearing it, it somehow felt right.

So, I bought the bracelet before Kate returned.

(I want to see it soon.)

Thinking like that,

I want to know what Kate likes in order to make her happy.

--That should be it.

Kate: “Ahh! It feels so good…!”

Kate looked very happy as she lay relaxing on the picnic blanket.

I feel even better watching her next to me.

(Kate likes a nice picnic.)

One more way to make Kate happy is recorded in my memory.

(Tell me more, Kate.)

Ellis: “…So, do you feel happier now than when you’re ‘taking a nap on your bed in the sun on vacation’?”

Kate: “…Delicious scones are waiting for me, and unlike in my bedroom, the breeze feels nice.”

Kate: “And I can talk to you like this now, Ellis… I guess I am happier.”

Ellis: “Hmm… I see.”

Ellis: “Kate, are you happier spending time with someone than resting alone?”

Kate: “Huh…?”

Kate: “Yeah, I like talking to others, so…”

Ellis: “Who are you the happiest to talk to?”

Kate: “Happiest…?”

Ellis: “Yes. Is there someone special you really like?”

Kate seemed to be feeling comfortable just a moment ago but now she looked back at me as if she was nervous.

(…I guess I shouldn’t have asked it now.)

(I was curious. But, why?)

Because Kate said she was ‘happier now that she can talk to me’.

(I wonder what it would be like for her if it was someone else…)

Kate: “Well… I don’t think there’s any one in particular that I would think is the best…”

Ellis: “Got it… Let me know if you can find the best.”

Kate: “…Why?”

Kate looked at me nervously, as if searching for something.

Ellis: “I want to work with you so you can be happy.”

Kate: “Um…What do you mean by work with me?”

Ellis: “I’ll make sure you spend time with the person you love the most… or something like that.”

Ellis: “I’m sure you’ll be happier that way, right?”

Kate fell silent for a moment, as though at a loss for words, and then

Suddenly, her whole body relaxed and she looked somewhat exhausted.

(…That)

(I wonder what she was thinking… just a little.)

(She seems disappointed…?)

I felt like the slightly nervous look in her eyes from earlier may have been filled with anticipation.

(If so--)

Kate: “I’m happy, but you can’t also take care of my love life.”

Kate: “But, if I find someone I like, I’ll let you know.”

Wanting to confirm her true feelings, I put my hand on the blanket on the other side of Kate.

(Show me properly.)

Kate: “…Uh, Ellis…?”

Ellis: “…Kate, do you like me?”

Kate was dazed for a moment, and then her face turned bright red in panick.

Kate: “So, why ask that all of a sudden?”

Ellis: “Just now, for some reason, you seemed… lonely.”

Ellis: “That’s why I thought you were attracted to me.”

When I honestly said what I thought,

Kate shook her head.

Ellis: “You’re not? I see… That’s a shame.”

Kate: “��A shame?”

Ellis: “If you liked me, we could be lovers.”

Ellis: “I thought that I could make you even happier that way.”

Kate: “…Ellis, do you like me that way?”

Ellis: “Yeah, I like you.”

Kate: “But just a moment ago, you said you would help me if I found someone I liked…?”

Ellis: “That’s not a lie either. I mean… You want the person you love to be happy, right?”

Kate: “What do you like about me? We’ve only known each other a few days.”

(Kate seems to be concerned about some strange things.)

I don’t believe it would take any time to fall in love with someone as wonderful as Kate.

Ellis: “I think it’s great that you’re such a hard worker.”

Ellis: “It’s also cute how you can’t resist eating something delicious.”

Ellis: “There’s also the way you try to patrol for victims you’ve never seen before.”

Ellis: “You’re so kind, like how you remember my favorite foods and take me to naps like this.”

Ellis: “Yesterday… instead of being scared, you were concerned about me.”

Ellis: “…Do you need more explanation?”

Kate: “N-No, I don’t…”

Kate’s eyes widened and her face grew red all the way to her ears, and she looked away for a while as if thinking about it.

Then, slowly, she looked at me again.

Kate: “…So, what if I also liked you, Ellis?”

Kate: “What would you do if I said ‘I’d be happier if we didn’t become lovers’?”

Ellis: “Does that mean… that it’s better the way it is now?”

Kate: “…yeah.”

(I--)

Deep inside my chest, a pitch-black box with a tight lid is making a rumbling noise.

I mustn’t see what’s inside.

‘What I want for myself’ is the last thing I need to make the person in front of me happy.

Ellis: “…As long as you’re happy, I don’t care what kind of relationship we have.”

(That is the answer I should give.)

(If not--)

I’ll probably make you unhappy.

Kate: “In that case… I’d rather stay as is.”

Kate smiled as if she were troubled and murmured softly like a breeze.

The look on her face was so lonely… and the rumbling sound resounded deep inside my chest.

Kate: “It’s not just about making the other person happy.”

Kate: “Ellis, I think it would be better for you to become lovers with someone you want to have by your side forever.”

Ellis: “I…by my side forever?”

Kate: “Yes, exactly.”

“…No.”

“I don’t like this… please stay by my side forever.”

For a moment, I felt like I was being swallowed up by a dark memory that suddenly came up…

Kate: “Ellis, are you okay?”

Ellis: “…..Oh.”            

I was pulled back my Kate’s voice.

Ellis: “Uh, yeah…Sorry, I’m okay.”

(I can’t let myself believe I’m going to be in love with someone I want to be by my side forever.)

(That’s the worst thing to do, Kate.)

I whisper this in my heart and distract myself.

If I didn’t do that, the lid that had taken so much effort to close tightly, would come loose.

Ellis: “Kate, let’s have some scones, shall we?”

Kate: “Ah, that’s right! After we eat lunch and rest for a while, we have to go on patrol again.”

Kate: “Wow, that’s a beautiful ‘wolf’s mouth’. Victor is really good at making scones.”

Kate split a scone in half along the crack.

Then she handed it to me, filled with a generous amount of cranberry jam.

Ellis: “Thank you.... Ah, that’s right. Kate.”

As her bare wrist peeked out from the sleeve of her blouse, I suddenly remembered the bracelet.

Kate: “Yeah?”

Ellis: “I found this while on patrol earlier. I wanted to give it to you.”

The thorn and rose details glint in the sunlight shining through the trees.

(Yeah… It really suits you. So cute.)

Kate: “Aw…. It’s so cute. Thank you.”

Kate seemed to like it too, and after looking at it with a smile,

For some reason, her cheeks turned a little red.

(…I wonder why?)

Kate: “It looks like it matches your accessories too, doesn’t it Ellis?”

Ellis: “That… is true.”

When I look down at my body, I see that the shape of the brooch on my collar and the chain hanging from my belt both,

They feel somewhat similar to that bracelet.

Ellis: “I thought it would look good on you, so I bought it.”

(What…)

(…It seems like I want Kate to wear the same thing.)

I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, wrapped around Kate’s wrist, and my heart became noisy again.

(Is this gift…for me?)

Kate: “Ah, thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

Ellis: “…….”

(Kate is smiling happily…)

(In that case, it’s fine.)

I smiled back at her as she cleared away my momentary anxiety.

Ellis: “…Yeah, do that.”

I gently put the lid back on my noisy heart.

Next Chapter

[ddarker-dreams]

Lock, what DO you love and like so much about Dostoevsky's work? I don't think you've ever talked about that. Please, I want to know !!!

^o^

(christianity mention jump scare below proceed with caution)

i thought this would be an easy to answer but figuring out how to put my feelings into words proved difficult .

the beginning is always a good place to start, so let's go with that. by chance, i happened upon this video on youtube and gave it a watch. about halfway in i decided i had to read notes from underground for myself. i struggled to understand what the narrator was trying to get across. the unique writing style, where the reader is addressed directly, as if in challenge, helped me preserve.

i think part of what makes his work special to me is his depiction of people. and they really do feel like people more than characters, even if some of their characteristics are unique to the era dostoevsky wrote in. everything else about them transcends time. i can see myself in some of them. whether it be the titular idiot, prince myshkin in his naivety; alyosha, who goes from devout to doubting; and ivan, whose bitterness toward religion masks his disappointment at the state of the world. 

that's why the brothers karamazov touched me in particular. for some context, i grew up in a christian household and was heavily involved in the church (american northeast white baptist strand of church). around when i was 11 or so, the introduction of left-wing politics through social media had me undergo a looooong identity crisis. these new ideas felt at odds with what i'd spent my entire life believing. what i grappled with the most relates to ivan's anecdote, the grand inquisitor, where the goodness of god is called into question. the bitterness, the disappointment from crushed expectations, all those sensations resonated strongly with me. reading it as an adult who (supposedly) 'healed' from that time period in my life was like opening pandora's box. i'd never seen my thoughts and struggles so accurately described, or treated with more than a 'his ways are higher than our ways' type platitude. i stuffed these concerns of mine away because they only ever served to make me feel worse.

i won't delve deep into the Depressing Lore. the only reason i mention it is to stress how profound an impact the work had on me. throughout the remainder of TBK (and in most of dostoevsky's discography), the best and worst of humanity is shown. our hypocritical nature, capacity for evil; nothing is shied away from or made more palatable. and yet, throughout it all, our potential for good is shown too. whether it be in the little acts or monumental self-sacrifice. sometimes those acts are honored, or ‘worth it,’ sometimes they aren’t. it’s cheesy but whatever i’ll say it — choosing to love and serve others is my greatest joy. i don’t really need a definitive answer to those problems i struggled with. that’s the takeaway i’ve had from his work. it might not seem like a big deal, but not feeling guilty for having certain doubts or anxious over those doubts never fully being resolved was. very significant for me. and healing (for real this time). 

so that’s the sentimental perspective GJSDLKFJS from my writer’s perspective, i can only describe him as brilliant. his grasp on the human psyche is incredible. he can accurately describe so many emotions, worldviews, and give the context necessary for each one to feel organic and real. it’s vivid, too, in a way i can’t properly get across. everyone’s unfiltered and messy. characters contradict themselves in the same sentence. they’ll murmur, go off on tangents, tell stories, misquote the bible (or many other significant works), and just be overall disasters. aka how people actually are. 

the man’s also funny as hell. the protagonist from crime and punishment has a mental breakdown spanning multiple pages over a sock. yes, there’s context, but that’s still the gist of things. then there’s the issue of the hedgehog in the idiot. hedgehog drama. 

ultimately, his work is so very human. there’s commentary on issues that are prevalent to this day, multiple centuries later. the topics he touches on tend to align with what i care about most. whether i agree or disagree with what i’m reading, there’s always something i glean from it. something meaningful that sits with me long after i close the book. i’ll mull over it and bother people in my vicinity until they mull over it too. no one is safe. whether it be a co-worker or my dad who drives noticeably faster to reach our destination and be free of my many questions.

i could keep going but this ended up being long enough GJSKDF i hope at least something here makes sense?>?? i apologize for the incoherent ramblings. it's what the dude does to me.

[goomyloid]

hi sorry if this is a lot BUT! i have really enjoyed your art for a while and for some reason only now thought to actually go thru your blog.. i saw you tag a lot of things as kriselle and i found your post explaining that and. yeah i think i get you

bc like to me im not a fan of them romantically unless it’s specifically focusing on the fucked-upness of snowgrave. in that case it hurts but it’s like. reeeaaally interesting

but they’re also like. they can’t be accurately described as “friends.” they’re so close and so far from one another. they grew up together. they both know things nobody else does. they understand each other better than anyone else. and yet they haven’t talked much in years. noelle questions if kris is even her friend. they’re not quite friends but also, of course they are, how could they ever not be

anyways all this to say umm. kris and noelle make one go insane

hiii!! thank you for enjoying my art firstly 🥺🥺🥺 i have a disease and its called draw kris and noelle as many times as humanly possible. i am indeed insane

when it comes to pairings i think it might just be the gray area between (or outside of) friendship and romance that is unexplainable and comforting but still strange (this is a pattern ive noticed for almost all pairings i like, romantic or not...) like just being able to look at a couple of characters and recognize the unique closeness they have with each other...

that being said i will support romantic kriselle shippers till my dying breath LMAO its just not My Vision (you get me)... i think i ended up saying this on twitter a couple times but whatever those two have going on in the estranged childhood friends department is just infinitely more interesting to me LOL. and it becomes easier to tag things as kriselle even if theyre literally Just Standing In the Same Image Together

(i actually filled out one of my own ship charts for them, and when i posted it i was very nervous about somehow multi-track drifting into simultaneously disappointing everyone in some way (for being an apparent kriselle shipper and/or not actually shipping them romantically) So it makes me happy that people out there understand where im coming from with my interpretations of them...)

Also yes i love the weird fucked up romantic implications of snowgrave a lot lol. its HORRIBLE and im obsessed with it. kris putting a ring on noelle's finger and neither of them are happy about it. hand in unlovable hand and all that. as hellspawnmotel once put it, they get forced into this extremely strange and uncomfortable, almost heteronormative husband-and-wife (again ring imagery) kind of vision Which is so horribly unsettling considering theyre just two queer kids trying to exist (something something kris getting commonly misgendered with he/him and noelle having a very obvious crush on another girl). as a nonbinary lesbian it almost comes off as this really fucked up correctionist way of playing where noelle just becomes a romanceable option, not to kris but to the PLAYER and kris is just forced to go along with it. it SUCKS. and its SO interesting to me i cant stop thinking about it after THREE YEARS.

omfg i did not mean to write so much sirry. this is what happens when you talk to me about kriselle btw. Ty for the ask!!!

[mrs-toohot]

Ryder, decoded

So the THTH writers apparently googled “Australian slang” and went copy/paste into his dialogue with absolutely no concept of what any of it means or how commonly it’s used.

So, as your resident Australian, I’m going to translate for you.

Below, you’ll find the examples I found so far, a translation, and a rating out of ten for how commonly it’s used / how accurate the slang is.

Disclaimer: I am born and raised Aussie. My ancestors were convicts. And while I do live in a major city, I grew up in the most country of country towns; population 847. So I am fluent in Aussie.

So without further ado:

Buggers.

If you look up the word buggers you’ll find it’s short for buggery which is the act of engaging in anal sex. But it’s not really used that way any more. I would never use “sexy buggers” that’s kinda weird. It’s only ever used these days as a light-hearted term, such as “cheeky bugger”(usually said with a hair ruffle). Alternatively, you can say someone’s “playing silly buggers” which means they’re messing around/being silly.

Accuracy of usage: 6/10

True-blue.

I see this and I think of this song which I believe they may have played at Steve Irwin’s funeral. It’s basically the same as “proper” or “right” for the Brits. Interchange with “verifiable”. Is entirely a stereotype and wouldn’t even be used ironically these days. In its place, we would use “fuckin’”. The only time this word is used is when you’re describing someone as “he’s a true-blue Aussie battler” (he’s very Australian)

Accuracy of usage: 1/10

Sheilas & blokes.

No. Absolutely not. Sheilas 🤢 is a way of describing a group of girls, but it’s very outdated. You could still call a guy a bloke, but it’s not interchangeable with “guy”. A bloke is specifically very traditionally Aussie & masculine, and you’d almost be more likely to use it as an adjective (I.e. “he’s a bit blokey”). I’ll be honest, you want someone who’s “blokey”, think “Gary from LITG”.

Accuracy of usage: 1/10 and 4/10 respectively

Ripper

Means ‘great’. And unless it’s in relation to specifically calling someone else a ‘ripper legend’ (shortened to ‘ripper ledge’) it’s not used commonly whatsoever.

Accuracy of usage: 2/10

Bonzer

No. Absolutely not. Never in a million years would bonzer be used today. It also means ‘great’ but this can’t even be used ironically. Even in the deep dark depths of country western NSW, using this word will get you looked at weird.

Accuracy of usage: -10/10

Crikey

Sorry to disappoint, but this one’s also a no. It means essentially “wow”. The only time we’d use this is to amuse internationals. We associate this word with ol’ mate Steve as much as you do.

RIP buddy 🪦

Accuracy of usage: 2/10

Fair dinkum & arvo

You’d ask if something was ‘fair dinkum’ if you were questioning if the aforementioned statement was true, or you were trying to figure out if someone was for real. “I’m Spider-Man”, “oh, fair dinkum?” It is… not common. Very outdated and only your countriest of the country boys would use it (and only if they’re 60+)

Now- ARVO- this is a different story. I use arvo EVERY DAY. It is short for afternoon and I don’t remember the last time I used the full word. “What’re you doin s’arvo?” Absolutely used every single day.

Accuracy of usage: 3/10 and 10/10

Have a squiz and take a gander

Both mean the same thing: take a look. Do not ask me where they come from but welcome to Australia. I have definitely said “give us a squiz” or “I’ll take a squiz” lol. The latter is still said but only by much older people. A funnier version ( only said ironically) is ‘have a captain cook’ (rhyming slang for ‘have a look’)

Accuracy of usage: 9/10 and 7/10

Have a yarn

Means ‘have a chat’, ‘talk’, or ‘shooting the shit’. This is actually really commonly used by indigenous Australians, and ‘yarning’ culture is really crucial and involves a cuppa tea 😁 I liked seeing this one pop up.

Accuracy of usage: 10/10

Possible upcoming slang:

Yeah, nah: No

Nah, yeah: Yes

Have a root: Sex

Pull your head in: Calm down, get it together, wisen up

Ta: thank you

Sweet as: sounds good

Righto/Righteo: alright

No worries: not a problem, that’s okay. Often said in conjunction with ‘she’ll be right’

No wukkas: no worries, short for “no wukkin furries” which is an intentional mispronunciation of “no fuckin’ worries”.

Bloody oath: bloody hell/Fuckin’ hell

Ocker/yobbo: super Aussie guy, see “bloke”. Specifically very country.

Drongo: forbidden phrase. Never used ever. Means an idiot/dork. If they use this I quit.

Flamin’ galah: said ironically, very funny. Said seriously, no.

Dropkick: super common. Similar to derro or deadshit. A loser, someone who is going nowhere in life.

Derro/deadshit: derro is short for derelict. Someone who bums cigarettes at the train station. Wears thongs (flipflops) everywhere even in winter.

Bum: (verb) to bum sth: to beg for/ ask for / grift for. “Can I bum a smoke off ya” (often followed by “I’ll pay you back”)

Let’s see what gems they come out with this week, shall we?

[currentlyobsessedwithobi-wan]

To the person who asked me to make a list of my favorites Star Wars time travel fanfictions, and anyone who may be interested, first of all sorry that it took me so long. For some reasons my dumbass self didn’t bookmark the fics so I had to go and search them.

Secondly, I don’t want to disappoint but you should know that I’m not really picky when it comes to fanfics. Meaning that there’s a lot of thing that I don’t actually agree with but that I’m ready to accept in fanfics (for example madalorians. I honestly don’t know enough to either love or hate them in canon but I don’t ,mind them in fanfictions, as long as they’re not just here to bash the Jedi). Really, my only hard limit is no Jedi bashing.

That being said, here are some of my favorites that I was able to find again (most of them are incomplete or WIPs). I tried to put a simple description for most of them, but if you want something really accurate I advise you to just check the fanfiction :

The Lesson by cjwritesfanficnow

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486284/chapters/85863850 :

Work in Progress. This one is pro Jedi but also pro Mandalorian and feature Jango/Obi-wan, so be warned if it’s not your cup of tea.

Basically, Jango realize what an ass he was, and is confronted with the consequences of his actions. Then he get to time travel in order to fix it.

Little Light Age by SpideyGrayson

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44444098/chapters/111788134 :

In progress. This one is also Pro Jedi. It’s mostly fluff for now. Ship : Cody/Obi-wan.

Obi-wan is send in the past, back when he’s 12, and becomes Shaak Ti’s Padawan instead of Qui-Gon’s.

Take it from the top and try again

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3535600 :

it’s a serie of two fics, one completed and one in progress. I honestly don’t remember if it’s completly pro Jedi or Jedi critical. But it’s not straight up Jedi Bashing. No ships for now.

Obi-wan is sent back at the time of Phantom Menace, and wants to save everyone (yes Anakin too, so if you truly truly hate him this one is probably not for you). It involves a lot of politics.

To Fix the Shattered Past by Forever_A_Thief

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42912192 :

Work in progress. For now it’s (and hopefully will stay) Pro-Jedi. But it’s Qui-Gon critical/bashing (because, you know, Legends). Anakin friendly (yes again, sorry to those who may be bothered by that). Dooku redemption (one of those things that I only accept in fanfiction. Though in this one, if I remember correctly Galidraan hasn’t happened yet and Dooku is not even close to falling).

Obi-wan, Anakin and Ashoka are send back in time during Melida-Daan. Obi-wan is physically 13, Anakin 6-9, and Ahsoka 3. For now it’s a lot of fluff (i like fluff, okay ? 😆) and a bit of angst.

Reprise by Elfpen :

https://archiveofourown.org/series/454408 :

A serie composed of four main parts. Three completed, and one in progress. Honestly, I read this one a long time ago so I don’t remember much. But I know that I liked it a lot. I would have to re-read. But I also read this before I became completly Pro Jedi so beware that this one may be slightly Jedi critical.

Since, like I said I don’t remember much I don’t want to risk making a mistake while describing it. I just remember that Obi-wan comes back as an adult (as Ben) and so there’s two Obi-wan : Qui-Gon’s padawan and the Obi-wan who died and time traveled. So if you want to know more, just click on the link.

Unexpected awakening by Rhiw

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436701/chapters/35831454 :

Work in progress. Once again, remember reading, somewhat remember liking it, yet for some reasons can’t remember any details. By the tag, seems to be Pro Jedi. No ships tagged.

Please click on the link to know more.

Edit : so, I started re-reading this fic right after I posted this. I’m at chapter 4 for now, and it’s actually seems to be very Pro Jedi. And I really likes the writing style. I don’t really know how to describe it, but to me it’s almost…soothing. Where I’m at in the fic it’s still mostly hurt/comfort, but that’s the kind of thing that I really enjoy.

Revolving sun by SiennahRobek

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31766296 :

Work in progress (though I don’t know if it’s abandoned or not). Pro Jedi. Semi Anakin friendly. No ships.

It’s an alternate universe where Luke is raised by Obi-wan (and is somewhat his padawan) and they both ends up back in time, during the clone war. I really like this one despite it being incomplete.

When The Time is Right by robinasnyder

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242654 :

Incomplete (still in progress? Dunno). Anakin friendly (listen there’s not a lot of time travel fanfics that are Anakin critical. Believe me I actually like it when he has to face consequences). Pro Jedi if my memory serves me right, but you should probably check just in case. Ships are : adult Obi-wan/Cody, kid Obi-wan/Cerasi/Nield.

Obi-wan, Anakin, Padmé and some clones ends up in the past. Obi-wan for some reasons that I can’t remember takes Bruck Chun as his padawan.

Teach the Padawan. Save the galaxy. by alexjanna91 https://archiveofourown.org/series/2520193

A serie of 4 works (each completed). Ships are : obi-wan (Ben) Kenobi /Tahl and temporary young Obi-wan/Satine. Kookie is Obi-wan’s son (I honestly didn’t remember this before doing my researches), So this is the fic that I talked about in my original post about time travel fanfictions. Be aware that while Jedi are still the good guys in this, it’s rather critical toward the Jedi Code. Pro Mandalorian (I think) but they’re not the main guys. I decided to add it here anyway because even if I have my issue with it now that I’m pro Jedi I still feel…nostalgic, since it’s one of the first time travel fanfiction that I have ever read.

Ben Kenobi is send back in time, save his younger self from Melida-Daan. Then he takes young Obi-wan as his padawan and trains him. And tries to save the galaxy.

Well, that all for now. Please let me know if I made any mistakes, and I’ll correct it (if I’m not too lazy).

[artist-issues]

Hello! What is your opinion and analysis of the animated film Anastasia (1997)?

Hello! I hate to disappoint you: I never liked Anastasia. But! To be intensely fair, the last time I watched it was before the Lord got my wheels turning on “critical analysis,” and before my Formal Education.

I remember that the music was enchanting, but the animation left something to be desired. I don’t mean technically—technically the animation is flawless, because it’s Don Bluth. I mean, it was missing a good deal of appeal.

I never feel like Anastasia is actually looking at me. That’s the most visceral way I can put it. I think what I mean is, she’s so technically well animated (and so is her grandmother, and Dimitri) that moments where her facial expression could benefit from extremes or exaggeration to make me connect with her get completely lost. There’s moments like THIS:

Where I should feel the emotion coming through, she’s doing something so girlish and fun and wondrous…I should like her, and feel like I could be standing in her shoes, feeling the same emotion of looking for the magic in her surroundings because it echoes in her memories, etc…. But I don’t feel that way. I know logically that that’s what the filmmakers want me to feel—partly because the music is so good, and partly because of the context—but I don’t feel it.

And I think it’s because Anastasia is standing there with her head tilted back, her chin dawn in perfect perspective, her movements so in-proportion, that that part of my brain that animation is supposed to tap so beautifully into is just…bored. Disconnected. I can’t see her face, I can’t see her emotion, and it doesn’t linger artfully enough for me to connect with it. I mean, contrast it with this moment:

I can see Ariel’s whole face, particularly those windows-to-the-soul we call EYES, and the facial expression, though dramatic, lingers, holds it, draws it out, so that I have time to not only register the emotion but almost savor it?? Feel it myself. If that makes sense. Not to get too dramatic about it. I don’t know if I’m describing it accurately, but that’s my main problem.

I’d have to go back and watch it again to analyze it further, or even more fairly, because like I said, I haven’t seen it since the ol’ brain got quickened. How about this, I promise I’ll rewatch it with an open mind and make a post later!

[weirdnstinky]

Human And Fairy (Part 1)

Much like any small child, Cali was interested in fairies. Except, she was obsessed. She never understood it herself, but the mere idea of tiny cute women with big wings buzzing around inside of a vegetated wonderland was absurdly appealing to Cali.

She loved to read books about fairies, she loved to draw fairies, she loved to dress as a fairy, and most importantly… she wanted to meet fairies.

Even when she was 15, Cali spent hours every day, researching ancient mythology and folk lore. Hoping that maybe she would understand the origin of her hyper fixation.

One interesting fact that Cali learned was of a repeated pattern. Fairies, not matter where they were in the world, had tiny bug wings to help lift their mini humanoid forms. And, they always seemed to have migrated to one location in the world. Fae Island.

So, when Cali was 20 and in college, she joined a professor on an expedition to Fae island. She spent lots of time searching the hot tropical islands with a small group of researchers.

10 Biologists, 12 Botanists, 4 Historians (including Cali), and some machines. Together, the group spent 2 weeks searching for the fairies, only to end up short with nothing. No trace of fairy life was found on the island.

Cali was frustrated, irritated, disappointed, depressed, there were hardly any words to properly describe what she was feeling. Either way, Cali felt that taking a good long walk would help her forget about fulfilling her childhood dream.

But, as Cali was walking on a steep path, she accidentally slipped. Causing the college historian to roll down to a steep and dark pit of vegetation, along with awarding her with a broken leg. Cali screamed and screamed for help, she called out everyone’s name. “Jill! Gordon! Rajh! Mack!” Even when Cali’s throat burned from the excessive screaming, not one of her colleagues appeared by the path she fell from. Rather, a tiny women with bug wings flew down to Cali.

“Oh dear! What happened?!” The tiny fairy asked, only but half a foot tall, wrapped in a petal robe, and as cute as a button with a high voice.

“A-a-a f-fairy.” Cali’s pain drifted away as she stared at the tiny Fairy with utter disbelief.

“D-do you still need help?” The fairy asked.

“O-oh! Yes. Yes please.” Cali blushed, watching as the tiny fairy flew down to the dark purple bruise spread across Cali’s leg, giving the bruise a light rub with the tiny glowing hands.

After a couple minutes, the pain faded slightly, making it so Cali no longer gritted her teeth. She also learned the fairy’s name was Tulip. A cute name for such a cute specimen Cali thought.

“Please. Could you find my friends? They’re on this island and I need their help.”

“I… I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“The Fae council forbids any fairies from interacting with humans. It’s the main reason we have been watching you from afar. It’s also why no one but me has come to save you.”

“Y-you’ve been watching me?” Cali’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yes. Sorry.” The embarrassed Tulip admitted. “But, don’t worry! I can still help you! I can heal your wounds in the meantime! Not many of my friends love to come to this spooky side of the island. It’s not as beautiful nor filled with many flowers.”

Cali chuckled a little, seeing that her predictions were correct. And the books were extremely accurate. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome.” Tulip giggled.

[fangirlinglikeabus]

been a while since i've done one of these but under the cut are my thoughts on the novelisations of doctor who, season 8

doctor who and the terror of the autons by terrance dicks this is one of those early actually pretty decent dicks novelisations. it's the little details i think, like having a lot of What Characters Think of Each Other (without stating the obvious) that gives it some substance, or the physical effects of action like the ropeburn being paid attention to. MY personal favourite added detail is yates encountering the master (who he doesn't know is the master) and as a result briefly fantasising about what HE'D look like with facial hair. also we get an evil auton energy octopus, which is a nice added detail. there are recaps of several different stories when they have bearing on this one's plot, but the mention of liz is cut altogether, which means that the novelisations as well as the tv series are lacking in any clarification as to her departure. to my great regret the other thing that's cut is jo going 'oh! hello :)'. in terms of actually bad bits, there's a relatively minor but pretty glaring issue in not only the master being consistently referred to as foreign looking but the evil doll subsequently being described as having 'a slant-eyed oriental face', both of which seem to link the human(oid) foreign/other to the villainy of aliens invading england. there's also a line about jo and women's intuition that bothered me a bit but not nearly to the same extent. overall: i think it manages to differentiate itself enough from the tv version to be an interesting skim at least, but go in forewarned at the handful of dodgy bits.

the mind of evil by terrance dicks i have NO idea if this is worthwhile. for the record i'm not too big on the tv serial (i like it well enough until the missile plot comes to the fore, at which point i almost completely lose interest) so keep that in mind…but i think the novelisation is this weird mix of legitimately good and frustratingly half-arsed, with some racism sprinkled on top. i can't speak on dicks' rendering of hokkien, which is presented from the brigadier's point of view ('it sounded like…') so i'm assuming is not a 100% accurate transliteration. however the bit i REALLY have an issue with is the description of barnham having a 'low bulging forehead, protruding jaw and huge powerful hands' like…why are we reviving victorian criminal science in my little sci-fi book. there's also a really gross line comparing the master's black chauffeur to the car he drives. the narration also really doubles down on what i SEEM to remember as a mike line from the original about chin lee's attractiveness by describing her face as 'marred' by a near permanent scowl. sorry she's not constantly performing beauty for you guys! the final bit i have actual beef is that the doctor thinks of jo as 'this feather-headed child' which isn't problematic so much as it feels mildly mean-spirited. ON A LIGHTER NOTE there's a cute bit where benton pretends to be james bond, and there's lines like 'naturally, the master was lying' which made me laugh. i also think it's got a really strong opening, which builds up to the keller machine experiment by describing it to prisoners' reactions to executions throughout the ages. we get a greater elaboration of the fear visions than seen on tv too (the benefits of not needing to worry about budget!). overall…i think there are interesting points to this one, but also some Very Dodgy Bits, and it does kinda fizzle out by the end which disappointed me given i enjoyed the opening.

doctor who and the claws of axos by terrance dicks ok i need to open with this because 'author describing character's hair as a colour i would never consider it' is becoming a recurring Thing so for the record jo's hair is described as brown in this. tardis wiki has a whole List of changed things in this serial but tbh i think a lot of them were so small that i didn't even pick up on them, so for that reason i'm not certain if its worth it, personally. a brief rundown: as per usual the violence/body horror is a bit more pronounced than on screen, and the special effects are improved on in prose. i quite liked the opening wrangle with chinn and the brig, not least because it tells us that the brig forgot to establish the doctor's official existence and i found that funny. chinn's 'britain for the british' argument with the doctor is cut, and while i SORTA get that for space reasons, i think it also diminishes the critique of his character if his general behaviour/philosophy no longer so explicitly tied to xenophobia. there's a nice new closing scene where jo goes to join everyone arguing how to get the tardis down for some rubble while thinking 'it was nice to see things were going back to normal'. there was also a line i liked: 'in the space/time continuum axos traced an unending spiral course, whirling forever in an endless figure-eight'. but overall….i'm kinda 'eh' on this one.

doctor who and the doomsday weapon [aka colony in space] by malcolm hulke the most significant change in this is PROBABLY that its position in jo's time as companion has been moved: she's now in her very early days at unit (just become the doctor's assistant, hasn't met the master) which is understandable given this was one of the early novelisations where hulke perhaps felt the need to have an excuse for providing necessary context and easing the reader in - he does a similar thing by expanding the prologue bit with the time lords, positioning one as a trainee who doesn't have knowledge of the doctor's life - but i was disappointed that as a mechanic it's dropped very quickly. this is not a story that lends itself well to exclusively focusing on jo, given that she gets sidelined in the second half; still, i felt it was a missed opportunity, especially since she knows the doctor less well than on tv and is understandably thus a lot more combative when this comparative stranger whisks her off to another planet, before the plot snaps back into the path the tv version takes. in terms of that path: if you're looking for a novelisation that addresses some more questionable aspects of the original then i'm afraid this isn't it - if anything it exacerbates any issues of racial coding and its relation to the real world that a story about the colonisation of a planet inhabited by a 'savage' race already has, with lines like 'a few primitives, who, if handled properly, would be no trouble.' there's also a few minor moments that suggest a pretty gender stratified society among the colonists that hulke is depicting unquestioningly, which is frustrating but not unexpected. on the other hand, there's actually quite a lot of detail about the imc men and life back on earth that i appreciated being included. we also get a few funerals that weren't depicted onscreen. ashe has some jesus imagery surrounding him that MAY be making a link between christianity and morality (since in this horrible grasping future the bible apparently isn't very well known) but it's not so explicit that i can say that definitively. there are a few lines that jump out to me as cuts - 'i want to see the universe, not rule it', the gag about the brig saying 'come back at once' and, most tragically, 'wiggle away'. we do get a dr who pun to make up for it though. aside from that, the moment where the doctor finds out jo is tied to a bomb is reduced to summary, which seems an odd dramatic choice to me but i do also realise that hulk had to cut a six part story down into 40k words, so something had to go. final point: dent makes a comment about how imc never break the law and the narrator immediately contradicts him, and personally i feel it would be more interesting if that was TRUE - what does it say about a society where THEY'RE not actually breaking the law? anyway i realise this might sound like i'm complaining a lot but after the last two i found this one quite refreshing in how much detail there was to it, and i do generally enjoy reading hulke's novelisations. it's probably not his best, but it's interesting enough to check out even if it does maintain the original serial's flaws.

doctor who and the daemons by barry letts what is there to say about this one, except that it's a very solid rendering of an already solid tv story? one minor quibble in terms of the process of adaptation is that the scene near the beginning where the gang are watching tv is something i found less interesting when we're not watching with them - because it's prose, we lack that moment of complete identification where we're ALL watching tv together. but otherwise i think the writing is lively, and while it may not diverge significantly from the tv version it does flesh out what's already there for the prose medium. a personal favourite for me was azal being 'as amused as a man warned to leave his own home by a kitchen mouse' when the doctor tells him to leave the planet. it's been a while since i've seen the tv version but i did a brief skim of the transcript and i THINK most of what goes on with the villager (and at some point cult member) stan is new to the novelisation. various minor heads' up: there's a character in chapter three who's a bit self-conscious about his weight, and a bit later on a brief mention of a child being hit as punishment; the inside of the barrow has carvings of the "old witch religion, literally thrust into the darkness of the underground by the light of christianity" which is a characterisation of christianity-as-civilising-influence that i suspect originates in the genre dr who is cribbing from here; barry letts describes azal as having a hooked nose which isn't necessarily INaccurate to his screen depiction but i do think letts is still unconsciously drawing on cultural assumptions of what (racialised!) facial features signify evil. also there's a bit where stan acts to help jo 'as quickly and as naturally as one might reach out to prevent a child from falling' which just minorly irritates me - jo is an adult, please don't compare her to a child here. other than that…i'm a big fan of letts' 'trying to teach the kids road safety' bit where jo falls out of bessie and the doctor thinks 'if only she had put on her seat belt!' oh and jo is wearing that white robe OVER her clothes and therefore wasn't stripped by any of these men, thank you very much. on the minor edits level, letts keeps the mary had a little lamb joke but he rewords 'five rounds rapid' and the brig's response to mike asking him for a dance. but he also says the doctor's name is doctor who so i win! this is longer than i meant it to be but i think my overall conclusion is that this is maybe marginally less of a must-read than it was in a time before home media and the internet made the daemons easy to watch - letts makes more tweaks than i've listed here but i think they're mostly minor - but i never felt that he was phoning in the process of turning it into a novel, and AS a novel it's largely enjoyable.

[sabspoetic]

The Cursed Child is fucked up on so many levels and let’s all just agree on that. JKR, a woman, who wrote the entire Harry Potter series, couldn’t do better than this shitty piece of these stack of papers?! When I heard about the new book for the first time, I was so excited to read about the next generation, but when I read it I was so disappointed I can’t even put it in words.

That plot had so much potential (even though there were so many terrible scenes and relationships), it could have been a hella interesting book and I’m sure JKR would be able to write it just great, but no, she had to write a play. Honestly, plays which were staged and performed in the theatre weren’t that good, even movie would be better (no offense though, it’s just my opinion).

Why do some people prefer books over movies? Because in books things are explained differently from what they see and hear in the movies. In books, you read the scenes, you read the emotions of the characters and you can feel their pain, happiness or anger, most of the things are left to your imagination, such as appearances of the characters. In movies you see everything, and sure it’s still great and even emotional sometimes, but you don’t get the same feeling you get while reading.

But this wasn’t even the worst, it was a play, written as if it were a collection of some fragments of a specific book.

The fact that this thing was a play is annoying enough, but the fact that this play is not written exactly accurately is really angering. I have said all of this for at least million times, but I will say it again: some characters are described very uncharacteristically. Now, I believe the few paragraphs below will be a copy-paste from my old post, but I just need to insert it here as well.

First of all, I do not and will never believe that Harry was such an ass to Albus, if we’ve learned anything about Harry from all of the seven series is that he is not biased and would never be, especially towards people he loves. I know that Albus was in Slytherin, but Harry would never do such a thing to his own son. Besides, we know Harry Potter wouldn’t be mad at his child for being in Slytherin.

I also think that Draco would be a better father because of Lucius. I mean, he spent his whole childhood having a shitty father like Lucius, so one thing I know for sure is that he would not have wanted to be anything like him.

We could have seen the interactions of Teddy (Lupin) and Harry. Honestly, I don’t even remember if there was any scene where the two interacted, but if there was, it definitely should have been more. It would be better to see more banter between Rose (Weasley) and Scorpius (Malfoy).

What annoys me even more is that, the book, if I can even call it one, has an awkward ass ending. Like, what an actual fuck was that?! Girl, you’re JKR?!? Not some ten-year-old, who accidentally discovered Wattpad and started writing fanfictions.

I don’t know about you, but for me, that thing deserves a special place in my trash bin, it was so low of JKR.

[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?”

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Comedy hours I’ve seen or heard in the last little while:

The Delightful Sausage – Cold Hard Cache (2017)

I liked this one so much, I should have watched it earlier. Last summer I watched their 2022 show Nowt But Sea, and liked it a bit but thought it’s not really my sort of thing, my bid to expand my horizons beyond straight stand-up wasn't going great. Then recently I watched Ginster’s Paradise and liked it a lot, and thought it helped a lot that I watched that one second, so I sort of knew what to expect, and could get into it more easily. This is the third Delightful Sausage show I’ve watched (though the first, chronologically), and my favourite of the three. This was the one that made me decide I definitely want to put them on my list of potential people to see in Edinburgh this year.

I listen to a lot of audio-only comedy, and often, even when I watch comedy where I can see the person, I don’t get much out of the visual aspects (which is probably why I generally prefer straight stand-up to more alternative things, as the latter tends to have far more visual elements and those don't usually do much for me). But in this case, I was so glad I could see both performers the whole time (the video’s on NextUp), as that added so much. They’ve got such good chemistry together, and the little looks they gave each other and the audience after the jokes were so funny, the cheeky grins when they’ve done something “risky”. I felt like I could watch those two throw jokes and lines and looks at each other all day. It’s so much fun. It made me laugh a bunch of times, including a whole bunch of times when the initial joke would raise a smile and then the tag would get an actual laugh out of me. It felt really well written that way, all the humour in every little moment mined out of it. It’s a silly show full of giggling about how things kept going wrong, but in fact I’m pretty sure they planned and perfectly hit every note.

They were both delightful (pun not intended, in fact I tried to avoid this pun by thinking of another word to use here, but I just can’t think of a word that more accurately describes them) and this whole hour was so much fun.

Stuart Goldsmith – Like I Mean It (2018)

This is the second Stuart Goldsmith stand-up hour I’ve seen, because I think he’s an incredibly talented interviewer, his podcast gives fascinating insights but also just makes me like him, so I wanted to see his stand-up and like him there too. And I did, he comes off as very likeable in both stand-up shows. But I watched the first of them (though the second, chronologically) last year – I Need You Alive – and I found a lot of the material fairly boring. A lot of that is on me – I have an aversion to stand-up that revolves too much around parenting and married life and home ownership, for the obvious reason that none of it applies to me so I don’t really connect to the material. A really good comedian can transcend this and make me laugh even if I don’t personally relate (Mark Watson has made me nearly cry laughing at stories about his kids), but that takes a lot, and Stuart Goldsmith didn’t really do it. It was okay. It would probably be funnier to someone who actually has kids, and has had a kitchen renovated, and the various other mundane topics he covered in I Need You Alive.

I realized afterward that Stuart Goldsmith’s special never really had a chance with me, because I’ve spent so many hours listening to him deconstruct so many different types of stand-up with so many different comedians, and because of this, I went into that show with expectations way too high. I thought, this guy knows everything about how stand-up comedy works, so I’m sure when he does his own stand-up comedy, it will hit every high point and avoid every pitfall since he knows where they all are. But obviously that’s not how anything works. Pretty much no matter what the show turned out to be, I’d find it disappointing compared to expectations.

I did think the ending of I Need You Alive was pretty strong, when he got away from the more day-to-day stories and did a longer thing about a broader picture of life and ambition and the difference between our public and private selves. There might be a problem these days with some comedy trying to be too grandiose and philosophical and falling flat, but actually, I think Stuart Goldsmith’s a bit the opposite, he’s better when he lets himself try to take on a bit of philosophy.

This was also true in Like I Mean It, which I watched today (and that’s why this is the longest section of the post, it’s the show that’s most fresh in my mind so I have the most to say), and decided to do the opposite of last time. I happened to see that it was free on YouTube, was curious to see what it was like, so I deliberately went into it with no set expectations. As such, I enjoyed it a fair bit more than I enjoyed I Need You Alive, even though I think the latter is probably an objectively better show. Like I Mean It is mainly the same marriage- and parenthood-based stuff as I Need You Alive, but done by a comedian who’d had five fewer years to develop his skills, and without the particularly strong ending. Though it did also have a few bits where he got broader in his perspective and a bit more into sociological analysis, and those were, again, my favourite bits. He’s good when he goes big.

So it’s probably not the best show in the world, but I found that it was more fun when I just relaxed and had a small laugh about baby yoga or whatever he was talking about. Actually, I have to give credit to the opening routine, which was about escape rooms, and I wouldn’t have expected any routine about escape rooms could be all that funny, and it wasn’t very funny, but it was funnier than I’d have expected, given the topic. “Funnier than I’d have expected, given the topic” can describe a fair bit about the show.

Tom Mayhew – I, Tom Mayhew (2020)

I tried watching this about a year ago, got distracted five minutes in, gave up as I hadn’t been enjoying it that much. Was recently reminded of it, tried it again, got to the end, greatly enjoyed it. It’s almost like we shouldn’t judge a comedy hour on its first five minutes. And on the re-watch, I’ve remember that the first five minutes weren’t even bad or anything, it was just a normal level of a comedy show taking a few minutes to set up the premise.

It’s an hour that’s mostly on class issues (from the working class perspective), covering a bunch of other topics but tying them all back into the class thing, sometimes in ways that aren’t immediately obvious and that were neat connections. It’s a perspective you don’t hear a lot in comedy, the jokes are spaced out nicely, and it helps that his persona is really likeable (sort of awkwardly self-effacing in the way he talks and throws out jokes, but also really sure of the actual points he makes). It’s a nice show and it’s free on YouTube. There’s another version of it on NextUp, and I actually liked it enough to end up watching both because I thought it was worth seeing twice, and I like the YouTube version better. But they’re pretty similar and it’s a good show.

Lily Phillips – Smut (2022)

I found some parts of this one quite funny, others not so much. The premise is talking really candidly/at times explicitly about what goes on with women’s bodies, which is the sort of thing that it’s good to do. She had some stories about working in various appearance-centric jobs (being a Disney Princess, and an MMA ring girl, among other things) that were depressing but also, I thought, really funny. And she had some long riffs on some other things that I didn’t get into as much.

Olga Koch – Comes From Money (2024)

I won’t go into detail on this one because it’s still at the WIP stage, I just need to say that in its current form it’s one of my favourite shows I’ve heard. It’s the fifth full comedy hour I’ve heard from Olga Koch, I’ve enjoyed all of them but Prawn Cocktail was particularly good, and this feels like a big step up from that, it’s really really strong. This and Nish Kumar’s are my two favourites of all the new 2024 shows I’ve heard so far (Sam Campbell should probably be listed here too, I'm excepting him on the technicality that I think my favourite of his current material was done in Edinburgh in 2023), I believe they are both going to burn down all the buildings in Edinburgh this summer. Edinburgh will crumble into dust. Metaphorically. Is that what you say in comedy? When I was coaching wrestling, when we traveled for tournaments we used to say we were going down there to burn [City] to the ground, [City] will not exist anymore by next week because we will have incinerated it with how strong our team is. Whatever the arts equivalent is of that sort of language, I think they’re going to do that this summer. I might be letting on too much how I basically view the Edinburgh Festival as the National Championships of comedy, and in reality, that analogy is probably not as accurate as it seems in my head. Look, I don’t want to get into the content of a WIP show so I can’t say anything about it except this weird rant about arson, I’m just saying it’s so good that it makes me want to use sports metaphors. Sports metaphors that involve fires.

[crazybigredlove]

16th October 2013 

Dear Pete, 

Another session with Harry today. Believe me I'm as shocked as you by my elevated level of engagement. We talked about many different things: you, Christopher, and also Big Red. Told him all about how Chris is being difficult, Big Red is being manipulative, and you are still MIA. Talked more about The Czech and how disappointed I am to not have heard anymore from him. Harry is a very staunch supporter of The Czech and I still am confused as to why. I feel my head tilt to the side and my mouth slip open a fraction every time he starts talking about him. 

Even with those messages, Harry's line of questioning always leads me to believe that he wants it to be The Czech. At this late stage in the dating game the safe money is on a long life of lonely nights alone. 

"Why are you so hopeful when it comes to The Czech?" "What's the rule, Olivia?" he raises an eyebrow at me. "Fine. Why are you so hopeful when it comes to Will?" "I'm not sure that hopeful is the right word." As always he chooses his words carefully. 

"Okay, so what word would you use?" "I'm not sure that there is a word. It's rather that I see your situation, and unlike you, I am probably in a better position to see each of these men as separate from the others. It allows me to view it all much more objectively." "You think I can't see it objectively?" I mull over his words, twisting my hair, contemplating whether he could be right and what that would even mean. 

"From what you're saying, when you hear from the redhead it upsets you, so you ring Will. Then Will doesn't conduct himself as you want him to, so you go running to Christopher - who gives you an immediate but essentially meaningless satisfaction. Once out of options, you sit down and write to Peter. There doesn't ever seem to be a point where you treat these men as separate entities, they're more like a cycle that you are continuously working through. And I apologise if I've given you the impression that there may be more to Will, that certainly wasn't my intention." 

"So what do you think of Will?" "It's hard for me to say, I only have your side of the story." Both eyebrows are raised as if he's challenging me, but there's no more to the story than what he already knows. I've done the equivalent of sprawling out naked in front of this man in terms of how much I've exposed myself. "Humour me." "Honestly? If everything you say is accurate, then to me it's clear the man who cares about you the most - although I wouldn't say it's in a romantic way - is Christopher. Are you important to Will? Possibly. I think in his own way he does care about you, but that is often how we choose to describe those whose interest in us isn't of a romantic nature or isn't what we essentially desire." "He doesn't want to be with me." It hurts to admit it, but denial didn't make it any less true. "What do you think your best plan of attack is when it comes to any or all of these men? "I'm going to hope it all goes away or sorts itself out." 

Harry chuckled, probably because he appreciates that really I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to dating. He asked if I'd slept or if I was having anxiety and it took me by surprise to realise that I'm actually not behaving as if the world is ending. There are days I get sad and feel like lying in bed all day, but I get up and get through what needs doing. If my phone stays silent all day I don't lie awake at night wondering why no one cares enough to call or stare at the ceiling desperate to know what they're all up to or who they're with. 

"The thing is," I slowly start, matching his caution with word selection. "I rush from one relationship to the next. I'm always dating someone. There is always a guy. Even with Big Red, there was a time when I was starting to see him that I was still hearing from three different ex-boyfriends and a guy whom I thought might have been interested in me. Just a few months ago I had Christopher move in, was having dinner each week with The Czech, and was starting to date Big Red. Before all that I said to you that I wasn't even sure if I was over PT Patrick, that I didn't know where I was in terms of the hurt he caused. Even if I've accepted that nothing will eventuate with any of these men, it doesn't mean I've let go of what happened between us." 

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Ok, so what does that mean?" "Maybe once I give everything some time to settle, if I realise that I do have feelings for one or all of them, I need some time to ensure I've moved passed it all so that if someone new does come along, I'll know that I'm not still pining for Big Red or Patrick or possibly even Lucas. Or maybe The Czech, whoops, Will. Or whomever else it might be. Do you know I am never alone? There is always a man that I'm rushing off to. It kind of feels pathetic." 

Harry smiled. "You're not pathetic. But you do tend to get dependent. You rely on others a lot to create your happiness and when it doesn't eventuate you tend to fall into these funks that you convince yourself can only be cured by someone else coming along, or someone coming back to you." "I have this life that there is nothing wrong with, not really, but I am always so desperate to be with someone. I don't even realise it till the third date goes bad and I'm drowning in a romantic comedy and ice cream pity party. It's not even that I want someone as such, I just want the loneliness to go away. How do I fix that? How do I make that feeling of constantly craving something stop?" "Can I tell you a secret?" "Will it make me feel better?" I ask dryly, as I'm feeling a little like a lost cause. "A lot of women your age feel the same. They've been told since a young age that what they need to do is grow-up, find a man, get married, and have babies. When that progression doesn't happen, they're fighting not only societies views, but also a chemical shift in their bodies that tells them they need to find someone as soon as possible. Your brain knows that you're okay on your own, but the chemical reactions in your body are sending signals telling you that you need to start reproducing, pronto." 

"So I'm the average, garden-variety, thirty-year old woman crazy?" "I'm sorry to break it to you, but you aren't special in that regard." 

"You're saying I'm going to feel like this till I reproduce?" I felt my body shudder at the thought. "It's quite possible." "Awesome," I sighed and sank deeper into the cushions. 

Maybe it was true, or maybe he was saying it to make me feel better, but either way I wanted to believe him. 

As I was leaving Harry stopped me. "Olivia?" I stopped with my hand on the doorknob and smiled back at him. "Yes, therapist of mine?" "You're doing good. Believe that. With everything that's happened, you're doing okay. I think, if you wanted, we could leave these sessions there for a little while. And before you say anything, no I am not saying that because I'm trying to get rid of you. I'm saying it because I think you can handle this on your own. You're already mostly doing that." Felt a strange sense of accomplishment that made my chest swell because it seems a little like he's suggesting that I haven't failed therapy. Can finally tick something off on my list of life achievements! "Really?" Feeling very chuffed and slightly humbled by his comments, there is no doubt that my cheeks are red. "Yes. I mean that. Don't be so hard on yourself, okay? Cut yourself some slack every now and again. And, you know, if Big Red or The Czech come back, or if you meet someone new, just take it easy; breathe and remember that if you pace yourself these things do have a way of working out and not becoming overwhelming or all encompassing." 

If I hadn't been so unsure of the etiquette in such a situation, I would've run across the room and engulfed him in a bear hug. Was a little too insecure regarding the correct protocols, so instead I just grinned at him, thanked him for his help, and walked proudly across the room and into a closed door very clearly marked pull, but which I tried to push. 

One thing at a time. 

Liv x 

[matwith1t]

A/N: This is an old story of mine that I’ve re-worked! It’s a bit different than some of my other writings, but ‘twas very fun to revisit! Thank you all for your kind messages!! 

Prompt: A one-sided enemies to lovers-ish with a dual point of view.

MASTERLIST | Mat Barzal x Reader | LET’S CHAT 🥂 |

Warnings: None!! // WC: 4.6K // Angst-ish & Fluff-ish

You started at him.

No, you glowered at him.

You couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him anymore. For as long as you could remember, he was with you; from pre-school all the way up until he disappeared around sophomore year in high school, as you skated around the rink with your friends and he obnoxiously skated in your way, summer camps for skating… You were always in his shadow. Always had been. Always will be.

Your earliest memories of him was when he won the most valuable skater trophy during one of the many skating camps your parents signed you up for. He was always picked first in gym class and recess. Always had his hand up in the air when a teacher asked a question. And always skated circles around you at the rink. Ever since that one gym class when your best friend picked him first to be on their kickball team for gym class and not you… You ripped the best friend title away from them.

You hated Mat Barzal.

And you were fairly certain he reciprocated the same distaste towards you.

At fifteen, you turned down countless offers to attend parties and outings with your friends because you were determined to beat his record of fastest skater he set at thirteen. You spent so many weekends and many nights at the ice rink––practicing making your turns sharper or timing your speed to beat his record––that you were certain by the time the winter session of camp rolled around, you would beat every record he set. 

But that wasn’t the case when winter session rolled around. You didn’t break any of his records because he shattered all of his previous ones. You slouched on the bench as you watched him skate up to collect every single award. And with every award placed in his hands, he always looked at you with his stupid smile. 

Looking back on all of that rivalry nearly five or so years later, you were still hung up over the fact that he stole all of the achievements that were supposed to be yours. Especially when he won fastest skater the last year both of you were eligible for camp before becoming a counselor. Because as the person to win fastest skater, he got to make a speech. A speech that you should’ve made because you were positive you were going to break his record during the last year.

You had the perfect speech prepared, a blend of this place has meant so much to me and my development as a skater and a can’t wait until I can carry on everything I’ve learned from this program as I start counseling. 

You skated around the rink in eighteen seconds.

But Mat… Mat skated around the rink in seventeen point two seconds.

The feeling of failure you felt in the pit of your stomach infuriated you. Enraged wasn’t accurate to what you felt. Frustrated seemed like an adjective too soft to describe your disappointment. The one feeling you could trace back as a reason for your clenched fists, locked jaw, and blinding vision of rage when he flashed a smile at you was resentment. 

And to top everything off, in his speech, Mat announced he was coming back to the camp as a counselor. You felt your whole body heat up with fury as he received a standing ovation. And once you said your goodbyes to everyone at the camp––even begrudgingly to Mat who smirked and said see you next year––you aggressively threw your skating bag in your car and sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes. Instead of executing breathing techniques to calm yourself, you clenched your hands around the steering wheel until your knuckles turned shades lighter than your skin tone and screamed.

You detested Mat Barzal.

And luckily for you, you only spent one year with him as a counselor before he was drafted to the Seattle Thunderbirds for hockey. You shredded the invitation for his going away party, that his mother most likely made him send, with a smile because you finally felt free. You were no longer going to be second best. There was nothing but the feeling of bliss running through your veins. 

But that only lasted for so long.

Because during the summer, when you shadowed an athletic trainer of a facility by the lake you went every summer, you saw him. Hands stuffed in the front of his black jean pockets, wearing a Thunderbirds jersey with his name on the back, he walked around with the owner of rink. No amount of breathing exercises or screaming in your car would calm you down. All you saw was red. And worst of all, he made eye contact with you and lifted his hand in an attempt of a wave.

Spinning around on your heel, you swiftly stomped back into the locker room, ignoring him. 

Unfortunately enough, the owner of the rink invited Mat to be the guest counselor of the summer. The rink did their best every year to partner with someone in the league to be a guest counselor. Admittedly it was an impressive partnership program the rink had with various players, but you wished it could have been someone else. Anyone else.

Luckily, you only saw him a handful of times during the summer. While you were present at the majority of the camps he helped coach, there were some he was absent for. Whenever you walked through the locker room and into the office and you didn’t see his name next to any of the schedules printed on the bulletin board, you always let out a sigh of relief because he would be nowhere near you. 

There was a period of a couple years where you didn’t see Mat. He was out of sight and definitely out of your mind. It was the most peace you had felt in your entire life. Of course you still heard whispers about Mat climbing up the ranks of hockey in your small Canadian hometown, but he was on the west coast of America while you attended college in New York City––on the complete opposite side of the country from him. 

Until it came to your junior year of college when you landed an internship with the New York Islanders, the same hockey club he had just been called up for to officially start his rookie year. 

You thought you were in your own personal hell when you saw his last name on the back of his practice jersey, skating around the ice with the other players, on your first day. You didn’t know what you did in a past life to deserve this kind of torture, but you would repent for the rest of your life to atone for any sins to make sure this wouldn’t happen again. Thankfully, he was on the ice and you were not. But word somehow always made it back to you about how amazing of a skater everyone thought Mat was.

You suffered a year of painfully being in his presence, but as an intern you never spent much one-on-one time with the players. You had planned to head back to Canada for a couple months to figure out what you wanted to do post-graduation. And when you walked across stage to receive your diploma, it was the second time in your life that you had felt free. You were done with school, done with New York, done with your internship––Done with Mat. You drank a little too much in celebration that night. And raised your glass to never having to see him again.

Albeit a smidge hung over, you went to the arena the next day to return your credentials and parking pass. Not expecting to see anyone due to the nature of off-season hockey, you were surprised to see him. You tripped over your own two feet, spilling coffee on your new sneakers when you saw Mat sitting in your supervisor’s office––laying on the couch throwing a tennis ball up in the air.

He looked just as shocked to see you.

And the shock didn’t disappear from either of you when your supervisor walked into her office and offered you a job to train under her. Stumbling over your words, you were beyond happy to accept a position after you read over the contract. 

Mat, I’d like you to meet my new assistant athletic trainer––I’m not sure if you’ve met her, but she interned with the team this past season.

In the center of your new boss’s office was where you silently apologized to any God you had ever offended. If this was punishment for not attending any form of religious service for the past seven years, you begged for forgiveness. If this was punishment for hiding Mat’s lucky shoelace one year during camp so maybe he would mess up his fastest skater record, you begged for forgiveness. You begged for any form of forgiveness, but you didn’t think you’d be pardoned any time soon.

Because at the start of the next season, at your first real job, the tiny office space you were set up with was only thirteen paces away from his locker.

–––

He stared at you.

No, he fondly gazed at you.

He absolutely loved being in the same room as you. He had been with you for as long as he could remember and he was dreading the day for when you two would separate. From pre-school all the way up until Mat left for Seattle, there wasn’t a time in his life where you weren’t in it. He always saw you as an equal out on the ice, although admittedly, he thought you were better than him.

There was one particular early memory that stuck with him; you were both nine and it was gym class. Your best friend let it slip to Mat that you liked boys who could run fast. And after learning that information, Mat ran whenever he could, and he convinced your best friend to pick him first so that way you would notice how fast he could run. So, your best friend picked Mat to be on their team first… Not you.

After that day, you stopped talking to your best friend. And they came crying to Mat after he finished a race with someone, complaining about how you were ignoring them. 

Mat had a little crush on you.

But Mat wasn’t all that positive that you reciprocated that same giddy feeling he had whenever he saw you on the playground.

In Mat’s eyes, you were one and the same with ambition––on and off the ice. School never came easy to Mat, so studying was a chore. But he knew how smart you were, and he wanted you to think he was smart too. He always shot his hand straight up in the air whenever a teacher asked a question. Whether he knew the answer not, he wanted you to see that he was trying to be good at school. He wanted to impress you.

While Mat knew you valued education, he heard through the grapevine that you liked to ice skate. And when he nonchalantly snooped around for more information about what you liked in a person, he found out you liked boys who played hockey. Mat had skated on the ice since he learned how to walk, and had played hockey for almost as long too, but now he knew he had to seriously step up his game.

He found himself training at the gym to build up strength, out on runs everyday after school to build up endurance, and created a second home for himself on the ice. He sacrificed most of his study time to train and even turned down invites from friends to hang out.

Friday night skates were his absolute favorite nights of the week. Everyone from school would be there; including you. He knew how amazing of a skater you were, and Friday nights were his chance to show you that he was almost as good as you on the ice. To make sure he had the maximum amount of time to impress you, he always showed up early. And whenever you showed up with your friends, he skated circles around you.

He was always told by a moderator to slow down on the ice because he was too fast, but he wanted you to see how fast he skated. And he convinced himself that the faster he skated around the ice, the faster he could get back to skating between you and your friends.

And even after all of those years of skating past you on the ice, he never succeeded in complimenting how talented he thought you were.

He had everything planned out if he struck up the courage to talk to you. He even went as far as practicing in front of a mirror more times than necessary. Stored away in his mind was an endless list of topics he could talk to you about if an opportunity presented itself. 

You were a fast skater. And if Mat remembered correctly, you were the fastest skater at camp. He admired your determination towards training and appreciated the way you effortlessly glided on the ice. All he ever wanted was for you to see him as an equal; which is why he spent hours on speed training.

It was the last year of camp where he could participate in the end of season competitions, so he worked harder than he’d ever had to in his life to miraculously win anything he could to capture your attention. 

Mat skated around the ice in seventeen point two seconds.

You skated around the ice with an admirable time of eighteen seconds.

Ecstatic didn’t feel like the proper word to describe how he felt. Relief seemed like an adjective that fairly represented how gratifying it felt to see how close their times were together. But one feeling he could trace back as the reason his blinding smile, infectious high-spirited mood, and rose colored vision was how proud he felt.

Because with his and your skate time only being less than a second away from each other, it confirmed that you and Mat were ice skating equals. And he knew how much you loved to skate.

He didn’t have a speech planned––he only wanted to have the fastest skater win to impress you––but he spoke a few words. He hadn’t decided if he was going to come back the following year to coach as a counselor, being on a track to play hockey professionally was becoming a reality, but once he heard you were coming back, he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to spend more time together. 

It took everything in him to settle his shaking hands by his side long enough to muster up a goodbye to you. He saw you making the rounds and purposefully put himself in the mix of people so you couldn’t miss him. And when you came up to him, he saw you freeze. He tried to smile, but he was sure it came out like a grimace. He was proud of himself for squeaking out a see you next year before he darted to the locker room to gather his belongings.

Mat Barzal was in love with you.

The time he spent with you as a counselor was cut short when he was drafted to the Seattle Thunderbirds to start his hockey career in the Western Hockey League. Playing hockey professionally was everything that he wanted, he just wished it came a few years later so he could continue to spend time with you. 

Before he officially left for Seattle, his family threw him a going away party with all of his family and friends. His mother mostly took care of the invitations, but he took a card out from the pile and personally addressed the envelope to you. Nervous, his hand shook while writing your name and he took a few calming breaths before riding his bike to your house to put the invitation in your mailbox in person. 

On the day of his party, whenever he heard the front door open, he always peaked around the corner to see if you walked in. 

And sooner than he knew, Mat was off to Seattle feeling slightly deflated that you hadn’t showed up to his graduation party. If he knew that the last day of camp would be your final parting place, he would’ve made more of an effort with you, but he held out hope you would show up. He never had any trouble talking to people he liked before, but there was something about you that intimidated him, and he let that fear simmer for too long. 

Mat left his small Canadian hometown with the thought of never seeing you again swirling around his head. 

But he was lucky.

Because during one summer, the owner of a skating rink reached out to him and asked if he wanted to assist in coaching a hockey camp. So, he flew home to Vancouver for the summer, drove up to a lake community he had never visited, and toured the facility with the owner. And as they recounted the past professional hockey, and minor league players, who had helped coach in past summers, he saw you walking out of the locker room, clutching a clip board to your chest.

The familiar rose color fogged his vision when he caught your eyes. The advice his friend Beau told him, one night when they couldn’t fall asleep in their room during a development camp, played on loop in his head. Start small, he said, she’s probably nervous because she can sense your nervousness. So, with a deep breath, he slowly lifted his hand and waved at you.

He couldn’t believe his luck. Out of all of the places he could have been invited to coach, out of all of the places in Canada, out of everything… All of the small cosmic chances of anyone walking out of the locker room and it was you. It could have been someone else. Anyone else. But it was you.

Instead of seeing your familiar face wave back, he saw you spin around just as fast as you came to a halt when he caught your eye. 

Maybe she didn’t see you, Beau tried to reassure Mat when he called him later that night to tell him he’d seen you at the rink, she’s got to be busy if she’s walking around with a clipboard. 

Unfortunately, he only saw you a handful of times over the summer. He figured that your schedule wouldn’t always match his. He wanted to live in a state of obliviousness, believing that he would see you everyday. He always made sure to show up earlier than anyone else and speed walk to the bulletin board in the locker room. Whenever he saw your name next to his, he always let out a sigh of content because he would be in your presence. 

When summer came to an end, and he parted ways with you just like he had the last time––with a handshake––he decided to let all of his feelings about you go. He accepted the fact that you and him were no more than barely acquaintances that grew up together. The past was the past, and he didn’t want anything clouding his judgement as he chased his N.H.L. dream.

And for a brief period of time that worked. 

There were a couple of years he neither saw nor heard from you. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about you. Sometimes he wondered what his life would’ve shaped out to look like if he had made more of an effort with you in the past. Sometimes, if he was delusional enough and needed motivation, he would imagine the scowl you always threw at him when you were younger whenever the counselors praised him. 

He wondered if he would’ve asked you to look at universities in Seattle so you could still be together. He wondered if you changed your hair. He wondered if you would wear his jersey. He wondered what you studied in university. He wondered if you still skated. 

It was the most chaotic he had felt in his entire life; thoughts, feelings, everything––you consumed every part of his being. 

Until it came to his official start in the National Hockey League. No longer in Seattle, he packed up and moved across the country to New York to play for the Islanders. 

Mat thought he was in his own personal paradise when he saw you during a practice; sitting behind the glass, in the second row, next to one of the team’s athletic trainers furiously scribbling on a clipboard. He was so caught up in his own mind that a puck landed square on his chest, causing him to bend over in pain. There didn’t know what he could’ve done in a past life to deserve this type of positive karma.

Laughing, Beau skated over to Mat and patted his back. His friend inquired about his distracted look, and all Mat could do was shakily raise a finger, pointing in your direction before he clutched his stomach again.

After practice was over, he asked around about the girl he saw with the athletic trainer. None of the players had any clue someone new was in the arena, but someone working in security told him you were the new intern. 

Even though he knew you were present when they practiced, and at select home games, he never spent any one-on-one time with you. While he spent a majority of his time on the ice, he enjoyed listening to arena gossip and had heard your name quite a few times; people singing songs of praise about you. He kept to himself when he heard anything, but one time, he heard locker-room attendants whispering about how they didn’t think you could even skate.

Mat promptly shut them down––maintaining as much calmness as he could, despite his nails digging crescent moons into his palms from squeezing his hands into fists––and assertively told them you were the best skater he had ever seen.

Sometimes he stuck around practice late, or even a game, and lingered around the athletic trainer’s office. But he would never admit that to anyone. 

He didn’t know when your internship with the team ended, but he dreaded the day. He knew how pathetic he sounded––he barely saw you, hell, he didn’t even speak to you. But he knew that there would be an actual day where the thin ties that strung you together would be cut. 

And from there…where would he see you? In Vancouver in the spare time he actually went home? At another ice rink in the summer if hewer to guest coach again? On the subway? He didn’t graduate high school, but could he attend a reunion to see you?

He didn’t want to wait for another chance of faith to only catch a glimpse of you. 

After finishing the season with an Islanders win, the whole team went out for drinks. Everyone from players, coaches, to staff members went out to celebrate. He looked for you around the bar, pathetically waited by the bathroom’s––pretending to take a phone call––to see if you snuck away there, and mingled more with the staff than his own teammates. 

Mat got around to talking with the athletic trainer––the person he knew was your supervisor––and nonchalantly asked about the girl followed them around all year. Oh, that was my intern, she sipped her wine, but she’s completed her course credits and graduates soon.

He stood frozen as the athletic trainer continued talking. You were done. Done with school, done with New York, done with your internship––Done with him.

Not feeling the merriment the rest of the room shared, he only drank the single beer he ordered for the whole night. He sipped to celebrate the team’s victory––sipped to celebrate your accomplishments––until he sipped all of the dejection and regret into his body.

Because even having an additional year with you, he was still too nervous to talk to you.

He left the celebrations early, but not before the athletic trainer softly grabbed his elbow and asked to see him in her office the next day. She said that he hobbled off the ice tonight and wanted to check out his ankle. He shrugged his shoulders, not remembering oddly walking off the ice, but agreed nonetheless.

Painfully sober after a night he knew most of the team went above their limits, he drove to the arena. He waved to the security who were pleasantly surprised to see him so early in the morning. Out of politeness, Mat smiled back, but when his back faced security, his smile dropped. He’d rather spend the day in bed, wallowing in his own bitterness because he couldn’t pluck the courage up to talk to you.

He waited outside the athletic trainer’s office for ten minutes. He knocked again, but was met with silence. Cautiously, he placed his hand on the door handle and pushed down. When it moved, he invited himself into the office, because in all honesty, he wanted to lay down. And that’s what he did––throwing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it––until he heard the door open.

Mat wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. He felt his eyes widen, lips slightly parted as he sucked in a sharp breath, and pulse thump rapidly. He saw a stream of coffee running down the paper cup in your grasp, a brown splash on your shoe. He tried his best to concentrate his thoughts on anything to distract himself from how adorable he thought you looked in a slightly oversized blue New York Islanders sweatshirt. 

The tennis ball he threw up in the air landed on the bridge of his nose. 

It was you.

Out of all the years Mat had known you, he couldn’t pinpoint a time where the two of you shared a space alone. 

He heard the door open once more. And he knew you heard it as well. But neither of you made a move to recognize the new presence in the room… Even if it was her office. And when she started to talk, Mat’s mind went blank. He comprehended few words––Offer, job, start date, contract…yes––as he stayed on the couch. As if remembering Mat was in the office, the athletic trainer faced him with a sly smile.

Mat, I’d like you to meet me new assistant athletic trainer––I’m not sure if you’ve met her, but she interned with the team this past season.

Not only had she been an intern with the team he played hockey for; he also grew up a few streets away from you, spent countless years in school together, and even went to skating camps together.

Laying horizontal in the athletic trainer’s office he had never stepped foot in before today, he silently thanked any God up in the sky that answered his prayers.

If this was a reward for all of the hardworking days and nights of training that sometimes caused tears, because of his dire need to impress you, he thanked his lucky stars. If this was a reward for the one time you fell on the ice during camp, and he dashed off the ice to retrieve the first aid kit, he thanked his lucky stars. Mat thanked his lucky stars because he didn’t think he would be given any more chances to see you.

Because at the start of next season, at the place he spent most of his time, his locker was only thirteen paces away from you.

[delimeful]

Helpless (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, spiders/arachnophobia, mild violence

-

Halfway through the woods, Patton heard the distinct sound of someone mumbling.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head to listen with a fair bit of curiosity. The mumbling was quiet enough that he couldn’t make out any individual words, but he could more or less tell which direction it was coming from.

Whatever the source was, they sounded a little frustrated.

He hesitated. Virgil was always emphasizing how careful Patton needed to be in the woods, though how much of that was due to actual danger and how much was the drider being a worrywart over Patton’s ‘chronic inability to defend himself’, he wasn’t sure.

Either way, this didn’t sound like a dangerous wild animal, so it would probably be okay to take a little detour and see what the matter was!

He followed the noise off the trail into a thick copse of trees, eventually coming upon intricate silvery threadwork that wound between them. He was proud to say he only barely shuddered as he ducked past them, his fear of spiders mostly overcome by his affection for his friend.

The webbing got thicker the further he went, and eventually he came upon the source of the mumbling, which appeared to be a whole person, stuck against the outer edge of one of Virgil’s larger webs.

They looked up upon spotting him, eyes bright for a moment before taking him in and visibly dulling with disappointment, which, aside from sorta hurting Patton’s feelings, seemed an odd response for someone in need of help.

“Hello there,” he greeted, waving. “My name’s Patton, I live over at the nearby town. You seem to be in a bit of a prestickament!”

“No, I did this myself,” the stranger corrected, already looking past Patton with disinterest. “It is an attempt to meet with someone I would like to speak with, and they seem the skittish sort, so I would appreciate it if you moved on.”

Patton hummed, more than a little confused. Something about this seemed familiar. “What are you going to do if this person doesn’t show up, though?”

“My arms are free,” they responded, frowning at Patton’s persistence as they wiggled the fingers of their free hand demonstrably. The other hand was occupied with a worn-looking journal. “I will be able to eat and drink, and thus am in no danger.”

“My friend says these woods can get mighty cold at night,” Patton countered, undeterred. “Can’t you meet your friend in town, instead? Why does it have to be a drider’s web?”

And, oh, that was it! Virgil had just been telling him the other day about someone who’d gotten stuck in one of his webs just like this, a mage who had been all-too-delighted to see him. Patton had hardly registered how they’d met, since he’d mostly been very upset to learn that some people would try to use his friend’s body parts as potions ingredients.

“That’s because the drider is the one I’m hoping to speak with,” the stranger replied, as though it should be obvious. “I sincerely doubt they would appreciate an invitation to town.”

Patton stared at the little notebook for a moment, and abruptly put the pieces together. This must have been the stranger that freaked Virgil out so badly!

And he was lying in wait in one of Virgil’s webs… In that case, there was no way he could leave things like this.

“I don’t think the drider is around,” he offered cheerily. “Sometimes they migrate to different areas for different seasons! You won’t meet anyone while hanging around, so I’ll help you down!”

He circled around the tree where most of the webs were rooted, approaching the stranger’s edge of webbing, and found to his surprise that they really were stuck. How they planned to ambush Virgil while stuck in a web, he wasn’t sure, especially since the gambit hadn’t worked on the first attempt either. Magic, maybe?

“How do you know that?” the stranger asked, craning to look at him with sudden interest. “About drider migration cycles.”

Patton shrugged as he plucked at the threads of the web, testing each one to see where they led. “I’m a good listener, so I pick things up here and there. What do you do?”

It seemed to be the right question to ask, since the stranger perked up, distracted from his inquiry.

“I am a researcher,” they informed Patton. “I’m seeking out information on the more reclusive creatures that live in these lands, like driders! This is the first one that I’ve met in person, so if they’re leaving, I need to catch up right away.”

Patton slid the sheath off of the little paring knife he’d taken to carrying and started sawing at one of the threads. “Are you going to try to capture him?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as he could. “You know, for your research.”

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” they replied indignantly. “The behavior of any being would be unnatural and stilted while imprisoned, especially a sapient one. My research is meant to increase humanity's understanding of driders, not to put them on display for entertainment.”

Patton blinked at them, slicing through another strand. “You… aren’t looking to hurt them?”

“No!” They honestly sounded offended by the idea. “I don’t think I ever could, anyhow, the one I met was very large, and they would likely be able to incapacitate me without any trouble.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Patton asked, remembering the terror that had swept through him during that first encounter, when he’d thought the drider was a giant creepy crawly death dealer. Even after he realized, when Virgil yoinked him with his two front legs, Patton had been a little nervous.

“People are only scared of what they don’t understand,” they informed him, chin lifted stubbornly, “and I know more about driders than any other human. I don’t see any reason to be afraid.”

“Wow… You’re really passionate about this, huh?” Patton grinned as he sliced through the last of the support webbing, and with a few snaps, the researcher fell to the ground, only a few strands of silk clinging to them.

“Of course!” they replied, pausing to pull some of the softer webbing bits off of himself and folding them into a pocket of his bag. “The information compiled on them is often vague or outright misleading, and due to their reclusiveness and occasional aggression, nobody else has been able to correct these false accounts.”

They paused, studying the woods around them. “I am… uncertain on how I’m going to discern which area the drider has chosen to migrate to. I don’t suppose you have any idea?”

Patton patted their shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. I think there’s a friend of mine you should meet properly.”

—

“Virgil!” Patton called brightly. “I’m here!”

He had been leading the way through increasingly dense and shadowy foliage for a fair while, now. Logan glanced up from their connected hands to see exactly where he was being pulled to, his heartbeat picking up in speed despite the possibility that this was a cruel prank or even a mugging.

Sure, Patton had described the drider that he’d met a couple of days ago quite accurately, but that was no assurance that he was actually familiar with the being. Most of the townsfolk seemed peripherally aware of ‘Virgil’’s presence, after all, so Patton could have glimpsed him before. It seemed more likely than them being friends. Driders were notoriously solitary, and ‘Virgil’ had seemed quite averse during Logan’s encounter with him, after all.

There was a crack from above, like a branch snapping.

In the next moment, a heavy weight had dropped down from above, knocking Logan to the ground and forcing all the air from his lungs. As he gasped futilely, he realized there were two hands pinning his arms to the ground, and some very familiar fangs put on full display, mere inches from his face.

“Leave him alone,” a very angry drider demanded, his regular voice layered with harsh, gravely rattling.

Logan wheezed in response, absently noting that there were multiple small black eyes visible against the dark marks under the more human set of eyes and wondering just how the two different ocular sensory organs overlapped.

“Virgil, stop!” Patton’s hands appeared at the edge of Logan’s vision, pushing back against Virgil’s shoulders until he eased up, lifting his crouched spider half up only slightly, as though prepared to lunge at Logan again at any moment. “He’s fine! He won’t hurt you!”

Virgil’s glare finally flicked away, though it turned more bewildered-angry than murderous-angry once landing on Patton. Logan wasn’t sure, but he thought the smaller eyes remained locked on him. “This is the mage I told you about! It’s not safe, you need to get out of here--,”

“Mage?” Logan asked, his voice still coming out a little winded. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s not,” Patton said at nearly the same time, “I promise, he just wants to know more about you! Right, Logan?”

“I’m certainly not a mage,” he agreed, rubbing at his arm. The full force of a drider grabbing him… that was going to bruise. He wondered if there was a way to measure that power. “I’m not sure how you got that impression, I don’t have any of the tools mages often carry.”

Virgil looked back and forth between the two humans with clear consternation, and Patton was the one who answered. “Well, most people are afraid at just the sight of him. And… you weren’t.”

“Of course not,” Logan said, still trying to grasp the connection between his lack of fear and his alleged magehood. “I was enthralled. He’s very beautiful.”

Above him, Virgil made a choked-off noise and shuffled back, giving Logan space to sit up and regain full faculty of his senses. Virgil had turned his face away, and Patton was muffling a smile behind his hand.

“Was that… invasive?” Logan asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them. “I apologize, this is my first research voyage, so I may have become... over-enthusiastic.”

Virgil flapped a hand at him, as though trying to physically dispel his words. “What exactly does a ‘research voyage’ entail?”

Logan straightened up, trying to look as professional as possible while still sitting on the forest floor. He suspected there might be detritus in his hair. “It’s a journey undertaken by apprentice-level researchers to expand their knowledge in their specific field. Often, once they have thorough evidence and a compelling thesis, they will return to their teacher and present this in order to advance as a journeyman.”

Of course, Logan had no intention of doing that. He was going to spend as long as he could traveling and learning and compiling his knowledge, until nobody could argue that he wasn’t suited to the world of scholars.

“And your field is… spiders? Monsters?” Virgil asked, eyebrows raised dubiously.

“I am attempting to correct the misconceptions that are so rampant in bestiaries,” Logan corrected. “So many depend on them, but I’ve found very few actually capture the intricacies of the cultures and habits of nonhuman magical beings. They read more like old wives’ tales, passed down and warped with time, and both the scientific community and the beings in question suffer for it.”

“Huh.” Virgil tilted his head slightly, and Logan realized that at some point his smaller eyes had closed, the dark creases vanishing amidst the pockets of shade under his eyes.

“That sounds like the bestiary way to help people!” Patton added, and Logan watched in disbelief as Virgil’s expression relaxed further, the drider snorting softly.

“So all I’d have to do is… be a drider in front of you?” he asked, one of his back legs tapping against the ground in a remarkable imitation of the way a nervous human might tap their foot. Logan nodded. “I guess… it could work. And it’d be nice to have someone else around who won’t scream at the sight of me.”

“New friend!” Patton cheered, looking perhaps more delighted at the idea than Logan’s presence really warranted. “Only the spidaring are cool enough to be friends with Virgil.”

“Is the wordplay going to be a regular thing with him?” Logan asked, his face pinching sourly.

“Better get used to it. He’s punstoppable,” Virgil replied, grinning toothily when Logan shot him a betrayed look. Logan thought he seemed pleased, going by the subtle twitching of his pointy ears.

Logan hid a small smile of his own. Perhaps following Patton wasn't the unwisest decision he'd ever made, after all.