#WE’LL FUCK TIL THE SUN COMES UP

[ghostiedreamsz]

19 HOURGLASSES TO GO

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 EAT IT 'TIL YOUR TEETH ROT!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, suehiro tecchou & jouno saigiku, nakahara chuuya

SUMMARY: oral with the bsd boys! (wordcount: 4k; ņsfw; fem!reader; lowercase intentional/notes app smut ahaha; more warnings at the start of each section!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: plsss someone help me with this divider issue i beg, why can't i use dividers on my fics (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ i got carried away on chuuya's <.<

DAZAI OSAMU

fem!receiving, edging (650 wc)

your breath is shaky, eyes sliding shut as your thighs tremble, keeping them spread apart. one buck of your hips, your thighs clamping down around his head, even letting a moan spill from your lips, and you would lose.

dazai is having the time of his life. you can feel the way his lips curl up into a wide smile against your cunt, the tip of his tongue tracing circles between your folds. you long to bury your hand in his dark curls and force him down between your thighs, burying his face between your folds, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of winning again.

your breath catches as he flicks his tongue over your clit, lips parting in a silent moan. but instead of keeping the pressure on, dazai pulls back, brown eyes peering up at you through his lashes, deceptively innocent.

“did you say something?” he asks, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh as he watches you. 

“osamu,” you warn, but your tone was far less threatening than you intend for it to be considering you’re breathless and it’s tinged with an embarrassing amount of neediness.

“bella,” he coos, “you’re making this so difficult for us both. just agree, and we’ll both get to feel good, yeah?”

difficult for us both, you want to scoff at his words. you can see the sick enjoyment thinly veiled beneath the faux-sympathy—he’s enjoying this, watching you squirm as he edges you over and over again, and that pisses you off even more.

but there isn’t much more of this you can take. your head feels hazy and your vision is blurry—if you look to the clock sitting on his desk, you know it would say it’s nearly seven o’clock, the sun setting long ago. the two of you have been at an impasse for nearly an hour now and-

“fine!” you spit out as dazai’s warm breath ghosts over your cunt again. “fine, i’ll do your goddamn paperwork, you lazy piece of-“

dazai doesn’t even hesitate, pressing his open mouth back against your cunt and sliding his tongue between your folds. this time, you let your thighs clamp down around his head and your hand fly down to grip his dark locks, pressing his face down impossibly closer against you as your back arches up off his desk.

dazai moans shamelessly against you, hands coming up to hold your thighs as he buries his face into your cunt, fucking his tongue deep into you once before sliding up to focus on your clit.

dazai is exceptionally good at using his tongue—usually, he uses it for nefarious means, like talking circles around kunikda until the man gets frustrated enough to storm off or antagonizing chuuya to the point of the port mafia executive erupting, but every once in a while, he puts it to good use.

like now.

you think it should be humiliating how quickly your hips are stuttering against his face, how you’re so quickly breathing out his name, how your mind becomes muddled and empty of anything but the feeling of his hands and his tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“osamu,” you gasp. “osamu, i’m close, i’m-“

dazai sucks gently at your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, and you’re gone. your jaw falls slack and your stomach tightens, hips jerking up and thighs tightening, as you come undone on his tongue.

he lets you ride out the waves of your high, tongue lazily sliding beneath your folds as he laps up all of your cum, careful not to let a single drop go to waste.

as soon as you‘ve mostly settled down, heart still racing and ears still ringing, he leans back.

his eyes are lidded and his cheeks are flushed pink, lips swollen and wet—utterly debauched as he stared up at you. 

“one day, you’ll let me die between these thighs, bella.”

•••

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

male!receiving (850 wc)

you smile softly as you press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, relishing in the way it instinctively jumps at your touch, reacting in a way that the cool and collected man above you certainly will not.

fyodor’s long, thin fingers toy with your hair as you nuzzle your nose into his thigh. he’s more focused on the computer screens in front of him that gives him a bird’s eye view of the events happening yokohama, but every once in a while you can feel the way his fingers pause in their ministrations, proving that you have a bit more of his attention than he’d care to admit.

“fedya,” you murmur, glancing up at him from where you’re kneeling but he barely spares you a glance, frowning at something on the screen. 

you sigh dramatically, turning your attention back to where you had managed to free his cock from its confines. you never thought you’d describe a cock as pretty before you saw his for the first time, but it is. it stands tall and pale with a pretty, leaky pink tip that you can never stop yourself from poking at with your tongue, a vein on its underside that you can never stop yourself from tracing. 

you hum softly as you lean in again to do just that, letting the tip of your tongue trace up the underside of his cock along the vein before letting your lips close gently around the tip of his cock, flattening your tongue against the beading precum.

fyodor’s thighs tense beneath your hands. your eyes gleam, peeking up to see him glancing down at you, an unreadable look in his purple eyes. 

he doesn’t tell you to stop. so you don’t.

reverting your attention back to the job at hand, you let your eyes flutter shut as you take fyodor deeper into your mouth, lips sliding down his cock. your eyes water a bit as your throat adjusts to the stretch—taking fyodor all the way down your throat is always a struggle—but you hear the quiet noise that slips from his lips and immediately, you’re blessed with a newfound willpower because fyodor dostoevsky’s moans might be the prettiest sound in the whole world, and the rarest, but you are determined to hear them tonight.

“temptress,” you hear him sigh. “i indulge in you far too much.” 

your hands slide against his thighs as you shift on your knees to get a better angle, and you feel his fingers slide against your hair, caressing you in a way that makes you want to melt into him. 

you force your eyes back open as you lift your head up, watching as he tilts his head back, lips parted in a silent moan. you kiss up his length messily, and you think that you could spend an eternity on your knees in front of him worshipping his cock if it meant you’d be blessed with the symphony of his soft, breathy moans and gasps. 

sinking your mouth back down around him, your tongue teases his slit before swirling around his length. you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, hips bucking slightly—and you know he’s close. you take him all the way down your throat, only sheer willpower stopping you from gagging around his length, but your efforts prove worthwhile when you hear a choked, obscene moan escape fyodor’s lips at the sudden feeling of your tight throat spasming around him. 

his thighs tense again, fingers pressing just a bit more firmly against the back of your head as he spills his cum down your throat with no warning. you hum around him, swallowing every drop before pulling off of his cock with a pop, tongue darting out to lick your lips as you look up at him.

his expression is fond, if not a little flushed as he holds his hand out to you, beckoning you to join him on his chair. 

you take his hand, letting him help you up from the floor and into his lap, and you shudder when you feel his cock slide against your panties as you settle against his chest, still half hard. you move to try to subtly grind your hips but his hands snap to your waist firmly, keeping you still.

he clicks his tongue in a chiding manner. “insatiable,” he murmurs, cool lips grazing your neck as he leans down to brush them against your skin. “but you have to wait this time, things are finally getting… interesting.” 

you turn your head to the side to look over your shoulder at him, noticing that he’s watching one of the upper screens with rapt fascination. following his gaze, you see a timer counting down from two minutes, and his finger hovering over a button that you know will override the cancellation command should it be hit. 

you lay your head down against his shoulder and mourn, because you think this is going to be the longest two minutes of your life. 

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

fem!receiving, a bit of blood play and pain play, nikolai is so debauched & i love it (850 wc)

nikolai buries his face between your thighs like a man whose been starved for weeks. he’s sloppy, rough, ravenous. he bites your inner thighs so hard that you bleed, and then he licks it up, face smeared with a depraved mixture of spit, cum and blood. 

your breath is shaky as he looks up at you with eyes that are so wide and adoring that it almost looks unfitting on such a crude scene. you reach down, fingers grazing his cheek, and he leans into your touch so instinctually that it makes you want to pull him up and devour him yourself—but instead, you press two fingers to his lower lip and watch as he takes them into his mouth, making a show of lewdly sucking them, eyes fluttering shut and tongue swirling around the digits. you press down hard on his tongue and he moans, high-pitch and whiny, hips instinctively jerking to grind against the bed.

pulling your fingers back from his lips, nikolai doesn’t hesitate as he drops his head back down between your thighs. you let out a breathy sigh as he licks back along the bite on your thigh, lapping up the blood that had spilled while he was sucking your fingers.

your head falls back against your pillow as nikolai drags open mouthed kisses up your thigh to your cunt, eyelids heavy and lips parting. you gasp, feeling nikolai’s tongue sweep between your folds. 

the grip he has on your thighs borders on painful, and you know you’ll have marks in the shape of his fingerprints decorating them in the morning, but it feels good—the bruising grip, the stinging wound on your inner thigh, the feeling of his tongue circling your clit and his lips sliding against your cunt. he’s so messy, so eager, that you can barely think straight.

your fingers twist the sheets beneath you, back arching up off the bed as your hips jerk when nikolai sucks your clit—always playing the dangerous game with his teeth as he lets them graze the sensitive bud, just enough to let a shock run through your body.

he moans against you, loud and obscene as one of your hands fly from the bed to his hair while the other swings to cover your mouth, muffling the noise that nearly slipped through your lips.

a mistake, of course, because nikolai’s instantly reaching up to grab your wrist, pinning it down to the bed next to you. he doesn’t look up at you, too focused on fucking his tongue deep inside of you, nose nudging your clit. your thighs instinctively tighten around his head and you glance down when you hear him let out another muffled groan, this one even more whiny than the last, taking on a lilt that it only takes when he’s close to release, you can tell even with his face buried in your cunt.

“oh, fuck,” you breathe out, eyes widening when you see nikolai grinding his hips against the bed, desperate and erratic, trying to get himself off in time with you.

the sight of it sends a shock through your body, a gasp escaping your lips as you press the back of your head into the pillow, lashes fluttering and thighs trembling on either side of his head. you can feel heat spread through you like a wildfire, your hips instinctively jerking up to grind hard against his face. your wrist strains against his ironclad grip, squirming as his tongue drags in and out of your cunt over and over again.

he pants against you, wanton and shameless, hips snapping against the bed faster, each thrust timed perfectly with his tongue plunging in and out of you. your vision feels blurry and your thigh muscles burn as he tongue fucks you closer and closer to release. 

you try to tell him that you’re close, head falling to the side and saliva pooling at the corner of your lips—your head feels foggy and your body feels hit. the lewd sound of his moans and the creaking of the bed and the sloppy, wet sound of his tongue driving in and out of you, swiping up between your folds, flicking over your clit, it’s all too much for you. you can’t keep up. you’re pretty sure the warning comes out as a garbled slur of incomprehensible words.

your entire body seizes when you cum, thrashing in his hold, your free hand flying up to grab the pillow behind your head as you cry out his name. distantly, you realize that he must have cum too, you can feel the way his hips still against the bed after one last frantic thrust, you can hear the pornographic moans muffled against your cunt—god, he’s shameless, you think again as you lay limp against the bed, reeling from your intense orgasm. 

in your half-dazed state, you feel nikolai rest his cheek you thigh and say: “quiz time!” and you swear you might just suffocate him down there next time.

•••

JOUNO SAIGIKU & SUEHIRO TECCHOU

male!receiving, face fucking, jouno's a bit mean & guides you through it, 'princess' pet name (600 wc)

“that as deep as you can go?” 

jouno has the nerve to sound disappointed as you struggle to take tecchou’s cock down your throat. you want to glare at him, or spit out a vile string of words that would put his mouth to shame, but you can barely even breathe with your lips and throat being stretched like this. 

your nails are biting into tecchou’s tense thighs as you try to keep yourself steady, and you can hear the man breathing heavy above you, his own fingers digging into the edge of the bed he’s sitting on as if he’s afraid to touch you.

you can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, focused on trying to take tecchou deeper because the last thing you want is to give jouno something else to lord over your head. 

“c’mon, princess.” the sweet pet name sounds so degrading and insulting the way jouno says it. you hear his heels clicking against the floor as he makes his way over to the two of you, dread builds in the pit of your stomach as you feel his familiar, thin fingers entangle in your hair, pressing gently against the back of your head. “i taught you better than this.”

“jouno-“ tecchou tries to say. you hardly have a chance to relish in how utterly broken the strongest hunting dog sounds above you, voice breathy and cracking over your boyfriend’s name, because in an instant, jouno’s fingertips are digging into the back of your scalp as he pushes your head down hard, forcing your nose to tecchou’s pelvis. 

your throat spasms at the sudden intrusion, choking and gagging, trying to pull off but jouno’s far too strong for that to be successful. tears spill over your cheeks and your body trembles as you try to adjust but you can’t because tecchou let’s out a strangled gasp as his hips jerk up instinctually, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat hard. 

you can’t breathe, you realize, panicked as black dots swarm your vision. you try to reach back and slap off jouno’s arm but that only spurs him on more. he pulls your head back, making you think he’s going to give you a bit of relief, only to push it back down instantly. cruel. he’s always so cruel.

your nails drag against tecchou’s thighs, leaving deep red lines in their wake as you struggle to remain conscious. you feel pricks and pins all over your body, your head feels fuzzy. 

distantly, you can hear tecchou’s obscene moans and garbled words and you wish you have more awareness because you want to be able to remember this. it’s not everyday you have the meteor slasher crumbling beneath your touch and god knows when, or if, jouno will let this happen again. 

it feels like it’s been an eternity and a second all at once when tecchou’s hips finally stutter and still against your mouth, spilling his cum deep down your throat. you barely even hear his choked warning before the warm, thick liquid is coating the inside of your throat. 

you struggle to swallow, and you think you must look disgusting as jouno finally lets you lift your head from tecchou’s cock and you crumple against his leg, clutching at the red material of his pants to try and hold yourself up—but tecchou looks at you with such a devoted expression that it makes you hot and flustered, and jouno’s fingers are carding gently through your hair as if to make up for the roughness.

“lay down.” you hear him say to tecchou, voice sharp and commanding. “now it’s her turn.”

•••

NAKAHARA CHUUYA

male & fem!receiving (69), face fucking, 'doll' and 'baby' pet name (1.1k wc)

you aren’t sure how chuuya managed to convince you to do this. 

your thighs tremble on either side of his head, straining to not drop all of your weight on his face as you lean forward over his lithe body, lips hovering above his cock. you feel him pinch your outer thigh hard and you yelp, body jerking instinctively. 

“c’mon, doll,” chuuya coos, trying to coax you into lowering your hips so that you’re sitting on his face, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “you know i can handle it. relax.”

his tone is soft, but you can hear the edge to it, almost as if he sounds insulted over the fact that you don’t trust in his capabilities and you would roll your eyes if you weren’t so nervous.

“i don’t want to suffocate you,” you snap at him, thigh muscles already burning painfully.

“don’t piss me off.” chuuya’s temper finally starts to waver after five minutes of trying to make you relax. his words are biting, as if your fears are utterly ludicrous. “stop holding yourself up or i’ll make you stop.”

“chuuya,” you complain, a bit more pathetically this time.

chuuya doesn’t even deign you with a response this time. you gasp when you feel his arms hook around your thighs, toned biceps tensing as he physically forces you down on his face. your eyes shoot open, lips parting in a silent moan when he immediately buries his face into your cunt, tongue licking a blazing stripe between your folds.

“chuuya,” you cry when you feel his lips close around your clit, rolling the sensitive bud between his teeth gently. 

chuuya hums around you, the vibrations making your abdomen coil and your hips unconsciously grind down against his face. he jerks his hips up, as if he’s impatient, and you vaguely remember what you’re supposed to be doing, laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against his length.

you can hardly think straight as chuuya’s tongue swirls around your clit, heat spreading through your body rapidly. it takes three attempts, but you’re finally able to wrap your lips around the tip of chuuya’s cock, the familiar taste of his precum overwhelming your senses.

you try to focus on sliding your lips down his length—a difficult endeavor considering chuuya is evidently doing his best to make it impossible for you with how he plunges his tongue into your hole, one hand sliding up your thigh so he can press his thumb against your clit. 

your head feels light and airy, and with a bit of diluted horror, you realize you might be close to cumming already—with the taste of chuuya on your tongue, the sound of him groaning against you, the feel of his tongue and fingers working deftly to bring you closer to release, it’s almost too much for your body to handle. 

you don’t even realize that you’re barely sucking him off until chuuya gets impatient, this time snapping his hips up so abruptly that he drives his cock halfway down your throat. your eyes shoot open, a muffled moan spilling from your lips at the unexpected action, because chuuya is hardly ever forceful when you give him head, always letting you take the lead. 

“fuck,” chuuya breathes out, gasping as he kisses your thigh, panting for air before he dives right back in. “you liked that, didn’t you? want me to fuck your face, baby? felt you tighten ‘round my tongue.”

you don’t respond—can’t really. chuuya’s hips snap up again, forcing his cock deeper down your throat, your lips flush to his pelvis, his tip shoved down the back of your throat. you gag around him, tears spilling over your cheeks as your nails dig into his thighs, trying to adjust to his length stretching you.

“so fucked out already that you can’t even do one job,” he sighs softly, lifting his head to ghost his lips back against your clit, your entire body shivers as you let out a muffle sob around his cock. “s’okay, doll, i’ll do all the work.”

he hardly gives you a second to process his words, not that you’d be able to even if he did give you the time. you’re choking over him as he thrusts his hips up again, fingers digging into your ass cheeks as he drags you back down so he can smother himself in your cunt. 

your head feels foggy—you’re not sure if it’s from lack of air and the feeling his cock bullying your throat and his hips rutting against your face, or if it’s from the way chuuya’s tongue is drawing circles around your clit so quickly that you can barely keep up, dragging between your folds to fuck deep inside of you before repeating the process over and over and over again. 

you’re so gone. you’re so gone, you can’t think straight, your body feels like its on fire, thighs straining around his head, chuuya is moaning against you, thrusts erratic and frenzied as he chases his release. you’re still sputtering around him, your face must be a mess of drool and cum, and you think you might be cumming already, you can’t tell, you’re trying to focus on getting him off but he wasn’t lying when he said he’d do all of the work, you can scarcely even flatten your tongue along the vein that runs on the underside of his cock.

you don’t need to though, because the moment chuuya feels you moaning his name around his cock with your cum staining the lower half of his face, his hips stutter and still against your face, cumming so deep down your throat that you genuinely think you might drown in it. 

you should pull off of him, you’re struggling to breathe through your nose, your vision is spotty, but your limbs won’t cooperate with you, laying limp on—you wonder if you’re about to pass out.

luckily, chuuya still seems to have enough sense for the both of you.

he reaches down, hands wrapping around your waist so he can twist you around so that you’re laying comfortably on his chest. still desperately trying to recover from your orgasm, you settle against him, listening to the steady thrum of his heart as you try to ground yourself.

“see, baby.” his chest rumbles gently as he speaks lowly, a comforting familiarity, you’re still so out of it that you find yourself starting to dose off. you can hear the soft smile on his face as he tilts his head down to ghost his lips against your hair. “not so bad, was it? don’t be so nervous next time.” 

[jeon-ify]

request from @sanspuppet !!

8. wanna fuck you in the back seat

21. atta girl, taking it so deep on your stomach

.MDNI.

—————————————————————————————

deep in the back seat- keeho

“my god keeho, you never wanna go on road trips! its only 4 hours its not like-“ he sighed. he never likes driving. ever. and if he ever did drive, it’ll only be around the city, or to go on dates— but never for over 30 minutes.

lately, you’ve been wanting to go to another state. road trips are so much fun, but only with keeho. he made everything so much more fun and elevated. he listens to the same music, he raps the same verses you do, and he just gets it.

“ok, yeah we’ll go. but don’t expect me to drive the entire way there, baby. at least drive half way.” he argues. he’s wearing a white tee that hugs his neck so perfectly, and black baggy sweatpants. he’s wearing the chain you got him for his birthday, and the cologne you bought him for christmas. it’s his favorite.

you can’t stop staring no matter how hard you tried. he likes arguing with you just to argue with you. it turns him on. but at things like this, its kinda hard to tell if he’s serious or not.

“kee, are you serious..” you drop your eyes and lose all recollection of whatever he just said.

“kee, i’ll drive wherever, baby. just go with me. we’ll have so much fun,” you beg, and you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes drop to your lips.

“i’ll come with you, pookie. but you gotta play my song. promise me baby.”

keeho LOVES dirty music. his favorite was ‘friends’ by chase atlantic.

“yesss, i’ll play it!!” you laugh.

———————

the drive out of state is so much more fun with keeho. he’s still in the same clothes he was in at home, but you’re wearing a crop and his black sweats. he wasnt any smaller or bigger than you, but his clothes are gonna be a tad bit baggier.

“AND WHAT THE HELL WERE WE?? TELL ME WE WERENT JUST FRIENDS!!! THIS DOESNT MAKE MUCH SENSE NO” you’re both screaming with the windows down, your hand in your boyfriend’s face, and his chain shining in the sun.

the song comes to an end and you and him take a deep breath. “my god, never gets old.” he says. he looks at you in a way you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“baby, pull over.” he asks, making all the eye contact possible.

“wait what? we’re literally almost there. relax, kee.” he wants to fuck you.

“if you dont pull over in the next 10 minutes, y/n.” he threatens. you don’t wanna push his buttons so you speed up and find an empty parking lot.

“okay!! god, i’m pulling over stop fucking yelling!” you argue. you really really want him to fuck you.

“get in the back. wanna fuck you in the back seat, pretty girl.” he groans and stares at your ass while you move to the back. he takes his shirt off while youre switching seats, and he follows you. he sits in the middle, manspreading and his cock hard the entire ride. you see it twitch just a little bit and you shift your eyes to his collarbone.

“kee, what’s gotten you so worked up, hm?” you ask, your doe eyes staring straight into his sharp almond eyes. you run your fingers up his collarbones and to his neck.

“you look too pretty, baby. couldn’t stop thinking about fucking you right here. want you on my cock ‘til youre screaming.” he moans. he moans.

his voice sends a thrill to your pussy and he grabs your hair and pushes you deeper into his kiss. he owns you, he owns your body and you willingly gave into him. the kiss is all tongue and teeth, he’s deep in your mouth and he tastes like the sweetest candy. “kee, please. please touch me.” you moan. he moves his hand to your throat and applies pressure right below your jaw, and he watches the way your eyes roll back.

“get on top of me baby, don’t even need to prep you, you’re soaking my fuckin’ pants.” he puts his middle and ring finger in your mouth and fucks your throat with his hand. “there you go, baby. get me soaked, all over baby. fuckkkk.” his eyes roll back and you feel him twitch again under you.

he moves his hand from your mouth and runs them under your pants just to feel that you were already fucking soaked since before you left the house 2 hours ago. “keeho, fucking do something please, j-just want you- mmmm.” you moan , as if he fucked you stupid already.

“need to stretch you out before i fuck you, can you even handle me?” he asks, his eyebrows furrow in faux concern and that alone makes you cum. he pushes his soaked fingers into your hole at an ungodly pace, the heel of his hand pushing against your clit. the rush sends you squirting all over his abs and his lower stomach. “fuck, kee, ‘m sorry baby, i’ll clean you up.” you apologize and he shows no emotion, yet he just wants to fuck you and get it over with. he’s rock hard. he needs you.

“take your pants off. take your top off. don’t say a fucking word.” he grabs your neck yet again. he licks your lips like you were a popsicle, and he kisses your chin and brings you to a deeper haze, by applying more pressure.

you take off your top and he squeezes your left tit and sucks on the right one. you feel him pressing into you but you can’t make a sound. he feels you clenching around him already.

“i feel you squeezing my dick, pretty. feels like heaven.” he groans, he’s fucking up into you and your head is muzzled in his neck. you suck the spot right below his ear and he sighs. the more you suck on it, the deeper his thrusts get.

“mmm, kee, please fuck.” you moan. you’re so loud and he’s so deep, you see his dick literally right above your belly button pumping you full.

“fuck baby, look at that. see it in my stomach you’re so fucking big.” you grab his hand and put it on the spot he keeps hitting.

“atta girl, look at you taking it so deep in your stomach. so fucking pretty. my beautiful whore.” he kisses your nipple and sucks. hard.

“kee! fuck i’m cumming!” you stutter. his hips speed up and you cum all over his cock.

“there you go baby, keep fucking cumming on me. so messy baby. love you like this.” he groans and grabs your hair and pulls your head up so he licks a stripe right up your neck.

“fuck baby, fucking squeezing me. cum again with me baby. need to fill you up.” his hips speed up and thumb strums your clit and your entire body twitches.

he reaches his orgasm and a layer of sweat coat his face and neck.

“my god baby, we need to go on more road trips together.” he laughs.

“told you, dumbass.”

———————————

I HOPE THIS IS GOOD IDKKKK TYSM AGAIN

#keeho

[capy123]

🍓 ⊹₊ ⋆ SHORT COLLECTIVE S/O READING₊ ⋆ ⊹ (if you are interested in a reading check my pinned post! 🎀)

-pick a fruit that calls u the most:

1 ⊹₊peaches

2 ⊹₊strawberries

3 ⊹₊blueberries

⊹₊

⊹₊

⊹₊

⊹₊

⊹₊

⊹₊

⊹₊

⊹₊

⊹₊

-PEACH🍑:

your s/o deeply desires to be with you, but there is a significant obstacle preventing this union. it could be a figure of authority such as a parent, a mentor, or some other influential force. despite the current pain of separation, they want to reassure you that this difficult period will be worth it in the end. your bond is strong and meant to be, and the struggles you face now will only strengthen your connection in the future. they can be a bit egoistic and a troublemaker. i also see freckles and red hair. your s/o definitely comes from a wealthy and powerful family, but they’ve always gone against the rules, which makes them the odd one out in their family, the bad example. you’re like a breath of fresh air to them.

🍑 ⊹₊ ⋆ SONG CHANELLED: “ONCE THEN WE’LL BE FREE” BY WISP [https://open.spotify.com/track/654f3RV4IZdpvH189db8mQ?si=b8dZnHl6TLaJiHb2C4jKSw]

⊹₊ ⋆ LYRICS THAT STOOD OUT:

“i’ll find you in these waters

so, reach your arm out to me”

“i promise it’ll end soon

once then we’ll be free”

“stay with me

in my arms”

“stay with me

‘til we’re free”

they want you to stay with them even if it’ll be frowned upon, i’m hearing “trust me” and “kiss my ass” they’ll embrace your relationship, 0 fucks given.

——————————————————————————

BLUEBERRIES 🫐: your s/o is happy to have you, i see that they’ve had a very lonely childhood/life and never really had anyone that loves him the way you do.

but i'm seeing that your s/o feels left out in the cold, jealous in silence, and watches from a distance. they feel envious of another person in your life, thinking, "you’ll never love them like me." they genuinely believe you’re confused because they feel like you’re not choosing them, though it’s not the case. they’re very insecure when it comes to you. "it’s either them or me," they say. they’re greedy, wanting you all to themselves, but what they don’t realize is that you are theirs. their insecurity is causing them pain. they just need reassurance from you, as i'm seeing a lack of communication. i see soft features and black hair, a gloomy street and a bike (?), rain might be significant.

🫐 ⊹₊ ⋆ SONG CHANELLED: “EACH TIME YOU FALL IN LOVE” BY CIGARETTES AFTER SEX. [https://open.spotify.com/track/6YbqjyoqQx9p13IndkOzeP?si=ywPHsvEmTiuLguV-WvmzqQ]

⊹₊ ⋆ LYRICS THAT STOOD OUT:

“all i wanna know if you love her”

“you sleep all day and drive out in LA”

“it isn’t safe”

i feel they’re very protective and possesive of you, and a little bit dramatic on the way they express it. they want you all to themselves and they’re not thinking of sharing, which may be overbearing for you. they tend to exaggerate things you do or say, and take them out of context. 😭 they love you, they just have never had something like this, and the last thing they would want is to loose it, there are no bad intentions behind it.

———————————————————————————

-STRAWBERRIES🍓: with the sun, ace of wands reversed, and seven of cups, you are a blessing in your s/o’s life. you bring them love and warmth, and they’re incredibly happy to have you. they shower you with gifts, pamper you, and treat you as you deserve. you light up their life, and all they want is for you to be happy. you give them goosebumps when you walk into the room, and your presence lights it up. i'm seeing curly hair as significant, as well as driving around together during sunsets, you give them a purpose, they feel as if they won the lottery with you.

🍓⊹₊ ⋆ SONG CHANELLED: “BEST PART” BY DANIEL CAESAR & H.E.R. [https://open.spotify.com/track/1RMJOxR6GRPsBHL8qeC2ux?si=6aDFlTn6T52I8zipP3sxHw&context=spotify%3Aplaylist%3A06KPbIYzZEhwVxRULAD3eu]

⊹₊ ⋆LYRICS THAT STOOD OUT:

“when you hold me, and kiss me slowly, it’s the sweetest thing”

“you’re the coffee that i need in the morning”

“won’t you give yourself to me, give it all”

“i just wanna see how, beautiful you are”

i feel like you might be a bit hesitant or unsure at times, but they bring out a side of you that is confident and they absolutely love it, they wish you were like that more often, because it looks so beautiful on you. :)

———————————————————————————

[elvenbeard]

Somewhere in Manila, 2078

“It is pretty nice here,” V said, and Kerry put his arm around him, pulling him a bit closer as he turned his head to look at him.

“C’mon, just ‘pretty nice’?” he asked grinning.

“Okay, it’s beautiful, breathtaking, astounding!” V said and Kerry chuckled, “You weren’t exaggerating.”

“And this is just the hotel! Wait ‘til you see the city. And the beaches! But we gotta drive a little to get to the better ones. Nothin’ beats the one in Tangalan anyway, but that’ll have to wait 'til next week…”

Kerry went on rambling about all they had planned, everything he wanted to show V, parties and events they could go to, the secret spots only he and maybe a handful of other people knew. Some of it all sounded quite adventurous, and V still struggled to imagine Kerry clambering through the jungle to get to some of these extra special hidden gems. But his excitement was downright infectious. Truly just adorable. V was relieved to see Kerry so genuinely happy again, too, the stress of the last weeks really had been weighing him down. Getting ready for this trip in the background had been his sole motivator for staying on top of the mountain of promo events for his album.

Just three more interviews before we can get on the plane. Just this one photoshoot, and then I can finally start packing my stuff. That one private show, that one industry party, that one red carpet, and then Lee can kiss my ass and we’ll fuck off across the Pacific.

Being here now finally, chilling at the hotel bar and recovering from the long flight, still felt somewhat surreal.

“… - and we really gotta go to Quinta Market later. Gonna cure your resentment to street food there once and for all.”

Kerry took a sip of his drink, then looked back at V, who had been watching him the whole time, a little tired and absentmindedly, but full of affection.

“What?” he asked, frowning slightly, but kept up his smile, the silver lines around his eyes and down his cheeks sparkling in the setting sun.

“Nothin’,” V said, “I’m happy you’re happy to be back here, is all.”

Kerry leaned over and gave him a quick kiss.

“I’m happy you’re here with me,” he said, “That’s all that matters.”

AAAAHHH. A little bit of behind the scenes rambling here!!!

I didn't forget to take a pic of my setup at least this time XD I set this up at Denny's pool (free of concrete thankfully), because there is little distracting Night City scenery in the background that would destroy the illusion of this not being Night City xD But admittedly, the setup was a little rushed bc I just wanted to do some fluffy pics. I could actually spend hours setting up my scenes with all the awesome props I keep discovering o.o

Also: I had Kerry's summer vibes outfit ready since early June, but just didn't get around to doing anything with it until two weeks ago, AND THEN I didn't have time to edit the pics because other stuff kept grabbing my attention instead xD

But there is more to come, I have a whole lot more summer pics ready, all incredibly fluffy... because I need some fluff and knowing they have this in their future waiting for them, while on the side I'm writing the most angsty fic with constant dread and setbacks and death looming on the horizon, you know XD

Dad Shirts by @pinkyjulien 💛 I love them so much, I want Kerry's shirt for myself irl, it's my fave of the tropical recolors, the colors and pattern are so nice... and suit him so well imo!!

Also this is totally the follow up to the road trip pics I posted last week. They drove to L.A., spent a day or two there, and then hopped on the plane to Manila xD

[mynameismckenziemae]

Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone-Bonus Scene.

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)

What happened between Bob and Sunny after the impromptu photo shoot (found here)

Warnings: oral (both receiving) anal play, p in v, mutual masturbation, use of ‘good girl’, etc.

“Your 2 hours start now!”

Bob hears Cyclone yell as he powers on his phone and strips to his boxers briefs, hanging his clothes over the edge of his bunk.

He lays back and taps on your contact name, cock already half-hard in anticipation.

________________________________________

“Bobby! Hey!” You answer excitedly when you see he’s FaceTiming.

“Hey Sun, wow. You look gorgeous.”

You’re wearing one of his threadbare ‘US NAVY’ shirts, face bare, and hair pulled into a messy bun since you were just getting ready to relax in bed for a while.

“Thanks, you do too.” He does, his chest bare and hair mussed from taking his shirt off. “I’ve got some pictures that I wanted to send you when I finally got a chance to talk. Can I send them now?”

He nods. “Yeah, Bradley’a giving me the first hour so I’m alone. What are they of?”

“You’ll see,” you smile as you hit send, “let me know when you get them.”

“I will, what’s you do today—Jesus, Sunny!”

He got the pictures.

You laugh. “Row and I went out for brunch and did some shopping after.”

“Did brunch include tequila?” He groans as he sees more come through on his screen.

“How did you know?” You say cheekily.

“Where was this? Please tell me you bought that. Whose hand is that—oh, it’s Rowan…Oh. Holy shit, Sun. She’s touching you.” Bob rambles, his cheeks red, running his hand through his hair.

“Do you like them?” You smile.

“Yes. Jesus Christ.” He groans when he pulls up to his new favorite.

“Which one do you like the best?”

“The one where you’re on your knees, eyes closed and Row’s thumb is pressing on your lips. You look like you’re about to put my cock in your mouth.” He rasps out, you can see the movement in his shoulder.

“Bobby, are you touching yourself?”

He nods with a groan.

“Let me watch.”

“I don’t know if I should. Maybe I should tease you like…” he trails off and his eyes drift close before he continues, “tease you like you tease me.”

“Please?” You slip his shirt over your head and reveal your naked chest to him.

“Alright.” He caves and props his phone so you can see all of him.

A strangled mewl leaves you at the sight of him fisting his cock, the other resting behind his head.

“You look so good baby,” you purr as your hands trail over your chest, one hand toying with your nipples as the other travels further south.

“You do too, Sunny. Suck your fingers for me first, like you do my cock. Get them nice and wet.” He pants.

You do as he asks, sucking your index and middle finger into your mouth lewdly.

He grunts, slowly his moments until your fingers are nice and wet. You sigh when you bring them to your clit.

“Good girl. Have you touched yourself since I’ve been gone?”

You nod, “Twice, you?”

“No, between hops and briefings and sharing a room and the bathrooms aren’t private…,” he whines.

“You poor thing, we’ll make up for it when you’re back, okay?” You sigh, pushing your fingers inside and using the heel of your palm on your clit. “What are you gonna do to me when you’re back?”

“You’re gonna greet me on your knees and I’m gonna fuck your pretty mouth. You’re gonna swallow like a good girl too. Then I’m gonna lay you out on our bed and eat your pussy ‘til you can’t take any more.”

“Yes, yes I want that. Will you put that plug in while you go down on me…fuck me with it in after?” You whine, your orgasm starting to build.

“Yes, fuckkkk.” He grits out.

“I had it in the last time I got myself off, I feel so full. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like with you inside me too,” you whimper, so close.

Bob groans, his back arching as he finishes, ropes of cum painting his toned stomach. You’re next and you whimper as your orgasm pulses through you.

You smile at him when you’re able to open your eyes. His cheeks are red and his hair is a mess; he’s wrecked and you love it.

“Shit, Bradley’s gonna be back in a few minutes. Can I text you?”

“Sounds good, I’ll get cleaned up too. Love you.”

“Love you too, Sun.”

________________________________________

He texts you a few minutes later, but you only get a few messages back and forth before he sends you one saying not to worry, but their phones are getting cut early. The messages sent after came back as not delivered.

You sigh and text Rowan to let her know in case she and Bradley got cut off; she was relieved because they did.

________________________________________

You work twelve-hour shifts the next two days and are exhausted as you walk in the door, not even seeing Bob’s truck in the driveway.

That exhaustion disappears though when you get inside and spot him on the couch, he rises as soon as he spots you.

You squeal and jump into his arms, peppering his face with kisses. “What are you doing home so early?!”

“Training went better than anticipated,” he smiles, setting you down with a squeeze to your ass.

“Did you pick up Steve?” You ask looking around for him. Annie keeps him some nights when you have to work a few 12-hour shifts in a row; more at the request of the girls than for Steve, but it works out for everyone.

“No, I texted Annie that I could come pick him up, but the girls asked to keep him for one more night.”

“Will you shower with me?” You ask, untying your scrubs. You like to shower before doing anything after a long day at the hospital.

He nods and lets you lead him to the bathroom.

________________________________________

You bring him off on your knees in the shower, sucking his soul out of his dick.

He comes in your mouth as promised and pulls you off him by your hair when he finishes.

“Swallow, yeah, yeah…like that. Let me see,” he pants, tapping your lips with his thumb.

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. You open your mouth and show him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek.

________________________________________

He washes your hair and then your body, bringing you off with his fingers before he lets you wash him too.

Then, he warms you up the supper he made earlier and asks about your week as you eat before bringing you to bed.

He lays you on the bed and kisses his way down your body, detouring and spending a long time torturing and teasing your nipples; nipping, licking, biting, pinching until they’re red and oversensitive.

“Please Bob,” you cry, trying to push his head where you want him.

“Alright,” he chuckles and continues south.

He licks at your clit. Once, twice, three times but then stops. You whimper and look at him.

“Where’s that toy and lube?”

Your head falls back in exasperation but you point to the nightstand.

He chuckles, reaching for it and you gasp a few moments later when his lubed-up fingers work into your ass, his mouth goes back to your clit; gentle and tender, like the fingers inside you.

You cry out as you climax, just as he pushes the plug in. He gently kisses your pulsing clit before leaving to wash his hands, returning before you even come back down.

Your back arches, hands grip his hair and you keen as he devours you now; a sharp contrast to the gentleness from a few minutes prior. He groans against you as his hips rut against the bed and his fingers slide into your aching pussy.

“Fuck!” You wail as he brings you off again. And again. And again. So many times you lose track.

He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean before he slides back up your body and pushes into your pussy.

You inhale sharply at the full, almost overwhelming feeling and your nails dig into his ass.

“Oh God, Sun. You okay?” Bob grits out, feeling a little overwhelmed himself.

You mewl and nod, clenching around him and he hisses. He recovers though and starts moving his hips, his pubic bone brushing against your clit.

He kisses along your neck, sucking a bruise into your collarbone. It doesn’t take long before your vision goes white and your ears ring as the most intense orgasm washes over you.

Bob clenches his jaw, fighting not to follow you over the edge as you flutter around him. He fails though, and grunts on your shoulder; sweet desperate sounds as he fills your pussy with his spend.

________________________________________

After you’re cleaned up, he strokes your head in bed.

“Were the pictures okay? They weren’t… too much?” You ask. Bob has healed so many of your insecurities and doubts your ex caused, but they still crept in sometimes.

“Never. You’re never too much. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life proving it to you,” he murmurs into your hair, “the pictures were incredible and sexy, just like you.”

“Thank you.” You smile into his chest.

“I do have a question though. Are you…into girls at all?”

You laugh. “No, not really. I find some women attractive, but I’m not attracted to them. It was really hot though, knowing we would get you guys all hot and bothered.”

“Well, it worked.”

________________________________________

A/N: I’ve been having a writers block with Bradley and Rowan, so I wrote this instead at the request of @phoenix-rising-starbird-one I hope you like it!

Tagging:

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

@mrsrobertfloyd

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@ingoaliesitrust

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

[heyimdove]

TW: climate change, wildfires, hurricanes, woe.

Sorry, I know you follow me for Good Omens stuff, but I’m freaking out.

San Diego doesn’t get hurricanes, but one, (a category 4???) is coming for us.

I’m a born and raised San Diegan and I can’t believe I’m typing this at all. But here we are, facing Hurricane Hilary and collectively holding our breath, wondering if we’ll be okay. Wondering what we’ll look like in a few hours.

I’m a worrier. I worry. I worry for our loud wonderful parrots who wake me up every day, and for our marine wildlife who I love with all my heart. I fear for our homeless community, who have already dealt with enough this year just existing, and who are too often children. I worry for the people who believe they’ll be okay, will make a bad decision or two, and prove themselves wrong.

It all makes me think of 2003.

For a week that October, it felt like the world was ending. The Cedar Fire, which was the biggest fire in California history (might still be) burned for a week. I was little.

We had never had snow days (the only snow we get out here comes in cone form), but suddenly white ash was falling like snow and school was canceled. This was the first revelation to me that we were really In It.

I remember sitting at the sliding glass door with my big sister, small feet pressed against the glass, as we watched the sky turn black from smoke and ash. I remember how you could only tell it was daytime because you could still see the sun behind the smoke. It was this ominous, dull red orb, like a dying ember, like Sauron’s eye, like God had abandoned us but stuck around to watch til the credits rolled. Even inside, we held wet washcloths over our noses and mouths so we wouldn’t inhale the ash that snuck into the house through cracks we didn’t know we had.

I remember my dad, crying and clutching the phone, as he begged my grandma to follow evacuation orders to leave their house. Grandpa didn’t want to go, so he stood on the roof with a garden hose, watching a wall of fire two blocks away as it ate trees and homes. He stood up there, spraying the roof like it would make any difference, while Grandma broke down and screamed for him to escape while they still could. Dad kept saying “leave him, Mom, leave him!”

I’ll be honest: that fucked me up.

Scripps Ranch, their part of town, has eucalyptus trees. They’re oily. They blow up when they catch fire. He only agreed to leave when he watched one explode a few houses away. My loyal, loving grandma didn’t leave him behind.

That taught me something strange about love that I haven’t been able to untangle since. I love my grandfather, but I never have forgiven him for what he put her through that day. What he prioritized under the black skies and white ash and red sun when people were dying. I wonder if he thinks he won, that he beat the fire, because their house didn’t burn in the end. I wonder if he thinks of himself as David and the fire Goliath, not realizing that his David was so small, Goliath hadn’t ever known he existed.

I hope so much that we don’t get more Davids this time around.

That people don’t hear about 19ft waves and grab their boards. Don’t drive their cars through the same place it always floods in Mission Valley, the same place people always end up drowning. Don’t try to save a house and lose a life instead.

That fire season was our worst, but fire response has improved so much since. Everyone said it was so bad because we hadn’t been prepared; now we do backburns, controlled burns, we’re better about campfire education. We’re safer now. We listen to evacuation orders. We have bug out bags and back up plans and binders where we keep our important documents. Aside from the occasional low-grade panic when I smell fire in the air that may be a barbecue, may not, I’m not really even afraid of wildfires now, only sad for the places impacted by them, like Hawaii and Canada. I find myself wondering what their sun looks like.

When I think back, I also remember how everyone came together to help. Firefighters from across the country and around the world came to help fight. Came to help us. It chokes me up as I write- especially when I think about the active fire maps and remember we only have so many firefighters.

I hope we don’t need backup this time. But I’m scared anyway.

Because we don’t have hurricane practice. This is new. The rain this year was new. The October-June winter was new. I’m scared this is is like 2003 and we’ve got a massive deadly natural event and no idea how to fight it. We didn’t build for this.

I hope this is just a dramatic response to what winds up being nothing. I was in Ireland during Hurricane Ophelia, and that was a bit of wild weather, but most people shrugged it off. I’m crossing fingers and everything else I can for an Ophelia situation.

To any San Diegans reading: don’t shoot the Hurricane.

But if it’s worse, then I just want to say I love my city. I love the way we held each other up in 2003 and 2007 and 2020-22. I hope we never have to again, but I’m grateful I have all of you if we do.

I just sandbagged around the house, covered the windows with blankets, filled the freezer with ice. Everything’s charging, my flashlights have batteries, and my bathtub is clean and full of water. I’m not religious, but I still said a little prayer for the fish in my pond and brought in the patio umbrella. I couldn’t catch the black cat that hangs out in my yard so I said a little prayer for her, too.

I hope I reblog this on Monday to tell you I’m a silly and melodramatic idiot, but today I’m scared. Climate change is real and something must be done. I’m sick of fires and floods and this self-fulfilling prophecy that the end is nigh.

We still have options. We have addresses (figuratively speaking). We know how to build the guillotines (figuratively speaking). We outnumber those who would have our streets flood and our homes burn for personal profit- and we can permanently separate them from it (figuratively speaking). And I am tired of speaking in codes about who our enemies are now that the planet is fighting back. I’m sick of having to say I’m figuratively speaking.

[halloweeneverlong]

selfish machines sentence starters

sentence starters taken from selfish machines by pierce the veil <3

besitos

- “you’re my favorite explosion.”

- “you’d better not get back up!”

- “leave the water by the bed for later.”

- “i’m tired of holding up your backup plans.”

- “all you have is not enough.”

- “i heard what you said. a friend of a friend.”

- “if that doesn’t turn you on, i’ll keep talking ‘til something does.”

- “i’ll steal you flowers from the cemetery gates.”

- “so say it. i’m in love.”

- “don’t expect me to understand.”

- “she was covered in blood, last seen in san francisco.”

- “they were there from beginning to end.”

southern constellations

- “please keep chasing me.”

- “i’ll never let you freeze without me.”

the boy who could fly

- “it’s time to take you home.”

- “i’ll be the brightest someday.”

- “don’t ruin a perfect thing.”

- “why do i still pray? when will it end? and who fucking cares?”

- “i swear to god, i did what i could.”

- “i’d rather be dead.”

- “don’t rain on my parade!”

- “i guess i never should have loved you.”

- “if you were gonna leave this world, how could it be without me?”

- “love dies like a dog.”

caraphernilia

- “there ain’t a thing that you can do that’s gonna ruin my night.”

- “honestly, it’s harder breathing next to you.”

- “hold my heart, it’s beating for you anyway.”

- “what if i can’t forget you?”

- “what’s so good about picking up the pieces?”

- “just give her back to me.”

- “you can’t just throw me away!”

- “what if i don’t even want to?”

- “i’d better learn to live alone.”

fast times at clairemont high

- “i was saving myself for you.”

- “we’ll be throwing a party.”

- “hold on, this is innocent blood.”

- “without you, nothing ever mattered.”

- “if i die, you die too.”

- “i just wanted one dance with you.”

- “melodramatic, but it turns me on.”

- “i’d kill anyone who gets too close.”

the new national anthem

- “somebody’s supposed to fall in love.”

- “you’ll be excited just to see me someday.”

- “darling, look at the sparks!”

- “you hold my attention without even trying.”

- “love, don’t forget to bleed.”

- “if i ever catch the ones who hurt you, i’m hoping that god looks away this time.”

bulletproof love

- “we used to laugh until we choked.”

- “it was the best time of my life.”

- “now i sleep alone, so don’t wake me up.”

- “the taste of you and me will never leave my lips again.”

- “i wanna hold your hands so tight i’m gonna break my wrist.”

- “i’m barely hanging on.”

- “by the time you’re hearing this i’ll already be gone.”

- “there’s nothing to do.”

- “this isn’t fair! don’t you try to blame this on me.”

- “my love for you was bulletproof, but you’re the one who shot me.”

- “goddamn it, i can barely say your name.”

stay away from my friends

- “i want you in the most unromantic ways.”

- “you’re torturing me with a beautiful face.”

- “come on, i thought we had a damn good thing.”

- “stay away from my friends.”

- “i still can’t believe how you look next to me.”

i don’t care if you’re contagious

- “i don’t wanna leave without you buried by my side.”

- “they’ll never take us alive.”

- “i would rather spend my life vacations in bed with you.”

- “i don’t care if you’re sick, i don’t care if you’re contagious. i would kiss you even if you were dead.”

- “i’d do anything to hold your hand.”

disasterology

- “i drank the poison then i passed the fuck out.”

- “i have a million different kinds of fun.”

- “can we create something beautiful and destroy it?”

- “you were screaming ‘till the police came.”

- “if every living thing dies alone, what am i doing here?”

- “if it’s the end of the world, you and me should spend the rest of it in love.”

million dollar houses (the painter)

- “would you ever try to leave me?”

- “i’ve broken bones for you, and for you only.”

- “we can run, baby, run now.”

- “i still remember how you moved so slow.”

- “we don’t stop ‘til someone’s bleeding.”

- “i make money, but we just can’t keep this home.”

- “sometimes the moon looks brighter than the sun.”

- “sometimes things don’t work out the way we planned.”

- “maybe we’re meant to lose the ones we love, but i’ll fight for you ‘til then.”

the sky under the sea

- “it’s gonna be the best day of my life.”

- “you’ll never be as beautiful without me.”

- “you’ll be alright as long as i’m not.”

- “sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you want.”

- “is this fantasy real, or is it all home-made?”

- “yeah, that’s fuckin’ right.”

- “do you think you’re the only one afraid?”

[in-death-we-fall]

Six Feet Down Under

Metal Hammer 112, April 2003

Touring and whoring on the other side of the world, Hammer kept a diary of death with the Murderdolls through their residency at Australia’s Big Day Out festival. Shock horror: Mark Hughes. B-movie hero: Tony Mott.

(drive link)

The Big Day Out. The Australian travelling musical circus that steamrolls its way around Australia and New Zealand every winter with the hottest bands on the planet flying from all over the globe to join down under’s best bands in a mayhem filled fortnight. This year’s line-up, features among others, The Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age, Jane’s Addiction, Jimmy Eat World, The Hard Ons and deathglam monstrosities, the Murderdolls. So far, the Mid West (sic) based five-piece outfit have been the cream of the festival, appropriately headlining the ‘Essentials’ stage. This is the band’s first time in the Antipodes and quizzical music fans have crowded to see the much-talked about live set. With Sydney copping the biggest crowds of all the legs on the tour, the band are preparing something special. But at 3pm in the afternoon you wouldn’t know it. Most of the band are still in bed from the night before, well, actually… the week before.

The ‘Dolls have been in Sydney for five days before their Big Day Out show and not finding much to do early on in the week they’ve just been getting down to the (sic) rock’n’roll’s most popular pastime: hard drinking. Drummer ‘Big’ Ben ‘The Ghoul’ Graves and bass player Eric Griffin are recovering from last night’s binge. While singer Wednesday and guitarist Joey Jordison are recovering from the night before the night before. Acey Slade, who maintains his sobriety, but still stays out ‘til dawn, has been up since !!am and is the only one ready for the show. With the band on stage at 7:15pm, things need doing. Staggering through their beer can and ‘paraphernalia’-strewn rooms to the showers, they’re down in their van and on the way out to the Big Day Out site just after 4pm.

Situated at the same place that hosted the Sydney 2000 olympics, the festival facilities are first rate and the sell-out crowd of 52,000 festival-goers are making the most of it. The temperature’s pushing a blistering 35°C and being the middle of a drought-ridden summer in Australia, everything’s dry, dusty and cracked. It’s a good 40-minute drive from the city to the festival and the sun’s stinging in through the van windows. Not big fans of the sunlight, the Murderdolls have got their leather jackets up over their heads to avoid even the slightest hint of a tan.

In the cool, air-conditioned shade of backstage I get to sit down with Joey Jordison and singer Wednesday 13 to gind out how the band are doing after their meteoric rise over the past eight months. Joey is straight down the line, measured and professional. “This si the first Big Day Out for all of us. Slipknot have only been down here once but not that (sic) this festival. This is something I’ve really wanted to play – something I’ve wanted to do for a really long time.”

For Wednesday, this is another notch on his rise as an international rock’n’roller. “It’s awesome,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be out on the front of a rock’n’roll band at a festival like this. After struggling doing my own band for six years I actually quit my job back in April and I’ve been touring every since. I’ve done all the things I ever dreamed about. I’ve been to Europe three times, Japan twice and here we are now in Australia and that has all been pretty much in the last six months! Holy shit we’re doing some things that some bands have never done!”

“We just checked out the videotape from the Auckland show the other day and fuck man, it was awesome!” enthuses Joey. “People are saying we are pulling the most people to that stage out of everyone. Our band has been doing really well especially since we’ve only been going for a short time. We hope that after the BDO we’ll be able to come back and do some real headlining shows down here. We are having fun though, thinking about it, we’ve never had so many days off between shows before, it’s more like the Big Day Off!”

The band wasn’t supposed to be so idle. Most overseas bands on the BDO bill play a bunch of satellite shows in various cities around the country and for a month prior, the Murderdolls had been slated to perform a Sydney show with fellow US rockers The Deftones. But with very little warning, the Murderdolls were dumped from the bill just before the show. What really pissed off Joey and the lads was a lot of the Murderdolls fans had bought tickets on the basis that the band would be playing but in the end had to watch the Deftones supported by ex-At The Drive-In chancers, Sparta.

Without much choice in the matter the Murderdolls issued a statement on their website apologising to their fans and kept trying to fly their flag with some instore appearances at local record stores. One in particular at Utopia Records, was insane. There was such a roar when the band turned up, they looked truly surprised at the number of kids who had showed up, most dressed in black and red outfits.

“Someone told us there was only going to be about 150 kids, which was supposed to be a good turn-out for Utopia records for a new band,” retells Joey. “But when we turned up there (sic) almost 500! We talked to fans and signed everything that they had. We were there for a good three and a half hours. And at the Channel V interview it was pretty much the same story. Hordes of kids that wouldn’t let us get away.”

“That’s the cool thing with our fans,” explains Wednesday. “We’re not a radio band or an MTV band with this created army of little kids which I think is more pure than being the Number One radio band or liking it because someone tells you to like it. I know that our fans are real. It is really cool to see these hordes of kids show up, they are dressed like us, they know everything about us, it is just awesome.”

Thinking further ahead fans will be please to know the band are not going to let up on the groundswell already created by the Murderdolls. “I have to go back and finish recording some Slipknot stuff,” reveals Joey. “Then we (the Murderdolls) are going to do some more touring. There’s usually a three to four month sort of break between recording and when an album comes out so we are going to tour pretty much all the way from the end of May all the way to maybe the beginning of October. Which will be good because there’ll be less sunlight at that time of year,” jokes Wednesday raising his non-existent eyebrows and throwing his arms, heavily tattooed with b-grade horror heroes, into the air.

As the hot afternoon drifts into an only slightly less simmering evening, there’s a small problem with guitarist Acey. He’s got indigestion. This amounts to a small crisis because first aid officials must follow procedure and administer the medicine. This takes two St. John’s Ambulance men on pushbikes in a five minute ride from their base at the side of the main stadium. Very un-rock’n’roll indeed.

With the gig just 45 minutes away, the boys are pacing around their trailer, having their pics taken for Hammer. Acey inside in front of the mirror still applying the last of his make-up, Ghoul is getting powdered up, Wednesday’s still with the photographer, while Joey’s nervously pacing around, in the trailer, out the trailer, back in… Eric meanwhile is ready for the stage and cracks open the obligatory bottle of Jack Daniel’s. As a Murderdolls ritual, they’re applying the slap, the band have to listen to Kiss. “Must. Have. Kiss.” stipulates Joey. “‘All American Man’! We sometimes change that to ‘All American Ghoul’,” chimes in the Ghoul.

Just 10 minutes before showtime and the long lanky frame of Ben Graves is stretched spider-like up against the dressing room wall. “I’ll be in pain afterwards,” he explains. Wednesday has by now finished his solo shots with Hamer’s photographer. The day is hot enough anyway, and under the photographers lights the heat is even more stifling. ‘Jesus, it’s fucking hot!” exclaims the frontman. “But I don’t mind… I’m a naturally dead person in front of a camera” he laughs.

More Kiss blares out from the dressing room, this time ‘Dr Love’! Then the moment comes: ground fucking zero at the Big Day Out! The band clamber into the van and head around the back way to the Essentials stage. The bottle of Jack’s being passed around as they approach the stage the band take a quick peak (sic) to see how the crow’s building up. It’s the biggest yet, taking up most of the grassy area out the back of the main stadium. Joey – who regularly suffers from pre-gig nerves as his pre-stage vomiting on Slipknot’s ‘Disasterpiece (sic)’ DVD proves in all its technicolour glory – is bricking it.

Five minutes before the band are due to hit the powerchords and the guys are milling around in the wings. Ghoul is banging on some warm-up pads and everyone is getting psyched. They’ve left the Kiss CD backstage so they have to hum ‘All American Man’ together. Then they make their way to the stage.

A couple of huge Murderdolls logos adorn the stage and in an eruption of noise and energy, the Dolls take the stage and instantly kick off with ‘Dawn of The Dead’. Jordison in black leather Gestapo hat is jumping around stage left, Acey is wailing away stage right while Eric bangs away on the bass doing his best Nikki Sixx impression, while the Ghoul wrecks the trap kit. Wednesday is the last to take the stage and screaming, “We are the dead, coming for you!” And the crowd goes fucking wild.

The kids down the front, dressed up in full glam-goth regalia, know every word and sing along fervently with the band while among the throng watching from the side of stage are some of the biggest names in the Australian music industry. Members of bands like 28 days, Machine Gun Fellatio, Cog, Jimmy Eat World, Pre-Shrunk, and Sparta all stand wide eyed and mouths agape at the outrageous rock revisionism being unleashed onstage.

By the time the band have launched into ‘I (sic) Was a Teenage Zombie’, ‘Let’s Go To War’ and ‘Slit My Wrists (sic)’, the crows know what they’re in for. Most who have showed up for curiosity (sic) sake are still hanging around, but if anything the crowd is building and everyone looks like they are right into it having fun. The intro to ‘Twist My Sister’ is a kid’s nursery rhyme ‘Old McDonald’ which gets the whole crowd singing along.

Unbelievably, some lunatic in the crowd starts throwing bangers at the stage, but the fireworks only make it as far as the front row of fans before blowing up in their faces. Wednesday tries to get the guy to quit while geeing up the rest of the crowd. “All the people down the front tell the people at the back to ‘Die Die Die… my bride!’ he yells as the band grind into the song…

Today’s set includes two new songs, and we can report that both are killer kitsch rock rippers. The first, set for legendary status is called ‘The Devil Made Me Do It… And I’ll Do It Again’ while the second is the set closer, a crowd sing along gem ‘I Love to Say Fuck’. Wednesday grabs his big black umbrella, emblazoned with the word FUCK, Eric, Acey, and Joey are going crazy, jumping up and down in unison, Ghoul is all arms and legs behind the kit while Wednesday is right down in the crowd’s face urging them to stick their fingers in the air and yell ‘Fuck!’. It looks great to watch. “It isn’t choreographed,” says Wednesday later. “Everything’s pretty much spontaneous. There are some things like we all jump on an ascent in the music or whatever but everything else is stuff that just happens on stage.”

They (sic) crowd are almost passing out from the combination of frenzied activity and the extreme heat, but still manage to scream out for more as the band leave the stage. “A lot of people don’t know that’s what drives a show,” explains Wednesday about his relationship with the audience. “You have to make fans feel part of the event and I think we do it better than anyone else.”

The band then jump back into the van for the two minute trip back to their dressing room behind the main stage. When they get back there the guys are all super hyped up. Excitedly buzzing around their dressing room, drinking beers, telling jokes. Joey is busy analysing the gig, and the BDO circus in general. He and Wednesday have got an interview to do with Australian TV scheduled for 8:45pm. It’s almost 9pm and Joey has another issue: “I want to eat! I must eat before I talk!” he exclaims. The interview is postponed for 20 minutes.

Bass player Eric is hanging around, so I grab him for a quick chat. Of all the Murderdolls, Eric seems the shyest but is probably the one most up for anything, especially if it is party related. He may only be small, (even in his Ace Frehley six-inch platforms he’s still barely average height!) but he’s a true rock’n’roller with a party attitude to match. “‘Machine Gun Fellatio’ that’s a cool fuckin’ name,” he squeaks discussing some of the other bands on the BDO bill. And he does squeak, kinda, like annoying Brit ‘comedian’ Joe Pasquale.

I bring up the fact that esteemed record producer, Nick Launey (Silverchair, INXS) was side of stage watching the show and had an interesting story to tell me about Eric. “I think I know where this is going,” smiles Eric slyly. “I met him about two years ago in LA at a party and we were all fucked up. I got dragged down three flights of stairs by my hair and he reckoned it was the biggest rock’n’roll moment of ‘00 for him. First impressions count, man.”

“It was so rock’n’roll!” Launey informs me later. “It was the launch of Orgy’s album and they had these models dressed as prostitutes lying on a bed and Eric jumps up on the bed with them, which of course you weren’t allowed to do. So the bouncers are dragging him out by his hair, kicking and screaming, down the stairs. His head was literally bouncing down each stair like a cartoon character and all the while he’s just got his middle fingers up on each hand and is yelling out ‘Fuck You!’, ‘Get Fucked!’, ‘Fuck you, mind the hair!’ Somehow he got back into the party and I asked him ‘how’s your head?’ and he just said “Whaddya mean?” - it was just so rock’n’roll!”

Eric has pre-arranged with their tour driver to take him over to the Boiler Room, where the BDO’s electronica acts are playing. He wants to see German electronic innovators Kraftwerk. “One of the bands I was in before the Murderdolls was very digital and computer based,” he reveals. “Kraftwerk don’t do a lot of live shows and I don’t think I’ll ever get the opportunity to see them again. They’re pretty important to the genre and even if I catch just 10 minutes of their set I think it will be worth coming over. A short ride through the back entrance, we arrive at the Boiler Room and manage to get in, via a bit of a labyrinth, through the backdoor and into the main arena just at the side of the stage. The Kraftwerk guys are standing robot-like in front of their computers while the huge dome-like venue is dripping with sweat from the 10.000+ strong punters who have basically been locked in the room all day listening (sic) the dance bands. We get a good vantage point but after about five minutes we’re leaving. “Jeez! That was the most boring piece of crap I’ve seen!” exclaims Eric when he gets back to the dressing room. “But it was worth going because I scored some drugs!”

Acey’s just hanging around backstage with his camera and a little doll from The Nightmare Before Christmas. He has a ritual where he takes a photograph of the doll in front of landmarks all around the world. “I have him in front of the Eiffel Tower for instance,” he says. “The other day I took a pic of him in front of the Sydney Opera House.” And with that he takes a photo of the doll sitting in front of a sign that says ‘Sleazy’. Hmmm. Odd man.

Acey and Eric are loving every minute of the Murderdolls ride. They’re both on their first trip to Australia and according to both of them it is (sic) has been “Cool as hell!” “The Gold Coast was really on,” says Eric. “It’s been kinda mellow since we got to Sydney because we’ve had four or five days off before this show so we’ve just been trying to find out what’s been going on. It’s been building gradually… and we’ve been partying a lot – maybe too much,” he adds sheepishly. Rick the tour manager – who’s passing by – agrees: “Yep, they’ve been very naughty boys – they’ve got to go to bed early tonight with no supper,” he jokes.

“He knows we’re the most dangerous band on the tour,” counters Eric. It’s a fact that seems to deter any other bands partying with the Murderdolls too. “The only band that has even reached out to us are the guys in Jane’s Addiction, in particular, Dava Navarro,” offers Acey. “He actually came out of his way to come over and introduce himself. And pretty much comes up and talks to us everyday he sees us along with the drummer, Steven [Perkins]. Everyone else is just kinda like, ‘What’s Up?’ Maybe it’s because we don’t look like we’re the most approachable band. Then again no-one has done anything to piss us off at all.”

No one may be talking to the Murderdolls but there is talk of the Murderdolls all over BDO. Most centres around their appearance with most Australian musical luminaries agreeing the band are the best dressed at the festival. One member of Aussie band the Resin Dogs even goes as far as to say, “The Murderdolls rock the wardrobe”. Acey is kinda flattered but non-plussed by the comments. “What image?” he exclaims. “This is how we are all day! Obviously we knock it up a notch for the show but this is the real thing. We don’t care if people like us as sexual deviants or not, but one thing’s for sure – they’ll fucking remember us.”

Big Ben Graves strides over to join us at the table. “Did I hear the words sexual deviant?” he announces in his deeply rounded US accent. “I’ve always been like that! Some people have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other – I just two devils. There is NO voice of reason!”

We ask him if he has had any interesting adventures since he’s been in Australia and then instantly regret it…

“Dude, it has been nothing but interesting adventures. For instance last night, he (indicating Eric) he almost screwed a one-armed girl!”

“She had three tits and one arm,” giggles the dimunitive (sic) bassist.

“Yeah. It was weird,” continues the Ghoul, “one of her arms was like a stump and it looked like it had a nipple on it. I must admit I almost fucked her just for the freakiness of it.”

And with that starter for 10, the Ghoul is off. He starts ranting on with these sick freak jokes that crack everyone up and inside a minute you get a window to his personality. “Our drummer is one bona fide sick fuck,” jokes Wednesday of him later. “He stills (sic) freaks us out. I’ll just look at him sometimes and say to myself, ‘holy shit, dude, what planet are you from?’”

“It was weird on the Gold Coast,” says Eric, picking up on the tour adventure thread. “The girls there were the hottest chicks I had ever seen in my life but by the same token I had never got as much shit for the way I look than I have there as well. It was like two opposite poles. At first it was, ‘hey freak, where’s the funeral?’ and the next was, ‘sit down have a drink with us.”

“As far as people looking at you weird, I found Sydney is where I got the stares,” admits the Ghoul. “Sydney sucks! Although we did have some girls staking out our hotel which was pretty funny and I did have an over-zealous fan thrown out of the bar. The guy was just touching me a little more than he should and I didn’t like it,” he says animatedly. “I was like, ‘man, don’t make me waste this perfectly good bottle of Heineken by breaking it over your head. I’ve done it before’. Eric looks at him and says, “yeah he has!” But he was on something. I remember thinking ‘I want whatever he’s on… times ten!”

“I gotta say though, the Sydney crowd today was one of the best crowds we’ve had so far,” offers Acey as he joins the throng. “It was insane. It is good for us this tour, because the kids don’t know what we are all about yet so we have to prove ourselves. By the end of the set they all had their hands in the air.”

By this time Joey and Wednesday have finished their feed and their hastily re-scheduled interview and are looking for some more mischievous fun for themselves. “First of all, I’m going to go back over to the stage we played because there are a lot of kids hanging around over there still wanting to see us,” explains Joey. “Then after that, I’m gonna go directly where ever (sic) the free drinks are at…” Suddenly, Eric’s doubled over in the doorway of the dressing room. It’s been 45 minutes since he visited Kraftwerk in the Boiler Room and the pharmaceuticals are beginning to take effect. We ask if he’s OK. “Yeah man, I just think I’m gonna spew!” he grins. The rest of the band are baiting him ceaselessly.

“C’mon chuck it up man!” they urge and all crack up laughing together.

In the middle of all the commotion Wednesday is taking a piss in the corner of the dressing room. The place is a wreck: there are empty bottles of booze, food scrapes (sic), squashed fruit, hairdryers, make-up, boots, clothes (black and red if (sic) course) and of course a giant mirror. Wednesday is actually pissing into a bottle of Corona. At the same time I am just about to pick up my freshly opened bottle of Corona from the table which is besides (sic) a now suspicious looking bottle. “Yeah I always piss in the empty bottles,” giggles Wednesday. And then I leave ‘em on the table just to piss off anyone who might want to grab some of our rider or whatever. Just be careful just to get bottles from down there in the ice box, he laughs mischievously. Suddenly the oddly warm bottle in my hand seems less than appealing…

As the clock turns 1am the only people left at the stadium are the cleaners, the roadies and the still-partying Murderdolls. Last to leave, the van is parked just outside the dressing room and all I can see through the opened door is the Ghoul chucking around a baguette, now baked hard as a rock over the course of the stifling hot day. “Look at this - it could be used as a weapon to seriously maim you!” he screams bouncing the French loaf off the wall. A post vomit Eric cracks up, as the two hold a mock baguette joust oblivious to the outside world. They eventually make off back to their hotel room in the city, but don’t hang there for too long. The weekend lights of Sydney beckon and they cruise down William street in King’s Cross, to an underground rock venue called Club 77. It’s glam night, just their crowd and they spend the wee hours of the morning hanging out with fans and getting stuck into the sauce with a vengeance. Australia has officially been Murderdolled!

Blood and Glitter

Gavin Braddeley charts the rise of shock rock

Glam is hard evidence that what goes around comes around. Long dismissed as the definitive climax of 70s bad taste, in recent years glam rock has arisen from the grave, albeit with a veil of cobwebs draped over its original dusting of glitter. Originally a violent reaction to the 60s happy fad for all things natural, worthy, meaningful and drab, glam was all about being deliberately artificial, selfish, throwaway and garish.

In the States Alice Cooper was impaling baby dolls and throwing blood bottles around the stage from ‘70 onwards culminating in the vaudeville theatrics of the ‘Welcome To My Nightmare’ album/tour of ‘76.

Back in the UK, the Glam pioneer was lame pop pixie Marc Bolan (sic), photogenic frontman with T-Rex, who caused a sensation when he took to the stage on Top of the Pops in ‘71 with glitter under his eyes, clad in what looked suspiciously like drag. Never one to miss a trick, the lizard-like David Bowie soon jumped from the hippy ship to take on his otherworldly Ziggy Stardust persona.

The older generation may have thought that smearing make-up on your face and covering your clothes in sequins made you look like a ‘pooftah’. Alice Cooper got around this by replacing Glam’s overt ‘fagginess’ with ghoulish melodrama, prompting one critic to observe that Americans were more comfortable with necrophilia than homosexuality. And then came Kiss. Gene Simmons’ monstrous blood vomiting, fire breathing ‘Demon’ persona enslaved an entire generation of US children crossing Glam’s theatricality with heavy metal machismo to create one of the most influential bands in rock music history.

W.A.S.P. and Mötley Crüe supercharged Kiss’s sleaze and violence quotient to spectacular effect in the 80s, and provide the missing link between Glam and the Murderdolls, who happily cite the back-combed bad boys as a large part of their creative DNA. The chief inheritor of the Glam tradition in the last decade, however, is cross-dressing controversialist Marilyn Manson. Bowie may have metaphorically murdered his creation Ziggy Stardust in the summer of ‘74, while Bolan (sic) died more literally in a car accident three years later, but quarter-of-a-century on, Manson used his own dark arts to conjure their spirit on ‘Mechanical Animals’, his own tribute to pop’s most decadent decade.

Dead… and loving it!

The Murderdolls’ five favourite movie death scenes of all time…

The Murderdolls are proof positive that nothing gets some folks’ creative juices flowing quite so freely as a truly delicious cinematic death scene. Joey and Wednesday have a few favourites – both carnage connoisseurs identifying the ‘74 classic power toolfest The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as the gory cream of the crop – a movie currently being remade with a certain Mr. Manson in the soundtrack composer’s chair. (As a curious aside, you never actually see the girl hung on the hook – just a shadow – but such is the film’s sordid impact that most viewers swear you do!)

Joey 1. Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Friday The 13th Part IV “When the knife comes through the bed and impales the chick.”

3. The Exorcist “When the priest is hucked out through the plate glass window.”

4. A Nightmare on Elm Street “Where the girl is getting dragged across the rooftop.”

5. Necromancy “Where a group of devils and monsters take a girl apart.”

Wednesday 1. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Dawn of the Dead “When the spiked ball comes down and rips the guy’s head apart.”

3. Phantasm “A silver ball hits the guy in the head and sucks out all his brains.”

4. Hellraiser “Where (sic) the end sequence where the guy is being chased by all these hooks. They attach themselves to him and rip him apart.”

5. Nightmare On Elm Street “Where Freddy rips out the guy’s veins and uses them like strings controlling a puppet.”

Schlock n’ Roll

B-movie classics that have influenced shock rockers of now and then…

Some horror movies are best watched not so much with your tongue in your cheek, as thrust firmly through it, films that by accident or design are more about fun than fear. The same could be said of numerous horror loving bands, including the Murderdolls, where an ‘everyday is Halloween’ ethos prevails. Here are a few examples of B movie blood fests which may not have won any Oscars, have been paid tribute to by schlock loving bands over the years…

Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957) It is no surprise that the mother-of-all cult movies inspired the mother-of-all cult bands, and when Glenn Danzig created a label to release early Misfits material he dubbed it ‘Plan 9’. Frequently voted the worst movie of all time with its ludicrous script, mind bogglingly bad special effects, cardboard sets, and even more cardboard artistry, Plan 9 From Outer Space is irresistibly entertaining. Directed by the cross-dressing caliph of crap Ed Wood Junior, featuring proto-goth babe Vampira and Bela Lugosi (dying of drug addiction, he was replaced mid production by a stand-in who looks nothing like him).

The Abominable Dr Phibes (1971) Featuring horror cinema’s kind of camp Vincent Price as the fiendish Phibes, avenging the death of his wife using maniacal methods borrowed from the biblical plagues, all against wonderful, strangely psychedelic sets. Also possessed of a strange psychedelic sensibility are punk pioneers the Damned, though in the 80s, lead singer Dave Vanian’s horror sensibilities took centre stage, attracting a goth following. The 80 track ‘13th Floor Vendetta’ is a classic example of the band’s game-topping which, if you listen carefully, is all about ol’ Doc Phibes.

Mars Attacks! (1996) Director Tim Burton’s tribute to the drive-in shockers of the 50s and 60s, Mars Attacks! was actually based upon a ‘62 series of bubblegum cards, discontinued because of their gruesomely graphic pictures of earthlings being exterminated by alien invaders. As such this inspiration might suggest Mars Attacks! has little by way of plot, but for anyone with a weakness for vintage schlock sci-fi it’s a true Technicolor treat. This must certainly include the Misfits and when they reformed, they did so without the blessing of founder Glenn Danzig, but with their monster movie obsessions intact – among a multitude of horror movie tributes on their ‘97 comeback album ‘American Psycho’ was ‘Mars Attacks’ (and even an instrumental coincidentally titled ‘Abominable Dr Phibes’!)

I Was A Teenage Werewolf (1957) The drive-in movies of the 50s and 60s typically featured juvenile delinquents or monsters, and this bargain-basement effort delivered both in one lurid package. Before becoming ‘Pa’ on TV’s Little House on the Prairie Michael Landon stars as a troubled teen – though when he starts growing hair in strange places, it’s more than just hormones to blame. A howl from beginning to end, Teenage inspired a number on ‘Songs the Lord Taught Us’, the ‘80 debut from drive-in movie loving ghoulish rockers The Cramps.

Murder, mayhem and a right old mess

Minging Murderdoll tales from the Big Day Out

Who is the messiest Murderdoll of them all? Wednesday: “That would be Eric and The Ghoul. They are just messy as fuck. But you know you’ve just got to get used to living with these people. We’ve been on the road since July. You live on a bus for six weeks which means you’ve got (sic) live in everyone else’s shit.”

Who is the tidy anal doll? Joey: “No-one. We’re all pretty fuckin’ messy.” Wednesday: “I just took two garbage bags of mess out of my room. And just put it in the hallway. Just full of chicken bones and beer bottles and all sorts of shit like that, it was just smelling really bad so I had to get rid of it.”

So you do that yourself? Wednesday: “I don’t let the cleaning staff come into my room and tidy up. I put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for the whole week I am there.” Joey: “The housekeepers are scared shitless to come into our rooms anyway so we keep it easy for them and put the ‘Do Not Disturb” signs up the whole time. They are going to be so scared to come into our rooms and clean up after we’ve been there for a fuckin’ week!”

[sednonamoris]

hang ‘em high

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: A high stakes bank robbery forces you and John to confront exactly how close - and how far - you are from one another anymore.

Warnings: Canon-typical GUN VIOLENCE AND GORE, strong language, hostage situation, stand-off/shootout, arguments, horrible people doing horrible things, the most fucked up declaration(s) of love you’ve ever seen

Word count: 2,918

A/N: Why did the gang have to flee the West so dramatically and why did the law chase them so furiously?? Read to find out the ghost story version 🥰 (better notes on AO3 but i don’t want to spoil everything up here!!)

Series masterlist • AO3

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“Ghost, kindly relieve these people of their valuables,” Dutch orders from behind the black bandana pulled snugly beneath his glittering eyes. 

Your own bandana hides a wild grin, all adrenaline and greed. Something savage in your eyes and the way that you move makes these smalltown folk afraid. The little of your face they do see is enough to have them emptying their pockets in short order. 

You like it.

Never do you feel more powerful than when pulling big jobs like this, ones even Dutch is in on. This bank will be emptied before the law can scramble together enough men to try you. You’ll all be gone, smoke on the wind, making off like the bandits you are. 

“Mr. M, take care of these vaults for us,” Dutch says to Arthur while holding the quaking teller at gunpoint, then jerks his head to direct John to the back entrance. The Callanders have the front of the building covered between them. 

You continue to work the cowering crowd. Sun streams in from high windows and paints them all in unforgiving noontime light. It glints off of their valuables. A woman in splotchy rouge clutches heirloom pearls to her throat for a wide-eyed, gaping moment before handing them over. A man in faded tweed tosses you his antique watch. Gold inlay. Initials etched on the inside. An older gentleman relinquishes silver cufflinks embossed with some sort of crest, faded from where they’ve been rubbed for luck over the years.

One by one you take their treasures, stuff them in your pockets ‘til they’re fit to bust, and then keep stuffing. You have no idea exactly how much it’s all worth; give you some good horseflesh and you can list off prices all day long, but this sort of work has never been your specialty. At a guess, it’s at least a hundred bucks. At the devastated, teary-eyed looks on the faces before you, you’d think it was their whole world. 

But what do these people know of the world? Of survival? 

One of the women glares up at you. She’s staunch and sturdy, middle-aged and measured. Furious in a suffering sort of way. 

“This is a hanging town,” she says. “When the sheriff gets his hands on you we’ll all watch you swing.”

You lean in, close and sudden, and kiss the barrel of your gun to the skin just beneath her dimpled chin. Her sharp inhale is barely audible over the commotion of Arthur blowing his way into the vaults in the next room.

“If you’re not careful, you won’t live to see much anything, Miss.”

Your grin grows wider for every inch she shrinks back in fear. Then, because you can’t resist, you call out to the boys on perimeter in your smuggest Van der Linde voice, asking if anyone’s seen hide or hair of this sheriff you’ve heard so much about.

The Callanders jeer their not here’s mean enough that you remember to pause and be grateful they’re on your side. You wait for a smart remark from John, raspy and rude, but none comes.

You try not to let it get to you - he’s been strange towards you ever since his return. Some days it’s like he never left, and others like there’s this vast, unknowable distance between you. This is the first big job you’ve worked together in almost two years now, and it’s not even because he wanted to; Dutch asked. 

Just as you let out a deprecating sigh and move to your next victim, the back door bursts open with a bang.

The whole of smalltown law marches in with John at gunpoint. The look in his eyes is equal parts fury and shame, and it burns when he meets the wild, cornered-animal look in yours. This isn’t supposed to happen. They aren’t supposed to even know you were here yet, let alone spring traps. Without thinking you snatch up the nearest person. Gun to their head, body covering yours, they are both hostage and shield. 

“Put the woman down,” the sheriff says, “and have everyone step out with their hands on their head.” 

His voice is thick with authority, but the light catches on beaded sweat dripping down his brow. His revolver is white-knuckled at John’s throat. 

“You first,” you sneer. “I promise, one hair on his head comes to harm and I’ll kill everyone here, starting with this bitch.” 

They all shift uncomfortably, trigger fingers itching to take the shot. They must know they’ll never beat you on the draw, and surely they can tell you mean every word. Only one man can break the stalemate, and he doesn’t leave you waiting long. 

“Well, gentleman,” Dutch interrupts smoothly, causing every head to snap in his direction, “looks like we’re at an impasse here.”

He steps out from behind the counter with a casual sort of grace, but his pistols are pointed, ready to fire. Over the ringing in your ears you can hear Arthur bagging the last of the money, and the sound of the Callanders coming in behind you with their own guns raised. 

“My friends and I are not unreasonable,” Dutch continues. He steps slowly and deliberately backwards toward the front doors, until he’s safely behind you. Arthur follows soon after. “If you let our man go, we let your people live. Simple as that.”

“I think we both know this ain’t simple,” the sheriff says. “The West is civilized, now. If you put down your weapons and hand over the woman I’ll see to it you all get a fair trial.”

You snort a disbelieving laugh. “Way I hear, it’ll be a mighty quick one. Your little lady friend tells me the gallows ‘round these parts stay busy.” 

His gaze hardens when you mention his take on justice, and you realize this isn’t going to be an easy out. Goddamnit.

“You boys get on out of here,” you tell Dutch. Your voice is quiet, but you could hear a pin drop in this bank right now. He opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head to cut him off. “Trust me.”

The sheriff tells them to stop, while they still can, while he’s willing to let them live, but occupied with John he’s helpless to raise his own gun, and his men can’t make one move for fear you’ll dispatch your hostage. She quakes in your arms but makes no sound. 

With a firm clasp of your shoulder in thanks, Dutch, Arthur, Mac, and Davey back their way out the front doors the sheriff was cocky enough to leave unguarded. Chalk it up to too much faith in a backdoor plan and a failure to understand just who exactly he’s dealing with; The Van der Linde Gang might have started small, but Dutch has dreams bigger than this wild, uncharted West. Bigger even than the fluttering pulse point that beats against the barrel of your gun. 

The sound of hoofbeats galloping away lets you know the boys have made their escape, and you know that now, as ever, you’ll do anything to save John. Anything. And damn the consequences. The sheriff must see it in your eyes, or the way you hold your prisoner of war, because something snaps in his demeanor. Scaffold screams open, rope swings taut, snaps.  

“I’m going to count to three,” he threatens, digging the barrel of his gun into John’s skin until he flinches, “and if that woman ain’t freed your friend here dies.”

One…

A split second of understanding is all you need. Please let him understand.

Two…

John’s grey eyes are flint sharp. You try to memorize the color just in case this goes wrong. If you didn’t know better you’d say he was doing the same. 

Three.

At the same time you squeeze the trigger, John stomps down hard on the sheriff’s foot. His wiry body twists away in time to miss the bullet, but the woman in your arms is less lucky. It’s a baptism of blood and brains. Your eardrum bursts with the gunshot. If you listen carefully, somewhere between the muted screams and pitched ringing might even be the voice of God, but you wouldn’t know the difference.

In a blink, John’s shoved himself off the sheriff and tackled you to the ground. The rest of the men to open fire. The sheriff roars for them to take you alive as you scramble to help one another to your feet and run. You stumble over yourself and the rest of the bank-goers still frozen on the ground in fear, but still you almost make it out.

Then, just as you reach the doors, blinding pain blossoms in your thigh. You fall forward on your knees and cry out in pain, a sound that stops John in his tracks. He tries to double back and half-carry you to the horses, but one moment of weakness is all it takes for the law to catch up with you. Kicking and screaming, they tackle and separate you both. Someone must hit you over the head with the butt of their gun, because all you remember is the scratchy, warped sound of John screaming your name and a world gone dark. 

—

You wake to a dull, throbbing pain in your leg. Blinking past crusted eyes and dried blood, you try to piece together the events that led to being dumped on the hard wooden floors of a one-room jailhouse. More importantly, you try to figure out where John is. It comes slower than you’d like. 

“Good,” an unfamiliar voice says, “you’re awake.”

You look up to find the sheriff lording over the cells from behind his desk. The dim lantern and late evening light cast strange shadows over the pockmarks in his face. His ginger sideburns and mustache, though impressive, do little to hide the redness of his face, burnt to a crisp from harsh living under a harsher sun. You chance a glance over to John, but his grim expression doesn’t do much to reassure you.

“I didn’t realize we had such celebrities in our midst.” He whistles lowly. “Mean Johnny Marston and the Van der Linde Ghost, formerly of New Austin. There’s quite a price on the two of you.”

“Make your point,” John says. 

He flashes his teeth in a double-edged smile. “When I got to this town it was lawless - open murder in the streets, people acting like savages. A disgrace. I’ve brought order here and I intend to keep it. The only reason the two of you are alive right now is because you’re worth more that way. Once I wire the capitol, we’re all gonna watch you swing for what you’ve done.” 

 John opens his mouth to say something nasty, but you warn him off with a glare. In your experience, there’s nothing more immovable - or dangerous - than a principled man. 

It takes only an hour more for the sun to finish setting. You sit in painful silence up until the moment the sheriff closes the jailhouse door behind him and locks it, promising he’ll be back at first light with news of your impending execution. You doubt he’s even made it down the steps before John starts in on you. Faster than you can respond he starts firing accusations like what the hell was all that, and were you trying to get killed back there, and can’t believe they shot you, and can’t believe we’re still alive, and then, finally, can’t believe you killed that woman like that.

“Really?” you say, and the bitterness in your voice surprises even you. Your wound aches. You want to scratch your skin off. You stare at him like none of this is true. “You want to go down this road?” 

“Matter fact, I do.” Mean Johnny Marston bares his teeth, hackles raised and ready for a fight. “Since when do we kill innocent people in cold blood? Ain’t we s’posed to be better than that?”

You laugh. It’s a harsh, terrible sound. “We’re all killers, or have you forgotten?”

“My memory’s just fine. But Jesus, Ghost, she was unarmed!”

“That sheriff sure weren’t! In fact, I recall his gun was held right at your empty head after you let yourself get caught!” you volley back, and his face shutters closed. “Sure I killed her. I’d kill her all over again. You look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t, if I was the one he’d got. Tell me you’d spare a stranger to watch me die.”

“Fuck you.” There’s a savage kind of hate in his eyes and his voice as he says it.

Your chest heaves with emotions too wild and strong to restrain. “Fuck you, Marston.”  

 After everything, how could he think you’d let him die like that? Right and wrong are pretty ideas, but you’ve always known that the moment John’s life is in jeopardy you’ll dig your own way to Hell and drag everyone down with you. No amount of distance, time, or estrangement will change that. Not ever. 

The two of you sit in that charged, vicious silence for what could be minutes or hours. You should be sleeping, or at least resting, but you just sit on opposite ends of your cells and glare at each other. 

“How’s the leg?” John finally asks.

You look away. “Not infected yet.” 

“...Good.” 

—

The second day in that jail is infinitely worse than the first. The sheriff comes swanning in before the first fragile rays of light make it through the lone window of the building. He doesn’t have his telegraph yet, but the second he does you’re dead, he cheerfully reminds you. 

Time scrapes by at an excruciating pace between the lack of food and water and the parade of townspeople that come through to stare at the spectacle of two infamous gunslingers caught in their smalltown cells. Your head splits with a headache that only worsens as they leer and jeer and spit on you from the other side of cast iron bars. Your leg is worse today, too. It’s hard to mask while the sheriff and his deputies circle like vultures, but you don’t dare show weakness. 

Neither you nor John opens your mouth to speak until night once more has fallen, and you’re alone in the moonlit dark.

“You sure that thing ain’t infected?” he asks. 

You peek under the dirty strips of torn clothing you’ve used as a makeshift bandage and grimace. “It ain’t infected, but it sure ain’t pretty. Could use Ms. Grimshaw right about now.”

“I’m sure Arthur ‘n Dutch will bust us out soon.” He doesn’t sound sure. “But Ghost, listen, if they can’t get us out, I want you to know—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off with a wave of your hand. “You don’t have to understand why I did it, just know I’ve got your back. Always.”

“Sure,” his voice cracks on the word. “And I’ve got yours.”

You let out a wistful sigh, ignoring the uncomfortable, embarrassed flush crawling up his collar. “Us together used to be easy as breathing. Feels like all we do now is fight or pretend there’s nothin’ to fight about.”

“I don’t like fightin’ you,” he says. “I think we’re just…”

“Just what?”

“Scared. ‘Least I am,” he finally admits. “I don’t think things will ever be the same as they used to. Different could be good, though. Maybe. If you wanted to try.”

“Yeah?”

He shrugs, trying and failing to act casual. 

Your answering smile is a fragile, hopeful thing. “I think I’d like that.”

In a tiny cell in a little town in the newly settled American West you shrug the weight of lost time off your shoulders and meet John Marston all over again. He tells you what he got up to during that missing year. You share the same - minus the letters, of course. He tells tall tales of all the jobs he’s been on since his return, ones he wanted to ask you on but never could. You reenact your most recent experience selling stolen horses with Sean, complete with accents, and laugh until your sides are sore. 

It finally feels like you’re friends again. It feels like coming home. 

—

You wake from a nap the next afternoon to strangled cries and the thud of bodies hitting floorboards. 

“Word on the street is you two are meant for the hangman’s noose,” Dutch says. There’s a warning and a thank you in his dark eyes when they meet yours.

“Pair of fools, pullin’ a stunt like that,” Arthur gripes from behind his bandana. 

Dutch crouches and snags the keys off the sheriff’s belt before tossing them to him. Both cells are open in moments.  

You limp over the sheriff’s fallen body towards the back door where Dutch waits with the horses. John pauses. Arthur tells him to hurry but John shakes his head, crouches low to pick up the sheriff’s holstered gun, and shoots the unconscious man point-blank with it. 

“What the hell, Marston!” Arthur seethes. “You want the whole damn town to kill us?”

John ignores him completely, joining you at the door and then helping you onto your horse like he hadn’t just done the very thing he damned you for earlier. His face is freckled with blood. The revolver in his hand reflects red. Even the slate grey of his eyes hold a bloodstained promise:

You and him. Forever. Always. And damn the cost.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

28 DAYS: CHAPTER EIGHT

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given a choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter warnings/tags: mentions of sex with a minor (Meg's dad)

Words in this chapter: 4,100

Author’s notes: you might recognize a few nuggets (per Stuie) from SPN here.

After this, there are two more chapters and an epilogue.

Many thanks to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for pre-reads and for being my friends.

text divider by @talesmaniac89

CHAPTER EIGHT

“So...” Meg exhales the first drag of her post-dinner cigarette. “How’d it go?”

Dean exhales his own with his eyes closed then drops his head to stretch his neck before finally answering. “She’s comin’ on Friday.”

Meg blinks through the smoke. “Wow. That’s... fast. You OK?” She takes another long drag, watching him closely.

“She’s my baby girl.” Dean stares at the glowing cherry before taking a quick drag and blowing it out. “‘Til 10 months ago, she thought the sun shined out my ass. Now she knows a little more about my ass than I wish she did.”

Meg furrows her brow in question.

“She walked in on me and some friends. In my bedroom. With a side of coke.”

Meg narrows her eyes as she takes another draw from her cigarette. She’s quiet for a moment before she tells him a brief story.

“When I was 13, I walked in on my dad on the couch with my best friend. She was also 13, mind you.” 

She sighs and shakes her head when Dean reaches to place a gentle hand on her knee, mirroring her furrowed expression from earlier. She drops her palms over his hand and squeezes with a watery smile then clears her throat. 

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg with Travis Masters, lemme tell ya!” She chuckles, looking up at the night sky as she takes her last drag, holding Dean’s hand in hers. On her exhales, she continues with her point.

“Anyway... I still loved him.” She flicks her smoldering butt into the bucket of sand at their feet before looking back up at Dean. “He’s still my daddy. And he never even tried to make things right.” 

Dean flips his hand under hers to squeeze her back, letting the ash at the end of his smoke grow. “I don’t wanna be the reason she takes her first drink or goes home with some fucking asshole, who—”

“Hey.” Meg stops him, leaning in to snag his cigarette and suck the last millimeter of life out of it before dropping it in the bucket with hers. “We’ll never know why we make the choices we make — not entirely — but you’re doing the right thing right now, Dean.”

Dean swallows and nods, hoping what she’s saying is true.

“But you’re right. She is your baby girl. You’re always gonna be her hero. If somewhere down the line she slips and gets hurt, you’ll be there to pick her up, no matter what caused it.”

Dean draws a shaky breath and nods, squeezing her hand tighter.

“She’s just hurt and scared. That’s all. And that scares you.”

Dean nods more vigorously. “I don’t want her to be scared — ‘specially not of me.” 

“Right. So you’re gonna fix it.”

Dean sniffles then sits up straight, drawing a deep breath as he slowly pulls his hand from her grasp. “I’m just afraid it can’t be fixed, ya know?”

Meg nods, sitting back as well. “I’ve never met her, but I know how you make me feel — and everybody else in this joint — I know that she knows you love her, and I’ll bet that she’s as good a person as her Daddy.”

Dean smirks, feeling his cheeks heat, making him drop his gaze sideways.

“Hey, I’m only telling you all this now because you’re terrified she’s gonna walk in here and tell you she never wants to see you again, but, Dean... she wouldn’t be coming if that was the case. She can’t, and won’t, stay away forever.”

“Thanks, Meg.” Dean looks up and holds her gaze for a few beats.

He wonders, not for the first time, what if they’d met in another time and place, would they be something other or more than what they are to each other now? He knows he cares for her and knows he will do his level best to have her back, even after they get out of this place. But there’s an unspoken rule between this version of them; they’ll never be other or more in this lifetime.

“We’ll all be there for you,” Meg assures him as she slides from atop their established perch on the deck. “We’ll be right beside you.”

Dean steps in to pull her into a hug, but her gaze is snagged toward the reception area. “Well, except, maybe not him.”

Dean turns toward the windows to see Crowley slithering through the front doors. 

“Huh. Little creep didn’t even make it 48 hours.” He slides his hands into his pockets and tilts back onto his heels.

Meg sidles next to him as they watch the bruised and disheveled Scotsman check in with Missouri. “Three outta ten, Dean.”

Dean nods and drapes an arm around her shoulder. “Two point one.”

“So... hypothetically,” Gabe waves his hands around like he’s doing an impression of Mickey Mouse as the sorcerer’s apprentice. “Let’s say one of us—”

“Two point one,” Rowena murmurs from his side.

Gabe nods. “Let’s say two or more of us get outta here and make it.”

Cain slowly nods and blinks until his head tiredly finds its way to his shoulder. Dean continues to be amazed at Cain’s patience and grace with this group of morons, of which Dean isn’t the least problematic. 

“When can we, ya know, date?” Gabe folds and settles his hands in his lap, and Rowena pats him on the shoulder. 

Crowley rolls his blackened, swollen, and bloodshot eyes, and Cain arches a brow.

“The two of you?” Cain asks.

“Hypothetically!” Gabe pitches forward in his seat, hands open in surrender. “And I’m just asking like what’s a healthy time, ya know, to marinate on the outside in our sobriety so we know we’re good and ready?”

Cain sighs. “What we tell everyone when they leave is — number one, 90 meetings in 90 days.” 

He glances around their circle — Crowley is slumped and grumbling beside Rowena; Jack is quiet and laser-focused; Pamela is knitting a beanie for one of her boys as she watches and listens; and Meg and Dean are similarly sprawled and fidgeting in the uncomfortable chairs, simultaneously amused and bored by Gabe’s antics. 

“Number two,” Cain continues. “Get yourself a plant. If the plant is still alive after a year...” He shrugs. “Get a pet. If after two years, both the plant and pet are still alive? Then you’re ready to date.”

“Two years?!” Rowena shrieks.

Pamela snorts a laugh but doesn’t miss a weft as Crowley appears to fall asleep, Dean and Meg roll their eyes at each other, and Jack looks absolutely lost. 

Gabe pats Rowena’s hand and nods in reassurance. “But what if, hypothetically, we know the person already?”

Cain nods and blinks to the other shoulder this time.

“Do we just ignore that person for two years?”

“Gabriel.” Cain blinks. “We need to refocus on today’s topic.”

“Right.” Crowley grunts from across the circle. “Dean’s daughter’s visit.”

Dean’s surprised, not only because he genuinely thought Crowley had passed out 10 minutes ago, but also because there’s not even the slightest trace of malice in his tone.

Regardless, he’s on high alert and suddenly jittery now that they’re discussing the plans for the weekend.

“Yes,” Cain echoes. “Emma arrives Friday for the weekend. She and Lydia will spend the first day with Billie and the second with Billie and me.”

“Lydia?” Meg mutters to Dean, and he nods.

“Her mom,” Dean quietly answers.

Emma’s only 16, but she did have the choice to bring her mother into the sessions or not. He and Lydia didn’t work out, but she’s a good mother and a good person. Dean thinks Emma’s choice to bring her along was best for her.

“But make no mistake,” Cain briefly turns his attention to Meg. “These sessions are for Dean and Emma's healing; no one else.”

The plans are all similar to what they experienced when Pamela’s boys visited. Emma and Lydia are staying close by, so they will be welcome to dine in the cafeteria and spend as much extra time on-site as they wish.  

“Pamela,” Cain prompts and Pamela sets her knitting aside. “You and your boys did an incredible job. Do you have any input for Dean?”

Pamela nods and takes a deep breath before looking Dean in the eyes. “Be honest.”

Dean nods.

“Remember she’s just a kid.”

Dean’s heart lurches and skips.

“And don’t be defensive.”

“OK.” Dean smiles. “Thanks, PB.”

Pamela smiles back and winks as she resumes her knitting.

“Good, OK,” Cain says. “Now, remember, just as with Pamela’s group, not all of you are required to attend, but please let me know if you are abstaining and for what reason. Any questions?”

Jack’s hand shoots into the air, and he almost takes flight with eagerness. “Yes, Jack?”

“May I say something? About Dean’s daughter’s visit.”

Dean shifts in his seat and tries to calm his nerves and heart rate.

“Of course you may, Jack.”

Jack nods then resituates in his seat to focus on Dean. “Dean. I hope you know what a good person you are. You’re kind and strong, and you make people feel safe. Your daughter’s visit—”

“Emma,” Dean murmurs. 

Jack nods again. “Emma’s visit will probably be emotional and anxiety-inducing. You’re bound to think that you’re a bad person or that people are judging you, so I want to remind you now that we all believe in you. And I’m certain Emma does as well.”

Dean blinks. 

Shock is a medical state for which Dean has been trained, certified, and re-trained to treat. It’s when, for whatever reason, your body doesn’t have enough blood circulating throughout. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think Jack’s monologue sent him into shock.

Meg nudges him, mumbling something terse.

“Uhh... thank you. Jack. Thank you.” Dean nods, catching his breath and trying to find a comfortable position in his seat as Jack nods and smiles, satisfied and scooting back into his own.

Crowley dramatically clears his throat as he lazily lifts his hand. “I will... I’d like to echo much of what Jack has said.”

“I thought you hated me.” Dean arches a brow.

“No one hates you as much as you do — believe me, I’ve tried.”

Rowena coos and runs a hand down Crowley’s arm.

“Truth is, you are a good man,” Crowley continues. “Your daughter knows it better than we do, I’d venture to guess. Remember that.”

Dean peeks at Meg, and she tilts her head with an I-told-you-so shrug.

“You got this, Sparky.” Gabe gives Dean a thumbs-up, and he chuckles, returning the thumbs-up.

“Oh, Dean...” Rowena begins. “Just... don’t let your darker thoughts get the better of you. Rise above!” 

Dean bobs his head looking around the circle at his new friends. “Thank you. All of you. I appreciate it.”

“OK, everybody — same time tomorrow. Let’s break.”

The week lurches and stalls like a tortuous loop of time. Dean’s scared and anxious, but he also wants so badly to hold his little girl in his arms again that his heart aches with its every beat. 

Dinner on Thursday feels like a manifestation of a thousand-yard stare. His skin itches with a jonesing he hasn’t felt in days for a single Valium or the tiniest drag off a joint because he knows he isn’t going to be able to sleep at all tonight. 

“You eat like a bird, it’s so bizarre,” Meg mutters, nabbing the dinner roll from Dean’s tray to tear it open and slather it with butter. “You’re like,” she rips a piece of the buttered bread with her teeth and chews, talking with her mouth full. “All tall and broad-shouldered and solid as a wall, and I’ve seen you eat like, what?” 

Meg gestures to Pamela. 

“Like a banana and two beans all week,” Pamela replies with an arch of her brow, stabbing what’s left of Dean’s chicken breast and dropping it to her own tray.

“A banana and two beans! Right,” Meg agrees. “And not just this week, you never eat. What’s that about?”

Meg and Pamela stare at him as they chew their own food and his.

“Honestly?”

The women nod encouragingly.

“I dunno.” Dean shrugs. 

No one in his entire life has ever told him that he eats like a bird. In fact, John used to call him an oinker when he was a kid, and he’s spent most of his adult life with a reputation for eating anything put in front of him.

“Wouldn’t you know it?” Pamela narrows her eyes. “The best-looking person in this place also doesn’t get the munchies and immediately gain 15 pounds like the rest of us. Jerk.”

“Exactly. Jerk.”

Dean shrugs again. “Just well-adjusted, I guess.”

Meg and Pamela snort and roll their eyes before Pamela throws a green bean at Dean.

Dean heads to his room after dinner. He tells Pamela and Meg that he wants to take a long, hot shower before bed to try and wind down. 

Pamela makes a joke about the ‘long, hot showers’ somehow figuring into his lack of munchies, as if cursory shower masturbation is a substitute for anything let alone the rush of cocaine and the sensational fucking feel of a warm body under and over you, sliding skin against skin.

Meg argues. “Bitch, I rub one out morning, noon, and night and I still can’t button my jeans.”

Dean groans. “OK, I’m outta here. See you two in the morning.”

“Hiking?”

“Yes.”

“OK, goodnight!”

“‘Night.”

Before Dean can make it to the stairs, Alex stops him. 

“Hey, Dean. Billie told me to make sure you get this before curfew.”

She hands him his cell phone. All he can do is stare at it.

“She thought you might want it for, I dunno, solitaire or something. You still have a couple of hours before Light Out.” Alex reasserts her offer.

Dean cautiously takes his phone.

He didn’t realize until that moment how liberating it had been not having his phone for the past two weeks. He holds it like it’s foreign or cursed. 

“Thanks, Alex.”.

“Welcome,” she replies with a smile. “Have a good night, and good luck this weekend.”

Dean smiles back before turning and heading toward the staircase. 

Alex isn’t much older than Emma. Dean can imagine how proud her parents must be of what a great kid and how smart and kind she is. 

When he gets to his room, Jack’s already in bed with his comics, candy, and stuffed animal. Dean pauses for a moment to watch Jack reading. His brow is lightly furrowed, and he’s absently stroking the soft fur of his gryphon. 

“What’s his name?” Dean asks, setting his phone on his chest of drawers.

Jack jolts and rapidly blinks before looking up at Dean with bleary eyes.

“What?” he asks.

Dean smiles, biting back his laughter. He doesn’t want Jack to think he’s laughing at him in a bad way. 

“Your uhh... friend there.” Dean motions toward the gryphon as he pulls his drawer open for pajama pants and a t-shirt.

“Oh.” Jack looks down at the toy like he’d forgotten it was there. “Her name is Dagon.”

Dean pauses his search for pajamas and then turns to the kid. “Ironic. Dagon. Like dragon without the R?” He arches a brow.

Jack blushes and buries his grin in the neck of his guardian. “And with fur.”

Dean chuckles and turns to retrieve his pajamas. “Hey, Jack, you wanna read me one of your stories? I could use a little somethin’ to get my mind off tomorrow.”

He pushes his drawer shut before turning back and finding Jack beaming at him. 

“Yes. I’d love to!”

Dean nods. “Great. I’m gonna go shower real quick. Pick a good one.”

As Dean makes his way to the bathroom, Jack scurries out from under his covers and calls after him. “I will!”

Jack is an animated storyteller. As he tells the stories more than he reads them to Dean, it becomes clear that he’s read these books dozens of times. He explains the characters’ motivations without judgment, portraying them all as complex and sympathetic.

Two hours later, when their lights are turned out and Dean is gently nodding off, Jack murmurs something so quietly that Dean isn’t sure he’s meant to hear it.

“You could be Batman, Dean. You’re a lot like him.”

If Jack didn’t treasure and portray the vigilante with such love and compassion, Dean might take offense. Instead, Jack’s comment fuels hours of cartoonish dreams of Dean fighting fantasy crime with Jack at his side.

Dean wakes up too early to go down for coffee, but he got almost a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in months.

He gets up to pee and wash his face. On his way back to bed, he notices his phone on top of his chest of drawers. He waits a beat before picking it up. When he finally does, he crawls back into bed and stares at the dark screen for almost a whole minute.

 He checks in with himself like Billie’s taught him to do.

He’s scared. He doesn’t know what he’ll see in his text logs if he chooses to look at them. He doesn’t know what voice messages might be in his inbox. He decides before he opens his phone that he’s not going to look at his texts or his voicemail. He can’t manage that thick, sticky layer of anxiety today. He needs to be at his best for Emma.

Dean finds a game to play until he can get dressed and go down to meet Meg and Pamela for their hike.

“Dean.”

His stomach donkey-kicks his heart, and he freezes at the sound of Lydia’s voice.

Meg peeks around him curiously, and her face brightens with a smile. She looks up at him as she reaches for his smoke. 

“She’s here,” she says, tossing his cigarette into the sand. “Go.”

Dean swallows and nods then takes a deep breath, running his hand through his hair as he turns.

When he sees her, he exhales and can’t help but smile.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, baby.” He sets his coffee aside.

“You look good, Dean,” Lydia says, watching Emma closely and keeping her distance. “Maybe a little thin, but... good.”

“Thanks.” Dean doesn’t take his eyes off his daughter as she idles at her mother’s side. He takes a step forward then another. Before he can take a third, Emma collides with him, wrapping her arms around his ribcage and burying her face in his chest.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers.

Dean’s eyes close as he wraps his arms around her and rests his cheek on the crown of her head. “Me too, baby. God, me too.”

He opens his eyes to see Lydia watching Emma with tears in her eyes. She looks up at him and tries to smile. Dean shakes his head.

“Thank you,” he says, and Lydia nods, reaching out to smooth a hand along his arm.

Friday and Saturday are long and grueling. At meal times, Emma and Lydia leave the campus. Lydia explains that they just need a little break, but Dean worries. Emma hugged him and told him she missed him, though. That brief interaction gets him through hours of trudging through memories of what a mess he made of his life in the past three years. 

When Sunday arrives, he’s exhausted and wound so tight he’s afraid he might snap. He asks Billie for some tools to calm himself. She reminds him to breathe and to focus on being the person he wants to be and who Emma needs him to be; not on the past. 

At noon, they gather in the group room. As they assemble their chairs in a circle with chairs for Dean and Emma inside, Emma won’t look at him.

“Hey,” Pamela appears at his side with a cup of water. “Drink this and breathe. You’re gonna be great.”

Dean accepts the water and slams it. “Thanks.”

She takes the empty cup with a nod then turns to leave him to his task.

Once everyone is settled and Cain has explained how everything will play out, he turns to Dean’s daughter.

“Emma, what do you want to tell your dad?”

Emma still won’t look Dean in the eye as she chews the inside of her lip. “That he hurt me.”

Dean shifts in his chair and rubs the heel of his palm down and up his thigh.

“Tell your dad, Emma.”

Emma’s chest convulses on a shaky inhale and she side-eyes Dean. She looks so tired and sad. 

“I shouldn’t have to make an appointment to see my dad.”

“OK. That sounds like anger, Emma.”

“Yeah,” she answers, and her voice cracks. She looks back at Dean. “I shouldn’t have to make sure you won’t be high and having a threesome in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.”

Dean nods and licks his lips, blinking slowly as he drops his gaze to the floor. He agrees with her. She shouldn’t have to do that or see her fuck-up dad doing fucked up things.

“What else, Emma?” Cain prompts.

Emma draws another breath and squares her shoulders. She clears her throat and turns to fully face her dad. 

“That day...” Her lip trembles, and her eyes well with tears. “You were like an animal.” She shakes her head, and tears drop to her hands in her lap. “I didn’t recognize my dad that day.” 

Dean’s chest and jaw tighten painfully. In his line of sight, he sees Pamela’s hands wringing in her lap and Jack perched at the edge of his seat.

“Besides being hurt and angry, what else did you feel, Emma?”

“Scared,” she whispers, dropping her eyes.

Dean winces, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth.

“Of what, Emma? Tell your dad.”

“You weren’t you.”

Dean looks up again, wishing he could hold her and make it all go away. 

“You were...” Emma shakes her head. “Some fucked up, sex-crazed... lunatic. Not my dad. And I need you. I need you.”

Emma crumbles into sobs, and Dean pitches forward. Billie and Cain both told him he had to hear her out before speaking or acting in any way. He isn’t allowed to comfort her, and it’s killing him.

“OK. That was really good, Emma. Are you ready for your dad to talk now?”

Emma sniffles and nods, and Cain turns to Dean. 

“Dean, what do you want to say to Emma?”

He settles back in his chair.

He draws a deep breath and lets the tears spill, mirroring the little girl facing him. “I’m sorry, baby. I never wanted you to see me that way.”

Emma’s brow furrows, and she huffs a small sob, shaking her head. “Why... do you do that? Why do you wanna be like that?”

Dean stares at her for several breaths. He wants to apologize to her. He wants her to know that he never meant to hurt or scare her. He doesn’t know how to answer her question.

Finally, he shakes his head. “Sometimes I can’t be myself, Em.”

“But I need you,” she repeats her plea from before.

Dean swallows, tipping forward again. “I’m so sorry I hurt and scared you. I never want to hurt you, please... I need you to know that.”

“But you did,” she answers simply. “And if you don’t stop all that, you’ll do it again. Mom covered for you for so long. This needs to stop, I need my dad.”

Something about her tone of voice raises his hackles. “I’m still your dad, Em.” He reminds himself of Pamela’s advice.

“No,” Emma argues. “No, not like that! My dad’s strong and brave — he saves lives. He’s gentle and kind. He loves me—”

“I do love you, baby—” 

“Dean, Emma — let’s stay on track.”

Dean nods, turning back to face his daughter. “Em, honey, I love you. So much. And I wanna be good for you.”

“You are good for me. You help me feel unafraid to tell you anything, ask you anything. You make me stronger — that’s the reason I’m here today.”

All the lessons he’s learned from Billie, all of Meg’s observations, Jack's words, and even Crowley’s come rushing back to him. His daughter is begging him to be what he wants to be. It’s so simple. All he has to do is stop resisting so that he can be what she needs.

Dean hangs his head and cries, but he’s smiling. 

“... and I love you, too, Daddy. Everybody does. Don’t lose who you are because you’re afraid. I need you, Uncle Sammy needs you... these people need you to just be you.”

“Dean?” Cain calls to him. “Do you have anything else to add?”

 “OK.” He surrenders, bobbing his head as he raises it and wiping his tears. “You got me, baby.” 

Then Dean looks at Cain. “Can I hug my little girl now?”

Cain smiles and nods. “Yes.”

Emma is out of her chair just as Dean stands, meeting him with a shaking, sobbing embrace.

Chapter 9

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ’s Masterlist

[martygraves]

There are days in which you don’t want to do much. You skip work, sit your ass on the couch, turn on whatever episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation your rewatch has you on, cover yourself in a blanket, and breathe.

And on those days, you usually remember you’re forgetting something. Have you eaten? You’re running low on toilet paper again. You gotta mail those cards to your siblings for whatever holiday this is. And the cat is almost out of food. Fuck. Shit. There goes Star Trek time.

So, you get up off your miserable ass and put on whatever pants you deem appropriate enough to walk out the door in. Keys. Wallet. Phone. You stuff them all in your pocket. You trudge out to your car. It’s starting to rain.

It takes a minute to get your car situated before you drive through the grey towards the store. Luckily, most people like to avoid this kind of weather.

The parking lot is almost empty, by the way. Almost.

It’s quiet inside, to the point where you can hear the CAKE song playing over the loudspeaker at every corner. The squeak of your sneakers echoes a bit.

So does the voice on the next aisle. He’s mumbling the lyrics. “At Citi Bank, we will meet accidentally, we’ll start to talk when she borrows my pen—”

Sometimes you trip over a wonderful situation, and sometimes, it trips over you.

And sometimes, you just trip.

Your wet sneakers slip out from underneath you as you try to hurry through the aisles. You bump into the products on the shelf land flat on your left asscheek, just knowing there’s gonna be a huge purple bruise there when you check later. As you lay on the ground, several boxes of cereal strewn about, some still landing on your head as you struggle to sit up, you hear the voice from the other aisle get closer.

“You alright?”

As if things weren’t already going south. Now you have a stranger witnessing your follies.

“Fine.” You shake your head, shuffling your body away from the wet footprints—well, streaks you left behind.

“Sounded like you took quite a fall.” He offers one of his hands out to you. “Looks like it, too.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s an annoyed, huffy laugh, but one all the same. He smiles at you. “Come on, now.”

You take his hand in yours, feeling his grip tighten as he yanks you to your feet. And he really yanks. You’re surprised your arm didn’t fly off at one of the joints, but who cares. You’re standing now.

He’s not, though. He stumbles backward at the force of his own yanking, falling into the opposite shelf. He doesn’t make it to the floor like you did, catching his balance and grabbing one of the metal plates that make up the aisle.

You’re laughing again, covering your mouth as he flails and stands upright. You don’t know til much later, but he thinks in that moment it sounds like the most beautiful bell. Yeah, Taco Bell, maybe, you tell him later. He laughs at this. You both laugh a lot.

It’s just you and him in the cereal aisle, stumbling and falling, and helping each other back up. He asks you your name. You give him your number.

You get your groceries, pay at the self check-out, and head back out into the rain. When you get home, your cat is screaming at you for food, acting as if you’re just the absolute worst owner and didn’t feed her a couple of hours ago when she woke you up with the same screaming. All this before the sun was even up.

You feed her, get back on the couch with a bowl of cereal, and turn your show back on. Deanna Troi and William Riker are having another one of those will-they-won’t-they moments.

Your phone rings. Not a number you recognize. You answer. It’s him.

“Are you up to anything else today?”

“Just watching Star Trek. I don’t wanna get up off the couch again, though. I don’t wanna fall.”

He laughs, and tells you Star Trek is one of his favorites, and asks if he can come over. Against your better judgement, or perhaps because of it, you say yes.

He ate two bowls of your cereal that afternoon.

[1introvertedsage]

Entrance(d)

I miss listening. Waiting for clues. Whispers of news. Long past over due. Said I’m done playing their fool. And by their self serving rules. Not much left for me and you. When we’re busy living Just to prove. That we’re worthy Of basic human decency. I’m tired of seeing these scenes on TV. Robotic parrots all screaming the same things. When no one really sees the discourse that it brings. And the minds that it leads.

I can’t close my eyes to these lies. As I hear the people's cries. Salvation so easily denied. Because it’s easier to deny then try To fix this fucking circus.

Rape us and take from us. Stroking our fears But your lives are made by us. What do we get in return? Balance the scales Don’t have time for those tales What goes up must come back…

Yea, you know the rest And it’s about time I get this All off my chest. Fighting and screaming Til I don’t have much left. And there you are - Lights, camera, action Some sort of so called star.

But you don’t light up the night. Most times - not so bright. Stop and look around It’s yourself you continue to fight. But it’s alright. Got me here To shine a little light On this fucked up thing we call life. These chains cut like butter With the dullest knife. Cause the shit they’re doing Ain’t right.

Got people robbing me. Living in poverty. And it’s probably Because we’re ingrained to Worship false idols. Nothing new under the Sun. And I’ve only just begun To unravel this trickery That they’ve spun. So delicately around our heads As we were fast asleep in our beds. Compounding more for us To wake up and dread. Tranced minds are much easier To be led. Just listen to What’s not being said.

More money for war As more homeless and refugees Are dropped at their doors And they still lie About what they’re even fighting for. But sign up your kids. Follow suit. Lace up your boots. It’s what your parents did. While others cut corners And hid.

Babies sent to war And returned burned. What did they learn? The world is a cold place When you play by those rules. So easy to subdue. Pretty soon we’ll have newborns in school Backpacks full of drool. Abused by more parroting fools. Or the lost ones Shooting up the schools. With nothing to lose.

But more money for war. It’s not your children We’re fighting for. Got these greedy pigs at the top Just gotta have more And feed the demon. Sure, I read the lore. That means I also know What’s in store.

From all the bricks. Picking up my sticks. Barely on my feet And you keep taking more licks. Your gluttony Makes me sick. And I’m okay with justice Being swift. Walls fall and truths lift. No more pleading the fifth. We’ll read your rights While we read your heart.

Heart vs. feather You read the script. You thought it changed Cause you gone and done a few Magic tricks. Call that dumb as dicks. Silly pricks. When I done wrong I got my ass whipped With a switch. What do you think Your creator will pick? As the devil’s dogs Lick their lips. I came here to sink ships.

Won’t drop names That’s not my game. Just know one way You’ll have your fame. Thought I was alone. More than 2 can play that game. Take a step back. Let me show you How I came.

~Osian~

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 12

The van’s mildly soft cushions are the only recourse of comforting rest that all of them could have after their life threatening mission; the four psychic mobsters still left with injuries and cuts strewn throughout their bodies, with only gauze, bandages, and ointment being the only form of first aid that they had been given since then. With fresh blood pumped into her, Frida is able to keep the wheel steady as she drives the crew through the twilight roads of Manhattan; the cars that pass them by growing more spars as they cruise down into a more abandoned part of the city. Nothing but the sound of the vehicles engine rings through the inside of the van as all of them simply sit quietly, their eyes glued to the desolate sunset streets holding fewer and fewer wandering the concrete pathways the further in they drive; all of them undoubtedly left stricken over the loss of their light leader.

“Your fucking joking!” Satette’s voice echoes out, thinking back to the aftermath of their last mission. Outside the twin doors of the church, there proves little time to bask in the glow of the morning sun as the scion of gas stands before the gang; March simply standing before them all as the lively psychic continues with: “We just got done going through that little slice of heavenly hell trying to get back the psychic stone and now you wanting us to go out on another!? You asshole’s ain’t even gonna give us time to stop by the clinic and dress our wounds!?” “Afraid them’s the orders. With that little bobble back in our clutches, the boss wants it secured ASAP.” the scion of gas claims, blowing out a plum of cigar smoke from his mouth. “If it’s so important to secure it, then why don’t one of you take the rock back?” Thurs wonders. “Cause, we got a full plate to worry about ourselves. Need to get this whole mess swept under the rug before prying eyes start to worm their way in. The cops we got closing off the area can only hold the blood hounds that we unfortunately have to call the media off for so long.” “This is bullshit! We just tragically lost one of our own and you heartless bastards want us to move on like nothing’s happened!” Frida joins in to objects. “Afraid that’s just how the world works these days. Don’t matter how much tragedy we go through, the world refuses to cease turning. But hey, we get it. Took a lot from everyone here just to get that bobble out from the apostles clutches. And with their top dog having been put down and their base of operation in ruins; it won’t be long before the rest of their cult’s organization crumbles away trying to scrape what little power they have left. We can finally close the book on this decades long gang war.” “Yeah, good for you.” Wedsle responds with unenthusiastic brooding.

“It’s probably why the boss wants to thank you personally.” March then states, this meager claim practically dragging Weds and Sat out from his depressed slump and devote their full attention. “Wait, you mean the boss. Like the boss of us all.” Thurs questions, left as astonished from the uptake as everyone else. “The very same. It’s who your gonna be delivering our mcguffin to. Says he want to personally see it come back in his hands.” “Tsk, well you can tell the son of a bitch that-” “We’ll do it!” Weds cuts the dimensional psychic with. “What?” “Good to hear it. You got til tonight to meet up with him, so I’d take that time to clean yourselves up. Least you lot could do is look halfway decent.” the scion of gas departs with.

Among their drive through the decrepit part of the city, the sidewalks left cracked and fractured from years of neglect, the crew each sets their sites to a big building set along the corner of the street; the somewhat fade sign held above its entrance suggesting it once had been a grand museum once hosting a myriad of subjects, all from arts, history, and artifacts. It’s clear to see from its decayed stone that no such precious items lay inside no more. All that’s held among its walls is emptiness and the occasional criminal meetups; sort of like the one all of them are going for.

“Why the hell did you say that for!?” Frida objects, all of them standing in the middle of the clinic as they wait for their injuries, cuts, and bruises to be tended to. “You know none of us are in any condition to get back on the field after all we just went through. I mean, I’ve already lost so much blood, its a miracle I’m still conscious.” “Frida…We’re right here.” Thurs grabs her attention with, dimensional psychic turning out to be facing the wrong way from them. Peering back and forth from where she stare out to the rest of the crew for a brief moment, Frids shakes off whatever dizzying sensation the blood loss has given her and rerouting her sites to the others to continue with: “Ju-just what the hell was going through your head when you told that gassy bastard we’d be at the meet up?” “With Monty out of the picture, somebody had to take the reigns he left behind. So I figured that- “That’s not what I’m leading too.” “Then what are you-”

“You just went about going on like nothing had happened when you told that gassy son of a bitch we’d take the meet up; as if you didn’t spend the last ten minute’s mourning over our deceased friend. I expect that sort of shitty callousness from those heartless pieces of shit, but you? I fully expected you to just start swinging at that son of a bitch for even forcing us back on the roll after the loss we just had, but you just bent the knee first moment you heard about the boss. Did Monty mean that little to you!?” This overwhelmingly fierce response held against him by the dimensional psychic is enough to shake Wedsle’s very breath; the psychic of negative emotion clutching tightly against his black denim pants. “Whoa, Frids! Don’t need to go that far; ease up.” Sat defends, this urging Frida to reel herself back. “Nggh…” the dimensional gun woman utters, remorse bubbling from her rash judgement. “It’s...fine. Guys. I can get why you think that. Believe me, Frida. Dude was practically the closest thing I had to a dad my whole life. No one misses him more than me. But this, one on one with the boss. The boss. Everything I’ve been doing for this damn criminal syndicate’s all been leading to this. There’s not a chance in hell I can miss this, if I do, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Not after everything I’ve...After everything we’ve done.” This promise, this declaration over his resolve proves to me something of awe inspiring to his three crewmates, leaving each of them speechless over how calmly their psychic of rage is being. “Maybe all the anger’s spent up.” Thurs quietly remarks, this earning him a rough elbow to the shoulder from Sat.

The van lets out a high pitched hiss as it stops right long the side of the abandoned museum; Frida setting the vehicle in park as Wedsle leaps out from the passenger seat. Peering back to the dimensional psychic, Weds is left despressed when finding Frida not even so much as look at him as he exits the van. With not even so much as a good luck or goodbye from any of his other crew mates, Wedsle makes his way in towards the museum doors with determined silence; adjusting the natural green arm band wrapped along his wrist. One strand from this band descends down to the palm of his hands; this stiffened straight strand leading down to a razor sharp tipped root clutched between the purple psychic’s fingers.

With Frida sent in first into the doctor’s office for a much needed blood transfusion, that leaves only Wedsle, Satette, and Thursotte alone among themselves as they wait patiently for their turn to have good doc fix them up. As Thurs worryingly waits for Frida’s return, staring down the hall she had been escorted into, this leaves the lively psychic to inch over to her purple partner in crime and lightly nudge at his arm to bait his attention to her. “Yeah?” he whispers with. “So, you even have a plan?” Sat wonders under her breath. “For the boss?” “Yeah. Cause we don’t got single clue on him, who he is, or even if he’s got any psychic powers.” “Oh, been thinking that too. It’s why I figure I take him out before the son of a bitch gets the chance to try anything.” the violet psychic claims. “You’re kidding. That’s barely a strategy, Weds. This guy’s the top dog of an infamous criminal syndicate; he’s probably had to deal with this sort of backstabbing bullshit countless times by now. Not to mention the fact he’s  requested only you to meet up with him. Anything you try, he’s likely already prepared to deal with.” Sat explains. “Then what the hell you suggest then?”

Upon beings asked this is the lively psychic’s attention draw over to a collection of potted plant standing atop the receptionist’s desk beside them; Satette reaching over to uproot the healthy plant from its potted soil and uses her power to morph its structure to that of a thick arm band holding a leaf pattern across its surface. “This big puppy right here’s packed with a ton of bright green chlorophyll and a sharpened tipped made from the roots. Soon as you go straight through the door, make a small cut along the sleeve to let down droplets of green drip down on the floor. He might be expecting you, but there’s not a chance he’ll see me coming. You’re not back in ten minutes, I’ll come in and lend you a hand.”

Letting himself in through the unlocked doors of the museum, the first detail of the interior that presents itself is the bedraggled state that the front lobby had been left in; its desk and displays stripped of anything of worth, now only filled with gathering dust and cobwebs. The marble floor, once pristine and polished enough to show one reflection, now holds nothing but grime and dirt gathered from the countless years of neglect along with the occasionally concerning red splatters staining the solid marble. The signs and posters that lay strewn across the walls and hanging over the ceiling, having previously held colorfully decorated wacky mascots and characters, were sapped of any color from the years of disrepair; the lettering that they stand beside barely left legible.

After shutting the door behind him, the very first thing that the violet psychic does is make a small slit along the plant like arm band wrapped around his wrist with the nail of his thumb; the chlorophyll spilling out from its cut dripping along the bottom of his hand and down onto the floor, with the natural green splattering contrasting well against the grimy dirt. Before taking another step through the museums front hall, Wedsle peers down into darkened corridors leading  deeper into the building ahead; its shadows potentially concealing unknowable dangers that hold power that of which lay beyond his understanding. Not even any of the scions know what our boss even looks like, much less what they’re capable off. Preparing himself for who or what lays within the walls of this abandoned museum, the purple psychic takes in a calming breath as he stares into the dark recesses ahead; proceeding through into the halls with the drips of chlorophyll trailing behind as heads down the middle hall.

Back outside, the last of the twilight sun disappears as the darkness gives way into the encroaching midnight; the street lamps shining aglow and piercing through the nearing shadows, shining against the crew’s van parked right outside the curb of the museum. From the crew’s seemingly endless boredom, Thursotte’s site wanders across who wonders the darkened streets around this time of night, spotting a couple of shadows wandering through the darkness. It’s when traveling underneath the spotlights above is it reveal what sort of characters could be found strolling through the streets at the dead of night, Thurs lay eyes upon a greasy looking tweeker, a forlorn hooker, and an elderly man seemingly on the verge of a mental breakdown. Though a common sight in this part of town, their presence among the dead of night prompts the young man to lock that van door.

Sat on the other hand could care less about what lies among the decrepit and unkempt streets of this side of town, for her attention is far more entangled by the minutes that tick by; the young lady gazing closely to the time displayed on her phone to see only five minutes have passed. Only five more til its time to dive in after him. Hope he don’t take too long to do the dirty deed.

From the growing silence, Frida finishes take a big swig of her bottle of fruit punch with a small sigh; the dimensional psychic eyes rolling to the young lady who sits beside her and starting off with: “Yo Sat.” “Y...yeah?” Sat responds, jumping from the unexpected call. “Thurs said something about you and Weds whispering some shit while I was in the ward. Care to share with the rest of us what you two were so secretive about?” “Uuh…” “He ain’t coming onto you, is he?” Thurs then turns to join in with. “What, him!? No!? Ain’t nothing like that!” “Then what were you two talking about?” “It’s nothing that intimate or perverse...But it still something I don’t wanna talk about.” “Alright. Ain’t no skin of our backs.” Thursotte concludes.

“No, something ain’t sitting right?” Frida denies, refusing to drop the conversation. “You haven’t been with us for that long, Sat. Yet you and Weds have been all buddy buddy faster than he had with us. Even before you met the rest of us, you seem on pretty good terms with him. So what’s the deal there?” “Ain’t no deal about it. Okay.” Sat reinforces. “Bullshit!” “I swear.”

Wishing to not involve himself in this escalating argument any further, Thurs returns his attention over to the streets across the road they park against; shutting out the voices to try and grasp at what peace he could. But its in staring out into the dimly lit streets that something strange catches his attention when gazing out to a drunkard stumbling in the late night; something about the way the plastered gent slowly stumbled around baiting his suspicion. It was rather typical for somebody having downed as much booze as this bastard to fumble about so slowly; a common site around this time of night in the city. But the way this guy moved seemed even slower than usual, the manner this man was going about so lethargically. Even when as wasted as he was, going this slow should offer some forms of balance. Dude’s practically in slow motion for how long it takes him to walk across the street. But its when aiming his attention down to the beer bottle still in his hand that things start to get really fucking freaky; the way this hammered drunkard holds his booze practically invite severals drops of alcohol to pour out from the open end. These droplets of B grade beer however descend down towards the concrete streets far slower than any sort of liquid Thursotte had seen, taking just one drop to fall from the tilted bottle and onto the pavement in what seemed like several seconds; far slower than he’s ever seen before. This site alone was enough to make the young man realize one thing, that something is very wrong here.

The inner depths of the museum proved to be just as stripped down at the entrance; Wedsle failing to find even a scrap of what had remained hanging along the walls and standing atop the numerous pedestals laying strewn across the halls. Nothing but the countless vermin and scuttling bugs rummaging out along the side are all that’s left that calls this dilapidated building home. Outside the rats and bugs crawling through the halls and the dripping the drops of chlorophyll made from behind, not a peep could be heard within the deafening silence held among the museum corridors. Despite all this however, the atmosphere the purple psychic felt was eerie and riddled with tension; the instinct to keep his guard held unwavering as he exits the hall and goes down another corridor, taking countless twists and turns among his trek inside the museum.

The violet psychic jumps when suddenly hearing something crashing down behind him, Wedsle swiftly jolting back to what was at his back to discover it only to be the remains of a big picture frame; having been knocked off by a couple spiders digging itself out from the wall. Wedsle takes a deep breath to calm himself from the false alarm, reaffirming to himself that keep steady. Can’t let this get to me, not when I’m so close.

Shaking off the fright that the false alarm had given him, Wedsle climbs the steps besides the knocked over painting frame and makes the climb towards the second floor, hoping up from step to step on his way to the top. But when making it to the top of the stairwell is the purple psychic left perplexed over where he ends up, coming out through the right of the entrance hall he had been in before; the drips of chlorophyll he had trailing behind him still fresh. What the fuck...This ain’t making… Nevertheless does Weds continue through the entrance hall, careful to not step on the trail of green plant blood he left behind from before; he decides to take the corridor along the left most side of the hall.

Soon enough, the purple psychic sees a flight of stairs leading downwards and makes a leap down all the way from the top step; Wedsle feels a slight ting along the bottom of his feet while landing along the bottom of the steps. Huh, felt easier to do back in the orphanage.

When continuing through the rest of the corridor does Weds find himself in another hall of the museum, similar to the other display hall from the last; but this one holding a window how along the other end of the room. Coming to this window and wiping away the years worth of dust however has the violet psychic come to a startling discovery, gazing out from the glass to see himself standing dozens of feet over the streets outside; Wedsle peering down to find the van he and the other’s came in still parked along the edge of the street. What the hell is going on? I take some stairs leading down and I end up at the top floor. Didn’t take any physics lessons, but I know enough to realize when shit isn’t making sense.

Left perplexed by the strange and supernatural way he’s been navigated through the museum, Wedsle decides to make a complete one eighty and turn his ass back around through the corridor where he came in. But in his haste through the hallway does he quickly start to realize the lack of a stairwell of any kind; remembering that he definitely came down through a flight of descending steps. The layout of this museum doesn’t make a damn lick of sense. I try going down, but I end up higher. Went back over to find myself in a completely different hallway. Shit better get back to normal fast, else I’ll be real pissed.

Its in his disorienting trek through the museum halls does he turn the corner to come to a dead end holding nothing but a couple of garbage cans and a lone door labeled as the fire exit; Wedsle approaching the door in a bid to get out of this confusing, every shifting maze. Ain’t taking any chances here. Best regroup with the crew and come back in. Not a single alarm rings out as he pushes on the bar of the emergency exit; the sirens attached to the door having been shot out years ago. But the lack of alarms isn’t what really alarms the purple mobster, for he finds the exit he pushes through to only lead to the top of a descending staircase; the worry and frustration in him growing as he ignores the lie of the exit and climbs down the steps.

Yet when making it to the bottom of the stairs and out through the open doorway, the violet psychic is left distraught as he discovers having entered into the same exacted hall he had been through before; hole in the wall, frame on the floor, even green trail of chlorophyll left behind. Are you fucking joking!!! With the frustration Wedsle holds over the changing layout coming to a boil, he makes a sprinting dash across the hall in hopes of escaping from its ever winding madness; unaware of a figure coming out from the corner he leaves behind. This newcomer, watching the purple psychic wear himself out from the confusing maze with a delighted gleeful grin, holds an aura that surges across his body; its very color comparable to that of the infinite, star glittering cosmo’s.

“Quit trying to play coy with us, Sat. You think were dumb enough not to know you and Wed’s are up to something?” barks Frida. “I’m not trying anything; I just don’t wanna tell you. What we’re trying is just way too risky to-” “Risky? What the hell could make what you two are doing any more dangerous than the shit we just got through yesterday evening, alone? Nevermind all the other crap we pulled ourselves through?” “This is different. I don’t even know if we can pull this off or not.”

In between the girl’s argument, Thursotte’s eyes are glued to the site that lays beyond the window; the young man’s left frightened as he watches the staggering drunkard fumbling through the streets slow down more and more. The alcohol he spills out from his bottle dropping slower in turn. Before the single droplet of booze could splash down onto the pavement, the liquid comes to a complete stop in the middle of the air; the late night drinker in turn left frozen in place in the midst of his stumbling. Among this phenomenon he watches unfold, Thurs discovers other things showing the same symptoms around them just like the booze guzzler. A mangy dog, left in the middle of chasing after a rat; the pursuit left completely stiffened and still. The young man’s site is drawn to one of the street light’s casting their luminescence down upon the streets below and discover the very same happening to the countless moths drawn to its glow, the swarm of insects gathered utterly frozen in the air. This last piece convinces Thursotte for this not to be a mere hallucination and turns back to the pair of woman; going: “Guy’s. There’s-”

Yet do his attempts to warn fall on deaf ears as both Satette and Frida continue their argument; the dimensonal gangster barking back how: “So you think you can just worm your way in and start changing stuff now that Monty’s dead?” “No, that’s what I’m doing at all. Monty had nothing to do with what Weds and I are trying. But-” “But you thought you could jeopardize our what livelihood all of us have left to grasp onto without so much as saying a word to it about us. You know how fucking stupid and reckless that is?” “That’s exactly why we don’t want you two involved.” “Guys.” Thurs tries to call for them again, louder than before.

“So sweeping us under the rug was your best option; leave us behind while the two of you drive off into the sunset?” Frida argues. “What would you even do if we did let you in on it, huh? The sort of shit we got in the back burner right now is too dangerous risk it. Not with how big it all is.” Sat rebuttals. “And just what the hell is big that you can’t tell either of us?” “Guys!” Thursotte screams out. “What!?” the two ladies bark back at him, their aggressive response taking the young man back.

In the middle of this intrusive silence, a piece of the van ceiling flops down onto the leather seat beside Thurs; all of them peering up to where the piece of roof fell and discovering what laid underneath. The metal that hid underneath the layer of thin cloth revealed to be covered in a thick coating of bright red rust; flakes of the bright crimson fluttering down all over the back seats. “So, how old is this van?” Sat then brings their conversation to. “Only had it for about five years.”

A rancid odor then quickly start to waft through the inside, one that makes everyone within revile from its overwhelming foulness; all of them looking through the van as Thurs tries to keep himself from puking, uttering: “Dear god, what is that smell!?” Searching throughout the inside does following the foul smell lead the gun woman to the bottle of fruit punch that stood within the cup holder beside her; Frida swiping the open bottle to take a whiff inside, confirming the drink to be the source of the terrible odor. A glance into the bottle reveals another shocking detail over its contents, the batch of natural and artificial juice littered with patches of foul green mold. “The hell!? I just bought it from a gas station hours ago!” A peek at the bottom of the bottle shows her the date of which it would typically expire, reinforcing out: “And its nowhere near the expiration date. How is it already covered in mold!?”

Revolted by the vomit inducing display of rotting fruit juice, Thursotte hand’s glide straight over to the door in hopes of escaping from the rancid drink; unintentionally smacking against it as he tries to pull the handle. When his attempt to exit the van is thwarted, Thurs peers down to the door handle to find it left utterly plagued in a coating of ruby red rust like the ceiling above him, refusing to move no matter how much he pulls on it. “Why is there so much rust on the door handle?” Satette then turns her attention over to her own door and discovers its handle left just as rusted as Thurs stood; the door refusing to open no matter how much she tugs and pulls at its knob. “I can’t get it open.

“That’s it, I’m getting us outta here. Everybody hold on.” Frida demands, stretching her arm out for the two. When both Sat and Thurs grab hold of the dimensional psychic’s hand, Frida reaches for the window beside her as her aura flares; aiming to escape through the small gap in the window. Her plans of retreat are quickly thwarted when hitting herself against the door to discover her traversal into the 2nd dimension cut off before it even starts; all of them taking another look to realize there stand a wall of pure pale white aura keeping them trapped. “A psychic aura!?” exclaims Sat. “Whoever doing this has us trapped!” Thurs panics. “Time for plan B, then.” Frida states, pulling out her desert eagle. With only just a few shots from her gun, Frida shatters the glass of the van’s front windshield into tiny shards that scatter across the hood; all three of them swiftly climbing out from the busted window to escape from the unexpected trap.

Upon leaping back outside, the trio peer back to the van they had climbed out from and are left stricken by the deplorable condition the vehicle had become in just a few short moments; the sea foam green paint cracked and chipped, the windows left riddled with what seemed to be years worth of dirt, and its metal caked in layers of rust. “Holy shit. What sort of powers do you need to have to turn the van into an old pile of scrape like that?” Thursotte shutters. Left bitterly angered over the decay of her vehicle, Frida pulls out another desert eagle as she aims the other down the side of the withered van; demanding that: “Whoever the hell you are, step out now and I swear I’ll only put one bullet through your brains.”

“Silence.” a chilling, cold voice demands. From behind the rusted and decrepit van steps out a man with clean cut blonde hair donning a businesses suit fancying a zebra stripe pattern; this man calculated and chill stare etching into the three as he states: “Is that any way to speak to your executive?” “Our executive? The hell does that mean?” “Yeah, who are you?” Thurs demands to know. “Hm, I go by so many pseudonyms these days, its difficult to keep track of them all. But which one is simple enough get the point across?… I suppose simply referring to me as ‘Tury’ will work. Of course, you could refer to the position I hold above you; the one that puts me above almost everyone in this organization.” “So then that makes you…” Frida goes, lowering her weapon from the awe. “Our boss. The boss.” Thursotte finishes for her.

Tury’s ice piercing gaze fixated upon the lively psychic behind them, shivers course through Satette spine as she stare upon the very head of the criminal syndicate himself; left overcome with a worrying dread as this man’s eyes icy glare cuts deep into her. This is the boss!? He’s nothing near like what I imagined. His eyes, its like they’re staring straight through me. Wait a minute. If the boss is out here, then who’s Wedsle meeting up with in there?

Left exhausted over attempting to navigate out from this nightmarish cacophony of the museum’s maze like insides; the ever shifting layout of the inside leaving Wedsle oppressively trapped in its winding corridors. In the midst of his fruitless race throughout this ever winding maze that Wedsle stops right in the middle of a display hall, a one left stripped of any sort of valuable artifacts and paintings along its walls and pedestals. He sits upon one of the stands meant for what were statues and figures that once stood tall among the patrons, catching his breath as he looks throughout the floor; evidence of his travels through this particular hall clear to see with countless drops of green chlorophyll littering the dirty marble. Must’ve gone through this same damn hall about 10 times now. No matter which way I go, nothing makes sense. Going downstairs leads to the top floor, taking lefts leads you down to rights, going through doors just makes you go into wherever. Just what sick shit is happening to the inside of this museum?

“Jeez, you look exhausted.” a relaxed voice intrudes among his thoughts, this unexpected voice causing him to fall off the stand and onto the dirty marble floor. Returning his sites to the stand does Wedsle discover himself not alone within this discordant maze of madness; for another stands atop the very platform he had rested on. This man, sporting blonde and unkempt locks dangling beyond his neckline as he looks down upon the purple psychic with a curious gaze, his loose cargo pants hanging right over his sandals as his stained sleeveless shirt dangles over his waste line. “Who the fu...Who are you?” the violet gangster questions. “Me? Hmm...I’m not really supposed to say. But I guess you gotta call me by something, right?...Oh, I know. How bout Cen, think that works?”

Wedsle picks himself off the dirty marble tile as this mysterious man hops down from the stand, the purple psychic dusting himself off while continuing with: “Alright ‘Cen’. You know what the hell’s happening with the insides of this shit hole shifting around?” “Well, I’m supposed to meet up with some guy in here to pick up the stone. That wouldn’t happen to be you would it?” “You’re who I’m meeting up with? Don’t fucking tell me, you’re the boss!?” “I guess you might be half right. Really, the boss is just me and my bro working things over.” “Yo-your brother!?” “Yep, he mostly makes sure the whole place works like clockwork, while I come up with the plans and ideas creatively put in.” Cen jovially claims.

This can’t be happening; the boss ain’t just one piece of shit at the top, its two people? Never mind this damn museum maze; this fucking M night Shyamalan twist puts everything in a wrench. Just chill out, Weds; you can work with this. Take this guy out and you’ll have one less problem to deal with; baring the rest of the mob coming after you. Least like this, it’ll put one helluva hole in them. Even if this guy is one half of the whole package, there’s no way I can miss this opportunity, not after everything that’s been sacrificed.

“Uh, ka-kay. Wasn’t exactly easy to get. But we nabbed it.” Wedsle informs, pulling the glass bobble holding the psychic stone from his blazer pocket before tossing it over to the bossman. Cen lets out a little chuckle as he snatches the pebble from the air, his joyous demeanor slipping when noticing the small crack left along the glass enclosing it. “Huh, why’s there a crack in the glass?” “Me thinks those apostle dipshits didn’t treat it as carefully as they should’ve. You how wild those zealots can get.” “Hmm...Wonder if this might be a bad thing? Wonder what might happen if the glass breaks?” questions Cen, turning away from the violet psychic to further inspect the glass casing.

This moment of careless absentmindedness is just what Wedsle needed to enact his true intentions against his superior; brandishing the small root pike he had hidden in the palm of his other hand and aiming its tip directly towards the heedless head of the criminal syndicate. Wasting not another second of this opportunity, the violet psychic thrust the hidden weapon made by his lively partner at the boss’ backside; the sharp tip of its roots just moments away from piercing through the man’s spine. But upon the very last second before the tip could even so much as brush against his unsuspecting foe’s back; Wedsle’s arm is suddenly veered away from the big man’s behind; the weapon failing to do so much as even touch a single part of him. It was if something had forced his aim away from the relaxed leader. What the fuck!? I was aiming right at his back; how the hell did I miss!? “Oh Wedsle. I was sincerely expecting better from you.” Cen disappointingly chastises, glaring back to the purple psychic with a gleefully unhinged smile as a black, starry aura flares out from his body.

All of the sudden does the distance between them rapidly grow, all without either of them moving so much as an inch; Wedsle peers down to his feet to see the marble tile stretched out like putty, the texture left elongated and warped. Just when attempting to wrap his head around this strange phenomenon, the violet psychic looks back towards where his boss stood to witness the loosely dressed head of the mob ascending up above the tile and float in the middle of the museum hall. “On the bright side, this gives us a good excuse to play. Just let me set the stage.” the hovering boss states, spreading his starry aura all throughout the display hall. Upon Cen’s engulfing power, the entirety of the chamber both occupy start to warp before Wedsle’s very eyes, the stand contorting into impossible shapes and stretching out all across the room, the walls and floor bending all around in so many different direction in such twisted and impossible ways.

This son of a bitch was the reason the inside of this museum was so screwed up. He went abut screwing with the inside to get me lost, and I hopelessly fell right into his clutches. This is the boss’ psychic power; holding the influence over space itself. Once the boss’ incredible influence had engulfed the entirety of the museum, its inner architect held a design reminiscent of the signature twisted and distorted visions of Dali and Picasso, giving way into an impossible nightmare of reality. “Now, let the game begin.”

“There’s no way in hell that can be true!” Frida barks, aiming her pistol’s directly to the zebra pattern suited man that stands before the rustic scrape that had been her van. “The boss’ way too much of a pussy to show himself out in the open.” “Rest assured, Frida; your suspicions be unwarranted. There’s no need for you to escape into the walls.” “How the hell do you possibly-” “I make it a point to remember the names and abilities of those who serve under us; particularly those holding psychic power. All of it to maintain an affirming grip over the influence of all who work among this syndicate, and to quell dissenters and traitors when necessary.”

Among this well dressed gent’s prattling over his power does the lively psychic’s gaze peek over to the museum standing right behind them; Sat slowly backing away over to the sidewalk which the building stands aside while keeping her eyes locked to the boss. “I know so much concerning your past, your present, and your desired future. I hold so many eyes and ears planted throughout this entire metropolis, that there’s practically nothing that is absent from what I know about the sort of ambitions all of you hold.” Once far enough away from the timely businessman, the young woman turns around to try and make a bolt towards the museum; Sat overwhelmingly shocked when finding the guy suddenly standing in her way. “Even yours, Satette.” he claims, his icy gaze staring directly into the young woman’s own.

Utterly astonished by Tury’s swift and unexpected appearance, Sat fumbles back and falls to the cold hard concrete road; Frida and Thursotte left just as taken aback as both of them look back and forth from where the man stood to where he does now. “Holy shit, did he just fucking teleport!?” the dimensional psychic exclaims. “With how instantaneous it was, he might as well have.” Thurs adds.

Satette slowly crawls back away from the man that had gotten past her in but an instant, left extremely tense as  his ice cold glare fixates against her entire body; all the while Tury points out how: “Indeed, Satette. I’ve known what you and Wedsle had been scheming from the very start, every since the two of you had met. Did you seriously think that both of you could usurp us so you could take control of the mob yourselves?” “You were gonna do what!?” Frida screams. “Is he telling the truth, Sat? Were you really gonna try and take out the boss?” Thursotte ask. “Uh…”

“Did you sincerely believe you two were the first to attempt a coop against us? The naivety you held thinking that you could attempt such truly astounds me.” the head of the mob states, a vine of green plant life slithering down along the back of Sat’s arm as he speaks. Raising a hand held high above the laying young woman, Tury hammers his hand down towards Satette head as he declares that: “Be assured that your foolish ambitions shall be laid to rest upon my hand.”

But just when the well dressed mob boss was about to lay a hand upon her, the lively psychic raising her own fist against him; her knuckles covered in a layer of foliage. Upon mere contact with the coat of green plant life does a clash of green and white psychic power surge out between the two; this clash between these forces of power being the opening Sat needs as she commands the vines of her plant to start digging into the man’s hand. Before these intrusive vines could protrude any further within the boss’ flesh, Tury vanishes in the blink of an eye; leaving behind nothing but smattering of his blood staining the pavement where he stood. Yet not another moment passes before Satette is suddenly kicked against her side with enough force to have her roll off across the street; right along the side where the mangy dog and rodent stand frozen in place.

Having watched this play out before them, Frida and Thursotte are left ever perplexed upon the sequence of events that had just taken place; the young man wondering: “So did you catch what just happened or…” “No, but I did notice something just now.” “What’s that?” “Look at the pavement, notice something bout where his blood drips?” “It looks like it trails off into a curve.” “Exactly. It wouldn’t do that if he simply could teleport.” Frida claims. “So, if that’s not what his power is, then what is it?” “Best guess is that he’s moving faster then our eyes can see him. And with how instantaneous he moves, he might well be stopping time.”

Among the conclusion of this explanation does the boss then avert his gaze over to the two of them; Tury’s ice cold glare locked against his and causing the two to jump back. “I suggest you two not prattle of my abilities not a moment further. I’m well aware that both of you have been ignorant of the scheme your associates had concocted. I rather not have such needlessly wasteful casualties come about, not while they still prove useful. So don’t even utter another word of this, lest you force my hand.”

When a gnarling bark of a dog sounds off before him, Tury peers back to witness the lively psychic leap out against him; the body of the mangy canine enveloped around her arm as she thrusts the dogs open maw at him. “Don’t you dare touch them!” Satette plunges the head of the mangy dog the well dressed boss, commanding the canine to chomp down and sink its teeth into his neck. Got em!

Yet the young woman’s urge to finish this fight is snuffed when she suddenly finds the dog opening its maw before it could bite down any further; the lively psychic’s entire body slowly inching away from her foe. The lively psychic is left terrified as she looses control of her entire body while she slowly drift back and away from the mob boss, like her very movements were being rewound backwards. Dammit, I can’t move away! My body’s not listening! All it’s doing is going back from where I lunged at him from!

In the middle of her rewinding retreat, Satette is left helpless as to watch the man standing before her cock his whole arm back before driving it right into her stomach; the punch Tury throws at her proving as fast and hard as a cannon as she’s sent flying across the street once more. When slammed against the wall and dropping down onto the street, Satette is left with trouble breathing as that last blow had knocked the wind out of her; the young lady taking in deep and frantic breath as she glance back to see the man that had struck her approach.

“I can’t just stand back and watch this.” Thurs objects, ready to jump in. Frida clutches at his arm to stop the young man from leaping into the fray, demanding to know: “Thurs, what the hell are you doing!?” “After everything we’ve been through and all the injuries we took, she can barely fight back as is. It’s inhuman!” “You even hear what he said, we even try and jump in and he kill us too.” “I don’t care.” he states, fighting to break free from the woman’s grasp. “That mean you don’t care about seeing your family again?” the dimensional psychic then points out, this reminder causing Thursotte to stop struggling. “Think about them, man. You think you’ll ever see them if you jump in and get yourself killed.” Upon this conundrum, Thursotte peers back towards the ongoing fight with uncertainty held in his eyes; watching as the well dressed head of the mob marches towards the lively psychic.

“Make no mistake. Though I’m rather kept and organized, that is not to a hindrance to my physical capabilities. We hadn’t made our way to the top with intellect alone. You best take caution to drill that fact in your head with what little time I bestow to you.” the boss remarks, cracking his knuckles. Frida might’ve been onto something about what this guy’s power is. This bastard might as well have the power to control time.

Among the twisting reality held within the museum hall, one of the elongated display stands, deformed by the warped space, lunges out against the purple psychic; Wedsle leaping away from the thrusting stand before he could be hit by its hard stone. But jumping away from one problem does the violet gangster find himself barreling into another, for he find himself not dropping back down to the marble tile like he had intended; rather, Wedsle continues to hurdle around towards another part of the warp hall aside him. During this confusion shift in gravitational pull, the stand that he had just evade swings down upon him and hammers the purple psychic against the curved stone wall. Yet this unnaturally stretched piece of stone fails to smash the man in, for Wedsle manages to push the stand off of him enough to escape from under its hefty weight and scamper away. Even the sense of gravity’s fucked up in here. I can’t even start to figure out which way is up or down in this place. As long as that son of a bitch floating up there is taking the wheel on all that in here, it could practically be in any direction for what its worth.

The floors curving up, the railing to the catwalk bending outward, a couple of the stands protruding out like strange growths, even the walls bending around in nightmarish and discordant ways; all of it Wedsle races up, down and all around through as the space bending bastard above commands all of it to thrust, swing, and hammer down against him. But its during his race through the hall that he discovers some of the warped objects and walls distorted and stretched in such a way to offer a few ways up closer towards the reality warping son of a bitch, the environment Cen constantly twists to own amusement providing the way up towards where he hovers. Guy looks like he can’t take much of a hit. Bet one good blow to the head ought to at least knock his damn block off.

A plan in mind, Wedsle makes his move as part of another bent stand threatens to swing at his side like a careening boulder attached to a pillar; the purple psychic leaping over and atop the piece as it’s swings throughout the warped room. Among his ride across the museum’s twisted chamber does a part of the wall start to jut out dozens of pikes out from across its surface and towards the violet traitor, Wedsle jumping right on top of the stretched spikes of wall to climb up its very length. As Weds hops from one jutting spike to the next, he looks aside to discover one end of the cat walks guard rail thrusting at him like a serpent lunging for its prey; the violet psychic proving faster as he dodges the end of the rail and clutches at its steel to go for a ride.

Watching the purple traitor ride the railing as it slithers through the air, Cen lets out an amused giggle while raising his hands up towards the marble floor above them; the tiles turning into pillars of stone as they rain down at his foe. The downpour of columns all around him, Wedsle leaps off the rail and atop one of the descending pillars, clutching tightly against its stone before leaping off onto another beside him. The purple psychic leaps to one elongated column to the next, all until he feels the twisted center of gravity shift to let him stand along the side the stretches marble.; the violet traitor making a daring dash towards the space shifting shithead. Cen remains confident as he commands the pillars surrounding him to all lunge at the purple psychic from every single direction; almost like a pair of giant stone hands were coming together to crush him between its stone palms. A resounding boom reverberates through the air as all the gathering pillars collide in an explosive plume of dust and debris; the space manipulating mob boss parting the cloud in hopes of finding his traitors mangle body hidden beyond, but is left confused when finding not even a splattering of blood among the wreckage. A shadow cast out from behind him, the head of the criminal syndicate takes a look back to discover the purple psychic descending down towards him; just moments away from plunging his enclosed fist against his face.

But when Wedsle finally swings at his former boss, the space between them suddenly extends out; what were just a few inches becomes several feet apart in but a few brief moments. The violet psychic is left overwhelmed with just how fast Cen was able to put so much distance among them as the boss looks to Weds with a satisfied glee. “I really can’t believe you thought sneaking up behind me would work. You thought I wouldn’t be fast enough to get out of the way in time? I’m sure you figured out by now that I can control space, I don’t even need to dodge away from whatever you try. Putting distance between us is as easy as-” Despite being several feet away, Cen, in a matter of mere moments, closes the distance quickly enough to get up right in his purple traitors face and finish with: “Bringing us together!” The mob boss’ suddenly appearing before him in the blink of an eye, Wedsle nearly falling off the long piece of marble he stands on as he tumbles back away from the space bending bastard; Cen left amused by the violet psychic’s overwhelmed shock. “You wanna see something really cool?” he then asks him, bringing one of his arms up into the air.

The starry night aura that flows throughout the mob boss’ body slithers through his arm and gathers to his hand in a layer of spacial power, Wedsle growing ever more weary as more of this black starry sky aura coats his limb until all that was left was this potent power. Cen finally swipes at the purple psychic to unleash this power against him, a powerful assault to which Wedsle thankfully evades aside from in the nick of time. Yet even dodging this intense spacial power is the violet traitor still left astonished when discovering what had been left behind where he once stood.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That entire chunk of marble he had once stood on having been completely erased to leave behind nothing but empty space that the air around them quickly fills. Before Weds could even comprehend what his former boss had just done, Cen makes another attempt to swing his spacial enveloped hand through him; the purple psychic left with next to no time to evade his lunging fury. But it seems that a laps in judgment upon the boss’ part is what saves Wedsle’s sorry hide; the marble pillar that Cen had just split apart plummeting down towards the wall to send the traitor away. Its when taking a glance back over from where he had dropped down from that Weds finds yet more proof of this man’s frightening power over the space he commands; the entire part of the floor having been erased like it had been scooped out. All this is nowhere near what I was expecting out from the boss. The power to control the space held between everything, that alone is already overpowered as fuck. What’s the point of fighting this asshole if I can even hit him?

Outside this realm of discordant space that occupies the museum, Satette struggles against the other half of this mobster boss duo, the timely business man easily evades every chomping bite that the lively psychic’s dog arm makes out against him, with Tury moving faster than the blink of an eye. Amidst one of his instantaneous dodges does the time controlling mob boss take hold of the young woman’s dog by its head and rips the canine right off her arm in what seemed to be an instant; Sat falling to the concrete road as she looks back to behold a frightening sight. Yelping and barking under the boss’ grasp, the mangy dogs body rapidly grows more withered and dry every moment; the canines struggles weakening as its age further accelerated. In a matter of several seconds was the living young dog reduced to nothing but skin and bone; its very body falling apart into dust until nothing was left but the dog’s skull in Tury’s hands. With nothing but the palm of his hand does the psychic of time crush the poor dog’s head to fragments and powder.

His eyes away from what remained of the canine, Tury aims his cold, calculating sites towards the young woman laying upon the concrete; Satette left horrified from having witnessed the dog having been aged to nothing but dust. The timely mobsters reign of terror was far from over however, as he instantaneously zips to the downed young lady at unbelievable speeds, appearing before the lively psychic and aiming deliver another assuring strike to her head; yet his knuckles stop just right at her face when feeling a sharp sting thrust itself into him. Glaring to where this sensation surges does Tury discovers a blade made from bone stabbed against his side; the fleshy dagger drawing blood that leaves the man’s zebra patterned suit stained in a clashing crimson.

Enraged by this deception, mob boss’ sends Satette aside with a swift and powerful kick, sending her rolling across the concrete road and into the brick wall. From the harsh blow does Sat look to her hand and finds herself left relieved of her strangely made blade, peering back to discover it being pulled out from her time manipulating foe’s side. Swiftly running his pale white aura through the living dagger is enough to have it start rapidly aging and decomposing; it’s flesh rotting away as its bone is reduced to dust. Left with next to nothing to defend herself with, the lively psychic tries to stand up so she could make her escape, yet soon finds the blow that the boss had inflicted upon her having left her stunned; Satette left clutching at the side of her chest as she’s all but helpless to watch her former mob boss beats his cold gaze against her.

But just as the mob boss was prepared to end this traitorous charade, several pieces of the brick wall behind Sat come plummeting down near where he stand; some of them barely missing the top of his head as they tumble beside him. A glance upwards reveals the entire wall threatening to collapse on the two as chunks are thrown against the road, coated in an orange glow as its cracks rapidly grow. Before Satette could even worry about what was happening above her, she’s suddenly swept off the sidewalk just as the wall starts to come down; the young woman peering over to find herself being dragged out of harms way by the psychic of murphy’s law. “Thursotte!?”

Once having fled far enough from the collapsing wall, both of them glance back to find nothing but a pile of broken bricks littering the road and the resulting dust clouding the air; Thursotte peering to the young woman he had just saved to ask if: “Can you stand up?” “Yeah. Think that might’ve got him?” the lively psychic questions as he pulls herself off the concrete. “Hardly.” A sense of terrible dread courses through the two as they follow this denying voice up towards the top of a nearby street lamp, gazing up to discover the timely mob boss standing top the light unscathed and staring down upon them.

“Thursotte, right? Do you have any idea what your doing?” the time controlling son of a bitch questions him. “I do.” “Then stand aside.” “I won’t!” “You would risk your life for this wench who had back stabbed you?” “I’d hardly call it backstabbing. Sat knew what she and Weds were getting into and didn’t tell the rest of us out of concern. Even if they did lie right under our noses, they just didn’t wanna drag us down with them.” “And you decide to cast aside their merciful gesture now?” “That ain’t all of it. Not even close. Each of them helped me out of the pit of despair I’d fallen into. If it wern’t for Frida, I’d still be rotting in a cell, having lost hope of not seeing my loved one’s again. Had it not been for Wedsle helping me sort through all the stuff running through my head, I wouldn’t have built up the emotional fortitude to make this far. Satette and Monty, they made me realize how I could use by powers for the better instead of looking at them as a curse. I do miss my family back home, and I give a lot to see them. But how could I look at them again knowing I turned my back from the people who supported me.” “And that what you’ve set your mind to?” the boss asks him. “Yeah…I’m certain.” “Fine, then you can die with her for all I care.” Tury proclaims, raising a hand up as he prepares to strike them both down.

Before the boss could take his wrath out upon the two of them, a bullet shot straight across his hand; Tury reviling from the hot steel as he looks upon his hand to find the side of his palm pierced through. All of them gaze towards where the round had been fired and witness Frida aiming her smoking gun directly against the boss; the dimensional psychic letting out a sigh before she start to approach; stating that: “I swear that you people are gonna be the death of me.” “Frida? You don’t have to-” “I know that. But I never though in my life I’d be facing the odd’s with people I could trust again. Guess that’s all I really needed.” she claims, giving the young man one of her pistols. “And you’re sure you wanna go through this?” “After seeing you stand up for what you believe in, how could I not?” Frida concludes, pulling out a semi automatic shotgun from her sleeve. The display of seeing the people her and Weds had decieved, stand up for them among the face of uncertain adversity, is enough to draw out a smile from Satette.

“How touching.” the boss cuts in with, preparing to strike. “Unfortunately, there’s little room for such sentiment in this cut throat business of ours. So to maximize our profits, all of you must be cut off!” Both Frida and Thursotte come together just as the timely businessman disappears, blocking the boss’ instant assault with the steel of their guns, coated in the flare of their mixing psychic aura. Their combined defenses are enough to repel the psychic of time away, forcing Tury to instantly retreat several feet away from the three; the boss’s icy gaze locked to the three of them.

“Don’t just stand here, get going.” Thurs then demands from the lively psychic. “But...are you sure you two’ll be alright out here?” “Pretty sure we can afford you enough time to get Weds outta whatever glory hole he got his dick stuck in.” Frida claims. “So what if this guys the boss, he’s just another psychic like us at the end of the day.” “Guys. I can’t thank you two enough.” Sat thanks with. “Just make sure that purple prick hasn’t eaten shit and we’re all good.” “Right.”

From behind the safety of both her crew mates, Sat makes a break for the abandoned museum across the street; her movement beginning to slow when only halfway through the road. When glancing over among her slowed race, she discover the mob boss swiftly dashing at her with intent to kill clear to see; trapped under the veil of sluggish time as Tury going: “As if I’d let you escape from my clutches that easily!” But right when the timely businessman was about to lay his hands upon the young lady, his advances are stopped by a flurry of bullets that flies right between the two. Even with time at a such a slow crawl, the cluster of shells prove too thick for the businessman to simply pass through and is forced once again to back peddle. A peek back to where the storm of shells had come from reveals Frida aiming her shotgun squarely at the time controlling psychic, the end of her gun smoking out as she goes: “You forget what we just said, asshole? You wanna wreck her, you gotta wreck us first.”

A glance back towards the museum shows the boss too late to pursue the lively psychic any further as she enters through the front doors; the starry night aura leaking out from the other side being a concern to him. “You think we can even take this guy?” questions Thursotte. “Don’t know. But it don’t matter. We just gotta by our girl enough time to get in there and get Weds out.” “Easier said than done.”

“Well, I hope both of you are proud. I had much more planned for tonight after disposing of that traitor, but thanks to your meddling, my schedule is in ruins. If I want to make up for lost time now, I can only hope my brother doesn’t dawdle too much as I take care off you two.” Tury proclaims, his pale white aura flaring up. Thursotte and Frida stand together for what their time manipulating foe has planned for them, bracing themselves as the cut throat business man rapidly lunges.

After closing the door behind her, the lively psychic is astonished to discover what had become of the museums inner halls among her brush with one of the mob heads; Satette mouth left agap as she beholds the unbelievable and impossible ways of which the inside had been warped beyond any recognizably of conventional structure and design. The walls twist and curve within themselves, the floor, and the ceiling. The halls swirling around in every which direction. Parts of the room stretching across the open air like pillars. An incredibly stark contrast to the aged, yet unassuming outside of the museum.

Holy shit! What the hell happened in here!? Looks like if the art of Dali and Picaso had dirty make up sex and had a weird, incomprehensible baby with a fucked up face that pretentious art dip shits would try and make some kind of meaning out of; even if its just a bunch of random scribbles. Where the hell do I even go from here, and how? In her bewildering puzzlement from staring through this maddening, incomprehensible nightmare of a floor plan, she peers down to the floor to discover fresh splatters of green clashing with the dirt ridden marble; each drop of chlorophyll that she had the purple psychic left behind like she instructed was something that Satette could undoubtedly follow as she move forth into the distorted spacial territory. Just hang in there Weds, I got your back.

The lively psychic’s sense of direction is left hopelessly useless among traversing through the warped halls of the museum’s insides; every which way she goes down proving to lead somewhere she could never anticipate. Some ways leading down into the floor and into dead ends, others ways making her loop back to same exact rooms, and occasionally, she’d wind up somewhere conventional geometry would dismiss all together. Hell, at one point, she goes through a tunnel in one chamber, only to wind up running along an elongated pillar of marble stretched across the hall held in the very same room. A slight nausea starts to ferment within Sat’s stomach as she continues through this hellishly puzzling maze of distorted space, for the sense of gravity is left just as jumbled and twisted as the surroundings seemed; young lady struggling to keep her balance as she’s pulled in different directions while walking across the walls, floor, and ceiling.

The young woman’s sense of direction and gravitational pull were not the only things starting to confuse her, for following the trail of chlorophyll soon proves to not be as helpful as she had hoped, for she starts to notice some trails trailing alongside some of the same halls and rooms; even intersecting one another in several points. Dammit, Wedsle must’ve gotten himself just as lost as I have; the chlorophyll dropped from the plant I gave him is practically everywhere. At this rate, he’ll be long dead before I even start to realize where he is. There’s gotta be some faster way of finding him in this artistic rendering of a labyrinth.

In her desperation for any way of navigating through this discordant nightmare of the museums warped insides,  a glimmer of hope reveals itself in the form of a loud crash echoing throughout the halls; the lively psychic raising her ear up towards where she heard and hears something making a mess of things from inside here. Helluva lot of noise down there...Wait, that’s it! Everything else in this shitty artistic representation of chaos might be all screwed up, but the noises echoing through here definitely aren’t. Even if the boss’ bitch ass brother can distort and warp a lot of things about this place; it seems sound definitely ain’t one of them. A way to make head through the maze presented, Satette doesn’t hesitate to let the sounds of the struggle guide her as she sprints through the twisted, dilapidated halls of the museum. Just hang on a little longer there, Weds.

Satette’s rapid dash through the museum soon comes to a halt as she finds herself standing within a hall that split apart in dozens of hallways; each one leading into a corridor that stretches on in all different directions. But rather than randomly pick which one to blindly race into, the young lady takes a moment to bring her ear up to each one at a time; careful to make sure and catch which hall the noise echoes out from. Upon listening in the sixth corridor she check can she hear the sound of breaking stone reverberating out the loudest; even beginning to hear familiar sounding grunts coming from down that way. And from the sound of them, Wedsle might not be holding up all that well; so the lively psychic makes a speeding dash through that very hallway in hopes of reaching her purple partner in crime in time.

When reaching around and turning the corner of the hall, something else causes her to stop dead in her tracks; her astonished gaze peering down the corridor as she peers to a whole mess of spiders crawling along the twisted walls and curving floor. Whoa, jeez! Never thought I’d see that many arachnids at once; they’re practically pouring out all over the floor. Where they even coming from? A swift scan across the hallway gives her the answer to that very question as Sat peers over to one of the walls and find a small hole where several more spiders could be seen crawling out from within. Probably shouldn’t be that surprised there’s this many of them in an abandoned place like this; but this many at once? Might be a spiders nest on the other side of that wall. At the same time, some idea’s start to run through Satette’s head on how she could use this dense collection of arachnids in her efforts to stop the other boss.

Wedsle’s struggle against the spacial bending son of a bitch doesn’t get any easier, as he continues to evade the pieces of wall and ceiling that Cen stretches out at him; each lunging piece of architect punching hard enough to break craters into the marble floor. Among dodging away from the elongated pieces of the hall, the purple psychic turns back to witness the spacial psychic come out from behind one of these pillars to dash out against him with a hand coated in starry night aura. Knowing full well what will happen if so much as a finger of that hand touches him, the violet traitor frantically leaps right out of Cen’s swiping assault as the boss’ palm brushes against the floor, who leaves behind nothing but a clean curve of cut marble.

“You know, you make one hell of a good rat to chase around in this game of cat and mouse of ours.” the space bending bastard insults as he continues his pursuit. “Think I’d prefer to play a different kind of game instead. How bout tag!?” Weds rebuts, clutching the side of a pillar to swiftly turn around and swing out against the oncoming boss. Yet like every other attempt to make an attack against him, the punch that the purple psychic throws out at him is promptly veered away by the twisting space around the mob head; the boss commanding said space to launch him towards the walls. “Nah.”

After tumbling a ways across the wall, Wedsle swiftly gets back on his feet and glares up to the boss hovering above him as Cen mocks him with: “For shame, Wedsy. Monty must be rolling around in his grave seeing you tear down everything he worked to get you.” “Leave him out of this, you spacey piece of shit! He, of all people would understand why I would back stab your sorry ass. He’d know for a fact how much I was sick of the way people you and your syndicate were turning this city into a hellhole, even at the expense of kids, getting them hopelessly hooked while they’re young.” “Well duh, what else is a mob organization supposed to do other than take every opportunity they can for a profit. Like my brother always says, it ain’t nothing personal, just business.” Cen deflects with. “Don’t gimme that bull! How can it not be personal when you ruin their lives? The sort of underhanded shit bastards like you do to secure your bottom dollar effects the lives of countless people held in this city in ways you would never fathom. It’s why I ain’t stopping til I bury you two six feet under and take the throne for ourselves. Even if I don’t make it, I got somebody on the outside that has the same conviction to change this city as me. If we can beat a whole ass church cult, we can definitely take your damn syndicate on!”

“Oh, whatever. It’s not like any of you were supposed to beat’em anyway!” the spacial boss then blurts out, this unexpected admittance making the purple psychic stomach drop. “What?” Wedsle utters. “Oops. Might’ve said too much there. Ah well, ain’t no point in hiding it now.” “You...you all sent us under that church-” “To die? Pretty much. Figure since we caught on to your guy’s trickery early, we needed you all done in discretely; so I thought of the idea of sending the five of you down into the depths of enemy territory, where we’d find you all KIA once the scion’s rushed in and took the stone back from those freaky zealots.”

The fact that the man hovering above him had sent him and the rest of his crew on what was, from the start, a suicide mission, causes a potent anger to start welling within the purple psychic. They meant for us to die. He realizes that it was not by his or the churches hand that the man that had taken him off the streets and had given him a home had perished, but that his demise had been the machinations of this scheming son of a bitch. Monty, Frida, Thursotte. They didn’t care if they got caught with us. Wedsle purple aura starts to flare as the fury within him boils to the brim; his entire body trembling as his rage skyrockets to the very brink.

“But not only did most of you dig your way out from that little slice of hellish heaven, you marched right on up to the pastor’s own damn office and plucked out his withering old heart. So, with that little detail turning out not how we expected, Tury decide it best to schedule a “meeting”, where we’d finish you and that one woman ourselves. Figure the direct approach would be better this time arou… What uh...What’s going on with you?” Peering down to the man standing along the curving twisted wall does Cen behold the aura enveloping the purple psychic growing so intense that it nearly resembles a raging violet inferno; the traitor aiming his sharp dagger eyes against the very man that had sent Monty to his death. “Oh, you better fucking know what’s going on with me!” Wedsle roars, his aura expelling out in a quaking pulse of which shakes the very air around them.

When upon making a bounding leap after the head of the mob, Wedsle leaves behind a sizable crater in the wall when jumping after the spacial controlling bastard; Cen taken aback by this unexpected bounding leap after him and quickly stretches out a piece of the ceiling in hopes of stopping the purple traitors. Though Weds’ maddened lunge is put to a stop, this nowhere near stops his violent fury as the violet psychic brakes off a piece of the stretched out ceiling to fling at the space manipulating son of a bitch; the boss head letting out a jesting giggle as he conjures his erasing hand against the incoming piece of ceiling. “Aw, was it something I said!” jokes the boss.

Something that Cen fails to expect however was Wedsle appearing behind the erased piece of ceiling, his hand clutching against the one that had just reduced the broken off bit of drywall to nothing; the purple psychic gliding aside his spacial foe’s all erasing hand and is but mere inches away from driving his fist into the bastards face. Up close and personal against the spacial mob boss once more, the violet traitor attempts to drive a rage fueled fist into his former boss; Wedsle’s strike fails to even so much as scrape against his space controlling foe however, as his hand veers away from Cen when just mere inches away from his face. Before his violet traitor could take another swing at him, the spacial psychic repels Weds away with a blast of space that sends him flying across the warped museum and crashing into the side of a distorted catwalk railing. His arm caught in between the pieces of metal rail, the purple psychic glares back from where he had been flung to witness the mob boss distorting space to literally make distance between each other.

Determined to not let this bastard evade his wrath, the violet traitor clutches against one of the rails holding him up and breaks a bar right off the railing; aiming the jagged broken end out and tossing it against the space controlling son of a bitch like a javelin. Though the metal bar surprisingly manages to swiftly close the distance built one another, it’s little trouble for Cen to simply veer the rod away from his body and have it revolve around himself like a moon to a planet; the head mobster then plucking the steel rod out from his orbit and taunting: A glance back towards the catwalk shows the violet traitor having fled from the railing and having vanished from plain site, the mob boss gazing across the twisted display hall for any sign of the purple psychic.

But unbeknownst to the spacial psychic does rapidly Wedsle plummet down from the warped marble floor above with his hands clasped together; determined to drive them into the back of the boss’ head. And to his delighted surprise, the purple traitor manages to actually land his hammering assault; the blow hard enough to send Cen in a dizzying spin. Wedsle’s vengeful glee from finally landing a blow against the son of a bitch is short lived however; his descend towards wall is put to a stop as he’s forced to float in the middle of the air. Bad turns into worse though as the space around him pulses to launch purple psychic across the display hall, hitting a couple of marble pillars that stand in his way before being slammed into the side. Just when he was about to pry himself out from the wall, the very same rod that he had tried to stab the boss with pierces through the shoulder of his arm and pins him to the wall.

The violet psychic struggles to root out the rod impaling his shoulder as his space controlling foe slowly descends down and claims that: “Almost bit my tongue there with that. You’re just full of surprises, ain’t ya? Really makes me sad that you went and turned traitor on us.” The starry night aura that emerges from the boss’ palm grows ever thick with spacial power as he approaches the pinned down back stabber, continuing: “I’d love nothing but to keep playing with you, Weds. But Tury says we got schedule to keep. It’s been real fun playing with you Weds.” The violet psychic is left helpless as he’s struggles to pull out the very rod keeping him rooted against the wall, only able to look up in dread as his former boss is moments away from swiping him out from existence with his starry night coated palm.

Contrary however does this prove to not be Wedsle end, as the boss’s hand his stopped just before this cosmic aura could spell his doom; the violet traitor glaring back to find his former boss left paralyzed in midair. “What is this? What the hell did you do?” shutters Cen. Glazing up across the mob boss’s entire body does Weds see countless threads of sticky silk wrapped around every single inch of his figure; these pieces of string proving effective in stopping the boss to a ridged halt. “Webbing?”

Suddenly is the spacial psychic jerked away from the entrapped traitor and dragged through the air by these numerous sticky threads; all the while attempting to push all of them off himself. Yet his effort to free himself is fruitless as the webbing refuses to be repelled off; firmly sticking to his very skin as a thick natural green aura protects the threads from his spacial power. Cen troubles don’t end here, as he soon discovers what pulls him away from finishing off the dastardly traitor and towards it awaiting maw: the clustered fusion of countless spiders, rats, and they’re nests, all opening up to entrap the boss in their arachnid tomb. “What the hell is happening?!” shrieks the mob boss before he is enclosed within the confines of the chimera nest as he slams shut.

Among his disbelieving awe over the events that he had just witnessed, Wedsle suddenly hears a familiar voice over him to claim that: “Damn, didn’t think that’d be so effective.” His eyes wander to who could be close by to discover his lively ally standing right over his pinned body; Weds greeting her with. “About damn time! You know how close that asshole was to fucking me over?” “Gimme a break, Weds. Got a little lost trying to find my way around this place.” Satette excuses, clutching the rod embedded into her purple partner. “Don’t know what it is about this place, but its more warped and twisted than a game of twister ending with a trip to the infirmary. “Yeah, tell me about. Dudes got this place so scrambled, you can’t even be bothered to tell which way is up or down.” Wedsle adds, grasping the rod to help the young woman pull it out of him. “Alright, 3, 2, 1. Nnnngh! Gah!” screeches the violet psychic when rooting the railing rod out from his shoulder, his pained outcry echoing all across the museum. “Hold on, I’ll patch you up!”

“Aaaaaand, there. Hold that’ll hold plenty.” Sat concludes beholding the patch of silky spider webbing she had wrapped around his shoulder. “You seriously couldn’t use anything else?” Weds questions. “Quit your bitching. It’s all I could use.” “What happened to Frida and Thurs, they okay?” “They got that other guy distracted outside.” “They’re doing what!? Sat, I said I didn’t want them involved!” “I didn’t want them wrapped in this either, but they jumped in themselves while I was fending off that time guy.” Sat explains. “Time?”

“So, lets get back in there and beat this guy down so we can meet back up with them.” she suggests. “Yeah, about that, change of plans. We’re getting the hell out here now.” “What!? But we’re so close. I literally have in trapped in my-” “Sat! Just look around us. Everything in here’s still warped and twisted to hell and back. Even if we get a couple of blows on him while he’s trapped in there, that ain’t gonna stop him. As long as we’re stuck in this damn building, he might as well have us in the palm of his hand. I knew the boss’ might had something up his sleeve, but I didn’t expect him capable of this crazy shit; never mind that he’s just one part of a dynamic duo. Believe me, Sat. If we stay here, we’re as good as dead.”

The lively young psychic couldn’t believe what she was hearing come out of her purple partner’s mouth; the very cynically hardened man who had confidently made snarky remarks to both friend and foe, who had braved into the depths of the enemy strong hold alongside with, who had ended the wicked machinations of a corrupt priest, now left frightened as much to flee from but one man? Was the power this other head of the mob possessed that strong? If the man she had just faced outside these walls were anything to believe, then Wedsle might have the right idea here. But to squander this chance, one that they may never get again, here and now?

Mere minutes after getting entangled in this nest of scuttling spiders, sticky silk, and patches of rat kings does the head mobster finally free himself from this arachnid tomb with an intense push of spacial force, repelling every inch of the nest, silk, and vermin off him. As pieces of the arachnids and chunks of rodents rain across the display hall, Cen peers across its borders for any sign of the purple traitor or whoever had ensnared him in that disgusting trap; growing further upset when finding not even a single sign of violet anywhere among the twisted beige walls and dirt ridden marble tile. The spacial psychic expels a frustrated roar when realizing his catch having escape from his sites, this furious outcry reverberating through every corridor and every hall of the museum, twisting the inside further into a storm of discord.

The inside of the once pristine museum grows further discordant and chaotic the further through the halls both  Satette and Wedsle race, barely able to tell what was the floor and ceiling among the warped chaos. “Fuck me, this making me sick. I’ll never look at an abstract art piece with the same artistic appreciation again.” Weds jests. “I think weirdly developing PTSD is the last thing we should worry about right now. We might have lost that space bending bastard for right now, but we’re just as lost. Without an exit, we’re not out of the malfunctioning oven yet.” elaborates Sat. “Just follow the trail of green you made me piss out out my wrist; probably the fastest way we can get to the front door.” “Doubt escaping out the front’s a good idea. That space controlling bastard’s time stopping brother could still be out there waiting for us. Better for us to take another way out.”

“Good point, any ideas?” the purple psychic wonders. “Well, I got one. But you not like it.” “At this point, I’ll put up with anything. Just spit it out already.” “You know that whole mess of spiders I wound up catching that shit head with. Found all of them and their nest from a hole in the wall. They all had to have came in here from the outside somewhere around here.” “Just how the hell are we even gonna find it in this shitty jumbled mess of abstract architect again?” “Don’t need to. We’re already following the trail I left back for it right now.” Satette states, lifting her hand to reveal the string of spider silk tied to her hand.

This lone string of silk guides the two across the warped and contorted inside of the museum, through the twisted corridors and curving corners, all until they return to the very hole that Sat had found the arachnids pouring out from. “You fucking serious with this, woman?” he protests. “What’s the problem?” While the lively psychic is relieved to have found the hole once again, Wedsle meanwhile is left perplexed over how small it really was; the small hole seeming no bigger than an empty eye socket. “Just look at it! Thing’s smaller than the asshole of a freshly sentenced convict on day one! How the hell you expecting us to squeeze through that!?”

“Since there was a big entire nest of spiders inside here, those little guys must’ve chipped away at the foundation for years to make one that big. All we gotta do is do a little demolition work and we’re home free.” “With what? Our bare fists.” “Well, mostly yours.” “Fucking wot?” “Weds, come on. Don’t act like you hadn’t chucked a 2 ton solid gold bell at a flying priests before. If you can do that, you can break through this old crumbling wall easy peasy.” “I’m not even fully sure how I did that, all I was focused on was killing that preachy piece of shit back then.” “Hmm…” the lively psychic ponders, snapping her fingers when an idea comes to mind. “I wound up finding you by following all the commotion from earlier, even heard you scream too. Something that space bending bastard said must’ve pissed you off; What he say to get you so riled up?”

Being asked of this do Cen’s taunting words ring out in his head, the mere tone he had described of his plan to send them to their deaths stirring the violent rage still left unfulfilled. “You...you all sent us under that church-” “To die? Pretty much. Figure since we caught on to your guy’s trickery early, we needed you all done in discretely; so I thought of the idea of sending the five of you down into the depths of enemy territory, where we’d find you all KIA once the scion’s rushed in and took the stone back from those freaky zealots.”

“They sent us on a suicide mission.” he grumbles aloud. “What?” “Those sons of bitches expected all to us to die trying to do their dirty work. They were willing to make all of us march to our death’s; long as the two of us got caught in the massacre, they couldn’t care less if the other’s died.” Wedsle growls, a deep purple glistening in his eyes. “Monty didn’t even have to die the way he did. He worked for them for years and they just flushed him down the shitter like a hot steamer.”

Satette starts to back away as she witnesses a potent violet aura flaring out from the purple psychic, his power drawing out a palpable mixture of dreading fear and righteous fury from the depths of her being. Her sense of dread proves to be one worth holding as Wedsle locks his glowing purple gaze to the wall, barely able to contain his wrath as the blank beige drywall acts as a canvas for his mind to draw the spacial psychic ultimately responsible for Monty’s demise. It takes only a single fist thrown against the old wall to break through and make leeway in, revealing the foundation riddled with holes and cracks from years of neglect. Wedsle wastes almost no time in tearing his way through the rest of the wall’s inside, Satette fighting off her natural inclination to run from this raging gangster to instead follow him through the tunnel.

The fight going on outside is just as chaotic as the flow of time is picked apart by the other mob boss, all to use and take advantage off against the pair of former mobsters who couldn’t just stay out of the way. Frida attempts to unload her shotgun shells against the timely businessman proves fruitless as every pelt slows to a crawl upon release, the gun woman left intimidated as she watches Tury weaves around the spread of led like a leaf in the wind; the time psychic swiftly closing the distance in the blink of an eye to strike her in an instant. But before the syndicate head could lay another hand against his gun totting foe, one of the streetlamps behind him, coated in a discordant orange aura, falls off its hinges and hammers itself into the road; where upon pieces of concrete break off and are sent flying against his back. This gives Frida a chance to close the distance by melding into the pavement and scurrying away into the 2nd dimension.

With the dimensional psychic having escaped from his sites, Tury veers his gaze over towards the man that had thwarted his attempts; Thurs aiming the end of his pistol lined up at the boss’ head before pulling the trigger. The bullet was just inches away from the timely businessman’s head before it rapidly slows to a stop in the middle of the air; Thursotte is left shocked as the shot he fire then swiftly pulling a reverse at him, rushing right back and knocking the small pistol out from his grasp. Left disarmed by the time manipulating mob boss, Thurs attempts to make a fleeting dash away towards where his pistol had landed; Tury unfortunately catching up to him instantly and seemingly teleport between him and the discarded firearm.

Preparing to end one of his two nuisances, the crime boss stops his attack when he suddenly hears the sound of gunshots firing and quickly halts the flow of time; glancing over to where he had heard the shot and discovers a  bullet just inches away from his head, fired by the gun woman kneeling a ways back with a sniper rifle. He ponders about how to make this work in his favor by taking a quick look at what surrounds him, seeing nothing but the rubble from the broken road and the discarded pistol behind him.

An idea suddenly pops into his head that urges him to swipe the pistol of the floor, its magazine already having been spent. But that fact didn’t matter, for he needed the gun itself rather then what it could fire. The time controlling crime boss holds the small firearms up to the stopped sniper bullet and holds the gun by its side against the shot; he makes a couple of tweaks to the ankle as he peeks between the bullet and the young man standing aside him. When Tury finally finds the exact ankle to hold the gun with, he has the passage of time resume its flow; the sniper bullet in turn continuing its course as it bounces right off the steel side of the gun and straight into Thursotte’s leg. From the misguided sniper shot, Thurs buckles to his knee’s as the burning hot steel put a hole through the side of his shin; Frida left dreadfully shocked how her bullet had been deflected into her friends, yet remains firm even while her foe sneers at her. Underneath him do countless pellets erupt out from the pavement beneath his feet like an explosion of led, some of which shot into his arm and leg as they streak all around him; Frida’s sky blue aura running across the uzi she firmly holds in her other hand.

Tury makes stops time for a brief moment to escape from the midst of the eruption of bullets, but not before leaving the gun in his hand up in the middle of the air; one of the uzi bullets ricocheting off its steel and is sent careening into one of Frida’s right arm. The dimensional psychic lets out a gut wrenching grunt from the bullet being driven into her arm, nearly falling over as she clutches where she had been shot. Its in her pain that she sees a shadow creep up from behind her, quickly glancing back to discover the timely mob boss standing before her, prepared to smite her with the force of a lightning fast assault. Instinctively, Frida holds her uzi up to attempt and shield herself from the boss’ sped up punch; the blow nonetheless hold enough force to strike her right in the chest and make her tumble back. The dimensional psychic uses this to her advantage as she plummets down onto the road and merge into the pavement’s 2nd dimension, all the while leaving behind a grenade with a freshly pulled pin right underneath the time controlling son of a bitch.

A hefty explosion tears chunks off the road off and sends them flying all across the street, with one of them careening right over Thurs as he’s left kneeling on the ground; Frida emerging out from this one flying piece of road and lands alongside the downed psychic of Murphy’s law. “That get him?” the young man asks her. “Doubt it.” she answers, glaring into the smoke left behind by her explosive grenade. “How are you holding up?” “That shot only scraped the side of my leg.” Thurs claims before letting out a small pained hiss.

Glazing her eyes across the young man’s body, it was clear to her that he was only partially telling the truth; her site glued to some of the gauze wrapped around his body soaked in red, a clear sign that his wounds were reopening. She notices that Thursotte wasn’t the only one paying the price for this time warping fight, for she sees some of the cuts that she had been treated floor profusely bleeding again; both of their conditions making it obvious that: “We can’t keep this up.” “Frida, come on. Don’t talk like that, we can take this guy. We just need a plan to-” “No, Thurs, we can’t. Never mind the fact that we’re nowhere near prepared to face somebody with this kind of crazy power; our wounds from last night are already reopening. We’ve already had so many close calls in the span of several minutes; one way or another, our luck is gonna run out and we’ll be definitely dead. We gotta take our chances and run.”

They soon witness the time manipulating mob boss emerge out from the other side of the white smoke plume, Tury’s ice cold gaze fixated upon the two as Thursotte points out: “What about Sat and Weds, they’re still in there.” “I don’t think we gotta worry about this guy join in whatever sort of shit they’re dealing with. Think about it for a sec. With how much this guys screwing with the clock, it’d be easy for him to forget about us and head right on inside, but he hasn’t even so much as bother with that. Don’t know what it is, but something’s keeping him from going inside. If they make it out of there, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” “So where’s that leave us?” “A distraction would probably work best here.” “This whole block is practically on the verge of falling apart, might be something here I can work with, just need a head start.” suggests Thursotte. “Think I got something for ya.” claims Frida, pulling out cylinder shaped grenade out from the back of her pants.

The mob head’s cold gaze squints while locked to the two as they confide to one another, no doubt of a strategy  of some sort to attempt an escape…however… “I won’t give you the time to even think.” he boldly declares instantaneously appearing before the two. Seeing Thursotte lift his arm up with something in his hand, Tury smacks whatever it was out from his grasp before he could so much as use it against him. What the crime lord so hastily knocked out from the young man’s hands was the cylinder shaped grenade, sent hurdling into the side of building where it goes off, unleashing a potent bright flash of light that pierces through the dark streets. This overwhelming glow forces him to avert his gaze away from the wall, covering his eyes as the light seers his vision.

As the unexpected flash bomb quickly starts to die down, the passage of time comes to a halt so that the syndicate head could have a moment to clear his eyes from the damage the bright light had inflicted; the explosion making him nearly squint one of his eyes shut. With only half of his vision returning, Tury returns his gaze back to where his two interlopers were, unfortunately finding neither of them in site; a quick look around hold no luck in finding the two of them, like they just disappeared.

Determined to not let these people responsible for ruining his attempted quash of a traitor, the mob boss attempts to reverse the events that had transpired around him; running into the first roadblock however when the flashbang that had blinded him began to return. The flash bombs light proves too overwhelming to be looked at directly and continues to avert his gaze away from the intense luminescence, all the while fast forwarding time until the bright light was extinguished. When upon the flash bombs being snuffed out, Tury is astonished when peering back to the seen and discovering the block falling apart among his realm of slow motion; whole buildings, walls, and street lamps threatening to collapse onto the street. The time controlling crime boss stops everything dead in its tracks to keep this scene from crumbling down upon him, glaring throughout the paused chaos for any sign of the pair of traitors; yet fails to find either of them among discordant surroundings. “Dammit…”

The walls making up the corner collapse across the street as the flow of time returns, leaving the block in utter ruins; a clear site that Tury beholds as he stands atop one of the decrepit buildings miraculously left standing. Even among the destroyed street corner does the business dressed crime boss keep his eyes glued to the streets below, continuing to look for any signs of the two. In his search however is his attention drawn to the museum his original target had fled into, anxious over how the building contorts and twists as a starry night aura seeps out from its cracks; the crime lord withdrawing his own influence across the area as his brother’s power expands. What the hell is he doing in there?

The man that had sought their end distracted by this new development playing out, the dimensional psychic slips out from the bottom of her destroyed van with her partner in crime in tow; slithering across the surface of the street into one of the alleyways still left standing. Once deep enough into the alley, both Frida and Thursotte rise out from the second dimension; Thurs taking a deep breath upon exiting the surface of the pavement. His sharp breath his hushed when Frida puts her hand against his mouth; the young man peeking at the gun woman putting her finger against her lips, silently tell him to shut it. Her hands still against Thurs’ mouth, Frida peeks around the alleyway corner to peek back to the collapsed street; searching through until she spots the time stopping son of a bitch atop the edge of a building still standing. “Doesn’t look like he’s noticed us.” she remarks.

Releasing her grasp against Thursotte’s mouth to let him speak, the dimensional psychic retreats her sites away from the street they escaped from and whispers: “Lets get the hell outta here.” “What about Sat and Weds, shouldn’t we wait for them?” Thurs then asks. “I’m sure we’ll find a place to meet up as soon as they get their asses outta there. Those two still got some explaining to do, but we’re not gonna hear any of it if that asshole catches us. Lets wait for things to blow over, then we can bitch at them as much as we want.” explains the dimensional psychic, the two former mobster delving deeper into the alley darkness away from the time controlling crime head.

Right behind the museum meanwhile do cracks in the back wall start to form as something repeatedly bashes the other side; this slab of stone breaking apart into chucks as Wedsle comes bursting out from the depths of the facilities broken foundation. Finally free from the cage of twisted space, the first feeling violet psychic takes in be the cold midnight air brush against his knuckles; his fury draining away when glaring down to see the blood seeping out from the back of his hands. Before the purple traitor could linger upon these stirring feelings of betrayal and doubt, sticky threads run across his blood soaked knuckles to bandage the wounds; the patches of webbing absorb the blood seeping out from the back of his hands. When feeling a hand brush against his shoulder, the distraught violet psychic peers back to see his lively partner in crime comforting him among his stressful moment; the assuring touch of a friend is just what Wedsle needed to bring himself back from the brink of despair. With the purple traitor regaining vigor and stamina, he and Satette head out from the back of the museum and flee into the streets, hiding within the shadows in their fleeting escape from the mobster heads.

No matter how hard he looks, no matter how much he twists and bends the inside, the space manipulating mob boss fails to find even a hint of his prey anywhere within the walls of the museum; his furious breathing growing more sporadic the longer he continues his fruitless search. The moments Cen realizes that the two traitors have made their escape is when his fury comes to a boils and lets out an enraged outcry; the museum halls further contorting into themselves until parts of it start flooding out through the windows. The entire museum is soon quite literally turned inside out from his tantrum, the elongated stretches off the buildings insides blowing all across the dilapidated block like an explosion of distortion and discord.

“Cen!” the spacial psychic then hears being shouted at him, his attention baited across the street to discover his brother standing along the edge of a nearby building. From the timely businessman’s stern glare from his brother does the mob boss understand what his other half is so upset about, immediately withdrawing the stretched out parts of the museum back to where they once were; the insides returning inside as the discordant space of the building is shaped back to normal. Once the entire museum had been returned to normal, its front doors swing open as the spacial psychic kicks them down; Tury manipulating time to instant travel from the top of the building to the streets in front of his brother.

“What happened in there?” the timely businessman first question. “In there, what happened out here? Didn’t you say you were gonna take care of that one bitch Weds was working with?” the much more casually dressed space psychic then counters, chilling out as he asks this of his brother. “I...I miscalculated. I didn’t predict those two who were with her would defend her side so adamantly. Surely I thought facing the wrath of our crime syndicate would be enough to dissuade them; especially after we had just finished off our biggest adversary.” “Sounds like you underestimated the power of friendship.” space bending psychic claims with a gleeful grin. “Just as you underestimated our dear purple betrayer?” “Touche.”

Its among his chortling that Cen starts to realizes the brooding demeanor in his timely brother’s visage, leaping down to the bottom of the steps where Tury stands to comfort him with: “Hey, it ain’t the end of the world. Those guy’s might have made off with their lives, but that don’t mean they’ve escaped from our clutches just yet.” The time controlling crime boss lets out a calmed breath, loosening his upset glare while reviewing: “Your right. We just need to set up watches around the city parameters and exits. As long as they’re still in New York, they won’t worm their way out from under us. This will definitely take a drastic schedule shift, but we might manage. They won’t stop us from making our billion in just a few short years and be let back into the family. Indeed. Thank you for your support, Cen.”

“Don’t thank me yet, bro. I got one more surprise for ya.” the spacial psychic declares, pulling out the coveted stone from his pocket. “You got back the stone?” “Yes indeededly I do did. And that ain’t the only thing I found.” claims Cen, turning the stone over to show the crack in the glass casing. “Oh dear. This might be trouble.” “Or this little fracture might be a blessing in disguise.” “How do you suppose?” questions Tury. “While I was wrestling with Wedsle back in there, his aura practically skyrocketed, saw him break off whole pillars of marble with just his bare hands; like he infused his anger into raw strength. It was like his power evolved or something. Whatever happened underneath that church was what definitely turned the tables in their favor, and I got some idea’s cooking up here about how we can do the same.” “Hmm. Go on.”

Underneath the quiet midnight streets of New york, the cold night air halts at top of a set of steps leading beneath the streets; the warmth of the underground subway station is welcomed among this awkward respite the crew hold. Remorse looms over them as they all sit along the length of a bench along the wall; Satette and Wedsle holding this lingering guilt as they can’t even look to both Frida and Thursotte sitting beside them. “I just wish you guys would have said something to us earlier about all this. We could’ve worked with you.” he states. “I know, but we were afraid of you getting swept up and risking your lives.” Sat explains. “Were you really, or were you just scared that one of us was gonna rat you two out?” Frida then accuses. “That’s not what-” “I know why you might think that. I can’t really blame you for thinking that about us. But I can tell you for a fact that we didn’t want it to come to this.” claims Weds. “Try telling that to Monty.” the dimensional psychic

“Monty would understand, he would know about how-” “That ain’t what I mean, dammit! I’m talking about gambling our lives and livelihood for these kinds of stunts. We were so close to biting the dust over something you didn’t even bother warning us about. How do you think we feel over the fact you nearly got us all killed?” she scolds. “Frida, calm down. Us getting caught up in this wasn’t really their fault. I’m the one who made the decision to jump in; all that was on my mind was stopping my friend from being killed, didn’t even think about what that would cost.” “Hhhnn...”

“Which is why I think its best we part ways here.” the violet psychic claims as the train comes pulling in “But Weds, they-” Sat attempts to interject with. “The two of you have been put through plenty of bullshit up to this point; making you two go through more of it would be downright cruel. Its why its best for us to split off from here on out. If you take this train to the edge of the city, you can make it out before any of the mob’s goons have a chance to spot ya crossing out of town. From then on, you can do whatever you want with your lives. It’s the least we can do.” “So that it, huh; just sending us off? Whatever. Come on Thurs, let’s just go.” the dimensional psychic orders, rising from the bench to walk towards the subway train.

“No thank you, Frida.” denies the young man, all three of them astonished upon hearing him turn this escape down. “What the hell, Thursotte!?” “Thurs, what about your family back home. Don’t you miss them?”Sat then brings up. “I do, more than anything. But lets be real here. If I go back to them now, with as big of a target on my back as I have, I’ll only be putting them all in danger. I wanna come back to them with sound mind and more safe than sorry. Which is why I wanna help you two take the bosses down. I know there’s a huge chance that I won’t even make it to see that happen; but even if I wind up eating it, I’ll be happy to know that everyone back home’ll be safe at least with the mob having got my head.” “Damn.” Weds compliments.

“You know what, fine. I held your hand plenty enough. Its about time you started walking on your own.” states Frida. “So...This is goodbye then?” Left without anymore words to depart with, Frida crosses the doors of the subway train moments before the finally shut; the dimensional psychic peering back to the three standing on the other side, those she considered people she could trust with her life. Soon enough does the subway train start to chug away, all three of the standing along the edge of the platform as they watch it, and their friend, vanish in the shadows of the tunnel.

The trio emerge out from the stairwell to greet the midnight once more, Thursotte left depressed over the departure of the woman who had helped him so much; all the while Sat and Weds try their best to comfort the young man. “Hey, it’ll be alright. Least this way, she’ll be out of the mob’s sight line.” Satette claims. “Yeah. I’m gonna miss her though; she been by my side for most of this. Frida’s gotten me out of so many tight jams, and now she’s gone. I don’t think they’ll be anybody else like her again.” Thurs laments. “Sad to see one helluva woman like that go. Had a damn good rack on her.” Wedsle adds. “You mean her guns, right?” the lively psychic wonders. “She was damn good shot with those too. Never said it, but her aim kind of scared me, aroused me at the same time...Scaroused?

From this almost insulting description of their departed crew mate is Wedsle suddenly struck from behind, feeling the back of a hand slap him against the back of his head. The violet psychic lets out a gnarl as he swiftly turns back, glaring around as he goes: “Alright, who’s the asshole who-” Weds shouts; Yet when peering back to the streets they came from, the purple traitor finds not a soul among the concrete street with them. “The fuck?” “Weds, the back of your blazer!” Sat suddenly points out. The young woman’s sudden alarm has the violet psychic glance to the back of his collar, where upon he is taken aback to discover there be a hand coming out from the inside of his purple blazer. The person this hand belongs to soon emerges out from underneath Wedsle’s jacket and roll onto the sidewalk; the lights coming from the building next to them revealing this unexpected visitor to be the dimensional psychic in the flesh.

“Frida!?” all three of them exclaim. “I though you got on the train.” mentions Sat. “I did. But as I was rolling down those tracks, a couple things came to me. For one thing, all of you would probably be dead in no time if I didn’t watch your backs. And two, you three are...probably the closest thing I had to friends in a real long while. Almost forgot what that was like.” she admits, blushing from the last notion she says. Out from the blue does Thursotte race out from between the others to give Frida warming embrace; his tears dripping down her denim jacket as he sobs: “I’m so glad you came back.” “She’s been gone for like two minutes, ease up man.” Weds advises. “Come on, Weds. Don’t pretend like your not happy too.” Sat then jokingly chastises. “Glad to see you coming along for the ride.” he then admits to Frida.

“So, what now?” the dimensional psychic then question. “Well, we don’t really got anywhere else to go in the city, mob goons are probably combing over our homes right now, so-” “Oh my god, Janna!” Satette then exclaims, bolting away from the rest of the crew and through the street. “Wait, who!” Thurs questions. “Sats, fuck buddy.” the purple psychic answer. “Don’t call her that, asshole!” she shouts, rest of the gang following after her.

Enjoying the tranquil quiet the midnight brings, Satette’s lover slumbers spread across the edge of her bed as she snores the night away; her peace broken when a loud knocking permeates all across the apartment, jolting her up in a panicked wake. Out from her bedroom is Janna’s attention drawn to the front door, the knocking so intense that it breaks pieces right off the hinges; the door soon broken to pieces as the hallway light beyond shines against a dark figure standing in the corridor.

[ohisms]

↪   𝑺𝑼𝑮𝑨𝑹 𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹 .    (  a  collection  of  lyric  starters  from  the  artist  flower  face .  feel  free  to  adjust  phrasing  as  necessary .)

i  wanna  lay  on  the  kitchen  floor  with  you .

i  thought  you  were  headed  somewhere  new .

you  love  me  ‘til  you  wear  me  out ,  then  you  love  me  more .

there’s  nowhere  left  to  go  but  down .

i  don’t  think  i  can  protect  you .

who  will  i  say  goodnight  to  when  you’re  gone ?

well ,  this  is  who  we  are  now .

all  the  things  we  don’t  talk  about  are  waiting  at  the  door .

i  won’t  let  you  out  of  my  sight .

dig  your  grave  and  lie  down  quietly .

i  want  to  build  a  wall  around  you  and  say  i’m  the  one  that  found  you .

the  only  sacred  part  of  me  is  everything  from  you .

it’s  always  back  to  you ,  again .

i  thought  i  heard  you  calling  to  me .

when  you’re  alone ,  it’s  all  you  think  about .

i’ve  got  a  thousand  stories  i  want  to  tell  you  before  the  sun  goes  down .

you  think  i’m  crazy ,  but  i’m  not .

i’m  sorry  that  i  couldn’t  say  goodbye .

your  cheap  drink  tricks  and  cigarettes  keep  you  locked  inside  a  cage .

if  i  can’t  hold  you  like  a  lover  i  won’t  hold  you  at  all .

if  we  could  stay  this  way  forever ,  would  it  ever  be  enough ?

you  know ,  you’ve  got  a  real  smart  mouth .

you  want  to  be  hunted  like  an  animal .

i  think  it’s  time  we  leave  this  town .

there  are  things  that  we’ll  never  say ,  but  we  know .

the  love  that  you  made  me  fight  for  was  never  love  at  all .

if  i  don’t  pull  myself  together ,  this  could  be  the  end  of  it  all .

you  know  girls  like  me ,  we’ve  got  a  slow  pulse .

i  kinda  like  it  when  you  talk  the  way  you  do .

it’s  kinda  tripping  me  up ,  i’ve  got  it  bad  for  you .

don’t  look  at  me  like  that .

i  don’t  think  this  is  life  that  we’re  living .

don’t  forget ,  i’ll  never  quite  forgive  you .

don’t  you  dare  make  the  same  mistakes  your  father  did .

i  never  learned  to  lose  a  fight .

how  can  i  forgive  myself  when  i’m  still  in  love  with  you ?

quit  your  job ,  come  sleep  in  my  bed .

when  you’re  in  love ,  you  get  so  cruel .

the  lights  are  always  on  in  the  street ,  so  i  never  sleep .

i  think  i’ll  waste  away  here .

the  world  hasn’t  killed  me  yet  but  it’s  just  a  matter  of  days .

despite  all  of  my  virtue  i  know  i’m  the  one  who  hurts  you .

you  don’t  look  the  same  to  me .

i  guess  i  should’ve  learned  this  long  ago .

i  want  to  sleep  beside�� you  at  the  end  of  the  world .

we’ve  got  friends ,  we’ve  got  places  to  go .

i  can’t  take  my  eyes  off  of  you .

i  love  the  way  you  keep  me  awake .

the  kindness  of  strangers  and  the  strangeness  of  everyone  i  know  has  kinda  fucked  with  my  head .

[thatshithurted8]

jeff wittek imagine where the reader and jeff go on vacation together like to vegas or miami???

Holiday 

Summary: Throughout your mini holiday in Miami with your boyfriend Jeff, he realizes just how special you and your relationship are. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff, mention of alcoholism and Jeff’s accident

A/N This is also inspired by KSI’s song Holiday! 

I wanna wake up every mornin', feelin' better 'Cause I know you're sleeping by my side And every moment we're together I remember just to keep it all for you and I

Jeff’s brown eyes slowly open, being awoken by a crying baby that was a few rows behind you two. He lets out a yawn before looking over at you who were fast asleep on his shoulder. 

Something that not a lot of people knew was that Jeff hated flying despite being a certified skydiver. Ever since he was younger he was never a fan of flying, only now he was a bit more comfortable with it due to his experience skydiving. Nevertheless his initial nerves after waking up quickly wash away just from being in your presence.

Wanting to capture this seemingly perfect moment, Jeff slowly grabs his phone out of his pocket without disturbing you and takes a quick picture. As he analyzes the picture his heart swells at how at peace and comfortable you looked sleeping on him and in one of his sweaters. The two of you were extremely tired from catching a red eye flight to Miami so no wonder why you both fell asleep. 

Saving the picture Jeff puts his phone away and slowly opens the blind of your window seat. The rising sun shines into your row, the rays illuminating your face making your features and long lashes more prominent. The purpose of the trip to Miami was to watch the Logan Paul vs Floyd Mayweather fight. In fact you were ecstatic when Jeff told you he got you guys tickets to the event since you grew up watching boxing with your family and you were a huge fan of Mayweather. With that being said you had no idea how close the tickets Jeff got were to the ring. 

Jeff’s breath hitches as he admires you. He was so in love with you and was so excited to see your reaction to being ringside. As Jeff softly moves some stray hairs out of your face he realizes everything he does is for the benefit for not only you, but your relationship as well. It was you two against the world. 

I see that body in the sunlight Feelin' the heat and it feels right I wanna do this for the rest of my life

“I know you guys are dating and all, but you seriously need to stop staring before you sink the boat with your drool.” Mike Maijlak says walking over to Jeff’s side and handing him a La Croix. 

Jeff booked your mini holiday to last a few days before and after the fight which gave you guys the opportunity to explore Miami and let lose. With that being said neither of you were going to turn down Mike’s invite to join him on a yacht to party. So there you were talking and dancing with some girls you knew from LA while sipping on a La Croix. 

Jeff lets out a laugh while opening one of his favourite drinks. “I can’t help it man, just look at her.” He says taking a sip of the bubbly liquid while continuing to admire you from afar. 

The Miami sun that shined onto your skin paired with your infectious laugh, seemingly gave you a golden glow that made you standout. Not only that, but the bikini that you were wearing flattered your body type so well. 

After feeling as if someone was staring at you for the past few minutes you finally turn and look around the boat to find the owner of the eyes that were on you. Quickly your eyes find Jeff’s brown ones and you realize it was just Jeff staring at you the whole time, causing heat to wash over your body at his gaze. 

You shoot him a smirk and wink in return before turning back around to continue your conversation. A smirk of his own falls upon Jeff’s face as you do so, along with a light shade of pink on his cheeks. 

“You’re so whipped.” Mike laughs shaking his head, finally speaking up after watching the whole interaction. 

“Well I wanna be whipped for her for the rest of my life then.” Jeff says without realizing how big of a statement that was while his eyes remained on your beautiful figure. 

Oh, I know, I know, you know the vibe I wanna stay with you every night You and me underneath the lights I'm always good when you're by my side I know, you know you're on my mind You really make me come alive I wanna be here for the rest of my life

“Jeff look at my hands I’m literally shaking I can’t believe we’re this close!” You exclaim while glancing between your boyfriend and the boxing ring in front of you. 

“Only the best for you doll.” He says sending you a wink while laughing. For the past hour and a half as you two watched the undercards you continued to gush about your seats making Jeff happy to see you happy. 

Without wasting another second you roughly grab Jeff by his green shirt and pull him in for a passionate kiss. Just before the brunette could immerse himself into it fully you pull away. Some of your lipstick was smudged and Jeff knew without a doubt he had some on his lips, but he didn’t care. In that moment it truly seemed as if you two were the only ones there under the rings bright lights and in an arena full of screaming fans while you two stared into each others eyes lovingly. 

Your attention on your boyfriend is torn away when the already loud arena becomes even louder as Mayweather starts to walk out. Quickly you start to cheer for your favourite boxer while jumping up and down and clapping excitedly. Jeff glances between you and the boxing legend before his gaze finally lands on you. 

You look over at your boyfriend with a smile that was from ear to ear. “It’s Floyd fucking Mayweather!” You exclaim pointing over to the undefeated boxer entering the ring. 

A smile washes over Jeff’s face as he laughs at your excitement. You truly resembled a child in a toy store. Seeing your excitement only made Jeff more excited, causing him to join in on cheering for Mayweather despite being friends with Logan. 

There was no one else Jeff would rather be with to witness the fight and this thought only made him realize he wants to be by your side for the rest of his life. 

Looking for sun rays, needin' them good days Fly me away-away, you're my holiday Cool like the ocean, lost in emotion Fly me away-away, you're my holiday Whenever you're here it's a good time Strawberry shirts in the sunshine Ice-cold drinks 'til the moonlight You're my holiday Whenever you're here it's a good time Strawberry shirts in the sunshine Ice-cold drinks 'til the moonlight You're my holiday

The next few days after the fight was a whirlwind, but in a good way. Despite having a good time underneath the Miami sun and it’s nightlife Jeff wouldn’t be having as good of a time if you weren’t there. You truly made the trip for him, making the sunny days that were good for his mental health even better and the dreary days full of life from your infectious positivity and smile.  

You let out a loud laugh as you and Jeff wrap your arms around each others, mimicking a toast before brining your drink to your lips while your boyfriend did the same. At the same time you two sip at your virgin drinks while maintaining eye contact with each other in the close position. You gulp down the rest of your cold drink despite it being alcohol free before untangling your arm with Jeff’s and ordering another at the outside bar. 

Over the past four years of knowing Jeff the two of you created a special connection that no one in your friend group had with each other. And that was being sober. Jeff turned to alcohol after his break up with his ex girlfriend while you on the other hand turned to it to deal with the death of your mom. To say you were there for each other was an understatement. When the temptation to drink was too much Jeff would call you up and the two of you would go on late night hikes and talk about everything and anything, and vice versa for you. There was always a mutual pining for one another, but neither of you acted on it due to how broken you both were at the time. However, as the years went by your feelings only intensified along with Jeff’s. Though it wasn’t until a few months after Jeff’s accident when he took a leap of faith and finally confessed his feelings to you after realizing how short life truly was.

Jeff places his glass on the bar as well, placing his hand on the small of your back while looking around the crowded club that was partly inside and partly outside. Once you get a refill of your drink you turn around sipping on the paper straw, your back leaning against the bar causing Jeff to redirect his attention back to you. 

“You look beautiful.” He says looking down at you in his arms. 

Heat washes over your face and Jeff’s smile widens at how flustered you still got after all this time together. He loved showering you in words of affirmation and he meant every thing he said to you. Although, you always look beautiful the way the moonlight reflected off of your skin made you look angelic. It was a great contrast to you earlier in the day at the beach wearing a strawberry printed bikini that made Jeff feel a certain way. 

“Thank you baby you don’t look too bad yourself.” You say placing a soft peck on Jeff’s lips before pulling him towards the dance floor. 

I wanna stay up 'til the mornin' with you talkin' Just to listen to the things you say And every time we're in the middle of the city I imagine us so far away

The two of you sat down in a booth with Mike Majilak and Logan Paul at a random Denny’s that was in between your hotel and the club you four were previously partying at. By now the jet lag and the numerous activities you and Jeff participated in was starting to catch up to you. However, that wasn’t apparent to anyone other than Jeff as you talked the boys ears off while eating. 

“We’ll see you guys later! And once again Y/N text me when you’re free to film an episode of ImPaulsive.” Logan says as him and Mike get out of the booth, placing money on the table and getting ready to leave the restaurant. 

“Of course!” You exclaim before picking up your lemonade and drinking what was left. Jeff bids his goodbyes to the two influencers and once they leave you quickly rest your head on his broad shoulder, letting out a loud sigh. 

“You okay doll?” Jeff asks placing his hand on your thigh. 

“Yea just tired.” You say kissing his neck and placing your hand on his cheek. Similar to Jeff you were able to pick up on the energy of situations and that affected how you acted. So once Mike and Logan left you felt as if you could finally wind down from their partying aura. 

A comforting silence falls upon you two and your eyes slowly flutter close as the rising sun shines in through the Denny’s windows. As cliche as it sounded Jeff felt as if it was only you two in the quiet breakfast place. The brunette rests his head against yours and his eyes follows your lead by shutting close. 

The two of you remain in this position for a few minutes, cherishing not only the first quiet moment of the trip, but also the little moments you two shared. 

Ooh, ooh Ooh, you're my holiday

Scratching at his eyes and stretching Jeff slowly and quietly gets out of bed, the sun filtering in through the hotels curtains and onto your sleeping body. You looked so peaceful and he didn’t want to disturb that. Once you guys returned to your hotel room from a night out partying and a very early breakfast at Denny’s the two of you instantly fell asleep. 

Jeff glances at the analogue clock on the bedside table which read 2:34pm before he slips on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. Making sure to not wake you Jeff grabs his phone, wallet and room key then quietly leaves your shared room. However, before he leaves he makes sure to place a gentle kiss on your forehead and whisper to you how much he loves you. 

Throughout the trip he was constantly reminded of how much he loved you. You helped him through some of the darkest times in his life and after all this time of knowing and being together Jeff finally knew what he had to do. 

Remembering a shop that was a few buildings away from your hotel, Jeff quickly walks over to it wanting to be back before you woke up. The Staten Island native hands become clammy as he approaches the store, his tough guy persona seemingly crashing down with every step he took. 

The bell above the shops door dings as Jeff walks in causing a sales representative to walk over to him with a welcoming smile. 

“Good afternoon how can I help you?” She asks. Jeff takes a look around the quaint shop and all of the glass casings before redirecting his attention back to the worker. 

“Hi uh yea, I was wondering if you guys have any engagement rings?”