#melody needs to take a chill pill

[m3lodyxo]

I wanna suck the misogyny out of Adam.

[m3lodyxo]

Me btw

his idea of fun

[little-annie]

*Steve had a migraine and Eddie comes lovingly to the rescue*

It's a fucking bad one.

Everything hurts.

Everything makes him hurt.

The sound of the old pipes in the house knocking, the sound of a tree brach creaking, the sound of his own fucking breath. It makes him hurt. It makes the pressure in his head swell with a fury.

The weight of his head on the pillow, the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his brow, the strain in his eyes. The fucking light glowing from his alarm clock or creeping in under his door from the hallway.

Everything's too bright, too loud and everything just makes him feel worse.

Especially that fucking phone that won't quit ringing.

It makes him feel worse from the sound alone, a fog horn blaring down the hall, echoing and bouncing from the walls. It's a vile sound and it only stops for a total of five, maybe ten minutes before it starts again. An incessant RING, RING, RING.

Fucking hell

But what honestly makes him feel even worse is he knows it's probably Dustin or Robin or Eddie or one of the kids. They're probably worried. Christ, the shit they've gone through, after one missed call they probably think he's dead. But it's not like he can bring himself to get out of bed and answer the phone, so he lets it ring and after an hour, it finally, finally, stops.

Along with the slightly more quiet house comes some relief, a lessening of pain and pressure, just enough for Steve to manage sleep.

And a deep sleep at that.

So deep he doesn't hear the knock at the front door, doesn't hear the call of his name from the man he loves, doesn't hear the knock on his bedroom door by ringed fingers. He fails to sense fingers to his neck checking for a pause, the relieved sigh that's let out from the man at his bedside, the slow, careful movements of his lover slipping into bed behind him, wrapping tattooed arms around his waist and pulling him close.

He wakes a few hours later, a snore not so much startling him awake, but gently alerting him to the presence of one Eddie Munson at his back. It's a relief in itself to have Eddie there, the tension in his body seems to lessen from that alone. Not completely of course but some.

The snoring had stopped, the young man behind him alerted of his wakefulness probably by his subtle movements or change in breath.

Soon enough there's a gentle peck to the back of his neck and whispered words of, "How're you feeling Sweetheart?"

God and if Eddie's voice doesn't make him feel better. He doesn't know if it's the headache necessarily that eases up or purely the tension from his frustration, but having Eddie close and having his voice like a low, quiet melody in his ear is calming, relieving.

But all Steve can manage is a quiet, "s' hurts Eds."

Another soft kiss to his chilled, clammy, frankly probably disgusting skin, "I know Baby. When's the last time you took something?"

"6"

"Okay, I'm gonna go get you some water and painkillers. What do you need Stevie, your ice mask, a hot bath?"

"Want a bath and you to read to me."

"Okay Sweetheart," another kiss to the back of his neck, "You sleep and I'll get everything ready."

He drifts back to sleep before he can even process the movement of his mattress or the gentle kiss to his forehead.

While he's out Eddie manages to prepare a hot bath filled with Lavender oil and Epsom salts, taking the time to do dishes and any other of the household chores Steve would worry about on a daily basis. By the time the bath is ready, dishes are done, laundry is done and steam is rolling into Steve's room from his ensuite.

The lights are off in the bathroom aside from a single candle that burns just bright enough for Eddie to make out the world around him. He wakes Steve with a kiss and a hushed, "Stevie, Sweetheart, get up Baby, you need to take something for the pain."

And when Steve can manage to open his eyes, he sees the man he loves holding a glass of water and two small pills. With a little help he sits up, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Eddie's stomach for a moment before he takes the pills and finishes his glass of water.

Wordlessly he stands up, hand clasped in Eddie's as the man leads him to the dimly lit bathroom. It's a routine, unfortunately, this happens enough for Steve to no longer be embarrassed when Eddie undresses him and helps him into the bath. It's a normal thing. The touches that are chaste and gentle and loving, every care in the world as fabric drops to the floor and he sinks into the water.

He sighs with relief, eyes fluttering shut while he listens to Eddie undress, the careful drop of fabric, the hardly audible trickle of metal rings being set on the counter top, then there's a hand on his cheek and lips on his. A soft gentle kiss, then Eddie's moving into the tub to settle behind him. Steve relaxes further, feeling Eddie's body behind his own. Feeling the rise and fall of his lover's chest against his back or the weight of an arm settling around his waist while pale thighs move to settle at his sides. He feels enveloped. Held.

Then there's a kiss on his shoulder and Eddie begins to read. Soft, quiet, low, a whisper in the room, gentle words in the steamy air. Steve slumps further into the bath, eyes closed, head resting against Eddie's shoulder as their fingers intertwined under the water, resting against his stomach.

It's everything and the tension melts away, the pressure in his head fading with each passing second, each passing whispered word.

Cool water, a relaxed mind and an hour later he's drifting to the land of slumber once again. Faintly he hears the fold of paper and the gentle thump of Eddie's book hitting the floor. A hand settles in his hair, gently combing through strands, then a kiss is placed on his temple, soft, gentle and with the whispered words of, " I love you Sweetheart."

[barbiecrocs]

Serial.

Michael Myers

What seems to be the unluckiest day you've ever had is also the most enjoyable.

tags- fem!reader, horror, soft gore, breaking and entering, size difference if you squint, rough sex, blood, piv, monster fucking (just bc this man is monstrous), dumbification, hair pulling, 90s ig, the mask stays on during sex. WC. 3861

Barbie's note... can't believe I used to be on my knees for this man. Like I used to be in the trenches frfr but if yall like him enjoy. after all I did write it to be read. I might go back into hibernation btw.

 The storm that brought your birthday party to an early end sends most of your friends home for the night. The bipolar winds knock leftover party cups and plates into the pool. The storm seems to be having a party of its own in your backyard. It practically plucks your backyard apart bit by bit. You raise your hands to your temples and rub them in stress. The only thing you could do was sit on the sidelines and watch.

 "Sigh, the sound of rain is so therapeutic…Too bad the storm is destroying your backyard. This is not a pretty sight." You hear an oncoming voice say.

 "Kate, you shouldn't be so relaxed. You have no ride home now. You should've gone home with your sister and the others. It's raining cats and dogs now." You complain and look over to Kate, noticing her outfit.  "Did you get that from my closet? You took my whole ‘My Melody’ set! Even the slippers! I only have one set! The rest are just shirts! I was going to wear that after my shower!" Your eyebrows furrow in distaste for her stealing one of your favorite pajama sets. She could've at least asked right? Man, you really have to kick her out. You roll your eyes.

 "Jeez, take a chill pill, don't get your panties in a twist. I wanted to leave, but I guess I took too long to take a shower and get changed out of my swimsuit, so they left without me. She told me that she was going to come back after dropping everyone else off." She starts to tap on the glass with her acrylic nails as her eyes flicker back and forth between you and the glass. "That doesn’t make any sense, she’d just be wasting more gas and my time.” You roll your eyes. “Jeez, no need to be in such a time crunch, your bed isn’t going anywhere, anywhere far at least,” Kate says. ‘Ugh! So insensitive at all times.’ You think. “You know Kate, I had other things planned tonight!" You huff.

 "Ooh? What did you have planned that was so important? It’s almost midnight-. Oh. OOOH? Is it what I think it is? Were you and Miles going to fuck? Is that why you’ve been hanging by your phone so much?” She says, continuously poking your arm. Your cheeks run hot as she continues to press you with flustering questions. “Maybe that’s why you’ve had such a stick up your ass because you’ve been waiting for him to stick something up there. Are you keeping it ready for him huh? It’ll slip in nice and easy-.” “KATE!” You interrupt, practically steaming with embarrassment and shyness. “What?” She snickers. “Did I hit the bullseye?” “Just… Just shut up!” You stomp. “Fine. Fine. You wanna take another dip in the pool to cool down? Or perhaps the rain, does that sound like fun? Becoming one with the rain. It sounds lovely, an absolute dream." She smirks, unlocking the backdoor. 

 "No, no it doesn't sound like a dream. It's a hot summer night turned lukewarm and I bet the rain is uncomfortably warm too-" "Come on!" She interrupts, yanking you outside so hard that you topple over, good thing you were still in your swimsuit. Can’t say the same for Kate though. 

 She starts to skip around the pool playfully as if the rain was nonexistent. "Kate, ugh! You little shit, you're lucky I'm still wearing my bathing suit! Plus, you're getting my clothes wet! What was even the point of taking a shower if you were going to go back outside? Sigh You know what? You should stay outside and really be one with the rain. Have fun!" You shut the door as she runs over, slipping on the wet pavement.

 "Hey! Don’t leave me out here! Come on, it was just an impulsive decision. I was just having fun since the party was ruined! Loosen up a bit!" She yells, muffled through the thick glass of the backdoor. You put your fingers in your ears and pretend like you can’t hear her. She’ll be fine, the rain was warm, plus there’s a patio set with a waterproof hood so she doesn’t have to stay in the rain.

 'Great, now I have a mixture of chlorine and rainwater on me.' As you walk inside the house you notice that you left the TV on and overhear it from your open kitchen.

 *T.V static* "Emergency news coming to you live from Los Angeles, California. The news channel where we relay urgent news in under five minutes!" Reporter Nancy says while thrusting her hand in the air to represent the number five. "Nancy, stop, this is serious news. We are here to relay information about a serial killer sneaking into backyards and killing residents living there. Numerous calls were made to the emergency hotline, 911, saying that there was someone in their house or giving us details on what the deranged man looked like. He stands somewhere around 6'7 and wears a dark blue jumpsuit. He wears a mask that hollows his eyes and he has brown hair-"

 The TV suddenly cuts off as if it was unplugged, yet everything looks in check. It wasn't unplugged, the TV isn't smoking like it's broken, the power is fine, and it's not like you turned it off manually or remotely. 

'Wow, it's the first time I actually sit down to watch the news and the TV decides to cut off.' You think.

 You bang on the TV in hopes that it'll cut back on, but no luck. "Ugh, old ass T.V.! I told mama that she should've gotten a new one! This shit is so outdated. We have had this since I was ten! That's a decade!" You pout. 

 You look out the glass backdoor and see Kate, happy as ever, texting someone on a huge duck floatie in the pool with little to no rain outside now. Like what the hell? It was just raining. You unlock the sliding door and call out to her. "Hey, Kate. You should come inside now. It would be a hassle for your sister to drive back over here. You should spend the night." You say, cursing yourself for your generosity. "Really? Now you want me to come in? I'm good. There's no need to be so concerned. We're on private property. No one else can enter without permission, that's illegal. Plus, the rain is warm just like you predicted. She should be fine while driving, seriously. I'll just wait until my sister picks me up. You act like I'm ten years old. I don't need supervision." She rolls her eyes.

 You return the same energy with an eye roll. "So naive, your funeral… Just know that I will be locking the door." You mumble and pull in the curtains. If she doesn't care about her safety then neither will you. Your objective was to take a shower, not look after her anyway.

  In the middle of your shower, you hear the house phone ring. You let it ring for a while before realizing that Kate can’t answer the phone for you. With a long sigh, you rinse off, grab a towel, and head to your room, wanting to put some clothes on before going downstairs. You throw on a Kuromi pajama shirt paired with loose black shorts and head downstairs.

 'Was Kate expecting a call? Maybe it’s Kate’s sister and she’s here to pick her up. Maybe it’s Miles? We were supposed to fuck for my birthday tonight.’ You skip down the stairs, hoping that it was the latter, and pick up the cream-colored phone just to hear heavy breathing on the other side. 'What the hell?' You think. 

 As you're about to hang up your movement is forcefully put to a stop. You feel your heart sink as a painful throb begins to travel up your arm, making you drop the phone on the table. You fully tune into this sound as if nothing else around you matters. It’s so loud in your head even though the phone is no longer in your ears. Every nerve inside your body is tense and telling you to hang up, but the breathing is so captivating, trance-like if you will. Listening to the sweet sound as if it was someone humming your favorite tune or singing a soft lullaby. It's so alluring, arousing almost. It mentally sucks you in and the noise alone brings a physical warmth to your skin, supplying false comfort like a hug. It takes away the pain in your arm just as fast as it gave it. As you listen for longer you start to notice the raspiness in the voice. This wasn't like a white noise machine or a random audio on loop. There was someone behind it. In and out, in and out, in and… 

Suddenly, you hear Kate scream bloody murder and you snap out of your trance, unplugging the phone and rushing toward the back door. Yanking the curtains open and analyzing the pool from inside, the scene that is held in your eyes is mortifying.

 Kate lays there on her back, lifeless in a puddle of her blood on the rubber duck floatie. Her hair is a mess and you can see signs of a struggle on her body. The stressed clothing, choke marks, and some of her fake nails are broken off, leaving her fingernails bloody. Her phone is no longer in her hand, but slowly sinking to the bottom of the pool. Heh, it looks like it still works, the screen is on. Blood flows out of the stab wounds on her throat and chest as the light rain continuously tries to wash them away.

 Your eyes frantically scan the pool area for the culprit. And somewhere in the darkness that is the other side of the pool, you see a tall figure step forward, making you jump back from the glass.

 A man in a dark blue bloodied jumpsuit, standing around 6'6 - 6'7, wearing a mask with brown hair. Just seeing this man triggers something in you, as you've unlocked a memory. Have you seen him before? No way, that can't be possible, there's no way that you've seen him and not run away screaming. Then it finally clicks. He was the murderer that was described on TV. He fits the description perfectly. The mask, hair, height, the only thing the description was missing was the blood.

 Goosebumps tatted your skin as you begin to panic. You hold still in hopes that he has bad eyesight or somehow can't see you through the clear glass door, as if that's possible. He remains completely still and at some point, you wonder if he really can't see you. Maybe the mask messes with his vision?

 Suddenly, he starts to make his way around the pool and so you run into the living room to dig in the couch cushions for your mom's pistol that she keeps for "unexpected guests". 

 You hurriedly load the gun and speed back to your place, tripping over a bunched-up rug. You tip back and fall flat on your butt and point the gun in his direction, waiting for him to round the corner. Your hands are shaking from adrenaline and your nerves are high. At this point, you're hyper-aware of everything happening to you. Blood is coursing through your body from head to toe because of this intense situation and yet… you feel a second heartbeat, this one wasn't in your chest, it was between your legs. Why was your body doing this?

 Was this turning you on? You feel obloquy and disappointment fill your heart as you think about such taboo and shameful things. Many thoughts swarm your mind, but everything is put on hold as he rounds the corner.

 He stands in front of you, only the glass door standing between you both, but it isn't long before he busts through it. Glass comes shooting your way and you shut your eyes and cover your face in defense, not realizing that you dropped the gun. You were too late to protect yourself properly and tiny shards of glass grazed your skin. Some cuts are a little deeper than others, but the overall damage was minimal. Luckily, due to the adrenaline, you couldn't feel the pain.

 You open your eyes when you realize that the gun is no longer in your hand. You look around on the floor until you notice unfamiliar shoes planted right in front of you and snap your head up just to see his dark, hollow, eyes staring at you. 

 In a panicked rush, you continue to search for the gun you dropped, trying to keep your eyes on him. Patting the area down like a dumbass, you still couldn't find it. Only for a split second you look away and grab it, but a large hand roughly grabs you by the neck and the other snatches the gun away, throwing it somewhere towards the stairs. Your hands' fling onto the hand choking you, attempting to tear him off of you. No avail, his grip was firm and you were slowly, but surely losing air.

 He lifted you with ease and put your back to the other glass door that wasn't broken. Trying to cause as much of a hassle as you can, you thrash around, kicking and punching, but it wasn't doing anything to his firm body. 'What is this guy made of?'.

You start to feel hot tears prickle in your eyes and your face feels like someone is sticking pins and needles in it. Heat piles in your chest and your heart starts to beat slower and slower. After what seems like a lifetime of flopping around, you finally land a good kick to his stomach. His grip softens on your neck and you loudly gasp for air, coughing up a storm as spit lulls out your mouth and down your chin.

 All too quickly, he grabs your legs and wraps them around his hips to stop you, putting you both in a rather intimate position. With you being pinned to the glass, you stop resisting and catch your breath. 

 As you calm down, you notice just how close he is, how you can practically feel his heart beating through his chest, how his leg is tucked snuggly between your thighs, and all of a sudden your feet can’t touch the floor. The mood between you two was shifting from panicked to steamy. You felt ashamed of yourself for thinking in such a way. You could die right now, but all you could think about was how big and warm his hands were around your neck. You could no longer find it in yourself to even look in his direction. But your surroundings are all too familiar, nothing else besides him can keep your attention.  

 His grip tightens on your thighs as he leans into you. With closing distance, the more you can feel his clothed length slowly push against your thin shorts, twitching and aching to be sheathed in your now soaking, cunt. You wrap your arms around his neck and shut your eyes as you wait for him to plant a kiss on your lips. Instead, you feel surprisingly warm kisses along your jawline to your neck. His lips find your sweet spot, making you jolt in pleasure. As he starts attacking your neck with hickeys and bites. You feel a cold hand travel from one of your thighs to the hem of your shirt. He tugs on the fabric, signaling that he wants it off. “Go ahead.” You say, layering your hand on his as he slips your shirt off. Squeezing one of your boobs with the other hand. 

 Your naked back forcefully pushes up against the cold glass and it isn’t long before a cold shiver rushes up your spine, making your back arch fiercely. “Ah, c-cold!” You hiss. He looks around and spots a comfy couch in the living room, covered in fuzzy throw-over blankets that were used for cold movie nights. He throws you over his shoulder and then plops you onto the couch, his hands immediately moving around your waist and snaking up to your chest. He takes a second to admire the naked flesh in his hands, kneading and kissing it. He’s never felt something so soft and smooth in his life. Considering that his life was a very hard one, this felt like heaven on Earth. 

 You wrap your legs around his waist and pull it closer to your clothed entrance. His fingers loop around your panties and drag them down, swiftly. A string of shlick leading from your pussy to the wet spot on your panties. He brings the panties up to his nose and sniffs them, making your cheeks run hot with a blush. “Perv!” You beat at his chest. 

 He takes off his jumpsuit as he stares down at you. Broad shoulders, muscular chest, dark eyes, and abs sculpted by the gods intimidating and turning you on simultaneously. He continues undressing and pulls his boxers a little bit lower than his thighs. Your eyes almost pop out of your skull from how big his dick is. Yet it fits in his hand perfectly. 

 He gives it a few long strokes before lining himself up at your entrance, raising your hips to level with his tip. “W-wait. I don't think it’ll fit.” You whimper, trying to close your legs, but are blocked by his waist. He stands still for a second, thinking about what to say. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders considering that he doesn’t talk much. He prods his tip at your entrance and slowly sheths himself mostly inside you, letting out a deep guttural groan. Your arms subconsciously try to claw at his back, but can’t wrap around it, clawing on his shoulders at best. “FUCK!” You scream, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “You’re too big.”

 You lay on your back, trying not to move an inch, scared that he might rip you in half just from it being inside you. He puts a calloused hand on your cheek and wipes your tears, trying to soothe you the best he can without words. Your grip on his shoulders tighten when you feel him push in more. “Wait!” You weakly move a hand to his chest. “Stay still for a moment. It stings so bad.” You throw your head back onto the armrest of the couch as you bite your lip in pain, almost drawing blood.

 After what seems like an eternity the pain is finally gone and now you can enjoy the dicking that you were supposed to get from Miles. You wonder what happened to him. Maybe he canceled without telling you. ‘Ugh, dickhead! Ghosting me on my birthday?’  You brush off that thought and tell him you’re fine now. He pulls out halfway and slowly thrusts back in, making you feel every inch of him. Your whole body quivers from how deep he was inside you, plunging farther than your fingers ever could. “Oh fuck!” You claw. He starts to pick up the pace, with each thrust fucking you further into dumbification.

 You practically scream when he starts pounding your g-spot, making you breathless. “So good!!~” You hiccup, trying to focus on not being fucked dumb. So much that you didn't realize him switching positions.

 Suddenly, your stomach is pressed against the back of your brown corduroy sofa as your knees dig into the pillows and cushions beneath you. He stands tall, towering over you from the back with one hand tangled in your hair. His free hand returns to one of your hips and he pulls them closer to his length, lining himself up again. He wastes not even a second going slow this time. He thrusts into you, immediately finding your G-spot and pounding it. The position does wonders for you as his balls repeatedly smack against your clit, making your back arch immensely. That’s it. That was your last straw before turning dumb. Your nails dig into the couch and your tongue hangs out your mouth, trickling drool. He lets out a deep groan when he feels your walls squeeze around his dick and suck him in, signaling that you were close to cumming. 

 A familiar heat starts to spread over your body and it isn’t long before your walls go from squeezing to trembling. “Fuck, Fuck FUCK!!” You thought you screamed, but to him, it just seemed like fucked out babbling. Your pussy gushes around him, triggering his orgasm. He fucks both of you through it, almost to the point of overstimulation. He finally pulls out, allowing all the cum and shlick to ooze out of you. Both of you watch as it drips onto the blanket below you, making you giggle. “Heh, oopsie.” You babble, still fucked out.

 Your tiredness catches up with you and you fall limp on the couch, rocking in and out of consciousness. He picks you up and searches the house for a bathroom. He starts to run the water and steps out for a minute. The sound of running water and a loud thud from the living room snaps you out of your unconscious state. ‘W-what the fuck?’ You stand up on wobbly legs and head out of the bathroom, finding out that he put you in the downstairs one. You feel a cold gust of wind and look towards the front door. It’s open with the man that was just balls deep inside of you standing hunched over. You have a bit of trouble walking over to him, but eventually, you make it. You try to find an opening to see what he was looking at since he’s too tall to look over. 

 You fall on your butt in horror when you realize that it’s Miles, dead and the fully clothed mysterious man was dragging him away. A puddle of dried blood on your porch gives away that he was dead for a while.

 “What. The. FUCK!” You had such a nice time with this man that you forgot he was a murderer. For heaven's sake, he killed your best friend Kate. “Who are you?” So many questions run through your head at the same time. ‘Why did he kill Miles?  When did he have time to kill Miles? Why didn’t he kill you too? How does he know about you?’ He throws Miles over his shoulder and turns back to you. It looks like he’s going to raise a hand at you, instead, he reaches into his jumpsuit and pulls out a gold name tag with the name ‘Micheal’ on it. He throws it into your lap and disappears into the darkness of the night. “What…What the fuck?”

[pow3tage]

When Love dies:

Whispers Of Regret

Lomesha lay still in the dimly lit room, her breath shallow and her heart racing. The rhythm of her heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the ticking of the clock on the wall, creating an eerie, somber melody. The weight of the past, present, and uncertain future bore down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. The walls of the room, once witnesses to love and laughter, now whispered tales of regret.

As she lay there, entangled in a web of her own thoughts, she could hear the rhythmic snoring of her partner, Rickey, in the distance. His back was turned to her, a physical representation of the emotional distance that had grown between them. She could barely make out his silhouette, huddled at the edge of the bed. The gulf between them had widened with each passing year, and they had become little more than strangers sharing a bed.

She rolled her eyes in the darkness, feeling the icy chills of their relationship. It was as though an invisible wall had been erected between them, one that she couldn't tear down, no matter how hard she tried. The laughter and the passion that once filled their lives had given way to a silence so loud it was deafening.

She couldn't deny that there were moments when the warmth returned, but they were fleeting, reserved for those brief interludes of intimacy. For Lomesha, those stolen moments were a cruel reminder of what they once had, a tantalizing glimpse of the love that had long since faded.

Lomesha had grown weary of the cycle: moments of tenderness followed by icy indifference. She had forgiven Rickey too many times for his transgressions, each time eroding her own self-worth just a little bit more. She lay there in the darkness, lost in a sea of questions.

"What have I done with my life?" Lomesha thought, her mind spiraling in the labyrinth of her regrets. She felt trapped, like a bird with clipped wings. "Have I convinced myself that I'm in love for all these years? This can't be it. There must be more to life than this. Where is the spark, the care, the respect?"

Lomesha's gaze shifted to the framed photo on the nightstand. It was a picture of her three young boys, their innocent smiles frozen in time. She had chosen to have them, driven by her principles and a belief in the sanctity of life. Lomesha loved her boys fiercely, but she couldn't escape the gnawing guilt that she had failed them. She longed to provide them with a better life, one filled with the warmth and security they deserved.

Her thoughts returned to Rickey, her partner for over a decade. They had met as young adults, full of dreams and hopes, at a college that seemed to promise endless possibilities. She, 19, and he, 18, had fallen head over heels in love, or at least she had. Their eyes had met across a crowded room, and in that moment, their destinies had intertwined.

She had been faithful throughout their relationship, but Rickey had not reciprocated. His infidelity had been a bitter pill to swallow, one that she had choked down in silence for years. She knew he was being unfaithful even now, and yet, the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air, an invisible specter that haunted their home.

As Lomesha lay there in the darkness, the weight of her choices and the echoes of her past love washed over her like a tidal wave. She was at a crossroads, caught between the love she had clung to for so long and the need to find a path that would lead her to happiness and fulfillment.

The room remained shrouded in silence, as Lomesha grappled with the questions that had no easy answers. It was the beginning of a journey, a journey that would take her deep into the heart of her own desires and lead her to a decision that could change the course of her life forever.

[rabdoidal]

"netflix’s homophobic values" --- pfffff. Netflix made She-Ra gay. Are you kidding me? Take a chill pill and watch Melody fall in love with a Black guy, you hypocrite.

netflix continuously platforms bigots

just because one show is gay doesnt mean other characters cant be gay

melody was written as a gay character in the podcast and then she was made straight in the show, she was not made straight from day one. dan also canonically has no romantic interest in her. i know this is all from listening to the podcast, but if you actually read my post or cared about the show, you'd know that

i dont "need to take a chill pill," i just dont like homophobic shows being produced

netflix isnt your friend, its a media conglomerate that earns more money than your tiny brain can conceive of - you starting arguments on the internet about it doesn't even ping on their radar. they have already made money from archive 81 and the rest is nothing to them. you mean as much to that company as i do.

trying to call me a hypocrite doesnt work in this context, because im not personally making gay characters straight, or anything in a similar vein

trying to pull the "its racist to not like dan/melody" card is offensive any way you slice it - neither of the characters casting makes erasing a lesbian okay. i wish there were more interracial relationships seen in media, but there shouldn't be a competition between "gay couple" or "interracial couple." both should be made without erasing the other.

[hey-nick-your-thoughts]

The habit of sleeping in had been long lost on me. Even though I slept the shock and stiffness off for days after leaving the vault, it eventually became habitual for me to wake up early in the morning. For a year, it had often been to the rising sun but in the detective agency it remained an elusive sight. Bricks shuttered the entire bottom floor off from the rest of the world happening around it. Even the top floor had been covered and recovered in various materials over the past decade or more. 

The residing detective's voice rang out as he approached the doorway of his bedroom, "Come on." He was, undoubtedly, anticipating that I was already awake for the day. 

Normally, I was quick to wake up at the sound of his voice. While traveling through a myriad of police stations all over the commonwealth, I had associated hearing his voice while I was sleeping with needing to suddenly be alert. An alarm no different from sirens of days passed. 

I couldn't move. Caught between a rough mattress and a pilled blanket, my body felt like it was both freezing and dripping in sweat. 

"Not like you to sleep in," he approached the side of my fabric prison, his amber eyes boring holes of concern into every inch of exposed skin, "You feeling okay, doll?" He placed his good hand against my forehead, pushing back my bangs to get a good reading. 

I found myself thinking about how receptive his synthetic skin must have been. Was it exactly like that of a human hand? Did it connect to things like thermometers to send the information to his system in order to tell the difference between hot and cold?

"A little warm." He pulled the blanket up to cover the small amount of shoulders that I had exposed. I felt the heft of the blanket against my collarbone. 

The detective stood up and I found myself immediately needing to roll over to reach for the bucket next to the bed. Draining the contents of my stomach into it all at once, I tried to muffle the sound so as not to wake Ellie. 

I then attempted to sit up and instead leaned against the wall with nausea floating in the pit of what was left in my stomach. "Maybe it's radiation sickness."

"Thought I heard one storm pass by last night." Knocking a metallic hand against the heavy bricks, Nick speculated, "These old walls may not have kept all of it out." 

"I don't have any RadAway around," I commented, recalling that the space in the drawer that used to house it was now housing a bag of tools instead. After reading that taking it often could cause hair loss, among other issues, I decided to switch completely over to using Rad-X instead. It was only preventative for a certain amount of time, but if I knew there would be any issues, I could pop one of the pills rather quickly and still keep my auburn locks. 

"Solomon usually keeps a ready supply of it. Why don't I go nab a pack?" In an almost repeating motion, Nick covered my shoulders with the old brown blanket again. I nodded, a chill crawling from the back of my neck only to turn into fire by the time it reached my toes. 

When the door closed, I found myself at the bucket again. I held a messy braid back with one hand and the blanket together with the other. A bead of sweat rolled down the edge of my face as I leaned over. 

Without me, Nick didn't have to worry about losing days of progress due to illness. Growing in a world kinder than this, I found that I was often feeling weak and helpless. A different hopelessness than the abusive home I had escaped only to end up here. Perhaps it was because someone else was being affected this time. It wasn't just me that I felt responsible for in regards to feelings anymore. 

In a moment of respite and feeling sorry for myself, I felt my eyelids drooping and welcoming me to more rest. I leaned against the cool, concrete wall and shut them. 

The door to the agency creaked open. A common sound that tended to make my heart beat a little faster. Something about him coming into that door made me feel less lonely, turning me into a twisted version of Pavlov's Dog. 

His boots played elegant notes across the splintered wooden floor. The synthetic melody played around the corner, accompanied by the RadAway in his hand, and continued to the dresser at the end of the bed. 

Black and gold eyes realized enough space to sit down at the foot of the bed, not too far where I was leaned against the wall. His weight pulled down on the mattress but it was comforting. "I talked to Doc Sun." 

"And?" 

"He thinks it might be food poisoning." Golden rings looked from me and to the bucket, "I'm inclined to believe him." 

It wasn't the first time I had food poisoning and it was true that radiation sickness felt much different than this current hell I was going through. 

The last time I could remember having food poisoning was when I threw up in front of my father just before the school bus was supposed to pick me up. He didn't want any calls from the school asking where I was, presumably because child services might make a visit due to previous issues. Instead he took one pill from every bottle in the medicine cabinet and made me take them all before sending me to school. I spent the entire day not knowing of my own existence. Before going into that state and after coming out of it, I remember being terrified but remembered nothing in between. 

But if I could dissociate that well through the current churning of my stomach, it would be something of a welcomed miracle.

"Said there's been a few cases of it around in the last 24 hours. Should check on Ellie, too, when she wakes up." 

"In any case, he said we should treat you for that first before dosing you with the RadAway." 

I sighed, "Today of all days, Nick. I'm so sorry." 

He shook his head, the gray hat cropping his face with shadows from the dim lighting, "Better it happened in here than out there.' The detective stood up and pointed at the head of the barren bed, "Just try to get some rest. We can leave after you're better." 

Though I still felt bad about hindering his work, despite his words, I laid down again on the mattress. Auburn hair obscured my vision, the braid became uncomfortable beneath my weight even with the bed below. I pulled the stretched hair tie apart from a sea of red and gently parted the waves until it flooded the surface below.

When he brought a bowl of soup in the afternoon, I realized that he really wasn't as concerned with the new case as he was with my health. By then, my stomach couldn't possibly have had anything else inside. I was happy to finally taste something that wasn't my own vomit. 

"Is Ellie okay?" I asked the detective between sips. 

"She's fine. Maybe that helps narrow down the culprit." The culprit, this time, was whatever food had caused the city to get sick. 

"Maybe that meat I added to the mac and cheese."

"Maybe." He concurred before joining me in sitting on the bed again. "Should talk to Doc Sun and see if he can't get whatever it was off the market before it kills someone."

I nodded, taking another spoonful of the hot broth. "So, Nick? Your last case, the Eddie one... Is that the only thing you had planned for the rest of your life or is there something else?" 

"What do you mean?"

I crossed my legs and cupped the warm bowl in my lap, "Your hopes, aspirations... a bucket list maybe? Going places or achieving something." 

Thinking about it, I was probably asking because I didn't see any for myself. After all, I was never meant to be here, to be alive at this point in time. Most of my life, since I was left alone with my father, was focused solely on surviving. I was reliant on the here and now with no chance to look forward more than 'I want a better life'. Sometimes, even before the bombs, life didn't feel like it was always guaranteed to continue the next day. 

My stomach churned again but it was a less physical feeling than what I was experiencing before. 

"Well." Nick paused and adjusted his weight against the bed. "The old nick wanted to see the city from the top of Bunker Hill. As much as I want to live my own life, I can't seem to shake the feeling that I'd like to go up there, myself." 

Failing to stifle a laugh, I thought about the fact that we had already been in the area. 

"Don't laugh," He scolded, as if he thought I was laughing at the simplicity of his dreams.

"No, no. I was just thinking about how we had the opportunity when we stayed the night there." The beginning of that journey felt as if it was years ago. I remembered my apprehension in trusting the synth detective. The first person to truly reach out to me and I was keen to push him away for so long.

And with my feelings towards him now, all of it felt a little silly and nostalgic. 

His eyes focused directly on mine as he tried to explain himself. "Look, I didn't want to overwhelm you."

"Let's do it together one day." I interrupted before he could print out another excuse. Maybe he really didn't want to overwhelm me but I personally thought it might have been his dedication to one task at a time. He was so focused on the case that he didn't take much time to do anything else unless I was dragging him into it. If I had known he wanted to go to the top of the monument, though, would I have offered at the time? 

"Sounds good." Seeing the smile lingering just beneath his serious stature felt like an achievement. "What about you, doll?" 

"Nuka World." Pulling the bowl back up from my lap, I took another spoonful of the cooling soup after an unexpected yawn. 

"Probably not functional right now. Why Nuka World?" I could practically see the gears turning in his head. 

"Everything in the commonwealth is in disrepair and honestly, it's beautiful." Buildings where the sunlight crept in had sunflowers reaching towards those rays. Highways creating works of art in the directions they bent and fell, as if they had simply begun melting into the earth one commonwealth summer. Forest lined sidewalks with billboards at the heads of their trunks. The way grass even grew in police stations torn open by a landslide. "I wanted to see a place I could only dream of as a kid become a work of art restored by nature." 

"Fair enough. Most people these days wouldn't have had the experiences we've had, save for a few ghouls I suppose." His hat bobbed slightly as he nodded. 

Setting the bowl aside and melting into the blanket and rough mattress, I continued my interrogation with the detective, "You're lucky."

"How so?" 

"You never had to see the bombs fall."

"Maybe I am." 

I still saw and felt the force of it in my dreams. The debris kicking up as the elevator to the vault descended. The alien wind blowing across the top as if it was a bottle to play a tune on. 

A frozen atmosphere in an unfamiliar place where my father and I were ushered to change into vault suits in front of everyone else. Neighbors sighing in relief as if the rest of the world hadn't just died in that same moment. 

Before long, I was waking up again. 

Warmth. 

As I rubbed my blurry eyes, I spotted the detective resting in the bed beside me. He often told me that he didn't need sleep but encouraged me to at least, which is why it was always surprising to find instances in which he chose to. The only difference this time is that he had decided to share the bed with me. 

Confused but not unhappy, I pulled half of the pilled, brown blanket over his figure. At the end of the bed lay his coat and hat, accompanied by a spare bag of RadAway.

[specsforwoo]

Son of Notus | Demigod!Ten

Parent Deity: Notus ( God of the Southern Winds)

Allegiance: Aether

asldkfjaslkj Airhead much

Okay he is actually really smart

But he hates showing it because he doesn’t want to be stuck up

Like top of his meteorology class

But also top of of his modern dance class

He really likes dancing

It makes him feel like he is flying

Which is the best feeling in the world if you ask him

Kinda found out he was a demigod on accident, but he doesn’t even know he is a demigod asldfkgj

LIKE IT WAS A MAJOR ACCIDENT

So maybe he got a little too heated in an argument and a desk was flown into a wall

And he didn’t touch the desk

Notus is known for being the most temperamental of the Wind Gods

And it definitely passed on to his son

Oops

But he is also probably one of the most laid back of his friends beside Johnny

His personality really changes depending on who he is around

He likes to act silly around Taeyong and Yuta because seriously those two need to take a chill pill and down it with a Piña Colada

But when he is around his half-siblings and younger demigods he turns really protective really fast

And when he is around say Johnny or Chenle or Haechan he becomes the somber one because someone needs to stay calm when those three are together

So he actually got brought to camp rather forcefully

Because apparently when a monster is hot on your tail it tries to directs you to other demigods

Which is exactly what happened

Remember that desk that flew into a wall, well the person he was arguing with was actually a cyclops shrouded by the Veil

Good job, Ten

And the monster chased him all the way to the camp

But like he wasn’t claimed yet and had only known about his powers for a few mere hours, the poor boy

So he crossed the borders to camp and suddenly the cyclops stopped chasing after him? But he was open in the middle of the woods?

Until he turned around and he saw this huge green field with a pavilion and a lake and what looked like 50+ cabins in the distance and an amphitheater

And he was even more terrified because what in hell is this place and how could I not see it before

And suddenly this young girl who was probably around 5 years old with green skin came up and latched onto his leg

And now he’s even more scared bEcAUSEe GreEEN SkiN

But then a normal human walks up to him and sees the cyclops outside the border and kinda just goes oh, new demigod? Have you been claimed?

And honestly he is ready to pass out

Which he does

So apparently after he passed out (the little girl started crying because the cute man is hurt) that random demigod called for help and helped carry him to the pavilion before calling the Apollo/Achelios Camp Leader to check him out

After he woke up it took him a realllllly long time to process everything

And that night when he went to sleep in the Hermes cabin he was still super confused and kinda scared. Because did his mom know where he was? His cellphone dropped into a river while he was being chased. Did he even know where he was? Was he a freak? A million thoughts were running through his head at once

After barely sleeping a wink he woke up to an blow horn and 3 campers cackling around his bunk

Which got him mad and when he clenched his fist the blown horn popped

Oops

So basically he was in the Hermes cabin for around 3 months because no one had claimed him but he had also shown powers limited to demigods so he definitely wasn’t an outsider

And he actually got into the swing of things

Archery was cool, he was okay at it

He didn’t like swords that much but he could survive

But wow, flying on a pegasus? That was the best feeling in the world

He loved the go to the track and fly around after dinner until midnight

And suddenly one day while he was training with his pegasus, Tadd, he got bucked off the saddle while everyone was watching

It was at least 30 feet high

And he landed on his damn feet

And the next thing he knew he had a shining silver cloud erupting in flames over his head

And a voice in the back of his middle, deep, gruff and spiky was talking to him about how he was ready to face the challenges as the son of a god, a specific god: Notus

And Ten was really happy, so was everyone else because 1) they had never had a son of Notus here before and 2) Everyone could tell Ten couldn’t wait until the day he found out who his father was

So Ten has probably been at this camp the longest except for Jaemin but that’s a long story

And the one thing he does do during the summer is go out into society to look for other demigods

Which was how he met you. He had tracked you to a small town outside of Seoul and you were just like any other person

Music blasting in your ears as you walked down the street, humming along, eyes glued to your phone

And he almost thought that he had tracked the wrong person

Until he noticed your little obsession with gold.

Not like you were robbing banks and jewelry stores but as he got closer to you in order to bring you to the camp he realized you like to sew clothes with gold colored thread, Your jacket had gold embroidering. Your phone case was gold

When he brought it up you just laughed and said that your mom had told you all your life that gold was your dad’s favorite color and for a while you used to use it to give a connection to him but soon it became your favorite color as well.

And one day while he was meeting you up for coffee at a local donut shop, he noticed a shadow out of the corner of his eye but decided to ignore it

2 hours later he was gripping your hand running down an alleyway trying to pull drachma out of his pocket so he could hitch a ride back to camp and away from the Griffin currently chasing you down

Apparently waiters don’t like it when you try to send cold coffee back

He finally got you in a Hermes Cab and spent the entire time to the camp explaining what had happened

Let’s just say you took it a lot better than he did and didn’t have to be carried inside the camp borders

He was about to take you to the Hermes cabin when a Sun and Lyre appeared simultaneously above your head

You had been claimed by Apollo in the mere 5 hours you had been aware that you were a demigod

And Ten had to admit, he was jealous, why did he have to wait 3 months when you had to wait 5 hours

But he was also happy because he knows the feeling of finding a missing part about the puzzle that was a demigod’s life

So he goes and introduces you to your half-siblings and you immediately fit in

And he usually leaves new campers here, their cabins will take care of them now, but he doesn’t want to leave you

But has to because Johnny keeps Iris messaging him from the Aether Cabin about some party he needs help setting up

And to his dismay it seems like you don’t even notice him leaving

Or even his presence for the next 3 weeks because you have been getting along with your siblings really well

But one day Johnny is throwing another party and it spread across the entire camp, but he just wasn’t feeling it

He seemed even more bitter about the party than Taeyong

And you were there of course, talking with Sicheng (your Camp Leader) and Taeyong but kept noticing Ten just sitting in the corner reading a book? It was about modern dance okay

So you excuse yourself from Tae and Sicheng to go and plop down next to Ten

They were both totally giving you wiggly brows and side eyes

But he looked up from the book, startled to see you sitting across from him

You were the first one to speak

You're usually the life of the party, what’s going on?

Just not feeling it

It was easy to tell he didn’t want to talk about it, at least to you

So right as he went to pick up the book again you cut it

ThankYouForFindingMeAndBringingMeHereAndIReallyOweYouBecauseYouSavedMyLifeAndIDon’tKnowHowToRepayYou

*Breathe*

AndI’mEvenMoreSorryAboutAvoidingYouBecauseIDidn’tKnowWhatToSayAndYouKindaMakeMeNervousBecauseIThinkYouAreCute

And you realized what you said right after you said it causing you to jump out of your seat, racing pasting a chuckling Sicheng and Haechan while blushing

Did I mention Ten is also Track Captain at camp because Wind Gods are super fast and that passes on to him and Johnny just hates running

So he caught up to you right in front of the lake holding your arm

I think you are cute too

And he leans down, kissing your cheek

And he walks you to the Apollo Cabin, kissing your cheek again before going back to his own cabin

It’s the first night since his first day at camp that he can’t sleep

But he doesn’t mind it this time

They think I’m cute too. *cue unmanly giggling at 4 am followed by a pillow thrown from Johnny’s side of the room*

And the next day it’s back to when you didn’t know you were a demigod

You and Ten are practically joined at the hip

While he helps you with agility and reflex you help him with archery

And you both are great flyers

And while he practices dance, you play the harp to create simple melody for him to follow

You guys really just compliment each other in every way

Making you the perfect team

Especially when chariot racing is on the table

You are a much better marksman than he is and he is a much better driver than you lol

So basically every time you 2 team up for racing

No one else wants to join because they know you will win

So the Camp Director forces you two to be on separate teams with in your own cabins

Which means you are paired with Sicheng, who is a great driver and an even better shot

And Ten is stuck with Johnny, dear god

Actually Johnny is really good with a Javelin and Sword so you know you are going to have to watch out for him

And you two get competitive

Remember how I said you make a perfect team?

You might make better enemies lmao

Ten tried to drive your chariot off the track so you Stuck a javelin in his back piston

Sicheng fired a flaming arrow into their hold so Johnny sawed through half of your reins

In the end you won

Shhhh, Ten wants a recount

Okay but he is really excited, jumping out of the chariot and racing over to you while Sicheng is trying to pull at your arm to go to the pavilion to be crowned with a golden laurel

And Johnny is silently sulking on the second place pedestal

But once you and Sicheng are hoisted onto the first place platform and you are crowned he is screaming and hollering and just overall being a really supportive boyfriend

But when you guys go onto the track competition he whoops your ass and doesn’t think twice about it

But you are there in the crowd screaming and hollering and being an overall supportive girlfriend

And later that night the camp decides to hold a sorta dance to commemorate the competitions and their winners

And everyone takes it seriously

Like after a straight week of pushing each other into mud and water and falling of pegasi in the sky and pushing your way through monster infested forests

Everyone wants to dress up and be slightly classy

So the Aphrodite and Eros houses have had boys and girls alike weaving in and out of their common areas because they offered to help everyone look their best for this event

And you and Ten agreed to not reveal your outfits to each other until you met up at the pavilion

And you were in a light blue dress that you got an Aphrodite kid to enchant so it would look like clouds moving around the ripples in the dress

And Ten was in a flowy gold top, half tucked into slacks and a couple buttons undone. An Eros kid temporarily threaded his hair with gold

BEST DRESSED COUPLE ANYONE

So basically he forces you into the middle of the dance floor and does that cheesy slow dance in the middle of everyone else jumping around and headbanging

But DJ!Mark totally notices so he switches the song to a self composed one that has a nice melody to it and soft vocals so he can create the mood for you two

And you are both slightly swaying to the music, nothing too fancy, definitely not what everyone was expecting from Ten

But you have you head on his shoulder, his hand encaptured in yours with his other on your waist as you both whisper a small conversation

And he mentions he’s met Apollo once

Which totally shocks and scares you… because he’s met your dad? The god?

But he just chuckles under his breath, and whispers in your ear about how he made Ten promise to never hurt you or he would face the full wrath of a god

Which got you even more scared because Ten… pls dont get hurt

But he laughs under his breath again and lets go of your hand to pull something out of his back pocket

And it’s a charm bracelet with a lyre and a cloud on it with a cursive T too

And as he slips it onto your wrist

He whispers about how he told your dad that he would quicker marry you than hurt you

a n y w a y s

Ten is a really soft bf and demigod and person in general

Unless it comes to hurting someone he loves

Then he can and will seriously injure someone

But other than that

Everyone looks up to him

Not just because he has been there forever

But because he has shown he has what it takes to protect the camp and how much everyone in it means to him

Especially you

[maggotmouth]

          hillo sexthy legends !!   i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !!  x o x

     * CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER  | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS  like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

—   born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

—  its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

—  margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

—  for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

—  at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

—  she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

—  a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.  

—  she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away.  it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

—  after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.  

—  she works at summer camps coaching  junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

—  enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment. 

—  she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

—  used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

—  was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

—  nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

—  has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

—  she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

—  calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

—  stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

—  lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it  off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

—  constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

—  frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you,  indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you,  a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine. 

TLDR:  angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Nine): Lazarus Rises

Notes: I’m on a roll with writing this. I’m honestly, a little nervous with sharing this chapter since i go more into Johnny’s backstory and like...my headcanon of it since CDPR gave us nothing. But hopefully it works. I also haven't written Johnny's voice in a while, so ahhhh. 

Word Count: 12098

Chapter Warnings:  Death, brief mentions of child abuse, drug use, alcohol, war, ableism, pov switches but not in the usual way.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

 Oblivion wraps around her like a blanket. 

There is no existence. 

No pain. 

No world. 

No V. 

No Aidan. 

Every anxious little thought, every guilt soaked burden; swept away with the reaper’s scythe. Years of running and death has finally caught her. 

Then all at once it seems to let her go. 

It's a flicker at first, neurons firing up again, rewriting and rebuilding themselves. No true sensation or senses; just existence. World still dark and lost to her, but not she is not lost to it, or some version of her isn’t. 

Pain hits her before anything else, a crack in her skull, or where her skull should be. She has no sense of her body, only the vague notion she exists and is in pain. And when every sense returns, the world coming back…. 

It’s not her own. 

There’s a fog around her, a fuzzy filter muting it all. Like trying to recall a memory from too long ago. And she sees and she hears, in a body that isn’t hers. She’s smaller, the world seeming to tower around her. A blazing sun burning overhead in the bright blue of the sky. Playing outside on a sweltering day with bruised knees and grass stains on cheap children’s jeans. A mothers voice calling for Robbie to come home for lunch. She catches a reflection in a puddle, there’s a blur to it, but the dirt smeared face of a dark haired boy looks back at her...at himself… for a moment. 

The world shifts and with it comes a pain she can’t truly feel, a belt whipping through the air and welting a back that isn’t her own. Vision blocked by skinny arms marked with cigarette burns, hiding a face from the next lash. A boot gnashing into his side, the thick fog protecting V from the pain he feels. When he clambers to his feet, spitting blood she can’t taste, despite seeing vignettes through his eyes. He walks through a musty home, where the floorboards creak and threaten to break under his feet. A mirror showing a dark eyed boy with a split lip. 

Then she’s watching the hands of this boy she doesn’t know, playing guitar. He plucks and strums at strings until they bite into his fingers, until he leaves them speckled with blood. And then he plays more. Gifted an acoustic, stole his first electric but forgot to klep the amp alongside it. 

Playing in a musty crowded garage with a young boy with olive skin. Each playing away on instruments, the sounds and words all muffled to V. The pair play badly until they play great, she doesn’t hear, but she knows… 

Tequila and cigarettes before he’s old enough to buy them. V can faintly feel the burn of the booze and the warmth of the smoke. 

Stealing anything that can be tucked away in his pockets. Spray painting every wall he sees. Cherry bombs in mailboxes, picking a fight with anyone who sets him off and most people do. The faint burning of anger in his chest, she can feel it as if it’s her own. In and out of detention centers, a system that can put him away for petty theft, but never lift a hand to stop his father... 

Military reps scouting out young, poor troubled boys, seeing nothing but canon fodder when they look at him. 

Knocking on the door and that same olive-skinned, dark haired friend answering. She can hear the words but knows what’s being said without them. Both fog and clarity. ‘Robbie’ is enlisting, off to say his final goodbye to Kerry, a name she doesn’t know how she knows. He comes running down the street after him, before ‘Robbie’ can get too far away. Neither old enough, children. One made of lank and the other with baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. But the military knows boys can take bullets just as well as men. They need bodies, age irrelevant. Forged documents with Robert John Linder scratched across it. That name...

Blurs of training, a mop of dark hair shaved from his head. Separated from Kerry, stationed in different platoons, finding another friend who sticks by his side; both hardened by the military. Lank becoming muscle. Give optics, interface plugs, tech he doesn’t want, but they pry open his skin and put it in anyway. Anything to make him a better soldier. 

Then they’re in combat, muffled gunfire. People brutalized; shot, blown apart and chrome shoved into whatever remains; treated cruelly both by the enemy and the corps that shipped them out there. The heat of Mexico and the smell of gunpowder. Enemy ambush, the faint ting of a grenade hitting the ground. Then Robert is on the ground, shoved there and the body of a friend draped over his own. A heavy boom, shrapnel tearing through his left arm and size, burns across the skin. But nothing compared to his friend…  A grenade meant for him is taken by another, the pair rushed away to medical attention when the air clears. 

He wakes up without a left arm and scars across his torso, pulling tight at his skin. His friend gone, remains thrown out and tags offered to Johnny, the man who died for him nothing but a number, canon fodder in the corp’s war. Not even a day passes before they’re shoving chrome onto what’s left of Robert’s shoulder, eager to give him another chance to die for them. 

So, he runs, deserting and heading to a Night City that V has never seen. He climbs into a dirty motel bed and refuses to crawl back out, watching a ceiling fan turn until Kerry pulls him out. Older, more weathered, still young but neither of them quite the children they were before they saw the war. 

And music becomes his life. Kerry and him scream their words into any microphone they can find. Blaring concerts, they sound as if they’re coming from three rooms over to the merc, but she can feel the energy through the memory. Long nights writing lyrics and melodies. A band forming around them, three more members coming into the fold. Grimy smoke filled clubs and a cramped pathetic excuse of a tour bus. Shows that turn into riots. 

Cigarettes and tequila aren’t enough anymore. He pops pills like candy, snorts anything that will go up his nose, drinks everything but vodka, and fucks any pretty thing that looks his way. 

A woman with freckles and blue mohawk kicks his ass when she catches him balls deep inside a groupie. 

A blonde thrown into the back of a van. 

An anger and rage burning like wildfire in his chest. 

It all blurs and rushes; V never fully feeling what’s going on. All senses are fogged, seeing the snapshots of someone’s life through his own eyes. But she doesn’t feel linked, still distanced from it all. Barely able to think or decipher what she sees through the haze of it all. Just watching blips of a life not her own flickering by, with knowledge she shouldn’t have. 

Its the feeling of graffiti covered steel pressing against hands that first pushes through the fog. Hands that feel like they’re hers, but aren’t. One inked flesh and the other chrome. V can feel the body move as if it’s her own, but she has no command of it, muscles flexing to open double doors. Surrounded by the halls of a grimy little club. She can smell smoke and sweat, she’d gag but she can’t seem too. 

There’s music somewhere, muffled by distance but nothing else now. 

Fog lifted, she's both connected enough to it to feel everything, but separate enough to question what the hell is going on? There’s a tangled mess of emotions in her...his…. Their head. Her own fear, anxiety, mingled with a burning rage pitting in his core. 

There’s a girl leaning against the dirty wall of the club, watching V...or whoever she’s stuck inside of as they walk down the hell. A little smile playing on her lips. Thoughts flitter around V, in a voice that’s not her own. Chick’s cute enough, might of been worth a quick fuck, if he wasn’t rushin’ for time. 

“Hey…” 

V wants to ask her what’s going on, if the girl has any idea, what the girl sees when she looks at her. But her hands don’t move to sign and when she feels her mouth move, a different voice, different words, come out. The same rough voice that thought of fucking the girl in a dressing room. 

“Hey.” 

“You all right?” 

No, none of this is alright. V screams inside a head not her own, but she can feel the pride rolling in his chest, a smirk on his face. There’s an anger mixed with it, he’s going to settle a score, leave a mark. Those thoughts and feelings rattling around. 

“Never been better.” 

“Sure don't look it…’

There’s a scoff in his throat, she’s got no idea what he’s got planned. He continues around the corner, a man at the end of the hall standing before a set of double doors. The letters above say its backstage. Green hued fluorescent lights only draw attention to the grime as his boots click over the floor. That smell of cigarettes and sweat still hangs heavy around her, she thinks it may be coming from him, the man she’s playing passenger in. Oh god, that smell is him, isn’t it… 

What the hell is even happening? Dex killed her, didn’t he? 

“I can't let you on!” The man yells out at him. 

The fuck he can’t. His anger flares, a sliver left arm brought up, slammed into the guy's throat as he’s shoved into a wall,  a gun held in chrome fingers. There’s a mirror against it and V can see the man she’s living life through now. And those foggy vignettes press at her, he’s much older now. Face angry and with a scruffy beard, dark hair grown to his shoulders. 

His name was Robbie..? Robert.. ? Something, like that.

“Hey hey, we're chill,” the man begs ‘Robert’. He certainly looks too old to be a Robbie.

‘Robert’ lets the guy go with sneer, furious the guy would ever try to get in his way as he marches towards the doors. Abandoned music equipment and the music shoots in volume, a man blocking ‘Robert’ from getting up to a stage. Where four people play what sounds like older dad punk rock.

‘That smack, drag drunken roll

Chips are bashin' in my top

Ridin' high, my slots are shot

Metal burnin' beneath my skin

I'm chippin' in, chippin' in’

V would wince if she had control of her face, his face, does she even have a face anymore? The music is good, but painfully loud, something she could enjoy if only she could lower the volume. Phantom limbs she no longer has urge to turn the volume down on hearing aids that don’t exist. 

“Heh… 'course you're high.”  The bouncer in front of the stairs rolls his eyes at ‘Robert’ then steps aside.

‘Robert’ climbs up the short staircase, music painfully loud to V but exactly where he feels at him, bright lights down on him. A familiar face, Kerry from ‘Robert’s’ memories, is the one who sings. 

Until he’s pushed out of the way, gun still in ‘Robert’s’ hand as he grabs the microphone. Looking out into a crowd of people who stare up at him, an entire club room of people cheering and yelling for him. Shirts with tha bright red demon symbol, Samurai across it. Adoring fans, hearing his words, people who know his message, heard it loud and clear. Common men and women beaten down by the corps that rule their lives, that tear them all down for the chance to make an eddie.  And tonight he’ll show them all there’s a bite to his bark; he’ll make his mark, topple Arasaka and do what he should have done years ago.  

“Tonight I'm…” he pauses, leaving that mark may be the death of him, he’s damn near sure it will be, “I'm here to say goodbye to all of you.

And he begins to play to the cheering crowd, a final show before he changes the world.  V would cry out if she had the mouth to do it. Music shakes the venue, ‘Robert’ playing guitar and screaming lyrics into a mic, completely taking the show from Kerry. He channels his anger, his fury, into his music. Screams his rage into the mic. And it's a cacophony for the merc tucked in the back of his skull. She can feel her own stress and pain, but she also feels his energy, his love of this. Even through the anger, he knows that this is the place he belongs. 

This is hell, she thinks as he sings. The idea that every hell is tailored to an individual, everyone has their own personal idea of torment. This is her’s. She died and now she’s doomed to live in the head of some foul smelling rocker who plays nothing but music her sort of ex liked. Surrounded by loud sounds, foul smells, and no control. This is hell, her own special little hell. And she’ll be stuck here forever, for being an atheist or bi or a whore or a murderer… one of those did it. 

After an agonizing hour, the show closes down. More sweat is now clinging to her current vessel’s body and V mentally screams at him to take a shower, but no panicked thoughts seem to reach him. He’s completely unaware of her...presence… in his head. Sweat slick, ‘Robert’ puts away his axe and lights up a cigarette; smoke settles in his lungs, the cloying taste of tar sticking to his mouth. But there’s a relief in him, a tension leaving him, nicotine soothing him if only for a moment. 

Two women are settled down on the steps of the stage, in clinging tacky clothes. Groupies there to claw their way into the pants of anyone who’ll have them, entire fucking lives dedicated to riding the dick of someone more important than them.  Because playing fleshlight to a rockerboy is the closest they’ll ever get to making a difference in this world. 

“You're wastin' your lives, followin' us around like dogs.”

If she had hands she’d hit him. The women scowl at him, obviously taken back at the rockerboy talking down to them, like he hadn’t been thinking of fucking a girl just before the show. Like his eyes didn’t look over the curve of their asses and cleavage. If one of them asked he’d be inside of them in a moment, just has to make them feel like shit first. 

“What crawled up your ass?’

‘Robert’ sneers and rolls his eyes, walking past the stage. His fingers wrapping around the door handle, he was thinking about something he was going to do, toppling Arasaka. There’s a determination in his walk, a goal he’s marching off too, still hints of a soldier in his steadfast gait. The hell is he planning? How could some rockerboy take down a mega corp? There’s a faint but steady sound past the door, a whirring sound. 

“Johnny, wait up!”

He turns, answering to the name she hasn’t heard until now and it’s Kerry running towards him; chasing after him like he did all those years ago, when he followed ‘Robbie’ right to war. She’s not sure if it’s her or ‘Johnny’ remembering it. 

Kerry is older now than he was in the memories, though he looks younger than Johnny. A tall fluffy mullet of dark hair, a scraggly mustache, and a half finished sleeve of ink on his left arm. His hand wraps around Johnny’s wrist, pulling him the rocker closer. 

“Don't do this,” Kerry warns, “You can still change your mind.”

���Get over here man,” Johnny pulls Kerry in closer, a hand cupped to his friend’s face,“Fuck this band. Not your crowd, not your noise, do your own thing.’

They’re close enough to see the scar above Kerry’s lip and the freckles that dot his neck. Johnny taps his finger against Kerry’s chest as he brings his hand from the shorter man’s face. Kerry’s always cared more for the music than the message, more about fame than impact, Samurai more Johnny’s baby then his. But fears kept Kerry from chasing that solo dream as much as he wants, dipping his toes but never taking the chance to fully dive in. Kerry always needed a good kick in the ass to get where he needs to be, might be the last one Johnny can ever give him. 

“Bastard. Tsh… Gonna miss you something awful.”

There’s a softness in Kerry’s voice and smile, a fondness that only comes from lifelong friends. A soft warmth nestles in Johnny’s chest as well, for the first time she feels his lips pull into something she can almost call a smile. 

“See ya in the next life, friend.”

With that Johnny puffs on his cigarette and turns, leaving out the door, the whirring growing louder. The source of it shown; a helicopter landed outside the club, blades spinning and whipping up dust. A woman stands nearby, a wild teal mohawk, someone Johnny knows, fuzzy memories of a tumultuous past. 

“You're late,” she yells out over the sound of the chopper. Hands on her hips, eyes glaring at him. Always tries to play like she’s pissed, but never could resist him. 

“Love it when you're mad. Gets my southern blood pumpin',” he teases with a grin and V can feel the reality of his words, a throb in his dick behind his leather pants. And she doesn’t like that, her discomfort at feeling what it’s like to have a dick oddly mingling with his lust. 

“Get in. 'Fore I change my mind.”

Johnny makes his way to the helicopter, climbing inside, blades achingly loud. Two people already sit in the chopper. A man with chromed skin and fatigues, a woman fiddling with a computer. Her face is obscured by a helmet and visor, only black painted lips showing. 

“Silverhand,” the man greets him. 

Johnny...Silverhand… 

“Hey, Shaitan,” he greets as gears start to turn in V’s head, a head she no longer has. 

Johnny’s ex, Rogue, comes walking towards the helicopter as he turns back to the open doorway. Her name only known through Johnny’s thoughts skittering around her, but it sounds strangely familiar to V as well. Johnny extends a hand to help Rogue into the chopper, but she ignores him. Prideful bitch, he rolls his eyes. 

“Get us in the air,” Rogue yells to the unseen pilot, shoving a headset into Johnny’s hands, “here, put this on, and it stays on, got it?”

Johnny pulls it on and the helicopter starts to take off, the world falling further and further below them. The sign at the top of the club comes into view; The Hammer, Johnny taking another drag on his cigarette as Kerry steps out the back door. Silverhand flicks the out onto the cement as his friend watches the chopper fly off. 

As the helicopter flies through skyscrapers and towers, V struggles to take in where they are. Night City, but not. Towering buildings and screens blasting ads, par for the course in the city of broken dreams. But the ads are for products she hasn’t heard of or ones discontinued and no longer sold. The buildings look rougher, not quite the same slick clean look of the city she’s come to know. 

A city consumed by corps, a vile cesspit with ads as far as the eye can see, each desperate to wring out one last eddie from the masses. The entire system designed to crush people too apathetic to do a damn thing about it. Exploited, violated, used for a profit, and thrown out the second the corps get what they wanted. And the people just take it. No longer questioning why there’s no more farms, only land stripped for profits and nomads forced to abandon their homes. No longer questioning why real food is a rarity, why the priciest drink on the market is filth free water. No longer questioning why someone like saburo is pushing a hundred and the average Night City citizen won’t see forty. Corruption and apathy, best friends united to create the city of broken dreams. He’d burn it all down if he could, but truthfully can’t imagine himself anywhere else…

So… he’ll burn it all down, die for it if he must, and something better can be built in it’s ashes. 

A building in City Center holds a large holo-display showing the time and date; August 20, 2023… Fifty years in the past, the day Arasaka Tower was destroyed. And given his thoughts, she knows where Johnny is headed. That name, Johnny Silverhead, rattles through her. She’s heard it before, a few times. Half listened to conversations with Ava about music, where V would just nod and hope it earned her pity kiss. A name brought up by Jackie when discussing the tower being blown up, shots thrown back in… Rogue’s bar. The older woman with gray hair and the young adult with a wild teal mullet are one in the same. 

V is in the foul smelling, cigarette smoking body of a rockerboy turned wannabe terrorist on his way to set off a nuke that will kill over a quarter million people. 

“Piers're on fire. Pacifica's cut off, shut down. APCs on the streets of Watson,” Shaitan explains, stationed at the machine gun turret beside Johnny. 

“Sons of bitches.” 

“Skull-crackin' out there… that us?” A voice, the pilot maybe, asks over the headset. 

“Johnny's idea. Weyland's drawing Arasaka's attention away from the tower.”

“Collateral damage part of the plan, too?”

“This isn't the cub scouts, Thompson, Chew it up, spit it out,” Rogue tells him, no hint of fear or remorse in her voice as the chopper starts to come around a tower. 

A pillar of black metal with the Arasaka logo emblazoned at the top of it in silver. Levels of the tower get smaller towards the roof, from the distance there’s the bright red flash of holo warning signs forbidding entry. As they ascend higher and higher, the barrage of Arasaka soldiers and turrets atop the tower come into view. 

“Target range acquired.” 

“Make it rain,” Rogue commands and Shaitan begins shooting off the machine gun turret. 

Gunfire rings through the air, Arasaka soldiers yelling out as they fire back, automated turrets beginning to fire at Shaitan. The chopper stays rotating, hovering but never still, to avoid being shot out of the air as the chromed sniper works to clear the roof. Blood painting across the metal as Shaitan blasts through them. 

“Fuck!” 

Enemy fire, Arasaka fire, blasts through, Pinging against chrome and metal, practically sparking. A lucky shot, or three, ripping through Shaitan’s shoulder and he screams in pain, falling onto his back. Rogue yelling out as she kneels down to check on him, Shaitan convulsing in pain. 

“Taking over!”

Johnny takes over the machine gun, optics connecting with the turret sights. Arasaka soldiers flood the roof, nearly impossible to keep track of them; not even a moment passes before Johnny is firing off the gun. It's rapid and brutal, an onslaught as the reverberation of it shakes his body. But there is a hint of strategy beneath, taking out the automatic turrets first, blasting each one until they explode into shrapnel. Only when the final one is in sparks does he turn to the soldiers, Their sidearms can’t compare to the heavy fire. Blasted full of hole at rapid fire, blood and brains spraying. 

A body of corpses and shrapnel left across the roof. He pulls away from the gun, unzipping a duffle bag. A white constructed mechanism, wire, switches, and a giant nuclear energy warning across it. He’s about to plant a nuke in Arasaka. Fucking stop it, you idiot, all you do is cause more harm than good. She tries to scream inside his head, but nothing comes of it. The helicopter lowers down closer to the tower roof. 

“Murphy?” Rogue calls out. 

“Found our access point. Get moving.” 

“Johnny, remember the plan?” Rogue asks as Johnny zips the duffle bag and slings it over his shoulder. 

“Get the payload on the elevator,” he jumps from the helicopter, “arm it, let gravity do its thing. Explosion rocks the foundation, tower crumbles - chaos, screaming, roll credits.”

He pulls out a gun, a heavy duty pistol, Malorian Arms 3516, Last True Friend etched in it.He spins it between his silver fingers, flourishing and completely unneeded. It’s smartlink tech, synching with his cybernetic arm. And she can feel a sort of dampening of his feelings and emotions, that rage burning in his chest starting to simmer down, a colder more calculated anger taking over. 

Rogue and Murphy run ahead of him, across the roof, through the piles of bodies. Johnny follows behind them down a flight of stairs on the side of the building. 

“Exit window's gonna be tight,” Rogue tells him, brandishing her own side arm as she comes to wait by a door. 

“Jacking in,” Murphy connects a small computer into an interface, “Is grass green, do birds fly, do cats eat bats, do rats shit gnats?”

“Mainframe's not your playground, Murphy, c'mon. Evac announcement - broadcast it across all frequencies and let's get movin’.”

“Sheesh, who wrote this manifesto?”

“Really need me to answer that question?”

“Jesus, Johnny, you've gone of the deep end. And that's comin' from chairjock,” Murphy tells him, interface with a spider avatar drifting across the door, before it slides open. 

Johnny rushes through and down a flight of stairs as Arasaka guards running to meet him. He shoots the first in the head, point blank, brains splattering. The gun is powerful, devastating, sending a reverberation through Johnny’s silver arm. Enough that bone would have broken in the recoil. The guard no longer recognizable. 

The second guard stays further back, at the bottom of the second step. Johnny slams a trigger on the back of his gun, shooting flames out towards the guard. The man screams and staggers back, flesh burning as Johnny follows up with a shot through his chest. 

A third one follow, stumbling over burning remains, when three shots go through his skull, Rogue taking him down. The two continue down the spiraling stairs, stepping through blood and ash. The meet another guard at the end, who fires off his hand gun rapid fire. 

“Shred the whole fuckin' lot!”

The pair take cover behind the corner banister, Johnny reloading his gun with another twirl, before jumping back up. He shoots twice through the guards chest, watching the man fall in a bloody heap as they reach the end of the staircase. 

They go through a doorway and two more guards greet them, gun’s trained on the two edgerunners. 

“End him already! That’s an or-” 

The guard's yell is cut off by a bullet ripping through his shoulder, a second through his chest. His underling going down a mere moment later, with a headshot from Rogue; room cleared. Blood soaking into silver and marble floors. Johnny’s eyes focusing on the elevator across the room. 

“Murph?” Rogue calls out the netrunner’s name, her avatar showing on Johnny’s optics as she starts to hack the elevator. 

“She sought it with thimbles, she sought it with care, pursued it with forks and hope…” Poem finished, the elevator doors open.

“Johnny payload.” Rogue yells out, but Johnny’s already across the room, making his way to the elevator. He brings the bag down off his shoulder, placing it down, crouching,  and unzipping it. 

“Bushido II - bomb's name was what?” He asks, in a slow sly voice, entertaining at least himself if no one else. 

“Wrap it up, we gotta delta!”

“The ‘Demolitron’,” he sets the charges with a light hand, “we're good to blow.” 

He stands up and leaves the elevator, no hurry, only determination in him as he walks back towards Rogue. Like this is just a regular Thursday night. 

“'Saka elites incoming! Run for it!”

“Get the fuck out of there, Johnny,” Rogue yells as he steps away, “shoot the cables!” 

He does just that, blasting through the elevator cables, the carriage with the bomb dropping down through the lower levels. 

“Get the rotors spinning! We're on our way!” Rogue yells out to their pilot, but there’s something rattling around in Johnny’s chest. He’s got to save her.  It’s his only chance. 

“Not done yet still need to feed this to their subnet,” he waves a small handheld computer in the air. Rogue’s face twists and grimaces, infuriated. 

“I fucking knew it!” she swings her hand through the air, fingers clenched like she could strangle him, “This was never about "corporate colonialism" - this was about your groupie output wasn't it?!”

“Nah, you wouldn’t understand, Rogue.” 

“Givin' you four fuckin' minutes. Chopper's not gonna wait one sec longer.”

“Door lock breached. Arasaka sons-a-bitches incoming,” 

“Love you, Spider,” he jokes as he pushes through double doors, the woodwork of a lobby greeting him a moment before an armed guard can. 

“Whole world loves me.’

“Fuuuck!” He yells out, something between a frustration and excitement as he blasts a hole through a guard's chest. 

Johnny reloads before stepping out further, quickly having to pull back into the doorway for cover through the marble passageway. Two guards coming from a corridor on the left, a third from the right. The tower is made of rectangular balconies wrapping around, corners and curves to hide around. He fires around the corner at the guard on the left, taking a leg before a second shot takes their hide. 

A bullet whips past his head and he pulls back, guard coming to him, in front of the passageway. He slams his hand on the trigger, a plume of flames engulfing his enemy, before finishing them off with another shot. He rounds the corner and slams forwards into the third guard, knocking them off balance for a moment. Johnny swings his fist out, rings colliding against their jaw, they hit the ground. He fires a shot point blank into their head, continuing on his way. 

A staircase in the left of the room, across from the stone garden in the midst of the balonied section. He rushes up two sets of stairs, reloading along the way. It brings him to the upper level of the stacked balconies, a guard directly across the gap on the other side. The first shot Johnny fires splits the banister in front of the guard, the second shot rips through them. 

Three guards rush out from another room and Johnny pulls back, stepping down some steps, reloading. The movement forces the guards to come through the doorway, one at a time, letting him line up a shot that blasts through two at once, the third gagging as his friends' brains splatter and cling to his face. But he barely gets a moment to process before he’s dead too. 

Johnny runs up the stairs, stomping over corpses, as he goes around the corner. There’s a doorway that leads down to what looks to be a board room. One more guard down with a quick clean headshot, brains now sprayed across a vase of flowers on the table. He walks over them around the corner and towards a paneled wall. 

“Closing in on the access point,” he tells Murphy and the panel opens up, revealing a main frame. 

“Slot in.”

Johnny pulls out a little computer, stickers across the top of it. He flips it open and plugs it into the terminal. A little interface coming across his optics, Uploading Virus: Liberator.

“Sweet ICE-breaker,” the runner speaks up again, “Foreign, right? Just, wonder if we know anyone who can switch the subnet protocol…”

“Hilarious. You gonna help or not?”

“Do spiders spin webs? It's time we caught some flies.”

“Thanks, Murph.”

“Now, just for good measure…”Murphy trails off for just a moment, “Holy cybercow, we’re on TV! Take a look.”

A large TV mounted on the wall pings on, tuned to a news cast. Johnny shifts to the side to watch it. Brief clips of chaos flashing by in snapshots as the anchor talks over them. 

“And we turn now to Arasaka Tower, its evacuation ongoing after an unidentified terrorist organization released a manifesto threatening violence. The terrorists stating their desire to, quote-unquote, "topple a monument to corporate colonialism." Night City's mayor, Mbole Ebunike, has issued a statement declaring that he will bring the full force of the law to bear in response to any act of terrorism. Going now to our reporter on the scene at Arasaka Tower. Hopefully, he can shed some light on this situation as events unfold.”

People might finally wake up. There’s a swell of pride in Johnny’s chest, that this will finally send his message, finally change the world for the better. And V thinks of the rebuilt tower, now with remembrance monuments, but rebuilt and still standing proud fifty years later. The virus finishes uploading, Johnny unplugging his computer and tucking it back in his pocket. 

Took too long, but better than never. Stay safe, Alt. 

“All set. Now get outta there. They're movin' up! Hit the roof, quick!”

Johnny rushes through the board room and around the bends of the squared balcony, heading straight to the double doors on the other side. Just as he reaches it there’s a heavy blast, wood and metal shredding as Johnny is forced backwards. 

Pain shoots through his back as it collides with the floor, looking up where the door was blown through. A man stands in the destroyed remains of it. A tall man in heavily armored Arasaka garb, wielding a heavy duty shotgun. Cybernetic arms, a black cyberware jawed, and adornments of metal across his forehead. 

“Shit! That's Adam Smasher!”

Adam Smasher, the same borged out man protecting Yorinobu? He jumps down from the ledge, hitting the floor in front of Johnny with a heavy thud. He’s different than in 2077, more human, a healthy more flesh colored face behind the cyberware. Fuck, Johnny curses mentally and starts firing shots at Adam.  The devastation of his Malorian doing nothing as they fire into Adam’s cybernetic arms, the top of the line chrome holding up under each fire. 

“Johnny, run!”

He wants to fight, wants to teach Smasher a lesson the borged fucker won’t ever forget. Every fiber of his being screaming at him to stand and fight. But there’s a nuke on a timer, falling down to the depths of  the tower. There’s a helicopter getting ready to fly off. And while he doesn’t mind dying today, expects he just might, Rogue and Spider are waiting on him. He doesn’t need the last thing he hears to be their nagging… or for Rogue to make the chopper wait on him.  So, he swallows his pride, as foul as it tastes, and makes a run for it. 

Johnny pistol whips and shoots an Arasaka soldier on his way out the door, reaching the stairs back out to the roof. The door shuts behind him before any more soldiers can come after him. 

“Murphy!?” 

“Door's sealed, but it won't hold for long. Run, Johnny. Like the wind.”

He can see Rogue ahead of him running up the stairs. She should have been back in the chopper by now, she waited on Johnny. Rogue will bitch him out and nag until she’s blue in the face, but she’d never leave him behind.  Wrapped around his finger, no matter what he’s done. Johnny runs quickly up the stairs, to the roof, three steps behind Rogue as she jumps into the chopper, as it starts to lift off without him. 

“Johnny! Move!”

He jumps, grabbing Rogue’s outstretched arm, fingers wrapping tight around her forearm. Rogue tries to pull him inside to safety, when his fingers begin to slip. Something fires in the background a whistling noise, as his hand catches in Rouge’s, fingers twisting tightly together as she pulls. A boom rings out, hitting against the chopper with a spark and a shake, he slips right from Rogue’s grip, world going out from under him as she plummets back down to the tower roof. His back hits the metal with a crash, head bouncing against the cement, pain shooting through his body. Pain blurs his vision as the helicopter spins overhead, watching as the pilot regains control and they’re forced to fly off without the ill-fated rockerboy. 

Boots thunder against the floor around him, Smasher coming into view. Johnny’s silver arm shakes as he tries to reach for his gun, nerves on fire after the fall. Smasher throws down his heavy shot gun, kicking the gun away from Johnny’s fingers. 

“Smasher.” 

“Told ya, Johnny boy. Told you I'd end you someday,” Smasher all but snarls, a compartment in his cybernetic arm opening, Johnny’s staring down the barrel of the hidden weapon. 

Johnny holds his arm out, only for it to be shot, chrome sparking as it’s blasted. Vision going out as he passes out. It only feels like a moment, a blink and the world returns. 

The rattling of wheels against cement, strapped to a gurney. Bright and silver, a moon hangs high above the skyscrapers. Dirt and dust fly through the air, dancing around him like confetti. Faintly he hears sirens, hears screaming, hears cries. And when he shifts his head, to look further back, he can see the plumes of fire and smoke. 

“Yes, he’s still alive,” the Arasaka doctor wheeling him says, spoken in Japanese, but understood by Johnny...and by extension the merc tucked in the corner of his mind. Everything hurts, no other memory so sharp, so clear. Able to feel every bruise and cut, like she’s truly him. 

“Understood. We're en route,” the worker says above his head. 

And Johnny falls back into darkness again, unable to keep conscious, the sound of explosions and chaos erupting around him as he passes out. It’s impossible to know how long, black void blanketing it all, time losing its meaning and grip on them. 

It's a sharp slap across his face that wakes him back up, blood clinging to his lips. Blinking as he tries to take in his surroundings. He’s tied down to a chair, two guards standing before him. In a slick little room, a stretch of windows across the back wall, a bright mushroom cloud of destruction going off in the distance. Charge should have finished going off by now…

“Your associates - who are they? How did you acquire fissile material?” The guard questions him. 

“Gonna give good cop over there a chance to say something?  C'mooon…” Johnny sasses his interrogator, looking at the second quiet guard. 

Then the guard sucker punches him, knuckles slamming into Johnny’s gut with a sharp crushing pain. 

“Which terrorist organization do you belong to? How did you acquire fissile material?”

Another slap, backhanded and harsh against his face. His head forced to the side where he sees a man walking into the room; an older Japanese man, Saburo Arasaka. The corporate leader walks with his hands behind his back, a younger woman in all black following closely behind. 

“Old man don’t look too impressed with your efforts,” Johnny taunts. 

Saburo and the guards bow to each other, the old man speaking in Japanese, “leave us. I wish to look him in the eye.” 

“Hot damn,” Johnny rolls his eyes,  “done and gone.”

Saburo keeps his back turned to Johnny as the guards leave. The woman sets up a tech station by his chair. Her flingers click against a keyboard, looking at a screen before she finally speaks in a soft voice. 

“My husband died in that tower.” 

And Johnny’s stomach drops, pits with something akin to guilt. He can still see the burning clouds, the explosions in the distance through the window. Something went wrong, charges weren’t meant to be that strong. An evac announcement, charges just meant for the tower, a message. Not this. Casualties sure, everyone knew that was inevitable, but… 

“But there are fates worse than death,” the woman tells him, fixing a metal wreath over his head. Wires connecting it back to her computer system. 

“I… didn’t want him to die.” 

“Why did you do this?” Saburo asks in his native tongue. 

“To bring an end to the madness you wreak.”

“I have found that people lie, most often deceiving themselves. Not So the dead…”  

Saburo finally turns to face Silverhand walking closer, stalking closer. And Johnny spits at him, blood and saliva now sticking to Saburo’s face, red staining the wrinkled skin. There’s barely a twitch to the old man’s face as he wipes the spittle and blood from his face. Disgusted but not stopped. 

“Fuck you!” Johnny yells out for good measure, voice rough in his throat. 

“The dead are so very, very loud,” Saburo scowls, “And yet, lying is not in their nature. It is so… humbling - to listen to the dead speak… Begin.” 

The techie turns a switch and Johnny’s optics start to glitch, distort. Cyan fuzz piercing through the world as a UI screen appears. Soulkiller Primed: Commencing Engram Transfer. An crackle of electricity starts to course through him, a scream leaving him as his body convulses, Neurons cracking and frying as the world around his shakes, trembles, then finally cracks apart.

And V dies, not for the first time. 

Darkness overtakes him, near oblivion. Only the vaguest notion of existence, suspended in time and reality. In a cold black choking void. Enough awareness, just enough, to know fear. Overwhelming fear, terror, trapped under the thumb of Arasaka. Never knowing when, if, there’s an escape. Never knowing what can, will, or has happened. 

Time loses all meaning in digital purgatory. 

And then sunlight starts to breach through. A haze over his vision, like watching sunlight through fogged glass. He can see the sunlight but he can’t feel it, maybe it’s an Arasaka trick. Trying to convince him he’s free, that he’ll ever see the sun again, just to rip it away before he can ever feel it’s warmth on his skin. 

Then the view shifts, like someone turning their head, seeing the world through someone’s eyes. The sun beating down on a campsite, nomads, but their cuts and colors unlike any he’s seen. Not the Aldecaldos for sure, that much he knows. Might be some sort of experiment? Corps have never been above testing shit on people, nomads seen as less than human by most folks in the city, means they get away with it. 

Someone calls the name Aidan, a mother calling for her child, the girl...he’s seeing the world through That feeling that knowledge seeping into him. A tent with an older woman and a young girl, a mirror in the tent catches a reflection, showing him Aidan. A young sunburnt nomad child with dark hair and gray eyes Nearly identical to the other child he’d just seen. 

And in a blink, like a slide changing, the world changes again. Training sessions for the nomad kids. Taught to be strong. The kids made to fight each other, to spar, and losing meant going without food for the rest of the day if they were lucky. A beating if they were considered particularly pathetic. Some nights she won. Other nights watching other kids eat. The worst nights spent in a tent, mother rubbing salve on her injuries. 

She’s taught how to load a gun, repair an engine, and kill without shaking before she’s seen her seventh birthday. 

Members of the ‘family’ culled before everyone. Because they were sick. Because they were weak. Because they were a burden. They could drag the rest of the family down, The Herd must be culled so that they can stay strong. For the best of the family.

Gareth, an older man of the nomad family, gets sick. cancer running rampant in his body, treatment available but timely… expensive.  He’d sneak toasted marshmallows to Aidan on nights she’d be made to go without anything…. 

He begs to die on his feet rather than his knees like most cullings. 

His wish is denied. 

Aidan’s father forces a dying man to his knees, pressing a captive bolt pistol to the back of his skull and killing him in front of the family. For their own good. 

And one day, Aidan gets sick too. Johnny can’t feel it through her, through the snapshots, too disconnected. But he gets a rumbling of it through her. Body aching, head in agony, world constantly spinning enough to make her puke. 

She tells no one. Refuses to be the next one culled, no doubt her father’s rules apply to her. Her sister, the same age and near a picture perfect copy, frets over her as they go to pick through a landfill. Instructed to spend evenings in search of anything useful to the family, to earn their keep. A ringing in her ears, world spinning as the noise builds and builds until silence strikes and she drops to the ground. 

The world has gone silent. She wakes up in a med tent, but can hear nothing. A world of noises and chaos now silent. 

And a stone faced father comes barging in, he’s saying something, but she doesn’t know what.  Flinching in threadbare sheets, knowing the signs of his cold anger, but not what’s driving it, not how to fix it. Nails dig into her shoulder, dragged from the medical tent and out into the midst of the camp sigh. Vision blurred by tears. She yells out what’s happening, but can’t hear the words. 

But she knows the press of the barrel against her head, the touch of the captive bolt pistol, how they cull the herd. She was weak, defective, broken. Nomad family gathered around, watching her cry and scream, unable to hear herself.  Weak and pathetic before them all. 

Then a pair of hands grab her, save her, pull her away and into a hug. Her mother holds her tight, crying, screaming, then kissing the top of her daughter’s head. Whispering words she knows won’t reach her. Aidan is saved, she doesn’t know what’s said. What spared her life. But she’s allowed to live on. 

Her mother and sister learn ASL with her; the only two who never shun her, protecting her too much if anything. The implication clear whether in kindness or anger, she’s weak now. Defected. But her father expects her to work harder, to prove his mercy wasn’t a mistake. That this child earned her right to live. 

She earns hearing aids years later[ and cries when she first puts them in; the world is too loud, too painful. Aidan keeps them low and continues using ASL. 

A homeless teenage girl in a town they ransack; long dark hair and heavy makeup. Calls herself Avarice, they call her Ava. She tries to sign to Aidan and the young nomad girl is in love that easy, desperate for someone who cares enough to meet her even halfway. Despite it all, she begs Ava to join The Herd. Because maybe hell is more bearable when you’re in love. 

She’s dragged to the med tent one night, told she needs a checkup, no rhyme or reason. Knowing better than to fight her father when he’s barking orders. They sedate her, clan doctor holding her down and forcing her into unconsciousness. She awakes with a scar across her lower stomach. Sterilized. So, she’ll never pass along defective genes. 

The next snapshot doesn’t feel much longer after, older but not by much, a year maybe. When The Herd is swarmed by an rival nomad clan, one they’ve fucked over one time too many. Aidan trying to drive one of the cars to get her sister and mother away from the ambush. When a rival vehicle slams into them, a screech of tires, the gnash of metal. Eira and Aidan safe, but their mother is pinned between a caved-in door and the center console, bleeding where shrapnel pierces deep into her legs. 

Trapped until Aidan’s father and a group from the family find them, The three women pulled from a crushed vehicle, the mother the only one gravely injured. Aidan follows as she’s dragged to an emergency medical set up. 

Legs too damaged, it'd require a double amputation, prosthetics or cyberware. Easily doable. Nowhere near beyond saving if they’d act in time, take the time. But they never do, never truly will. Aidan begs for her mother’s life, like her mother did for her. For her father to have mercy just one more time. 

And the bolt pistol is put in her hands. She’s told to do it. To cull her mother, to be strong, to put the family above the individual. A test of her strength. 

She refuses, screams, and points the gun at him. And he mocks her tears, mocks the way her hands shake. He rips the pistol from her hands, she fights and pulls with him. But he’s over a foot taller, stronger, leaves her black and blue; crying on the ground with his boot on her back as he takes the gun and kills her mother. 

And once her mother’s body is burned to ash, she runs.

Years of traveling, towns across NUSA, some faces are kinder than others. Eira and Ava sent to track her down, to kill the traitor. 

Eventually she finds herself in Night City, but not the one Johnny knows. Newer, slicker, brighter. But the corruption and apathy remain, chrome even more common place than it was before. Folks more metal than flesh, every ripper doc with back alley tech. 

She meets a friend, Jackie, Johnny knows his name despite never hearing it. A big ‘tino fucker covered in gaudy gold chains who helps her settle in. Taken into his home. Merc work, scummy nothing jobs, merc janitors at best. Jackie pulls her into a tight hug, the nomad unsure of what to do as his arms wrap around her, face pressed into his chest. 

Then there’s a sharp pain, nerves and neurons firing off as everything is suddenly real. No haze or glass between him and her memories. Face tucked in against fabric, a chest, but there’s no warmth. No heartbeat. Arms wrapped tight around a body that’s cold and limp, one hurting like it’s been ripped open. They feel like his own, it feels like it’s his body. 

He can feel the movement of muscles, the beat of the body’s heart. How the face is twisted up with tears running wet and hot down the cheeks. It feels like him, but it's not. Smaller, thinner. 

No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie….

Thoughts not his own swim around his head, the voice feminine. What the hell is Arasaka playing at? Playing someone else’s memories, trying to make him sit in the backseat of someone else's life? An experiment, they going to try to twist him, fuck with his head?

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” An AI voice asks, in some tech cab with a bleached digital butler staring at her. 

He’s got to find a way out, there’s got to be a way? But how do you leave someone’s head? 

The body, her body, moves without his permission. Able to feel it like it’s his own and he can see just who’s corpse she was clinging to. Jackie… The same guy who took her in, now dead in the back of a cab. There’s a pit in her stomach, a tightness in her chest; he can feel her pain… 

He’s both separate and intrinsically connected, his thoughts and feelings distinct enough, but her own still overwhelming. 

”W-what?” She says...what was her name Aidan, Brayden, Hayden, some shit... Frat boy name on a nomad brat. 

She stumbles over her words, sounds like she barely knows how to talk, might be the blubbering. Fuck if he knows or cares. Her grief, while he can feel it around him, surrounding him from where he sits in her head, is her own. He’s got bigger worries, bigger fish to fry. Former nomad, now a merc, but that doesn’t meant she can’t be with Arasaka. Corps hire mercs, use nomads as scapegoats, all sorts of shit. She could be in on whatever the fuck this is. 

He’s just got to figure out what exactly the fuck this is, what Arasaka’s plan is. A way to get intel from him? Prodding at memories by seeing if someone else’s sparks something?

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family.”

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

Her hands are stained with blood, her forearm has a gash down it. He can see the traces of Mantis Blades, one ripped out. Something happened, flashes of dangling off an Arasaka branded hotel, holding her friend up. Red everywhere, fighting Arasaka guards. Doesn’t mean she didn’t work with them, how else would they somehow plant him in her head, in her memories. 

She squeezes her friend’s shoulders and presses her forehead to his, feeling the cold of his corpse. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

She gets out of the back of the cab, she’s dressed like a corpo, he realizes when her eyesight catches her body. White blouse, stained red with blood, black slacks. Rain is pouring down on her, as she walks through a dirty alley. She doesn’t seem to notice Johnny’s existence, his presence in her head. Everything he thinks, tries to scream without a mouth, doesn’t earn him a response. 

Then again, if she is with Arasaka, might be told to ignore him. He’d be pulling his hair out if he had a body, if he existed beyond some former tarmac rat’s mind. She walks through a door into a filthy excuse for a motel, the No-Tell. There's chatter around them and he catches the rambling of a tv, something about Saburo Arasaka. But she doesn’t stay to linger, doesn’t let him fully hear it. Something about the old fucker’s life. 

But she’s at the door of a hotel room before he can hear much, bloodied knuckles knocking against the door. 

“It's V,” She says, knocking again when there’s no answer. V? Since when is she V? Where the fuck did she get V from? 

The door opens and a guy comes out, giant fucker around a foot or so taller than her, so was her newly departed friend. Which begs the question, how tall is she?

God, he’s stuck in the skull of some munchkin merc, isn’t he? 

Everyone, everything is… bigger. A hand on her shoulder, nearly the size of her head stops her from stepping forward. And he hates it, someone putting hands on him, controlling him so easily, he tries to force her hands to punch the ugly fucker. But it doesn’t happen, hands clenched at her side. How the hell does she fight anyone like this anyway, she’s half the height of everyone she meets. 

“He waiting.” 

V, Aidan; whatever dumb fuck name she has is allowed into the motel room. A man inside, puffing away on a cigar, watching the news. He can feel her worry swelling inside of her as she clears her throat, the man doesn’t look Arasaka. But the little runt of a merc has to be attached to them somehow. He’s not one to give Arasaka too much credit, be none if he had his way, but they’re not dumb enough to put his engram in any klepto punk’s head. 

Arasaka uploaded his engram, scorching him with Soukiller, he remembers that. Mikoshi is where they store them, digital souls tucked away, where they got the tech to play with the human mind. If she made it there, they had to have trusted her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead.” Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips. Stuck in the whiny mind of an Arasaka asslicker, wonderful. 

“Condolences friend and the relic?”

The relic? Arasaka’s ultimate project, what they needed Soulkiller before. There’s always been a constant murmur about it, Arasaka looking to commodify the human soul. Must have finally rolled it out after they fried him. 

“Here,” she explains by tapping her chipslot, is that how he’s here? 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!”

But the relic, they advertised it like imaginary friends, or some shit. If he was on that, she’d be able to see and hear him right? Unless Arasaka fucked up… 

“Saburo Arasaka,” the man, Dex, paces, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!”

Saburo’s dead, old sack of shit finally kicked it… and Johnny’s in the killer’s head. Memories, her’s, creep up. Ones he didn’t get in the brief glitches of memories before. Saburo’s body, dead limp and collapsed on a hotel floor. Ripping the dogtags from his bruised neck. Means Johnny won’t get the satisfaction of offing the bastard himself.  

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-”

She stumbles and trips over every word; can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… He’d gag on her feelings if he could, a blubbering child, those memories may be a mystery to him right now. But he buys it, if he couldn’t manage to kill Saburo, he doubts some miserable little half pint could, chick can barely get a sentence out. Which means he very well may still be tripping around in the neurons of some shitty nomad turned bootlicker. 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave Night City.”

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down, Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

She nods and makes her, their, way to the bathroom. Dex is going to trick her, pull some shit, Johnny can see it a mile away. Chick’s outnumbered, outstrength, if they think she’s a risk and Dex made it clear he does, he’ll drop her. But she doesn’t see it, walking into the bathroom and settling at the sink. The mirror lights up, showing her face, giving him the first good look at her since those foggy memories of childhood. 

He sees traces of that kid; gray eyes and her face is soft. Young, delicate, but with a heavy layer of blood coating iit. 

Her blood and Jackie’s.

He can taste the bile in her throat, as if his own, can feel the burn of it and the churn of her gut as she pukes into the sink. It's not the first time he’s ended up with the taste of someone elses puke in his mouth, though it’s her mouth, he supposes. She pushes her bleached blonde hair off her face as she retches, streaking blood through it. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

He tries to shut it out, the knots in her guts, the ache in her chest. Her thoughts spinning around her head and what feels like his. Surrounded by the feelings of another, he can’t fucking live like this, there’s got to be a way out. 

She washes the blood from her hands and face; Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job.

Can she fucking hear him? He tries to mentally scream at her, he’s going to find a way out of this, if he has to claw his way out of her damn head! Slamming him in the head of some grieving merc, that Saburo’s idea of a sick final joke? Making him feel someone else’s pain meant to make him talk? Meant to give everything away? If hell exists, Saburo better be burning or Johnny will set the son of a bitch on fire himself. 

Nothing works, nothing seems to draw her attention. Johnny thinking to a void as she leaves the bathroom. 

She’s punched clean in the head as soon as she steps out the door, to the surprise of no one but her, the rattling of her skull and shock of pain hitting Johnny like it’s his own head. The merc is knocked to the floor and a boot kicks into her gut for good measure. Her head stomped on, beaten to the ground like all five feet of her is a truly dangerous threat. 

“Can’t risk it, V,” Dex levels a pistol with her temple as she writhes on the ground, “‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.”

And Dex pulls the trigger, a bang in the dirty motel room as he fires a shot into the merc’s head. Agony and terror, gagging on blood, darkness, cold, and fear… then nothing. 

And Johnny dies, not for the first time. 

Death relived, but through the eyes of another. The bullet hits. Soulkiller scorches. And the world around the two rewrites at the moment of their second deaths. Reconstructs and digitizes. A liminal space within the net. Structures like the squared mazes of balconies and stairs within Arasaka Tower of 2023. 

But everything made up of digital matter, pixels of color collected loosely to form the shapes against a black backdrop. Nearly everything a shade of blue, but hints of red bleeding through. 

Nothing moves or feels like reality, floatier, less certain. And it all moves, pixels twitching, it all shifts, all seems… alive. 

That where V finds herself, dying again but through Johnny, an echo of the pain from his torture still seeming to stick to her. But when she looks down, it’s her, but not. Like the world around her she knows seems to be constructed of these pixels, data, a bright red hue to her But it all forms to be her. Her arms, her painted nails, her freckles, her scars. They move with her permission, no one else’s. 

But what is happening? 

The biochip, maybe? But it’s meant to show someone like an imaginary friend, not put you in their lives, then send you to the net. At least she thinks this is the net, remembering descriptions Bug had given her. And by all intents and purposes, she should be dead. 

Data around her shakes, reverberates, brightens and stretches across the hall around her. There’s a thrum to it all, that she can hear, no physical limitation in the net… Then it stops only to reveal something new. A flash of bright red, standing out in a sea of blue data. It forms the shape of a person, composed of red data and negative space, their back to her as they lean forward on the banister. 

V signs from instinct, but finds no translator, forcing her to speak, “Hey!” 

She rushes towards the figure, they don’t answer her call, maybe they know what’s happening? But as she gets close, they push off the banister and turn. Their figure blurs as they move away from her, but she sees a closer glimpse. 

It’s a man, not as tall as Jackie, but still over a foot taller than her. Shoulder length dark hair and what looks to be the outline of sunglasses on his digital form. Even in the strange form, she recognizes him. The man’s who’s death she just lived, moment after her own. Johnny Silverhand. He blips away as he turns. 

The flash of red, his form, now further away, on the stairs of the lobby. 

“Hey, sir!” she calls out again, trying to sound vaguely polite as she rushes towards the stairs, he has to know what’s going on. He stands from the stairs and blips away just as she reaches them. 

She runs up that first set of steps seeing his form sitting on the second, “Johnny!” 

And he’s gone as soon as she reaches him, like they’re playing some sort of game, does he not hear her? She knows damn well he’s not deaf, if she can hear in this place, he should be able to. She reaches the top of the stairs, reaching another balcony railing, him around the corner on the adjacent side of the square floor. His back is to the banister, hands on it. Paying her no mind. 

“Robert!” She yells his full first name, remembering seeing it scrawled in chicken scratch across an enlistment form. But she turns the corner and he’s gone. 

But when she turns her head she sees his back again, down a narrow passageway made of more negative space than blue data. She walks across the negative space, hands skimming the data that forms it’s walls, each step taking her closer to him. She heard three different names, unsure of which may earn her an answer. 

“Robbie! Robert!”

Neither name spurs a reaction, he doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak. Only stands at the end of hall, shifting in pace,  as she continues her way to him. And she stops when she’s within arm’s reach, he hasn’t blipped away, hasn’t ran off.  Able to see fully now, the red data particles that form a bullet proof vest, the cyberware left arm. V reaches out and taps a finger against his shoulder. 

“Johnny?” 

He turns to face her and she doesn’t know if she should feel relieved, or terrified. 

“And you? Who are you?” 

Her answer catches in her throat, mouth half open when it hits. White hot blinding pain ripping through every nerve, head and world shattering as she screams. Like she’s been torn open, every part of her stripped raw and set on fire. Everything vanishes from her sight as she cries out. 

V’s contact UI blips, blurry as data fills it, system reboot. Her senses return to her, slowly and steadily as systems reload. The arm her blade was ripped from burns, open nerves exposed to the air. Her head feels shattered, aching as if it’s been broken apart. There’s a stench of trash and filth around her. There’s a weight on top of her, heavy, firm, crushing down onto her lungs. The warmth and stick mess of blood clings to everything. Caked across her skull, down her neck, her arm. 

The diagnostics flicker away, but her vision still struggles. A cyan fuzz clings around and distorts it all. Her depth of field is cut off, half her vision seemingly gone. Not aided by the fact that it’s dark, looking around she can see trash thrown atop her. a cold sheet of metal lays on top of her. Metal and plastic of discarded goods lay beneath and around her, jabbing uncomfortably into her flesh. 

A landfill, if she were to wager a guess, Dex tossed her out like trash. How is she not dead? How hasn’t she bled out?

She doesn’t know the answer, but she knows if she doesn’t do something, she’ll die anyway. Favoring her left arm, the right still damaged, she pushes up on the sheet of metal. Muscles scream in protest, pain shooting through them as she forces herself to put her weight into it. And she rolls it off of her and she can breathe a little easier, move a little better. A bit more light allowed on her. But she still can’t see very well, like her right eye is closed. 

Tempting fate, she presses her hand to it, sees nothing, when she closes her left. The world goes black. She touches the lid, feeling the blood that mats her eyelashes, she pries her eyelid open with her fingers. Nothing. Down a blade and an eye, she needs to move. Vik can fix those, he can fix this. 

She shoves a TV off of her legs, twists up s to see the sky. Silver and orange light color the world, moonlight and fire, plumes of dark smoke coming from somewhere she’s in some sort of pit or ravine within the landfill, a wall of dirt and trash around her. An upward climb to save herself. 

V forces her body to move even as it aches and screams in pain, forces her shredded arm to grip even as she can see the tendons twitching through the mangled remains of it. She forces blood soaked fingernails to dig into dirt and grip abandoned pizza boxes for traction, slips her aching feet in between wires and appliances for foot holds.

“Fuck!” she screams out loud, but can’t hear it, as she loses her traction and starts to slip. She extends her left blade, sinking it into the wall of muck and trash. Her right arm stings, throbs, begs to release a tool it no longer has. 

She uses her blade to help pulls herself, dragging herself up and up with every sink of it into the muck. V’s thankful she’s lost her hearing aids in the process, hell maybe Dex stole them back to recoup some losses, but it means she can’t hear her own curses, her own groans of pain, her own rattling breaths with bruised lungs

And she reaches the surface. Rusted remains of god knows what surrounds her and a trashcan fire burns not far away, but she’s out of the pit. She pulls her feet under her and she tries to stand, body shaking, swaying, trembling with blood loss and pain. 

But for a moment, she rises.

She stands, looking out across the landfill of trash, cyan fuzz still glitching around her,  and for a moment...maybe she’s okay. Maybe she can walk out of this, find Vik, maybe she can be okay. 

V collapses with the next step, body all at once going out from under her, mocking her hope. Mocking her moment of stupid fucking hope as her back meets the mud. It mingles with blood, collides with her gore, and sticks to her open wounds. She lays there in muck, just breathing, her lungs ache with the strength needed just to do that. Each one feels fainter than the last. Her eyes start to close, feel too heavy, her right one might very well already be shut… she wouldn’t know. A mangled mess of who she once was, now laying in filth, surrounded by trash. 

Maybe she’ll not move again… maybe this is a fitting end. A childhood of scavenging landfills, thrown in a dumpster her first night in the city, and dying in a landfill; maybe the world has been trying to tell her something all along. She’d never have to face Mama Welles, Misty, or Vik; never have to tell them she failed Jackie. Maybe she’ll just let all go, never even have time to grieve, maybe it’s best to just let it all go… 

“Wake the fuck up, Samurai. We got a city to burn.” 

A rasp of a voice rings out and she gasps, opening her eyes. A man kneeled over her, one she knows well, but he’s no longer digitized and she’s not looking through his eyes. Silver fingers pull his aviators off of his face, dark brown eyes scrutinizing her. His form isn’t solid, glitches like old vhs footage. 

But...

She heard him. 

[ceratonia-siliqua]

Sweeter Than Sugar (Ch 3)

Collab fic with @send-me-your-hcs

Summary: Tony is a man of refinement. Only the best, the highest quality specimens get added to his collection. Peter, a beautiful and very rare male omega, quickly becomes his favorite of all his pets. The perfect omega deserves an equally-perfect alpha. (Or: An a/b/o au where pet owner!Tony forcibly mates Peter and Bucky together for his own enjoyment.)

Warnings: Underage, noncon, a/b/o au, dark!Tony, confinement, forced pet play dynamics, forced mating/in heat cycles, minor violence, forced daddy kink, forced feminization, gang r/ape, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

ao3 link

.   .   .

Bucky knows something is going down the moment he enters his kennel, Tony can tell.

He hasn’t had to use the reinforced steel stockade in years, not since Bucky was still new to him. Bucky is anxious and wary as Tony secures him tightly on his knees, his neck and wrists bound, rendering him immobile. “Don’t worry, my love,” he reassures gently. “Your omega’s been a naughty little boy, but once his punishment is over, we can all move on. You know Daddy’s very forgiving. I’ll forgive Peter too, just as soon as he asks for it.”

Bucky’s beautiful steel-blue eyes fixate on the bruise marring Tony’s cheek. He gently runs his fingers through the alpha’s long, silky hair as he pops the mouth guard gag past Bucky’s lips, keeping his sharp canines safely tucked away from their guests and his frightening, bone-chilling growls as stifled as possible.

With Bucky properly restrained, Tony heads back upstairs and enters Peter’s cell for the first time since the incident this morning. Peter looks at him long enough to see he’s come alone, then turns back to his filthy blankets, snubbing him. Tony almost smirks to himself as he walks over, head held high, and stops in front of the large round bed.

“Do you want to see your alpha, baby?” he asks. The sound of his voice shouldn’t startle Peter, but somehow it does.

Peter doesn’t look at him. His face is pressed to one of his messy pillows, but he nods, dejectedly.

“Very well,” Tony says. He snaps his fingers and points to his feet, his universal sign of come here. “The sooner you get over here, the sooner you’ll get to see him.”

The boy reminds him of a sullen, sulky child as he drags his limp body to the edge of the bed and onto the floor. He keeps his head down, a dog who knows he’s displeased his master, and waits for Tony to grab him by his leash, deceivingly meek and obedient.

“Turn around, baby. Show me that pretty little hole before it gets ruined again.”

A scarlet blush covers Peter’s face, neck and chest as he obeys, turning and pressing his forehead to the floor, ass up and trembling. His ass has finally returned to a more natural state, baby pink instead of deep red, tight and modestly damp instead of gaping open and pouring come and slick. It’s a bit of an illusion, though - when Tony presses his thumb against the puckered skin, it gives immediately, stretching smooth and straight and opening up for him in that beautiful way only omega holes can. It’s like pressing a button to switch between an asshole and a cunt; untouched, it’s a hole no different from anyone else’s, but as soon as the slightest stimulation comes along, it blooms like a flower in the sun, opens up hungrily and greedily, transforming before his very eyes.

Entranced, Tony fingers the boy’s delectable little pussy as he slips another, albeit weaker heat inducer inside of him. Peter won’t need any detailed stretching or preparation - not this time around - so he plays with the little omega’s broken-in fuckhole purely for indulgence’s sake. By the time Peter’s rim is turning dark red, puffy and starting to leak, the pill has taken effect and the poor thing is whining uncontrollably into the marble floor.

Tony’s tempted to make him crawl all the way downstairs, sobbing and shaking and leaking like a broken faucet, but he’d never risk skinning his princess’s poor sensitive knees. He unhooks Peter’s chain from the wall, gathers his small, trembling body in his arms, and carries him all the way to Bucky’s cell like the compassionate, generous owner that he is.

It’s a chorus of joy and suffering the moment they step inside. A gorgeous melody of pleading cries, muffled shouts, moans, groans, whimpers, whines. Peter flails trying to get to his alpha - Bucky does his damned best to wrench the stockade from its base inlaid in the concrete slab, but it holds firm. Peter is absolutely adorable as he reaches for Bucky with both hands, crying out, “Alpha, alpha…!” Like if he calls urgently enough, Bucky will shatter his restraints and come to him.

His little pets are so fucking cute.

But now is not the time to indulge them. A lesson needs to be learned here, first and foremost. Emotionlessly, Tony chains Peter to the opposite wall, shortening the leash so the feisty little omega can’t quite reach his alpha at the other end of the long room. While the two scramble trying to get to each other, Tony rolls in one of his breeding benches, parks and secures it in the center of the room, and hoists Peter’s flailing body onto it.

Oh, the little omega puts up quite a struggle then. Tony presses Peter’s body over the arch in the bench, his stomach flat on the plush leather, arms folded behind his back, legs spread, ass up to expose his leaking pussy. Bucky gets the best view in the house - restrained on his knees with Peter’s gorgeous fuckhole staring him in the face. If Tony rolled the bench closer and removed the gag, Bucky would be at the perfect height to eat the little pup out.

The thought intrigues him. Maybe after, he thinks.

He tests each cuff on Peter’s neck, thighs, wrists and ankles to ensure he’s secured, then gives the bench a hard shove to make sure the wheels are locked, properly holding the contraption still so it won’t slide everywhere in the middle of the action.

With everything ready, he supposes this is the perfect time to lecture his ornery little omega, circling Peter’s bound body as he clasps his hands behind his back.

“Peter,” he says firmly, earning himself a fearful, hateful glare from those big brown eyes. “I know you’re smart enough to understand the concept of corrective discipline. I’m about to teach you a very important lesson - everything you have, everything you have been given, including your bond with your new mate and all of the pleasure it’s brought you - they are all gifts from me.”

He steps closer, stares down at that beautiful, angry little face.

“You may not like it, you can hate this place all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are mine, Peter, and the sooner you come to terms with that, the better off you’ll be.” He gestures to Bucky, kneeling behind the boy, head bowed in defeat. “I would like nothing more than to keep you and your mate happily tangled together all day long. But this morning, you chose to throw my kindness and generosity back in my face and behaved, simply put, like an animal. So, this is a moment I want you to remember the next time you’re feeling angry or hard-done by: I don’t have to give you any of these luxuries. I can - and will - replace them with much less favorable conditions if you misbehave. Hopefully, the harshness of this punishment will help this lesson stick in your tender little brain.”

He pets the boy’s head gently, then circles around him to address Bucky. “As for you, Bucky, my wonderful boy - perhaps take the opportunity to educate your omega the next time I’m kind enough to leave you two together. He chose to step out of line and brought this punishment down on both of you. If you don’t want it to happen again, I suggest you have a long and thorough chat with him about who’s in charge around here.” He strokes Bucky’s stubble-covered cheek. Bucky’s conflicted, despaired gaze is turned away from him, as good of a sign of submission as any.

Perfectly on time, Tony’s phone dings in his pocket then, alerting him that his honored guests have arrived.

He kisses Bucky’s forehead, pats Peter’s trembling flank, and heads for the lobby to greet their visitors.

—

He gets himself a nice chair for the show.

It’s not nearly as comfortable as his armchair upstairs, but it’s good enough. He reclines in the corner, feet propped up on Bucky’s table between the alpha’s food and water dishes, crossed at the ankle as he lounges comfortably. His guests are standing throughout the room, but each of them knows better than to stand in front of him, obstructing his view. Most stand against the glass wall, in front of Peter’s hysteric, sobbing face, as far away from Bucky’s enraged fury as they can get.

He’s chosen some of the best men he knows. Betas, like him, who lean more to the above-average side of the spectrum when it comes to things like height, weight and cock size. None of them can compare to the sheer massive size of an alpha, but that’s almost the point of this punishment.

Oh, how little Peter screams and fights when the first beta mounts him.

It must be so confusing. His little cunt, dripping with slick, begging to be filled, to be fucked and knotted - only to be given a too-small, too-thin, unsatisfactory beta cock. Some mated omegas have claimed that the semen of anyone apart from their alpha’s burns when it’s pumped inside them, which hasn’t been properly tested or proven, but Tony is tempted to believe it after watching Peter squeal and thrash when the first man creampies him.

And yet, oh, the poor little thing’s hips are moving so desperately. His heat has fully taken hold of him, now - compelling him to be bred, to seek out and attract his mate by any means necessary. With Bucky kneeling so close behind him, close enough to smell and hear, Peter’s body seems to be wonderfully confused. He rides each beta cock that’s humped inside of him like he needs their come to live, then jerks and sobs when he finally gets what his needy little body is after.

It’s a beautiful sight.

Bucky clearly doesn’t agree. Snarling like an aggressive dog, Tony doesn’t blame his guests for quailing away from the bound beast. Frothy spit drips from the alpha’s chin as he does his best to bare his teeth with the mouth guard gagging his lips open. The stockade makes loud, thundering bangs every time he tries to dislodge it from its base, desperate to tear the beta in front of him away from his omega and rip him in half like a Christmas cracker. He’s unsuccessful, of course - Tony built that stockade to withstand an alpha even larger than Thor - but it’s intimidating all the same.

After the third beta has had his turn, Peter goes limp on his bench. He whines pitifully as the fourth man mounts him, sliding inside easily, stirring the mess of come and slick inside of his fuckhole with his dick. Peter, as unwilling as he is, can’t stop himself from moaning and rolling his hips in tandem with the beta’s, trying to make the man’s cock fill him deeper, wider, fuller. Tony smiles at the desperate way Peter is bouncing his hips. It must be maddening, to be fucked over and over again by a series of eager cocks not biologically designed to satisfy you.

Slick and beta come glob onto the floor as Peter desperately rides the man standing behind him. Bucky howls through his gag like he’s being castrated, vicious and frantic to get to his mate and breed him properly. Tony grins at the desperate struggling his gorgeous alpha is still putting up. It makes him rise to his feet almost subconsciously, not sparing the breeding bench a glance as he walks around it and approaches the stockade.

Bucky knows better than to lunge for him. Still, his thrashing increases tenfold when he thinks his Daddy might be crouching behind him to undo his restraints. Tony loves how basic, how single-minded heats and ruts make his pets become, how they reduce them to their most primitive selves. Like this, Bucky can’t even fathom why Tony wouldn’t free him and allow him to defend and claim his mate. Without a doubt, all thoughts of lessons and punishments have been pushed far from the alpha’s mind. He’s a beast, like this. A pitiful, powerless beast.

He grunts and snarls when Tony cups his huge, distended balls. Rigid, swollen and heavy with fresh come, they hang dark and tight between Bucky’s legs, nearly touching the floor. Tony gently massages them, watching the alpha’s massive cock bob and leak precome from the stimulation. Poor thing. He truly doesn’t deserve to be tormented like this, but Tony can only hope he uses this pain as motivation in helping him train and tame Peter.

As five betas becomes six and then seven, Tony stays crouched behind Bucky, gently working his balls with the palms of his hands to provide some relief for his aching, anguished alpha. Peter’s pitiful cries fill the room, louder than the pleasured groans of the men filling him, louder even than Bucky’s muffled screams of rage.

That’s why Tony is able to hear it so clearly when his baby sobs, “I’m - I’m sorry, D...Daddy, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” Sobbing so hard, the words shatter like glass as they leave his damp lips. “Daddy I’m sorry, please forgive me, p-please, Daddy!” Tony stands, almost leaping to grab the beta still humping away wantonly at his princess’s backside and fling him off without a care.

“Baby,” he soothes instantly, stroking Peter’s trembling flank to try and settle his wailing sobs. “Oh, sweetheart, my little princess, hush now. You’re all right.” He leans in, kisses the omega’s quivering back, stroking his sweat-matted hair. “It’s all right now, sweet boy. Daddy forgives you.”

Impatiently, Tony snaps his fingers, dismissing the men without so much as looking at them. As the last one files out, the door automatically locking behind him, Tony undoes Peter’s cuffs but leaves him bent over the bench, hanging there limply, as he once more crouches beside Bucky. He removes the gag, opens Bucky’s restraints, and is quick to jerk back as Bucky surges upwards and descends on Peter with pure animal desperation.

And still, Tony’s wonderful boy is human enough to gather his tiny mate in his arms and carry him over to his bed, crowding him against the dull greys of his bedding as he slots himself between Peter’s spread legs and pumps his cock inside of him. Peter mewls gratefully, arms iron-tight around Bucky’s neck, his trembling legs trying to cling to Bucky’s wide waist, their chests pressed flush together as Bucky sinks his teeth into Peter’s mating bite, sinks his cock into Peter’s well-fucked cunt.

Smiling, Tony returns to the proper side of the glass, leaving the pair to their own devices - or as close as he’s willing to allow them to come to it. He watches for the better part of an hour as Bucky breeds, grooms, gentles and then breeds Peter once again, repeating the process over and over, making sure to pay special attention each time he licks up the mess leaking from his omega’s abused hole, as if the beast cannot rest until every drop of beta come has been cleaned from Peter’s body.

—

The utter lack of sleep his boys have had in the last 24 hours shows when they pass out towards their fifth round. They’d been up talking and fucking the whole night before, and neither had slept a second since their separation this morning. It was bound to happen.

Bucky has rolled onto his side, one of the only (formerly) clean blankets pulled over the two of them. Peter’s face is pressed into the barely-there space between the alpha’s bicep - of which he’s laying his head on - and one of those meaty pecs. They’re chest to chest, and by the way Peter shifts every now and again (and the leg clearly thrown across that broad waist), still firmly connected via knot. Bucky’s other arm is wrapped firmly around Peter’s waist, his nose tucked into the sticky, matted curls of his omega. Only the alpha’s feet peak out from under the blanket, Peter too small to reach that far down under a clearly alpha-sized blanket.

Given that the pair aren’t doing much, Tony decides to attend to a few things. His boys need a bath, badly, but that can wait. Instead, he goes upstairs to Peter’s kennel. Entering with a laundry hamper and gloves, he begins stripping Peter’s bed of all its baby blankets and fluffy pillows. Thankfully, Peter isn’t one to revenge pee. He’s had a few pets who had taken up the hobby. Still, it’s a sticky, come-drenched mess, and dried come isn’t his idea of a good moisturizer.

Usually, a team of professionals come through once a week and clean all the kennels, replacing the bedding, tending to the bathrooms, and grooming some of his other pets. His favorites…well, they tend to get a little more special attention from Daddy. He loves keeping his alphas’ hair long and some level of beard on them. It accentuates the masculinity of already hyper-masculine beings. Trimming and tending to the hairy alphas is a small indulgence of his. The only exception to the hair-loving rule is their balls.

Regularly, his boys receive a waxing. Steve actually had been calm enough for lasering and no longer needs them. Thor enjoys the attention enough to hold still through the tugs, and Tony always gets a nice show of Thor leaning down to clean his now-smooth pair nearly every time. Bucky is…rough at times. His balls are so large, the process takes just a bit longer and it can never be done soft. The waxer tends to always be concerned about too much loose skin if Bucky isn’t hard while getting the service. Tony had never seen Bucky’s skin ever be loose enough to worry much, but now with Peter, he’s beginning to understand it. With Peter’s body to hold all of his come for him, the alpha’s balls have started to show more wrinkles and gentle sagging. Tony’s surprised with himself for finding it appealing, after his love for those balls filled with come has bordered on obsession for a few years now.

Either way, those smooth balls on their hairy bodies is truly a lovely juxtaposition, and his omegas seem to enjoy sucking on them far more without bristly little hairs poking at their face and tongue.

With the bedding now packed away, he lugs it to the laundry shoot to be cleaned. Peter will need spares soon, but his baby is so often cold in the night, all the blankets meant to be extras have made their way onto the bed. His princess loves all things soft and plush, so to deny him any of those things when it’s just so fitting for such a delicate omega, it’s inconceivable, even for him.

The hardest clean-up job will be the pair themselves. As much as he loves seeing them both soiled and rolling in each other’s slick and come, Peter is beginning to look matted and ill-kept, unbefitting of a princess. Maybe Bucky can get away with the look, with his brutish build and gruff disposition, but he is officially mated to Peter and thus now has some upkeep to maintain.

He can’t but help smile to himself a little at the thought. He really does adore the pair. Bucky may have always been a bit of a bull in a china shop, but seeing this soft and irresistibly sweet side to a pet he already loved has pulled Bucky up to a level similar to Peter in his mind.

Wanting to be back with the pair, he wanders down to the basement, watches from behind the pane of glass as he usually does, but with the two sleeping and his hands itching to touch, he slips inside. JARVIS enabled, he goes over to Bucky, letting the tap of his shoes be softly audible so as not to startle the large creature resting on the bed. Bucky isn’t prone to attacking him, not for a long time, but he knows better than to sneak up on him. That is the unspoken agreement between them; so long as Bucky knows Tony is the one there, he won’t make a move to hurt him.

The sound has its desired effect. Bucky raises his head slowly to see who’s coming. Seeing Tony, he rests his head back against the large, spacious pillows that had been one of his birthday presents last year.

Hands wandering across Bucky’s back and up to his shoulder, he leans in close to speak softly to the alpha, not wanting to wake Peter.

“How are you feeling, love? Any pain?” Rubs a thumb along the still slightly red line across the back of Bucky’s neck from banging against his restraints.

“No, Daddy. Just…tired.” Bucky doesn’t make eye contact, but does tilt his head towards Tony, a movement meant to show submission whilst clearly paying attention.

Tony can’t resist kissing up the side of Bucky’s face, working one of those massive shoulders under his hand. “Daddy’s not mad at you, okay Buck? You’ve been such a good boy for me. Not mad at Peter either now; he just needs to settle in and you need to help him with that. Sound doable?”

Bucky nods, eyes darting towards the bite mark. Craning his neck up, Bucky carefully licks at the wound, a clear apology on behalf of his mate, despite the one he had accepted earlier from the boy himself. Tony leans into it. JARVIS would have done something if this was an aggressive move. Years have given the AI the ability to read Bucky’s intentions like a book. Plus, Bucky is transferring some of that sweetness onto Daddy, and he’s greedy for it now that he knows it exists.

He pulls away once the man finishes. He strokes Bucky’s hair, pushing it back and admiring the stunning man beneath his hands. Those steel-blue eyes never fail to drag him under, they were the first thing he fell in love with in his pet. They scream intelligence and speak to a being who feels deeply, even if it’s hidden behind layers of brutal ability and aggression.

Sliding a hand down Bucky’s arm, he touches Peter, letting Bucky see and feel where he’s going with the motion to prevent any sudden, protective moves. Thankfully, it works - Bucky only tightens his grip a little bit on Peter, but refrains from intervening, knowing that Peter is Daddy’s first, even if instinct scream out against it.

Peter’s skin is damn near buttery in just how supple it is under his fingers. He rounds the bed, putting himself where Bucky can see as he runs greedy hands over the boy. It wakes Peter up, but with the punishment still fresh in his mind, he merely curls into Bucky’s arms and gets his fill.

“Petey.” The omega flinches, even as Tony’s tone remains even and soft. “How are you feeling, princess?”

A soft sniffle nearly breaks his heart. Bucky shushes and pulls Peter tight, rocking his hips gently to provide some sort of comfort. Maybe a grounding sensation? He hasn’t had a mated pair like these two, a lot of things are assumptions for the time being.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’ve got Bucky here, and Daddy just wants to make sure you’re not hurting. We won’t do that ever again as long as you don’t go trying to make Daddy hurt again.” He rubs his back, the knobs of Peter’s spine reminding him that the boy hasn’t eaten since yesterday.

Bucky manages to shove his face next to Peter’s, licking up the tears leaking from his tiny mate’s swollen eyes. Being close up now, his pet looks terrible. The betas had been under strict rules not to hurt the defenseless boy, but the bruise on his cheek has Tony feeling terrible. It’s not a dark one, but still a clear sign that he’s raised a hand against the omega. Peter shouldn’t have lashed out, but it’s Tony’s job to be above lashing out in return. Apologizing is not an option. Peter had done wrong and been punished for it, but he still wishes he had reigned in the response. Peter’s punishment should have been more controlled, beginning and ending with the betas.

He runs a gentle, paternal hand through Peter’s curls, bringing in his other one to help gently break up the spunk and sweat-glued strands. Saliva is likely in there as well, but Peter will be getting a bath soon enough to straighten the mess out. It’s terrible to see his hair so flat and limp. It’s an endlessly endearing trait, and why he keeps Peter’s hair on the longer side when all of his female omegas have short bobs or complex plaits and braids to keep things neat.

“Baby.” Taking Peter’s hip in his hand and gently rolling the small amount of baby fat there, he leans down, just out of range of a bite, but still able to be heard in his hushed tone. “You need to tell Daddy where you’re hurting so he can fix it. Can you do that for me, Peter?”

The boy stays still for a few, fleeting heartbeats, before nodding. It takes him a few moments to compose himself enough to speak through his hiccups. “My - my insides. My hole - it burns. Th-they put something in it and it still hurts. E-even with Bucky inside m-me, D-daddy.”

Oh dear, maybe the beta come hurts more than he’d realized.

“Bucky, sweet boy, would you take Peter to the bathroom, please? I need to go grab something. Take a blanket with you, poor omega looks like he’s about to freeze.”

Bucky does as he’s told, gathering his tiny mate up into his arms and moving him to the bathroom. His cock now slips out and swings limply between his legs as he concerns himself with his aching sweetheart.

Going to the supply closet, he pulls out an enema kit. He keeps a wide assortment of tack, gear, medical and various other supplies in it. He has never regretted anything that made its way to the closet, and he’s glad he’d thought to keep such things on hand for times like this.

Moving back to Bucky’s kennel, he goes into the bathroom to find Bucky tongue deep in Peter’s hole, but the poor thing is still shaking and complaining of pain. Ignoring him for the time, Bucky lays himself lightly over Peter, who had been shakily holding onto the edge of the tub during his rimming session. It never fails to make his heart go just a little bit soft seeing Bucky like this. Who knew the beast really just needed a mate - a purpose, really - to bring out something so tender.

He shoos Bucky away, even as the alpha grumbles. Filling the enema with warm water, just a bit closer to the hotter side of things, he caps the bottle with its nozzle. Laying Peter in the tub and having him pull a leg up, he inserts the tip and squeezes the bottle. He has to be careful not to do too much, or the resulting cramps may be worse than the burning semen.

“Now just hold it for a moment, Peter. We’ll do it a few times to wash you out well, then you can have Bucky’s come later without any of the hurting, okay?”

“O-kay.” Curled up and twitching, but covered with a thick blanket from the bed, Peter holds still as the water does its thing.

Moving Peter to the toilet to release the water is easy when you have a 6’9” alpha willing to do some leg work. Peter is repeatedly moved from toilet to tub until the burning subsides and the tears have calmed down. Tony suspects that the tears may have been more from stress than anything now, on the other end of things, but Peter finally calms down enough for him to leave the topic alone.

“Alright, last thing, Peter. You need a bath.” And oh, how Tony would love to be the one to scrub that porcelain body and tame those curls, but that will have to wait for another day. He has work to do, and Peter likely will prefer his mate at the moment. “Bucky’s gonna get you cleaned up.”

He turns to the alpha, sitting quietly on the toilet and now trying to gather Peter into his lap. “I need you to clean him up and keep him clean. If you need to breed again, do it before the bath, but make sure you clean up his curls.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy.” He leans down, cheek turned to Bucky, who gives him a gentle, slightly scratchy kiss.

He looks at Peter. “Are you going to be nice and give Daddy a kiss, princess?”

Peter looks away, nodding.

Tony leans forward, turning his injured cheek to Peter. The little omega gives it the softest of licks and a light kiss to the damage he’s done. Tony gives them both a kiss on the forehead as a reward.

As he leaves, he calls over his shoulder, “Bucky, let JARVIS know what you two would like to eat tonight, I’ll send whatever you want down.”

With that, he exits the basement and removes himself from the mates’ lives, for now.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

SNEEZE.

Obispo “Bishop” Losa x reader

Anon asked: hey darling i would like to request an imagine with bishop about something like this: you work on the scrapyard helping chucky (or in the bar at mayans parties) and he has a soft spot on you, but you think he is just nice but in fact it’s because he is in love with you but he is scared that you don’t reciprocate the feeling and because you are much younger than him

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💖

Word count: 3.6k

Author Comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @arveeee @witchy-wish ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

After sneezing for sixth time, your nose starts to bleed, covering it with both hands and a “shit” drowned in your throat. Tranq and Bishop look at you with raised eyebrows, seen you using a cloth when the drops stain your shirt. 

“You ok, kid?” The president asks visibly worried. You nod throwing your head forward and breathing by your mouth.

“I'll find you a shirt, wait”. The other mexican says, disappearing through the hallway to the dorms.

“Com'ere, sit down”. Bishop offers you a hand, guiding your steps to the closer sofa.

Nailing your elbows on your nap, you continue with your head down as your mother taught you when you were a child. 

“Are you cold, or sick, or something like, ah?”

“I think so... Yesterday… the heating in my house just… broke. And when I sneeze too much, this happens”. You sigh pulling away the cloth to see how it's going. Still bleeding.

“Did you call a tec'?” Then, you shake your head because you actually forgot it. “What if I take you home, uh? You should rest”.

The man places his right palm on your forehead, noticing that it's warm than normal. The gesture gives you some chills, coughing because of the blood stuck in your throat. Tranq offers you the the shirt, he was looking for, as the president helps you to getting up.

“Change it, okay? I'll ride you home”.

“I'm ok, prez”. You shake your head taking it. “I just… gonna change it and go back to work. I have to… I have to get everything ready fo' tonight”.

“Querida, you're not gonna work having fever”.

“Yea', nor bleeding like that. Stockton is like an excited bull when they see something red”. Tranq makes you chuckle, nodding just one time before walking towards the bathroom.

“Find Coco, tell him I need his car for a couple hours”. 

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Your house feels like the North Pole, bearing in mind that the sun only gives you a couple of hours a day and that you forgot to close the large window of the living room. At least, you left it after clean the mess in it. Sideways, you find Bishop trying not to look around, so you would not think that he's ‘too curious’. Continuing your steps to the window, you close it and you also run the curtains. Sneezing again covering your nose with both hands, and turning to your boss, you sigh heavily.

“Have a cold shower and get some rest. I'll get you some pills to help you, and find a tec' who fix the heating, ok?”

“Sounds like ain't another option”. You joke a little, trying to breathe by your nose.

Bishop smirks at you, putting his gaze away before leaving your house. He's always attentive, kindly and gentle with you, helping with whatever he can help without even asking him to do it. And it feels nice having someone who takes care of you so disinterestedly, and wanting nothing back. Just doing it because it's what he desiderate. And because of that, you obey every indication the man gives you without complain about it.

After having a shower and putting on some comfy sport clothes, you lie down on the sofa hugging a cushion. You don't feel better, with the stuffy nose and the dry throat. Have fever and a cold on a day like this it's a big shit, because Mayans pays pretty good jack for some hours serving beers and shots. And even if you don't need it, not at all, it's always okay to save some more money. Turning on the tv and looking for whatever to watch, you wait for your boss to come back, falling asleep in the process.

You can't know how much time has passed, when you feel a hand narrowing your shoulder gently with a sweet voice calling you. Opening your eyes so slowly, you find Bishop there. Getting up to sit, you cough covering your mouth with a fist.

“How you feel, ah?”

“I'm okay”. You lie, making him chuckle for a second.

“The sales' told me you should take one of this, every six hours”. He says then, giving you a small box of analgesics by taking it off from a cardboard box. “And I also bought you an orange juice”.

Putting it on the table, he walks to the kitchen, coming back towards you in just a few seconds. 

“Didn' know if you have a thermometer, so…” Having a sit by your side, he grabs it from inside the bag to take off the plastic that wraps it. “Okay, open your mouth”.

You can't help but laughing with some difficulties, taking it under your tongue and pressing your lips while he serves you the drink in the crystal glass. After exactly one minute, the thermometer beeps six times. Bishop removes it from your mouth, looking at the number that it's marking. The man clicks his tongue, somewhat disappointed.

“You will not work tonight”.

“But I'm okay!” You complain about his decision, whilst he's raising both eyebrows.

Ignoring you, the man takes one of the pills giving it to you and offering the juice with the other hand. Sighing heavy you obey again, pulling back your hair before it.

“You don' have to do'et”. You exhale resting the back against the sofa and turning your head to him.

“Do what?”

“Stay here. Take care of me like that”.

“Are you gonna do it?”

No. Not at all. If it were up to you, you would continue working on the scrapyard. But you have to recognize that you feel a little bit ashamed of Bishop seeing you looking like shit, and putting all your efforts so that he doesn't notice it.

“You can go, if you need it. I do—”.

“I'm staying till after lunch, you need to eat. So, go to bed and rest”. Palming one of your thighs, kicking off his boots and leaving the kutte on the armrest, he raises both eyebrows with no more gesture on his face.

You do it, again without any compliment knowing that you already lost the battle of working tonight at the Mayan party. Falling down on your bed and hugging your pillow with both arms, after lower the blind, you try to have some rest but because of your stuffy nose you know it's not a possibility. So you just lie there, with the door almost open but seeing Bishop focused in his phone through the opening. 

Sometimes you ask yourself why he is so gentle with you, since the first moment you met. With the time, you thought that maybe he had a kid and he was just being protective, or something like. But then you knew that he hadn't more family than Marcus Alvarez, el Padrino. You feel like a stalker watching him enraptured, trying to pretend you're not looking at him when the man gets up after some hours there. Maybe it's time to eat, but you have your phone in the living room. So you just wait again for Bishop.

And when a delicious smell slices into your room, calling you as the sweetest and charming melody, flooding it completely; you hear two knocks on your door, finding his shadow on the floor.

“Lunch is ready, c'mon, kid”.

“I'm not a kid”. You snort getting out from your door, as he laughs softly.

“You are, compared with me”.

“Yea', I'm sorry, Mr. Mummy”. You joke on him, coughing again as soon as you try to laugh walking towards the table. “Boiled veggies… Seriously, Obispo? 'Amma joke to you?”

“See? You're a kid”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

After being sure that you can take care of yourself for the moment, the president left your house to attend the party. Highlighting thousands times to call him in case you continue worse. You're not going to do it, because he has the right to have some fun and don't wasting his time being a nurse, but you nod the thousand times back. Even if you enjoyed his company, it's not fair.

Desperate and rough knocks hits your door, waking you up violently and jumping off from the sofa very dizzy. Your heart is about to stop because of the hits, walking sleepy towards the main door. 

“Why haven't you answered your phone, ah?! You scared the shit outta' me!”

“Shit, lower your voice, prez. My head is gonna explode”. You sob between growls.

Without expecting, he places a hand on your forehead and another on your nape. Clicking his tongue, he walks inside your house right to your room. With the door still open, he comes back holding a hoodie and a pair of sneakers.

“Put them on, we're going to the hospital”.

“Bishop, I'm fi—”.

“No, you're not”. He snorts somewhat upset, stretching both arms.

You know you can't fight against him, being more headstrong than you. So sitting on the closest chair, you put on the shoes before wearing the sweater. Walking by his side to the Coco's car, you have a seat on the copilot one, adjusting the seat belt around your body. You have never seen Bishop driving more than his bike, till today. And you have to recognize he does it pretty well too, thinking about something he's bad into. Nothing, apparently. Sometimes he's a little annoying, like now, knowing that you don't need to visit the urgencies.

In the road, you look for your insurance number in your phone, keeping it opened to fill the former as long as you're there. But he decided to do it for you, forcing you to wait for him at the waiting room. It's cold, at least, it's what you feel trembling slightly and curling your legs against your chest above the chair. Bishop doesn't look happy when he sits next to you, probably because the doctors are going to take a while to see you, with all the people there sitting behind your back. The man looks at you, with your eyes closed and breathing by your mouth, hearing somewhat like a zip being opened. You raise your gaze to him when he helps you to get up a little, so he can wraps you with his jacket.

“I got you, have some rest”. He speaks with a low tone, don't wanting to bother you, nor your headache, placing an arm on your shoulders pushing your body close to him.

Getting a little more comfy over his chest with your cheek resting there, you sigh closing your eyes feeling too tired. For you, it's just another cold. But for him, seems like you're dying. It's funny finding out how careful he can be. And you're starting to be okay with that when he ends up sitting you on his lap, thinking you could be better, curling your legs above the next chair whilst he's holding you tightly. Yes, it's feels so much better. Maybe it's not that bad being sick, even when you look like a helpless child sheathed by a jacket bigger than you and his arms surrounding your body.

Some long minutes after, when you're almost falling asleep and you're feeling warm, your name resonates through the megaphone. Bishops helps you to get up, still holding you and following the hallways to the doctor's office. 

“(Y/N)?” The man asks seeing you both come in after calling to the door.

“Yea'”. You mutter going straight to the stretcher and sitting there.

“How you feel, miss?”

“Pretty good, doc—”. You cough again, putting a hand on your chest when it rips you internally.

“She has almost one hundred and four”. Bishop talks then. “I gave her some analgesic, but ain't no working”.

“Okay, let's see”. The doctor nods taking the stethoscope. “Are you her partn—?”

“Her boss”.

“Lucky girl, then. My boss would kick my ass if I felt like you, miss”.

“Yea', I like to… take care of my mechanic. That little trouble knows who to fuck up my bike”. He chuckles, leaving an unexpected kiss on your left temple.

“A wise man. But I need you to leave the consult, so she can take off her shirt”.

“Ye—Yes. Sure”. Bishop agrees clearing his throat. “I'll be right there, okay?”

The study begins once you're alone, hearing your lungs and your heart beat, looking inside your throat and taking your temperature. It doesn't take much longer than three or four minutes, when the doctor asks you to get dressed again, but pull down a little your sweatpants so he can puncture some medicine on your lower back. It hurts like hell, feeling how the cold liquid running under your skin, making you press a little cotton against it after it's done.

“I'll recipe you some analgesic. And water. Drink a lot of water. Sometimes looks like foolishness, but it actually helps”. The man says, sitting at his deck and writing something you can't understand. 

Giving you the paper, he lets you go.

“And?” Bishop asks getting up from the wall, as long as he sees you.

“Medicine and water. And a gift prick”. You reply, putting his arm again on your shoulder and taking the recipe with his free hand. “My ass hurts”.

He laughs shaking his head, as you smirk softly surrounding his waist and resting your cheek against his cheek. You feel protected, even if you hate to feel defenseless. But with him, you accept it.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

It's been two days and life has come back to you, under Bishop's care and paranoia of taking your meds at a exactly time of the day. And you need to reward him. Of course, Marcus is who knows him better and you know how much his cousin could appreciate a homemade lunch. Tacos al pastor. A small cliche, but easy to prepare. So you actually surprise him when he comes to your house, with a random text saying him you're feeling worse. Five minutes it's the time it takes him to get there, hitting your door bell insistently.

“Hey! What's up? You okay?” He's about to have a heart attack, with shaky breathe and a worried look on his face.

“Food is gonna get cold”.

“What food? Are you okay or not?” Bishop asks coming in, following the delicious smell of meat mixed with pineapple.

“I'm okay, relax. It was just a joke”. You chuckle closing the door and pushing him by your hands on his back, guiding him to the table already served.

“Amma' fuckin' kill you…” He growls turning to you, visibly upset and somewhat angry.

“Sit, grumpy mummy”. Rolling your eyes, you point a sit.

“What is that for?”

“I'm thankful 'you have been so annoying, taking care of me”.

“You did— Is tha— Who told you?”

“I have my own contacts, presidente”. You almost sing raising your chin proud.

And you don't know at what time you find yourself lying on the sofa under his weight. His waist between your legs, whilst his tongue is fighting yours and your lips biting his whenever they can. You have no air in your lungs, but seems like you don't care pushing him closer with both hands on his nape and head. His are running through your body with needy caresses that he was containing for so long. And he's hard, pretty hard, rubbing the lump under his jeans against your wetted crotch. You want more, moaning because of the friction among your thighs, when he wraps your throat with a hand, raising a little your neck so he can kiss and suck the exposed skin.

But something bad seems like clicks his neurons, when he snorts heavily against your skin.

“I'm sorry, I can't”. He just says getting up from the sofa. “I can't do it. I gotta go, sorry”.

You are confused, raising your back by your forearms, with your eyes on him seeing how he takes his jacket thrown above the floor. Bishop leaves your house in silence. Also leaving you there trying to find the point where you have fuck him up. But there's no point. You were good, having a great moment, taking a first step. You really wanted it, even if it wasn't the way you liked to start a relationship with him, so Bishop might think it's the only thing you want from him. Taking care of you those days it just made you fall in love a little bit more, and maybe he's not. And he only wants to protect you of making yourself illusion about something smoky.

You only can wait till night, hoping that maybe he could come back or text you at least. But nothing happened, and you're not going to give up. 

It's the first time you reach the clubhouse in less than ten minutes, surprising yourself even, while you park the car next to the motorcycles. Seems like Mayans are having a party inside and, by that, you don't surprise. Coming in without calling, nor asking, being greeted by Gilly and Creeper with shouts and laughs. But you're not in the mood to joying them, finding Bishop dancing with one of Vicki's girl. Obviously. Sometimes it's too foreseeable. Without words, you walk towards him with a serious gesture on your face. He turns at you, as the blonde does.

“Isn't too soon to open the scrapyard?” The president is somewhat drunk, provoking some laughs around your.

It wasn't what you wanted, but plan b.

“I'm coming back to Guadalajara tomorrow, just came to return my uniform”. You reply, shaking your head a little, taking off the green shirt from your bag to leave it above the pool table.

The silence has been installed all around the clubhouse and even if he wants to hide his rage, he can't. Grabbing you by your left wrist, the president drags you inside the Templo letting you there with a soft push, at the same time he closes the glass door.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“With me? You're the one who is playing”.

“I'm not playing anything”.

“Oh, really? Then, you don't give a fuck if I go, or if I stay”.

He snort rubbing his face with both hands, supporting one on the column and other on his waist. He looks ratty, chuckling for no reason as he shakes his head.

“What the hell you want”.

“You”.

“That's not going to happen”.

“Why?”

Bishop clicks his tongue, about to leave you there alone. Supporting the door almost opened, he finally closes it again. Walking next to you cross-armed, looking at you from top to bottom.

“Lemme' tell yo—”.

“No. Now you're gonna hear me, Obispo. What the fuck is wrong with you? A fuckin' boss doesn't take care of a fuckin' mechanic just because ‘that little trouble knows who to fuck up my bike’”. Highlighting those last words he said some nights before, you're pointing his chest with your forefinger. “I don' know what the hell you thought this morning, but I wasn' trying to give you a ride to thank you what you did for me… I called Marcus, 'cause two or three or… I don't give a fuck. Some months ago I heard you telling the guys that… there was nothing better, after a long week, that come back home and have some good food on the table. And Padrino told me how much you like those tacos”.

The president is staring at you apparently impassive and unflappable. 

“I like you, Obispo. I actually… love you”.

“Fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is fuckin' wrong with me! Stop fuckin' asking that, Jesus Christ”.

“I could be your damn father”.

“But he's dead, and you're not. You don' even know my mother”.

“I'm not gonna ruin your life”.

“It was ruined before I met you, don't be so egocentric”. Rolling your eyes, you try to uncross his arms while he's pressing them tightly to his chest. “Fuck! Stop behaving like a child!”

“I'm not”.

“Yes, you are! Be a fuckin' man and recognize what you feel!” Reaching that point of the night, you're furious and mad as never, pushing his chest with both hands.

“I'm older than you and my hands aren't clean”. He insists walking back some steps.

“Good, congratulations. Do you want a medal, bad boy?”

“No, I want you to stay safe”.

“I am when we're together. I don' care about your age or mine, those are just numbers. And I don' care about your ‘job’, 'cause I know how to shoot a gun too”.

“It's n—”.

“You know what? You're a fuckin' coward”.

“Am I?” A bittersweet laughs escapes from his lips, putting away his eyes for a while.

“Yea'. You're letting me go 'cause you think you can ruin my life, actually ruining both whilst you're covering it with alcohol and putas, 'cause it's easier. That's not fair, Bishop. I can decided too”.

“You're coming back to Guadalajara”.

“'Course not! I just… Por el amor de Dios... I just wanted to talk with you. Alone”.

Bishop is about to reply with somebullshit. He sneezes. One time. Two times. Three times. You can't help but breaking in loud laughs, as he frowns his eyebrows cleaning his nose with the back of his hand.

“Fuckin' hate you”. He growls, with your hands surrounding his forearms to push him closer.

“Let's go home, prez…” The man wraps your waist, resting his forehead on your chest for a second.

“I'm fuckin' annoyen' when I'm sick”.

“Good that I don' care”.

[secretshinigami]

routine and soft eyes

Author: @hazblogs For: @beyondplusultra Pairings/Characters: nearmellomatt, mention of lawlight Rating/Warnings: T, mentions of Mello’s scar  Prompt: Wammy House kids sleepover (A, B, L can be included, can be AU) Author’s notes: I had so much fun with this !!! soft bois…. thank you to anyone who reads it !!

Mello is positively fuming. Someone (who shall not be named, though if you want to know it starts with “N” and ends with “-ate River”) just got on top of Forensic Science and Investigative Skills and History of Crime and the Justice System. Those are Mello’s topics. They’re the best at these and they always have been (in the two years they’ve studied here. But that’s long enough, right ?), so the fact that Mister Nobody just came in and stole their turf… That’s infuriating. To top it all off, the dean did them dirty and assigned someone to the second bed in their room, knowing full well that they need that second bed for Matt. This week is just a pile of flaming shit.

As they swing the door open they are greeted by the beeping sounds usually coming from Matt’s bed, a comforting electronic melody. Matt doesn’t even turn around to raise his middle finger to protest against how loud Mello is, but that’s also common practice around here, so no worries. 

“Heard you got your ass beat,” Matt says a while later, Mello’s hand carding through his strawberry-green hair. “By the newbie no less. How’re you taking it ?”

“Matt, my hand is dangerously close to your eyes and you need those to play on that stupid console. Better not risk it.”

“Like you’d ever hurt me,” Matt grumbles, and the certainty with which he speaks makes their heart pulse just a little faster. Mello is hopelessly in love, aren’t they ?

The rest of the evening is quiet save for that same musical background, a welcome white noise as Mello finishes their essay for Writing Comedy. The teacher seems to have some trouble with their rather macabre humour so they try to tone it down for once - rather unsuccessfully.

“Also heard you’ll have a roommate,” Matt continues a few hours later as they prepare for bed - gotta put some moisturiser on that scar like a damsel doing her skincare routine, the doctor said, “or you’ll experience how actually painful it can be”. Talk about being threatening…

“I heard. I can kick them out.” Mello would do it. Without remorse, even.

“I can sleep in your bed too,” Matt offers. “But only if you promise not to kick me out from under the covers every single night.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck off, and secondly, why the hell would I want someone else to room with me ? You’re already here. You’ve always been here.”

“And I always will be, Mels. Just… I think it’s time you get out of your shell a little bit, you know ? You can’t keep pretending that talking to me twice every day and ignoring Linda a couple times a week is enough friendly interaction for the little pea inside your coconut.” Mello turns away from the mirror, moisturiser in hand, and sends a glare to Matt who sighs and raises his hands in defeat. “Don’t say I didn’t try ! Think about it, okay, Mello ?”

They do think about it. The whole night. They don’t sleep - it’s not because Matt snores but that’s the excuse they’ll use. Ever since the accident and the scar, people have usually been too impressed - or scared - by them to even consider starting a casual conversation. Matt was there even before, and he probably always will be, Linda is a weirdo who wants to draw them with a ponytail, and… Well, that’s it. Mello lives for schoolwork, to be the best and hope to right some of the wrongs in this world.

“Yo, Mihael,” the dean says when he sees them in front of his office the following morning. Lawliet is a TA at their university, still haunting the dorms. He has a creepy smile under his stupid raccoon eyes and he keeps using Mello’s birthname, like it makes any more sense to call them with that than to call them “xXx_sexy_blondie_xXx”, or however you pronounce that out loud.

“Lawliet. I saw you assigned me a roommate.”

“I did,” he smiles still, like there’s a joke Mello doesn’t get.

“Why ?” Mello would actually like to know - Lawliet never does anything at random.

“You’ll see when he arrives later today,” is the cryptic answer, and Mello sneers at their stupid fucking dean as they leave for their 8am lecture.

Because yes, multiple things are out to get their skin - though they won’t be deterred.

The day goes by in a flash, Screenwriting and Poetry being two of their most interesting classes, and by the time they’ve finished their Crime Prevision and Prevention homework at the library, the sun is well on its way down. Mello walks slowly to the dorms, enjoying the warm air - it’s still only September and winter hasn’t come yet. The music blasting from their headphones is a perfect background to the chill atmosphere, a few bird silhouettes dark against the wonderfully peach clouds. In a few minutes they’ll kiss Matt and they’ll eat a bite, and they’ll sleep knowing they’re safe now.

When they arrive in front of their room, a few cardboard boxes occupy the entrance. Shit fuck hell, they’d forgotten the roommate arrived today. All they can see from where they’re blocked from entering is a white blob of hair on top of baggy clothes, perched on the desk and looking at whatever Matt is playing.

“Uh, I’m supposed to be able to enter my own room,” Mello kind of yells. Only kind of. “Would you please not be a giant stupid bother before I even get your name ?”

“Sorry,” the snowball says, not looking sorry at all. “I’m Nate River.”

“But you can call him Near ! He plays retro games, which isn’t… let’s say it’s not my strong point, but I’m sure it’ll go well, we’re three whole weirdos with weirdo nicknames !”

Mello blinks. Near is still here. They blink again. Near is still here, looking a little like a frog with his lopsided smile, a hand playing with one of his curls. Mello blinks a third time and doesn’t expect Near to have packed his things and go, but that was a close call.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” they mutter. “Lawliet is gonna get killed.”

“You actually know enough about criminology to not be caught, so go you.” Near is smirking. Mello wants to cry. “But I would advise against it, because he’s dating that twink Light Yagami, the alumni who came last week to give the presentation about the War on Drugs and its consequences. He’s a police lieutenant now.”

“Called it !” Matt raises a fist in victory, taking five years from Mello’s lifespan. “Anyway, now that you’re here, please do help us with the last boxes. We’ve been setting up Near’s compy and it’s revoltingly difficult.”

“I will not- how can you ask me to- I’m gonna commit arson and this time I promise I’ll succeed !”

“Dramatic bitch,” Matt says jovially. “Just come in and drop your stuff, apparently someone from the ADA thing comes tomorrow to make sure the room is accessible with a crutch and to help Near settle in.”

Mello just now notices that Near isn’t fully standing up - he’s propped on the desk, a mechanical knee peeking through the bottom of his shorts. This changes nothing - though Mello feels the both grim and hopeful sense of community that disabled people get when they meet. Their ear still works wonky and their eye ? Not the sharpest either. Without talking about all the skin damage, the phantom pain, the- hell no, they won’t get into “reflective mode” without having eaten dinner first.

Reluctantly, Mello spends the rest of the evening avoiding Near as Matt and them help him settle in, surprised by the small amount of belongings he actually has - most of the boxes he brought are board games and hundreds of little kapla sticks. Is Near planning to recreate the Golden Bridge ? He looks like a nerd, maybe it’ll be the Death Star.

Routines are a persistent thing, and before they know it, Near has managed to get a small space - small, they insist - in Mello’s well-oiled machinery. He eats breakfast with Matt, a meal that Mello forgoes entirely, and he goes on unfortunate walks to his PT appointments, because he’s out of money from whatever government organism gives benefits to disabled people and can’t afford a cab. Mello thinks they should get into it a little more, maybe call their case worker, because ramen tastes worse and worse when you have it for every meal of the week. And then Near and Matt start talking about something or another, especially topics that annoy Mello, or Near gets a little too close to them while they both work on their assignments at their desk, his elbow barely brushing Mello’s side. It makes them shiver, but they will ignore that, thank you very much.

Another routine - bedtime - has gotten a little different. One single bed is enough for “one person and a half”, according to Matt, so the obvious solution to them being three in a two single beds room is to push the beds together.

“And now you have a perfect three people beddery !” Matt triumphantly declared. “Mello, you sleep in the middle.”

“Why am I in the middle ?” they protested. “It’s the least comfortable !”

“Oh well, we can take turns,” Near had snarked, knowing full well that the first one of them to sleep in the middle would have to accept defeat.

Mello does end up in the middle, Matt cuddled against their left side where the burn is, and Near an ever-closer presence against their right arm. It’s not as uncomfortable as they expected. Near doesn’t snore and he smells like minty toothpaste, a strangely comforting scent that lulls Mello to sleep way more easily than the five thousand melatonin pills they take before going to bed.

Oh well, maybe Lawliet can live a little longer. His boyfriend - Matt saw them kissing through the peephole, it’s official now - won’t have any (more) reasons to put Mello behind bars.

Near gets on top of International Law and keeps wearing strangely baggy clothes everywhere - or well, everywhere but in the dorms. Mello has time to get used to that mechanical knee, even asking a few questions about phantom pains on the days Matt is away and the itching gets unmanageable. Near is quiet like snow but they’re nothing alike in warmth, grey eyes like molten metal setting on Mello’s face and crinkling in a smile.

And it works wonders. One time they get a bad mark (for their standards) and they even study with Near for extra credit, a presentation about the death penalty that lasts about three quarters of the two hours class. The teacher gives them both full marks and Matt celebrates by crushing them both against his chest, the smell of motor oil and mint so comforting that Mello closes his eyes, just for a little while.

It’s winter before they have time to think about it, and finals go by in a blur of “no sleep, no food, no distractions”. They even manage to end up at the nurse’s office when they faint during the Criminology Theory exam, forced to drink sugar water until the world stops exploding in a million tiny stars when they move their head.

Mello thinks that surviving their last winter exam session ever - they should be able to find a job with a double Master’s degree in Criminology and Creative writing, right ? - deserves a celebratory nap and they sprawl on the bed as soon as they’re back from the last stupid oral presentation they have to do about stupid Foundations of Criminal Justice. Near is not in the room - which is weird, because he finished five minutes and thirty six seconds before them - and Matt is away for the day to try and get his internship at the garage, so they have the full three-person bed, and they fully intend to enjoy the luxury.

They enjoy it so much that they fall asleep, only noticing that time has passed because before they blinked, it was day, and it is now very much nighttime. Light giggles fill the room along with the muted light from Near’s bedside lamp, and Mello takes the time to relish in the quiet atmosphere. Hushed conversation rises from near the desk, giggles and the smell of hot chocolate both making Mello sit up at last.

“Lookit you ! Sleeping beauty arises. Though I haven’t kissed you yet,” Matt smiles, and he climbs on the bed to press his lips against Mello’s. “Love you,” he whispers as he pulls away and goes back to slump on Near’s shoulder.

At first, Near felt like an intruder each time Matt kissed them, but he’s become so embedded in their life that Mello doesn’t feel any awkwardness anymore - to the point where not including him has become the cause of their inner turmoil.

Because yeah, uh, there’s that. Near in a tank top and booty shorts, prosthetic being painted on by a very enthusiastic Matt, has become the new image they conjure up each time the need to strangle someone arises. And poof, instant peace. Discreet touches, Near sleeping fully cuddled against their right side now, Matt nosing through Near’s hair just after he’s washed it because his strawberry shampoo smells divine, Mello even going as far as ruffling Near’s hair without warning, just to see his little nose scrunch up… All that has become routine too, and suddenly the change is too big to go by unmentioned. 

They’ve managed to hold on to their feelings until then but as Matt starts talking again, Near’s smile is a little too tight - though his eyes sparkle, it’s like… something’s missing. 

“Emergency mee-ee-ting,” they yawn, the skin around their left eye crinkling up painfully. Near notices and doesn’t even ask before grabbing the petroleum jelly tube and throwing it rather inaccurately at their face. See, that’s what they were talking about, Near has just become… there, in the way Matt is there even when he’s asleep in another part of the universe where Mello can only hope to ever go to. “We gotta talk shit out.”

“Are you over your gay crisis yet ?” Matt asks, eyes calm and open, sipping hot chocolate with noisy slurps that Mello doesn’t bother mentioning anymore. His green hair looks more and more red as time passes, which is a strange feat of hair dye conspiracy. “Can we go back to playing ?”

“I haven’t even talked !” Mello protests. “I just really think it’s necessary to mention that…”

They don’t know how to continue that sentence. Near is looking at them with something strangely akin to hope, and Matt still has that infuriating openness about him like he just knows Mello so well he doesn’t need to be told what they feel. 

Near doesn’t, though, and he matters enough to Mello now for them to want to include him in the little bubble as well.

“I just think it’d be cool if we shared the secret chocolate stash with Near,” is what comes out of their mouth.

Well done caporal, please die of shame now.

“Mels, wow, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said !” Matt’s voice drips with amusement - devoid of any mean spirit, they should add, because Matt is the one thing Mello knows is good in this world. And well, maybe there’s a second one they’ve stumbled on, and they want Near to know that he means a lot to them too.

“I mean it !” Mello whines. “He’s one of us now. I think we can share.”

“Mello. Please realise that I’ve been flirting with you this entire time,” comes Near’s deadpan answer. “The time I told you I wanted to braid your hair ? The time I made you sleep and finished the presentation alone because you’d gotten the flu and I hate being sneezed on ? The fact that Matt literally sits in my lap half the time, and only half because the other is spent on your lap ?”

“Okay, first of all, fuck off with me getting the flu.”

“You’re avoiding my question.” Near looks stubborn, and it’s a good look on him.

When did Mello start to think Near looks good ? “I, uh. I may be slightly romantically obtuse. Has Matt told you the time when-”

“-he kissed you and you thought he wanted to practice smooches for his secret best friend, because of course you wouldn’t be his best friend ?”

Utterly mortified, Mello can feel their cheeks become bright red. “Well, uh. Enough mushiness for tonight. Just pass me the chocolate, Matt, I’m starving.”

Matt giggles and throws a Kinder Egg at their face. Near munches on the leftover shell while Mello assembles the toy, and it’s peaceful - and happy, too, so when Mello raises a hand to their scar they smile still, in spite of their involuntary shiver.

[artzychic27]

Akuma Class Musicals Headcanons

Marinette is a Broadway Baby, and LOVES love songs like Once You See, Baptize Me, Fight For Me, Stupid With Love, etc.

Her favorite musicals are Hamilton, Dear Evan Hansen, Emojiland, Mean Girls, SIX, Waitress, and Grease

She mostly prefers musicals based on History, (Hamilton, Bonnie and Clyde, Hadestown, SIX)

She likes to cosplay as her favorite characters and has a Tumblr dedicated to it. Over 2K followers

When someone utters just a few lyrics to a song, she will sing the entire thing

Random person: It’s just so-

Marinette: Great to be alive! Peace, thumbs up, pound, okay, high five!

Tikki loves SIX. She’s actually met the queens, and she HATES Henry

Alix likes Girl Power songs like Put You In Your Place, I’d Rather Be Me, Princess is a Bitch, and all the songs from SIX, and I Say No

She’s not every open about her love for Musicals, but she will sing when no one is around.

Only Nathaniel has heard her sing

She’ll often hum while roller skating

Nino’s favorite musicals are Hamilton, Footloose, Grease, Be More Chill, School of Rock, and Jagged Little Pill

He likes to make remixes of the songs

He memorized the choreography and the melodies

Only Marinette and Kim know this- Nino knows the entire choreography to Candy Store, and they won’t let him live it down

Alya’s favorite musicals are Hamilton, Superhero, SIX, The Lightning Thief, and Sister Act

She joins Marinette in on her cosplay

If someone is singing one of her favorite songs, she likes to record them

Adrien’s favorite musicals are Hamilton, Mamma Mia, Dear Evan Hansen, The Addams Family, Newsies, Wicked, The Book of Mormon, and Hadestown

Plagg: Big deal, I met the real Hamilton and Joseph Smith. And they can NOT sing.

Gabriel actually allows him to see the shows live, since it’s “Good for his image.”

Adrien prefers duets, and the first people he’ll ask to sing with him will be either Marinette or Nino

Adrien/Nino: Our friendship goes beyond your average kind of bond!

Adrien: But not because we’re gay!

Nino: No, not because we’re gay!

Alix: WOOO!

Kim’s favorites are Spongebob, Heathers, Rent, Emojiland, Grease, and You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown

He likes to sing them in Vietnamese

He loves karaoke nights, and likes to dare people to sing duets with him (Alix will gladly take that dare)

He got REALLY into Princess is a Bitch. He even did the splits

But he doesn’t compare to Nathaniel. Seriously, that boy needs a leash whenever he hears his favorite songs

His favorite songs are Dead Girl Walking, Say No To This, Princess is a Bitch, Candy Store, World Burn, Never Shut up Again, Land of Lola, Pitiful Children, the Squip Song, etc.

Basically any song he can really get into

He will take of his jacket and flirt with the boys in his class, and Alix will cheer him on. Mylène and Alya got a little jealous when they saw Ivan and Nino blushing after he sang Dead Girl Walking

Nathaniel: Let’s go, you know the drill! I’m hot, and pissed, and need my fill! Bow down to the will of a dead boy walking!

Boys: ... Damn.

His favorite Musicals are Eugenius, Death Note, Superhero, Be More Chill, the Addams Family, Wicked, Falsettos, Little Shop of Horrors, and Heathers

He likes to draw the characters from the shows whenever he’s not making his classmates blush

Rose’s favorites are Seussical, Annie, Emojiland, Spongebob, You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown, Legally Blonde, Waitress, and The Prom

She and Juleka like to sing duets between Alyssa and Emma (Cuz... Lesbians)

She and Kim like to sing New Crown in Town

Juleka’a favorites are Death Note, Beetlejuice, the Addams Family, Carrie, and Little Shop of Horrors, and The Prom

‘Cuz... Lesbians

Max’s favorite musicals are Be More Chill, Emojiland, The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, and Little Shop of Horrors

Basically anything with the apocalypse, aliens, and evil super computers

Chloé loves any musical with a mythic bitch or a badass blonde, so Heathers, Bring It On, Mean Girls, Emojiland, Legally Blonde

Her favorite song will always be Candy Store

She may or may not have asked Marinette to make her a Heather Chandler costume she could wear to Broadway Con

Sabrina favorites are Little Shop of Horrors, Rent, Falsettos, Hadestown, Tuck Everlasting, The Lightning Thief, and Annie (‘Cuz red hair)

She and Chloé will often go and see the shows live in New York with Audrey

Ivan’s favorite Musicals are The Lightning Thief, Hamilton, Newsies, the Book of Mormon, Les Miserables, and Come From Away

He sings love songs to Mylène whenever she’s upset, and it works

The one that really cheers her up is Once You See from Carrie

Myléne has listened to every musical soundtrack she could find

She loves Hamilton, Hadestown, Rent, Falsettos, Mamma Mia, Bonnie and Clyde, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Footloose, Grease, Kinky Boots, Into the Woods, Newsies, and Sister Act

Her dad will often mime out the shows for her, and play the songs off of his phone

[cloudsrust]

Death comes in all colors

And here I come one year late with a few of my deaths’ headcanons for the lm3 ghosts-... in short story form because of course I gotta go the extra step,, TW: death mention and description (duh), bones breaking / asphyxiation , choking, firearm’s wounds, freezing, aneurysm. Steward - “A back-breaking job.” His last task for the day was to deliver the luggage that had gotten shipped to the hotel to the rightful rooms, ready to be found by the guests arriving in the morning. It was late at night and the overfilled bell cart, tucked away in the establishment’s warehouse, had gotten stuck between a wall and few boxes. As he was pulling the unstable mess from the side, trying to free it, the cart inclined towards him. The worn out belts barely restraining the luggage to begin with. A sickening “snap” breaking the night's silence, as the buckle of one of the worn out belts freeed itself from its prong, mercilessly hitting him straight across the face, hands instinctively going to cover his newly acquired wound as everything around him fell apart. The heavy suitcases and boxes completely crushed him, splitting his spine and breaking his ribs. A shard of the latter penetrating one of his lungs, making it burst. Unable to call for help, he slowly died by asphyxiation, the weight of the luggage “mercifully” taking his last breath away before the internal blood loss could. He is keen to both anger and panic attacks because of how he was treated when alive, both of those feeling still stirring in his heart, unable to find rest. Chambrea - “Feeling your heart in your throat.” The butler of the mansion where Chambrea served as a maid fell in love with her. Many letters and flowers were found in her small room in the following mornings, sweet smiles and compliments filling her days. Even though that was the closest thing she could get to one of the romances in her adored love novels and as much as she desired an happily ever-after, now she needed that job more than a stereotypical love story. She kept refusing him over and over, apologetic smiles following offers to pay him back the money the flowers must've costed. The servant, however, just couldn't stand the thought of rejection. Just as a rope being pulled over and over, he snapped. The night the inhabitants of the manor were out for a private party, he killed her in retaliation, strangling her to death. The thought of “if I can't have her, no one will” only made sense until the time to dispose the body came, clarity coming back to him as he dragged her body across the dark street. He hadn't much time to regret his actions, as Chambrea took her vengeance scaring him off the same bridge he was trying to use to dispose of her corpse. Neither of the bodies were ever found. She still loves to read romantic and tragic novels but she doesn’t feel ready for an actual relationship anytime soon. Her heart stuck in her throat every time she talks with a man, remembering her last moments alive. Steward is trying to slowly help her move on, is the least he can do for a friend colleague. Kruller - “A shot in the dark.” He was a night guard in training at the Grand Mall of the city. It was supposed his first night alone in his side of the mall, a more experienced co-worker taking care of the other half. It seemed a calm night like usual, more tiring the stressful. It would've been so if a thief hadn't managed to avoid security during closing time, hiding in the vents. After an hour or so of undisturbed shoplifting, Kruller finally encountered the criminal during the patrol of his side. Taser gun ready to fire in his shivering hands, still inexperienced in field action, the cop still found the courage to stutter a “Freeze!”. That word sealing his fate. A round of bullets perforating his stomach and chest as the mysterious man turned around firing by instinct, shocked by the sudden threat coming from behind him. The thief fled the scene, leaving the mall cop bleeding to death. The other night guard, alerted by the shoots rushed to his position, calling the ambulance at the sight of the blood pooling and running along the floor tiles. But help didn't come in time, Kruller last words desperately trying to describe the criminal, in hope of justice. He has a serious fear of both realistic looking and real firearms and he still has trouble speaking up from time to time, the remembrance of his error still lingering in his mind. Chef Soulfflé - “Best served cold.” Left behind by his trusted staff to make the inventory of the remaining and the needed supplies for the night, Soulfflé was checking the state of the meat in the freeze chamber. A few misplaced cleaning supplies tragically slipped from their grip on the tiled wall, still humid from the cooking vapor, falling on the chamber’s door, slowly closing it. The spine chilling click of the automatic lock making the chef drop the pack of meat he was inspecting. A few minutes passing with him trying to desperately call for help, the leftover hours of his life passed making peace with himself, writing down his will on the ingredients checklist he had with him. His staff only found his body the next morning, various aliments scattered on the floor, the cardboard where they were stored laying on the frozen corpse as a last hope to produce enough warmt to survive the night. He overcooks the meat by mistake: unable to feel warmth, no matter the temperature, for him everything will always be and remain cold. Amadeus Wolfgeist - “A heartbreaking performance.” Entire days and sleepless nights dedicated to that night, the evening of his concert- just for an aneurysm to take his life before he could complete that cursed melody. Slowly feeling his body crumbling from the inside, responding to his will no more. Hands grasping at the piano keys like a stray dog does with a found bone, his hunger for glory, for redemption, pushing him to keep on going. His fingers suddenly stiff, the last note mocking him with its silence as his vision completely faded to black. Falling to the harsh floor of his reality as red curtains covered the stage, marking his demise. His mind is still plagued by that composition, cursed to always rehears it but to never complete it, his hand still phasing through that last note. It is always better to keep an ear out for such music, just to know when is better to not interact with him at all. ...and that’s all- y’all can surely  see how in the last two stories I was just rushing through eh,,  I do want to share the titles and “plots” that where planned for the other ghosts! (Yes, giving titles is usually my fave part ahah)

MacFrights - “A stab to your pride.” Killed by a spear during a jousting tournament. His saddle slipped at the worst moment, letting his opponent’s weapon into the eye hole of his helmet. (My MacFrights’ design as a deep scar on his right eye, a bit OOC I know-) Dr. Potter - “Quiet as a falling leaf.” Died of old age. Came back to take care of the garden of his beloved wife, passed away years before him and now resting in her garden’s greenhouse, now her mausoleum. She already passed on, but Potter can’t let go of the only thing that remains of her, keeping him tied to the mortal world. (I kinda wish to come back to this one, maybe write a bit about it- but it’s a quite slim chance) Morty - “Letting the credits roll." (TW: suicide mention) Commited suicide via sleeping pills. He was the best conductor of his times, always aiming for perfection in every shot. It was when he reached the top that he understood that he could never reach that perfect dream of his, and that all that he was left with were just golden trophies and broken relationships. He let his movie end in hope of a sequel. (Another OOC, I like the idea of him being the complete opposite of what he was in real life, some sort of desire for redeeming himself and truly enjoy his love for movies. I want to write about this one, I really want to expand on this- so I might have a stand alone fan-fic for this.) Ug - “Flesh and bone.” Died of starvation. Not much to say about him- he lived in tough times with scarce food. Clem - “Washing away your memories.” While he worked in the sewers, he drowned after some falling pipes hit his head, beating him unconscious. He suffers from memory loss, not remembering anything from his mortal life- except a deep love for ducks. (Headcanon of mine is that he worked at a farm with his mother and many siblings- he accept a job into the sewer system to help his family in a time of struggle of the farm.) Serpci - “Sacrifices must be made." Offered herself to be sacrificed to the gods, to help his reign during dark times. Lindsay, Nikky, Ginny - “Warming up the audience.” (TW: childrean’s death) One of their fire tricks malfuctioned, ending into an fire enveloping the room they were performing in. They died of suffocation, due to the thick smoke, before the flames could reach them. Lindsay, the older sister, protected her two siblings until the end. Capitain Hook - “Putting salt on a wound.” Eaten by the shark he was hunting for half his life. Fate played the cruel joke to turn him into his most hated enemy once he became a ghost. Johnny Deepend - “Hitting on you.” Hit his head on the side of the pool as he was attempting a complex dive, trying to hit on his crush. It wasn’t his most succesfull move- Phantasmagloria - “Shock! at the disco.” (Yes I’m P!ATD trash thank you for noticing lmao) She was electrocuted by her malfunctioning equipment.

[sisislair]

I Wish for Love

No time for schoolwork when I already have homework,

working out problems between person A and person B.

What is 0 to the power of my words times the x of something I can’t leave?

Music pounds and boxes my ears,

but it can’t drown out the voices that lance through my heart.

What is a heavy base against the screams of tearing each other apart?

A minor fault, a discordant note, and the music broke.

I play and play, an insistent melody, till my fingers bleed.

Why can I not recreate the harmony I need?

An imbalance in the brain, a chemical reaction, all the same.

Take a chill pill we say, 

but what good does it do if you’re used to it being this way?

I must watch every step, every word and whisper,

because a promise exists that I refuse to break.

Why is it so easy to slip into cruelty, not even aware or awake?

I am powerless against the forces of hate and betrayal.

Some would wish for money, or help from above,

but I, I wish for love.