#necrosis au

[nixii-sabre]

"Murder is killing someone who's innocent. I don't believe anybody here is as innocent as we all think. Not even you."

[n3onwraith]

GOD I love drawing those stupid jorses 😭😭

Straight up made an infection AU bcs it was going around tiktok and now I keep drawing those little fuckers and making new ones it's becoming a problem

Art under the cut, tw for gore in general in some

There's so much more but omg it's becoming a problem 😭😭

Anyways if yall wanna see the infection it's @/mlpchronicwastingfiles on tiktok and updates are slow and actually kinda mediocre because I made the first parts and the next one I have in drafts before I had the progression figured out, so it's all sorts of boring and full of plot holes rn but I promise it will get better!

[lostdathomirian]

goretober day 5: amputation

[layraket]

Day 16 - Necrosis

Character(s): Colors (Green and Vio) (LBS)

Words: 1106

Summary: Vio is wondering how would it work for a shadow being the process of dead

Whump scale: 2 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Discussion of death, implied character death

-

It has been some months since they came back to their home, now just patrolling around and helping their father with monsters.

Zelda managed to imitate the magic of the Four Sword and gave them an amulet to split. It’s not permanent, it would last only two days and will need to recharge, but it’s some progress.

The first time they split again was in front of their father, he didn’t take it too bad—He freaked out a little, but it wasn’t that bad— and made his mission of raise them all together. Blue at first didn’t though that this was a good idea, but at the end he accepted.

Green and Vio went for a walk around their house, ending up siting on a big rock next to the river.

“I had missed this river” The leaf-like hero commented, watching the fish and crabs in the water.

“It’s smaller than I remember. There should be even more crabs” Vio always looked for the familiar, practical things to comment and analyze.

He got more and more attentive through time since their adventure finished, preferring to overanalyze almost anything he saw.

“Maybe it’s because of the season, the river is bigger after winter, remember?” Before his brother gets to try and search for more reasons he wanted to give him a simple answer.

“Mm, maybe it’s true” His eyes have been more unfocused since the last time he saw him, very distracted too.

Silence fell between them once again. Green wanted to help his brother; he knew that Vio was hiding something that bothered him.

A sigh made him turn his attention again towards the violet hero “Do you know how Necrosis works on injures?”

“What.” That’s a very weird and normal thing for Vio to ask at the same time.

“It’s when premature cells die, unable to regulate ingestion of components” He grabbed a leaf that fell close to him. “When the cells get infected or trauma it causes them to start dying, causing inflammation or making it impossible to heal that injury”

This talk reminded Green of that one book that Vio seemed interested a while ago, something about “Cellular process of death” or something like that. He didn’t pay attention too much to that kind of books.

“Huh, really? I didn’t know that” Now thinking about all the injuries, would they get at some point something like this?

“Yeah, if not threated it would start expanding” The leaf Vio grabbed some moments ago was slowly getting peeled off from its veins “It is not mortal though, unless the infection is in an organ”

That was. A little disturbing.

“Most I know is how it works in normal hylians, and a little on animals. But in different races it gets a little weird” The skeleton of the leaf was almost clean now.

“What do you mean?” This already got Green’s attention. How much time did Vio spend reading without them noticing?

“For example:” He grabbed a small rock “For gorons this works as a process of solidification, the cells that allow free movement and flexibility for their bodies start dying, just leaving the different minerals that make their skin act like rocks”

Huh, that made some sense, Gorons always seemed like weird lizards for Green “So, they get these minerals into their bodies by…”

“Eating” The violet hero knocked a little the rock that they were sitting on with the other one “That’s why they need so much a good quality of rocks and minerals. In Eldin there’s a lot of these”

“Right” He’s barely processing the information, but not every day Vio starts sharing so much of what he reads.

“Going back with the process, the death of their cells will leave only minerals, which will solidify into pure rocks, making the risk of losing some extremity for an injury like this a possibility” He hit the rock harder, until it cracked. “If we take the solidified part and crack it open, in the center there will be a big concentration of various minerals crystalized.”

He showed Green the rock open in two, in it being visible a small geode with maybe quartz and bits of iron. It was pretty.

“So that’s why even if their bodies are really strong they take care of all injuries with caution” He remembers seeing gorons fuzz over cuts, declaring that they didn’t want it to get infected. Maybe it was because of that.

Vio hummed in agreement and went back to the leaf, almost finishing peeling it to only leave the skeleton.

“For most races is almost the same, maybe exceptions with plant-based ones and some kinds of monsters, but I still need to learn about it” The skeleton of the leaf was now completely clean “Together with how it works with magic-based beings.”

“Magic-based? Do you mean…” His gut had a feeling.

“Creatures that their flesh was created by external means, like invocations and corporeal spirits.” He put the skeleton of the leaf in one of the pieces of the rock, making sure that it didn’t break.

“But it would work different, right?” Green tried to make sense what Vio told him moments before “If this is the death of cells making it impossible to heal a wound, those that were made by magic would be able to heal themselves?”

“It’s possible” Vio’s eyes seemed now distant “Maybe with a specific kind of magic, or maybe with the element that the being was created from, but it isn’t completely sure.”

“Mm…” There’s something that he wants to ask, but he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriated.

The fact that Vio had been searching information about this makes his stomach have a bad feeling.

“No, I couldn’t find anything about this process in shadow beings” The violet hero declared suddenly in a neutral voice.

That took Green a little for surprise, maybe he was easier to read that he though.

“Maybe in another book? Zelda has a lot in the library at the castle” He knew the state that Vio was, even if he hasn’t tried to tell any of them.

“Maybe.” He closed the geode with the other half of the rock, with the skeleton inside. “If someone had the right amount of energy and was able to recreate a source of this element, a new body could be formed with functional cells. Maybe even stronger ones.”

“It would need a lot of research to get”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

…

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I could’ve helped him. I know that if I…”

“Maybe you could’ve, but it happened.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Nobody does.”

[artvann]

redrew old swap! danny ideas

[battlevann]

you guys know the whole "is this spirit being a smartass by saying it was touching my mom?" clip from ghost adventures?

yeah that's swap!danny, specifically him @ swap!necrosis (im working that out rn, if you have any input im so so so incredibly open to hear it)

[rayar32]

Okay so this is going to sound super unhinged but I made a universe and power system for my OCs, and... Sorta put Suletta and Eri in that universe plus gave them powers as a what-if so MIGHT AS WELL share it.

So for a preamble and short explanation of things, NECROSI are supernatural powers that manifest in certain people. They're transformations that last roughly 5 or so minutes before dissipating, and channel energy from the user's "willpower", effectively emotions. Each NECROSIS is unique to the individual, and all NECROSIS wielders are collectively know in the occult underground as Black Mages, since they have dark cores of energy within them, which they use to channel the supernatural effects of their powers.

Suletta's NECROSIS, TEMPESTUOUS SPARK CALIBAN, works exactly like the Calibarn's Variable Rod Rifle except y'know, human-sized. It's a big piece of carapace armor that shoots off blasts of energy and can be used to zoom around with it's four axis thrusters. Suletta uses it to make big leaps and bomb rush monsters (oh yeah there are monsters in this AU btw).

Ericht's NECROSIS, SWARM OF APOTHEOSIS ARIEL, gives her a relay helmet that can magically transmit her intent to control a swarm of "tamed" monsters, which are effectively her GUND-BIT equivalents. She's broken in this AU too, as it is her birthright.

Also NECROSIS users get to have either tame magical girl transformations or extreme body horror transformations. Eri and Suletta, as twins, are fortunately blessed to have the tame magical girl transformation variant.

I like AUs a lot can you tell yet?

[utensildrawerdotexe]

happy valentines gay

have these two villain guys from CONNectIONS harassing each other for no reason, my beloved

springtrap and necrosis, if you were wondering

and have some extra gays (and aromantic folks)

(and the older brother from my fnaf au’s birthday is indeed today so hurrah

[mantisgodsaus]

Fun Fact: due to a selkie's pelt being a significant part of them and Very Much a part of their body, it does have some limited range of motion even when not actively being worn - not really a whole lot, mostly just a "you leave the trunk with a selkie's pelt in it out for a month or so and when you finally check it again you discover that the pelt has slowly begun to crawl its way out the crack between the lid and the body" way, rather than anything actually detectable on a reasonable timescale, but it Does exist!

Mainly, this is displayed when taking a pelt on or off - a selkie's skin needs the contact with an autonomous body to draw the energy to be truly Active, through the same mechanism through which it can merge with someone to allow shifting to selkie form. While taking a pelt on or off, it'll shift a bit to align itself to your body - or to merge itself, in rare cases.

This looks... generally, Very Bad to outside observers. Seeing a pelt suddenly gain a life of its own to wrap around your body and shift it into a certain shape? Bad To Look At! It doesn't help that pelts have a very fluid and "amorphous" way of moving, or that almost all species a selkie could shift to are a lot more soft-bodied than your average bug.

All of this makes it look a bit like the skin "eats" the bug, and then dissolves their chitin to force them into its shape, and the uncanny valley effect is a whole lot worse when it's not a pelt that's Yours - a pelt that isn't your own tends to fit Wrong, and the handful of structural bones on the inside of a selkie pelt will fail to merge entirely, which can cause... very bad effects, from the perspective of the bug looking at it, not to mention the one "borrowing" the pelt.

[emptyinkvials]

here have a shitty animation of necrosis sans

[nixii-sabre]

first post from the server asks. ah this is a great start, right?

[crossoverconfidant]

Imagine if Scourge’s collar was studded with small enchanted artifacts.

[viva-la-whump]

Whumptober/Whumperless Whump Event (WWE) - #17

No WWE this time!

The fight was finally over and Omega poked her head out from behind the crates she’d been using as cover. Through the dirt kicked up by the wind, she could see Crosshair limping towards her. All of the bad men were on the ground, unmoving, so she decided it was safe enough to come out of her hiding spot.

She ran to Crosshair and slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his slim frame. She’d been so scared and she was so relieved that he was alright. Or, at least so she thought.

Crosshair groaned through gritted teeth and doubled over, clutching his side.

“Crosshair?” What’s wrong?” Omega asked, panicking as her cousin dropped to his knees and pulled his hand away from his side. It was covered in blood. Omega’s eyes went wide. “Crosshair? Crosshair!”

But he didn’t respond. Perhaps he couldn’t. All he could do was collapse to the ground, unconscious before his head hit the dirt.

---

Hunter and the others had arrived a few minutes later to find Omega kneeling over an unconscious and bleeding Crosshair. They’d rushed him into the nearest building to get him out of the dust storm and summoned the doctor to tend to him.

A lot of dirt had already been blown into the stab wound in his side and it took a while to clean it all out. Hunter was glad Crosshair wasn’t awake for that part. He was still asleep now, a slight sheen of sweat covering his brow as he fought off the infection that had set in. Luckily, the doc wasn’t too worried about it.

Hunter wrung out a damp cloth and placed it on Crosshair’s head. Sitting back down with a sigh, he turned his attention to the room’s other occupant.

Omega sat in the chair on the opposite side of Crosshair’s bed. She’d refused to leave his side through the entire ordeal, insisting that she needed to make sure he was alright. Even in the room’s dim light, Hunter could see the glint of tears she was trying to hold back. 

Hunter smiled fondly and a little sadly.

Omega had developed a deep and personal connection to all of her cousins; each relationship was special and unique in its own way. With Hunter, it was almost a father-daughter relationship. Tech was like an older brother whom she followed around and asked a million questions. Wrecker was almost like her twin—both of them bursting with childlike energy and mischief. Even Echo, who wasn’t related by blood, had become an honorary cousin and he had quickly become the mother hen of the group.

But with Crosshair, it was different. There was an especially tight bond between the two, one that Hunter couldn’t quite define. He and Omega’s mother had been almost closer than family, seemingly kindred spirits. Her loss had affected him the hardest. But finding Omega, the spitting image of their lost cousin, it had awoken that same connection within Crosshair, and Omega had felt it, too. And it terrified her to see him hurt like this.

He got up and walked around the bed to kneel next to her, placing a hand on her small shoulder.

“He’ll be alright, Omega.”

And that’s all it took.

The dam broke. Omega’s tears started streaming down her face and she wrapped her arms around Hunter’s neck in a desperate hug.

Hunter returned her embrace and lifted her up so he could sit in the chair while he cradled her in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Before too long, Omega fell asleep as Hunter held her. He sat there listening to both hers and Crosshair’s calm breathing.

Everything would be alright.

[madranch]

Random things about my undertale au:

-Decay has this thing where if he sees a Frisk au, he’ll be wary until proven that they won’t hurt him or any of his group (Decline is sort of the same exact way with Frisk)

-Their story is not at all a happy one, and its ending is quite bittersweet

-The au is so messed up, that the code of the characters has also been affected, and now they can’t truly die. In and out of their au. They just respawn.

-Each of them have a set hp that they can no longer exceed (ex. Decay’s highest hp is .5)

-In the end, only the five remain in their au in the end

-There was a flour incident, but none like to talk of it

-Frisk is given the name of Necrosis but is also known as ‘the bringer of death’ (The Executioner)

[artvann]

woooo ghost rider swap au stuff

[gloomwitchwrites]

Task Force 141 Masked Metal Band AU x Backup Singer Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief mention of alcohol

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Part One of Second Act

The men behind the masks reveal their faces. You make a sudden realization.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // second act masterlist

Blood is ink.

Ink is blood.

The ink—

is dried.

Black ink from a plain ball-point pen.

The contracts are signed. Sealed. Have been for the last two weeks. There is no going back. No returning to the normal that you knew.

There is only forward motion toward a new beginning.

And what a beautiful fucking beginning it is.

The energy is electric, the crowd a surging, pulsing thing that moves in time with the music. You long to be down there, to be with them. But you are tucked away. Off to the side. Observing and enjoying from afar.

Lechery’s lead singer jumps and sways around the stage, microphone in hand but not near his mouth. The black straps hanging off his pants swing with him. His head is tipped back, black mask skyward, as if in ecstasy. The front of his leather jacket is open, exposing a black-painted bare chest. His hand is splayed wide, lightly running over taut abdominals.

Between the edge of his mask and ear is a visible paint line. It gives way to brown skin and black hair cropped close to his head.

Both the guitarist and bassist are just as into the drum solo as the lead singer is. The bassist is closest to you and his energy is that of a wild animal. His head whips back and forth along with his hips, and his short-length mohawk moves with him, the hair unstyled and free to do as it likes.

The bass drum rolls end over end in an impossibly smooth consistency. It is heavy. Fierce. And the crowd is screaming, throwing themselves around, crashing into each other and breaking apart like waves battering a coastline.

You feel the pounding of the drum in your chest as if it beats beside and between your bones.

As of now, it is just the four of them.

Lechery. 141 Music Group’s newest sensation.

They have no names. Not assigned ones anyway. They do not talk on stage. They only sing. They only perform. The music speaks for itself, and the masses are salivating for it.

It’s the final show of their European tour. In just a few months, they’re heading for North America, and you’re joining them. A back-up vocalist. One of three.

The other two stand beside you. Olivia’s frizzy, blonde curls bounce against her shoulders as she headbangs. The girl is likely to throw out her back—her form is terrible—but she’s having a good time, and that is all that matters. Lena stands next to Olivia. She bobs and sways, eyes closed as if in euphoric bliss. In her right hand, she clutches a plastic cup half-full of lukewarm beer.

The London crowd roars their approval when the solo ends and smoothly transitions into “Necrosis.” It’s the heaviest of their work—a throat-choke of a thrill that sends the masses before the stage into another frenzy.

“Put these in!” A tall, dark-haired man with tanned skin extends his hand, presenting three sets of foam earplugs.

You glance at his black polo as you reach for a pair. Lechery’s symbol is on the right side in red. Below that is “Vargas” and “Stage Manager.”

“Thanks!” you shout, shoving the foam into your ears as “Necrosis” ramps up and the shredding of the guitar vibrates your veins.

He smiles and nods, presenting the other two pairs to Olivia and Lena. Lena takes hers but Olivia is completely gone, punching out like she’s fighting the air, completely oblivious to everyone around her. Lena sticks hers in her ears and grabs the other pair, pocketing them, side eyeing Olivia in the process.

Vargas’ head tilts as he listens to something in his earpiece. He activates the walkie on his shoulder and rapidly fires off on someone in Spanish, switching to English once he walks away.

You return your attention to the stage.

This is the first time you’ve seen the members of Lechery live. It’s completely different from the photos and videos on your phone. More tangible but entirely unbelievable. They are right there. Solid, whole, and yet apart as if you’re seeing them through a veil.

From stage right, you can only see the lead singer, bassist, and guitarist clearly. The drummer is tucked in the back. All you’re able to make of him is a plain, black balaclava. That isn’t his usual choice. There is almost always a skull face, but Lechery has never been known for a consistent dress code. The only standard they stick to are covered faces and painted bodies.

They rarely—if ever—leave any part of themselves exposed and untouched.

Perhaps that will change for the North American tour. There are thirty-two scheduled shows over a three-month period. A few of those are music festivals. Consistency might be needed—and one of your contracts touched on wardrobe. It’s entirely possible they might go in a different direction for the upcoming tour.

It’s an insane amount of work, but you’re ready.

“Necrosis” ends. There is massive applause from the crowd. It continues on and on as the leader singer approaches the very edge of the stage. He bows slightly while the guitarist and bassist look on, unmoving.

The roar of the crowd never ceases. It only grows louder as he exists via stage left. The guitarist and bassist incline their heads as well before slowly following his lead. It is the drummer who remains. He rises lazily as if stretching his muscles. Descent from behind the drum set is casual, and he never glances at the crowd.

The man is large. You didn’t notice that before. All the pictures and videos never did the sheer size of him justice. He does not exit stage left. He heads right for you even though his gaze is elsewhere—somewhere beyond.

But as he draws nearer, his gaze shifts, focusing in on you.

As if running face-first into a wall, he stops, eyes widening before hardening. It’s strange how assessing his gaze is. It is recognition, confusion, and apprehension all tangled together like broken branches. You’re not entirely sure that you like or appreciate it.

You’re struck dumb, blinking, unable to say anything. That stare of his is solidifying, shifting everything within you into stone.

But it’s not like you need to speak. He composes himself and walks right past, nearly bumping your shoulder in the process. You turn with him, watching him disappear somewhere backstage.

“That fellow looked at you funny.” Olivia says “fellow” like feller, a twinge of irritation in her voice.

Lena snorts, takes a sip of her beer, and grimaces. “Olivia. Your accent is slipping.”

“No it’s not,” she snaps, and then blanches when she catches her “no” coming out with a faint r on the end. “Oh fuck.”

Lena laughs good-naturally as Olivia playfully punches her in the arm. Olivia is from West Virginia, and she’s spent most of her life training herself out of her accent. It slips sometimes—usually when she’s pissed off, irritated, or frustrated—but it’s never smothered when she sings. Her voice is an eldritch hymn that could awaken the things that slumber beneath the mountains there. Lena is the opposite. Her voice is melodic and soft. A bit soulful.

The three of you together create an eerie sound. Haunting. Which is why you were signed on in the first place. It’s what Lechery is seeking for their upcoming live shows.

Lena downs the rest of her beer and gags with disgust before tossing it into the nearest bin. “We need to go back to the rental to get ready.”

Olivia beams. “That’s tonight, isn’t it.”

“Calm down,” laughs Lena. “It’s just a party.”

But it’s not just a party. This is the celebratory “the tour is over and done with” party. It’s for the band, tour crew, and everyone from the music label who had a hand in the planning and execution.

You, Lena, and Olivia were invited to the final show and afterparty as a gesture by the label. It’s supposed to be for “networking purposes” but really, it’s to introduce the three of you to everyone. There is always turnover, but the road crew from this tour will likely be the same for the North American one—at least in some capacity. International travel is always a sticky thing.

The three of you aren’t meant to linger anyway. Like the crowd, you disperse, nearly skipping back to the rental place. Olivia and Lena sing pieces of Lechery’s discography in different voices while you keep directions on your phone. The rental isn’t far from the venue, but you’ve been in it for all of two days, and London is not your city.

When the three of you finally make it, it’s a bit of a whirlwind. There is only an hour, and each of you need mirror, bathroom, and shower time.

“Where is it again?” asks Olivia, glancing up as she searches for the street sign.

You switch between the Maps and Notes app on your phone. “It should be right around the corner.”

“Thank fuck,” groans Lena as she pushes off from the building she’s leaning against.

“Should’ve gone with boots,” sings Olivia, poking Lena in her side with a knowing grin.

You ignore them as they start to bicker like teenage sisters. Stopping at the curb, you glance both ways, and check the map again.

“It’s this way,” you call over your shoulder, turning right.

The directions on your app bring the three of you to a stop at a four-story brick building. The ground floor is an antiques shop. Its lights are off, but that isn’t what draws your attention.

There are two doors. One is clearly for the shop. The other is propped open and guarded by a large, burly man that must be security. Behind him is an ascending staircase.

“I think we found it,” whispers Olivia, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

“I think we did,” you affirm, striding forward.

You give the man at the door your name. He only stares at you. You glance at Olivia and Lena who shrug.

Olivia steps forward, giving the man her best smile. “Olivia Mills.” She pauses. “Sir.”

Again, he remains quiet.

Lena sighs loudly and gives her name like it’s an inconvenience.

The man is silent for a few strangled seconds before he grunts and steps to the side.

With a giddy squeal, Olivia snags you and Lena each by a wrist, yanking the two of you forward and into the stairway.

“I swear to God, Oli.”

“Oh hush, Len. It’s your fault you chose the wrong shoes.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Don’t appreciate my arm being pulled out of its socket,” she mutters.

The stairs are steep, the steps short, and the walls tight. It’s like you’re ascending to an attic space and not the second story of a building. But when Olivia tugs the two of you through the opening and into the room, you forget all about the horrendous stairs.

The space is gorgeous.

It’s an entirely open except for a support column or two. The walls are brick, the floor an aged wood. Above you are exposed beams, metal piping, and thin hanging lights. The far wall that looks out over the street is all tinted window. Directly in front of you is an open bar and a buffet table piled high with all sorts of finger foods. There are a few high-top tables set up in this area.

In the middle of the room are two pool tables. The one furthest from you has a spiral staircase next to it made of a dark metal. A couple people descend from above with drinks in hand. At the far end near the windows are sofas and a few tables.

Music plays from speakers mounted near the ceiling but it’s not overly loud. The noise of the people isn’t that troubling either. It’s rather subdued for such a tight space.

Of everyone here, you recognize almost no one other than a handful of people from 141 Music Group’s primary office. You can pick out those in road crew from their shirts, but everyone else is a toss-up. You wouldn’t even be able to identify the band members of Lechery if you saw them.

And you will meet them. There was an entire portion of your contract that outlined not discussing their identities in public or with unnecessary parties. They’re supposed to be here. But who are they?

Are they even in the room?

“These are some familiar faces.” You glance to your left. The same man that handed you the earplugs at the concert extends his hand. “Alejandro Vargas. Stage Manager.”

You shake his hand, introducing yourself. Lena gives the man a little salute and Olivia beams as she greets him.

“We’re your backup singers,” Olivia says brightly.

“For the upcoming tour?” He whistles. “Have you been shown you the markup for the stage yet?”

You shake your head. “No. Not yet.”

He holds up a finger and starts digging around in his pockets. “I have it. It’s—” He pauses, hands tapping against his legs in disbelief.

Alejandro sighs loudly and turns to a nearby high-top. “Rudy! You have my phone?”

Rudy smirks behind his beer bottle. “I gave it to your lighting director.”

Alejandro mutters a curse in Spanish. He rolls his shoulders, his gaze assessing the rest of the room. “Last time she had it she deleted all my photos and replaced it with a single picture of her middle finger.”

Lena snorts and Olivia’s eyes widen.

“I better find her,” he says, almost absently. “Enjoy the party.” Alejandro inclines his head and starts to walk toward the pool tables. He points, and shouts, “Valeria!”

Over the music, you hear her annoyed response. “What is it now, Alejandro?”

Lena shifts to one leg, popping her hip, a mischievous grin on her face.

“What?” you prompt, because you know she wants to say something but only wants someone to ask.

“I bet they’re fucking,” she whispers.

“Oh my god,” you say to the ceiling as Olivia cackles.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” shrugs Lena.

“I need a drink.” You hook your arm around Olivia’s and start to drag her toward the open bar.

Lena follows, her hand raised placatingly. “We can put money on it now.”

The three of you grab drinks and select a few items from the buffet before a representative of 141 Music Group whisks you away. Then it’s a never-ending stream of people. By the end of all the introductions, the only name you recall without issue is Kate Laswell. But you’ve met her before. She’s band manager, and had a vital part in bringing you on board.

“Are they here?” you ask, indicating the room without trying to look obvious.

Laswell frowns. “Who?”

“Lechery,” you clarify. “We haven’t been introduced to them.”

Laswell smiles softly and gives a little shake of her head like she’s recalling a fond memory. “Behind. They’re always punctual for shows.” She gestures to the room with a little wave of her hand. “Parties and other obligations are an entirely different story.”

She glances over your shoulder and then raises her cup toward someone you can’t see. “There they are.”

You, Lena, and Olivia all turn in the direction of Laswell’s extended arm. At first, you’re not sure who you’re looking at—but then you notice familiar broad shoulders.

The air is sucked from the room. Your vision narrows as if you’re being squeezed through a funnel. Your gaze zeroes in on his face, and when he turns, you follow his line of sight. There are three more faces.

And all four are familiar.

You’re shoved downward. Like Alice falling through the rabbit hole, you descend into old memories.

Of a shady punk bar in London. Of a dark corner where you kissed one and then the others. Of a time when you thought you were mature but were just an ignorant young woman who didn’t understand all the harsh realities the world hoarded in its hungry maw.

Of a summer spent abroad.

Of a love affair that flared hot, and never died out because you left. Returned home. No goodbye.

You know them. All four of them.

Their faces are branded into your brain. A cherished memory you only withdraw from the recesses when you’re needing a bit of comfort.

And you know this face.

Simon.

The one you met first. The one that slipped beneath your skin to make a home, only to crack open your ribcage to allow for more.

He is staring right back at you, and now you know why he paused when he was exiting the stage. He recognized you. That is entirely clear by the crease between his brows.

But it wasn’t just Simon. There were three others.

And those three others are right there, loitering near the bar, completely oblivious.

“Girl, you look sick. Do we need to leave?” whispers Lena into your ear. She has her back to Laswell, her face close to yours. “You okay?”

Over Lena’s shoulder you spot Olivia. She frowns with concern.

They know, but they don’t know. You, Olivia, and Lena have been friends for the last few years. You’ve told them the story of that summer, but they don’t have all the pieces. They are lacking some of the more personal details.

This is not the place to upend that box.

What the three of you need to do is say your goodbyes and leave, but that would be rude. While you’ve done a circuit of the room, most of those were brief introductions, and the whole point of this is to meet people that you’re going to work with for the rest of the year.

You have to stay. You must, and yet you’re fucking terrified.

Because there is nowhere in this godforsaken room to hide. It is completely open.

You have to face them.

“I need some water,” you chuckle, and wince at how insincere you sound.

Laswell has already moved on, speaking to a man in a suit.

“The bar’s right there. We can go grab one.” Lena’s head tilts to the side. “It’s something else, isn’t it?”

You nod because you don’t trust your voice.

“I’ll grab it. The bartender has to have some bottles back there.” Lena glances away from you and squints. “One of them is walking toward us.”

“Who is?” you ask quickly, fully turning to face the window.

“Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Handsome in a scary way.” Lena’s gaze returns to you and her frown deepens. “Seriously. Are you okay? We can go.”

“Fuck,” you mutter.

“Do you want to sit down?” asks Olivia.

“Please,” you say a little too loudly. You grab Olivia’s arm and head for the sofas over by the windows.

You drop onto the cushion and keep your eyes trained on the traffic below.

Olivia leans in, her blonde curls falling forward. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow harshly and rub at your temple. “Remember me talking about the last time I was in London?”

Olivia’s bottom lip pops out as she thinks about it. “I think so,” she replies slowly. “There were those four guys that you—” Her eyes widen. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit,” you repeat.

Olivia leans back, and then her gaze shifts. You don’t turn. You don’t need to.

Simon’s scent hasn’t changed, and it invades your nostrils, filling your lungs with him. From your peripheral, he walks into view. All you see are his dark jeans and the bottom of his leather jacket.

You refuse to look up. You refuse.

Simon says your name, and it is so sweet that something in your stomach twists.

Olivia’s gaze flicks between you and Simon, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t greet him, even as he says your name again.

Not looking at him��not addressing him, especially here—is only going to cause more problems. What an impression to make on the first day.

You unglue yourself from the traffic, and it is as if your eyes move through sludge. You are a skeletal creature who claws at its cage seeking the light that is Simon.

Those dark eyes—a whiskey brown—are piercing. And they are just as you remember them.

“Hello, Simon.” You hate the gentle sigh that accompanies your voice.

The corner of his mouth twitches. His brow softens.

“Thought I recognized you.”

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