#I feel vaguely like I should have a separate tag for the musical

[marjorierose]

The Les Mis fandom doesn't much like "Turning," the song sung by the women of Paris on the morning after the barricade. It's easy to understand why. It undersells the seriousness of the revolutionaries--"they were schoolboys, never held a gun"--not likely even if you don't take the previous revolution into account. "Nothing changes, nothing ever will" is not particularly inspiring after all that talk about revolution. It's a pretty hopeless song about history being cyclical, in a musical that otherwise is about glorifying people's efforts to create change.

But I don't think we have to take "Turning" as a truer statement of values than we do "Stars." It's sung by characters in the story, although we don't know their names. And as something diegetic, as a portrayal of people reacting to that failure, it really worked for me on this latest viewing. Think of the last deeply disappointing election result, and then think of the last time there was a major disaster in your city if you've experienced that, and then imagine those things combined such that everyone fighting for positive change had been killed, and the attitude of the women makes a lot more sense. "Nothing changes, nothing ever will": in some circumstances you disavow hope because you just can't stand trying to keep it, because giving up hurts less, because if you see the future as walking in perpetual circles at least you understand where you're going.

Lately I have been remembering the bewildering early days of the uprising in 2020 here in the Twin Cities, the boarded-up windows with messages spray-painted on them ("minority-owned business," "people live upstairs") and the police casually macing groups of people at busy intersections or train stations. Even more than that, I've been remembering the morning after the 2021 municipal election, when police reform failed, the mayor was reelected and granted more power than ever, and the city council that had promised to remake public safety in the city got replaced by the most conservative council in many years. Activists were getting together just to grieve and to vent, and those Zoom vent sessions were not really enough for the immense feelings of loss. It's different from, or additive to, the grief and the survivor's guilt of "Empty Chairs." It's having your hope deflate because the thing you were hoping for just isn't there to look to anymore, and then it's reforming yourself around its absence. The crucial moment goes by unused and you don't know when another one will arise. It's easy to get cynical. The future looks like a treadmill: minutes into hours and the hours into years. Rien n'est changé; rien ne changera. I can't think of a single other song about that feeling.

#les misérables #I feel vaguely like I should have a separate tag for the musical #but it's probably too late to worry about that now

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

PLEASE GET A PROFILE PIC

or I will block thinking you are a bot

/not mad, tumblr just has bot issues and it is common practice

~Introduction Post~

I have a sideblog for everything I reblog: @if-loki-was-a-fox-reblogs

Info about me:

Loki or Fidget or any nickname from my url (Loki from Norse Mythology, not Marvel/MCU)

Any pronouns idk my pronouns just do whatever or switch it around

Young adult / older teenager (this blog should be sfw 99% of the time but use discretion/filtering as needed)

I also post my art on Instagram (same username but with _ instead of - between words. Mostly sharing this so people can properly @ me there if it comes up 'cus it's always been @/ before)

Neurodivergent (ADHD, probably other stuff as well idk)

Unlabeled gender (vaguely agender/nonbinary/genderqueer)

Incredibly aroace ♠️ kinda sex-repulsed, idk what romantic love is

Interactions:

Anyone can send me asks whenever! I may be shy in a lot of other ways but I do like getting asks

Feel free to use my art for pfps, blog headers, edits, web weaves, art studies/reference, etc, with credit (ask before just flat out reposting to another social media, tho. The other stuff you don't have to ask but do credit I'd appreciate an @ ping or such just so I can see cool stuff you do :)

Let me know if you'd like me to tag something (I tag with "cw [thing]" most consistently, so feel free to filter that for anything you need)

I use tone indicators (and appreciate when others use them, usually not abbreviated)

Mutuals can @ me whenever I'm a bit anxious about non-mutuals @ me on tag games and what not, but anyone can tag me on like, fanart of my latest blorbo obsessions, or if anyone does anything inspired by anything I've done

Reblogs are always appreciated on my fanart and fandom rambling posts! Comments and ramblings in reblogs is always welcome (so long as you're not being rude about my post ofc ofc)

I don't mind likes, especially from mutuals and/or on stuff about OCs or AUs. Obviously reblogs are generally preferred because that's how this site operates best, but I won't get offended or block anyone for liking my art w/o reblogging, likes are still appreciated :]

Fandom stuff:

Main fandom: MCYT (Hermitcraft + Life Series)

Not really a big shipper, but I love friend and family dynamics, especially found family and platonic co-parenting, but really any and all variants

I greatly enjoy Clockers Family as canon, but may treat it as a separate canon from general Life Series to some extent

The Mounders, Roomies, Clockers, and just traffic!Mumbo himself are frequently on my mind

I also enjoy Ranchers, Cletho, Grian & Mumbo, Ren & Doc, Stress & Iskall, Pearl as a whole, the ESMP1 musical and Scott's ESMP1, and many other's I'm forgetting right now

I lean towards seeing Flower Husbands as an unhealthy/toxic relationship

Secret Life and Last Life and their differences are my favorite thing

I do not like engaging in discourse, it stresses me the heck out! Do not bring it to my ask box and please tag it appropriately (and let me know if you'd like me to tag anything as discourse, /neg, or /crit. I try to use those tag liberally)

I would also request you don't bring any sexual or suggestive discussion of characters or anything to my inbox or reblogs, it can make me uncomfortable (unless it's like. An actual sexual post to begin with, if I ever post something like that, in which case try to still to similar levels of explicit/graphicness)

I'm also trying to get better at image descriptions, so please give me feedback and advice on that if you have any!

#tags I use sometimes: #my art #my mcyt art #my pixel art #my mspaint art #my dsmp art #just me rambling #rambling about blorbos #me answering asks #me doing art requests #me doing ask games #and also gonna list a bunch of my lesser used / more situational ones in case anyone want to see them too: #just me chatting #I also tag asks with “thanks [name]!” #and occasionally use “just complaining about stuff” for venting-adjacent stuff and negativity as a whole #c!Loki (OC) #my blorbo wall #hermit fankid posting #hermits is bugs #hc8 avian!mumbo au

[omaenanimonoda]

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by @forerussake - thank you for thinking of me on this one! Sorry I'm so late to get back on the draft (while ao3 is down I should be drawing or writing but it's nearly bedtime and I am trying to stop refreshing those pages)

name/nicknames: Never actually had a nickname, irl or anywhere else. Even my 'name' here means 'who the hell are you'

fandoms: That I'm soaking up now or have in the past? many -and I've considered writing for a few, but have only actually followed through with Guardian/Zhen Hun

two shots?: One is never enough

most popular multi-chapter fic: I've only written one, ever (unmoored) - but it is a decent length @ 41k and 13 chapters with related drawings and an epilogue that I keep tacking more bits onto. I'm not sure that it's popular with more than a few people (I think the prolonged angst drove off a lot of potential readers) but there have been some really lovely and enthusiastic comments that always make me smile whenever I go back to it. It was massively therapeutic for me, regardless

actual worst part of writing: Getting started. Like with a lot of other things, thinking about doing the thing is a lot worse than just doing the thing

how do you choose your titles: I like relatively vague words that float up on their own from the vague sense I have of particular moments. They tend to describe themes fairly well without much work

do you outline?: Absolutely. And I keep a whole separate doc just for a backup of outlines and notes only. But then in the working doc I'll space the whole thing out- and I've learned that taking it one bit at a time and just writing almost stream of consciousness for each section, walking away from it all, then coming back later and sorting through the mess like a pile of puzzle pieces seems to work pretty well. Trying to micromanage everything and do things in order, in writing at least, seems to be a big waste of energy for me. But sometimes just taking a disaster of a paragraph and shifting sentences around a little will make a huge difference

ideas you probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice?: I need new ideas. I've been too busy just taking things in lately, watching/reading DMBJ when not drained by work. I've never been that good at being a passive observer, though, so at some point there will be new ideas to get out, whatever they are

callouts @ me: I need to stop telling myself I'll remember things. I already have a habit of writing things down for work, but I really need to do it more often for personal life stuff. This goes for writing, drawing, and music practice in addition to all the dumb chores I need to get done

best writing traits: Not sure - I think sometimes I'm good with describing emotionally-tinged scenes (as opposed to action or dialogue). It does feel like I go too far and get kind of heavy-handed a lot of the time, though

spicy tangential opinion: I think it's better to read WIPs and even sometimes abandoned unfinished work than to swear off anything incomplete, as much as it can hurt sometimes - they can still be inspiring. Even though I totally understand the reluctance

I do not know how or who I should tag for a thing like this, but instead maybe when ao3 is back up I'll return to my old haunts and go on a commenting spree

#writing stuff #do i even really qualify? #it felt like a lot though

[placegrenette]

a personalized hard sell

To explain: when I got on Tumblr nine years ago it was because I was lonely and needed to yell about Infinite. And I was exceedingly blessed to grab a scattered group of lovely people who would listen to me. And now we are in 2022, and the gentlemen of Infinite have (hopefully) mostly made it through the worst of idol life and emerged relatively comfortable, and we are two weeks away from Myungsoo completing his military service, and when Jamie, one of those aforementioned lovely people, reached out to me the other day I was like, I have Tumblr back now! and it felt like a hug.

but as y’all know I’ve been prone to yelling about a different group for a while, ad nauseam. I’ve been using this tag for years. And anybody who so much as even vaguely hints that they might be willing to hear me out about Ninety One is at risk of getting the OH BOY OH BOY LET ME TELL YOU A FEW THINGS treatment.

so the following is extremely self-indulgent. and may not make sense, or be particularly effective, outside a specific context. but you are welcome to eavesdrop on my tailored yelling.

why you should take affectionate interest in Ninety One (where “you” = primarily, but not limited to, @berestweys​):

they are very charming

“Okay, fine,” you’re thinking, “but it’s not that hard to pretend to be very charming, especially if you have a whole infrastructure of charm built up around you, and nevertheless end up acting like a rotten human being.” I hear you; I have kept that in mind for five years. suffice to say I cannot prove to you that the members of Ninety One are not jerks, never will be able to, but I have been looking for evidence of their jerkiness for over five years now (up to and including flat-out asking people who’ve met them if they’re jerks) and not found it.

the entire split from Juz Entertainment at the beginning of this year stands as evidence in the not-jerks column. admittedly it stands as more evidence that their boss is not a jerk, since he had less to lose from jerkiness, but he showed up to sing at ZaQ’s wedding and then ZaQ and Bala were at an Orda concert (boss’s band) a week or so later. but presumably the not-jerkiness went both ways

also when Ninety One left Juz presumably staffers had an option to leave with them or stay, and some amount of financial calculation must have been in play, but a good many of them decided to go with the guys, including constantly helpful behind-the-scenes dude The Other Other Azamat, extremely adorable director Nurs, thoughtful producer Beka (who also just got married, July is apparently a popular time for weddings in Almaty), and of course Zhadra

speaking of Zhadra: now that they’re married ZaQ is being less shy about showing her (their) cats on Instagram, Ninety One now 25% more cat stepdaddy enabled

but also the guys have always taken (and been able to take) a pretty healthy attitude towards dating. AZ was public about having a girlfriend in 2017-18, then later fans asked Alem if he was dating Veronika (who was working in some capacity for Juz at the time) and he said, “Well, yeah,” and they’ve been a public joy ever since. as someone who remembers the utter shitstorm that was dumped on Myungsoo’s head for dating in late 2013, let me tell you, this feels so much saner

btw Infinite and Ninety One have next to nothing in common besides being male idol groups but: the supposed “visual” is a giant weeb who is forever randomly taking naps (and/or playing way too much Dota 2) and gives every impression of not actually believing this whole nonsense about him being attractive and just wants everybody to be happy and also he has the strangest sneeze noise imaginable and a nonzero percentage of Q-Eaglez think he might be from another planet, does any of this sound familiar

also “maknae on top” I swear Bala is on a barely concealed quest to dominate the entire group, if you break music and lyrics credits out separately he might have more than anyone else now

related: Bala’s face. Sadly I can’t spend all day giving you additional evidence in GIF form but BALA’S FACE

their staged scripted reality shows include episodes where they confront their haters with love and win them over by playing paintball (and Alem was concerned that paintball was too violent)

their unstaged unscripted reality shows consist of a great deal of bilingual yelling

oh yeah do you like linguistic rabbit holes? HOO BOY. these guys (ZaQ especially, but not exclusively) have done a lot of thinking about what it means to speak/sing in Kazakh instead of Russian, and the implications not just for them and their sales/careers but for their country. like there is an entire documentary on the Kazakh language just released in which they appear and I haven’t even seen it yet because I want to finish going through the subs of the interview with the documentary maker in which they switch between Russian and Kazakh and discuss the implications of switching

their latest video, which a fellow Eaglez described as “what in the shinee hell”

I haven’t brought up the actual music yet because I’m not sure what your tastes lean towards; this is the song I consider their best but you might prefer this or this. this is the best song they’ve released this year and here is their most recent We Shall Don Suits and Then Take Over the World effort.

but if you have time for only one MV make it this one, for its combination of resilience + refusal of self-pity + goofiness + social commentary.

but keep in mind this is the group which, when faced with the pandemic and the damage it wrecked on their country’s economy and the departure of the member who was everyone’s default bias, responded with, well clearly this is when we do the epic party jam whose chorus turns entirely on Kazakh-Spanish punning!

I have also not brought up the lore (where “lore” = roughly a century and a half worth of Kazakhstani history) because it’s not strictly necessary, you have a ways to travel before you need to concern yourself with questions such as Who Was Premier Kunaev and Why Did the Dudes Feel the Need to Tell Everyone They’d Borrowed His Car. but suffice to say if you like the idea of learning about a country and a culture through a pop group this one’s pretty damn rich

if wading into the ocean of nonmusical content I would recommend this video, which is 60% them struggling with trivia questions (+ AZ knowing his solar system) and 40% them waxing philosophical about education and finding your own career path

one more thing that won’t be immediately apparent: they’re simultaneously one of the biggest pop groups in Kazakhstan right now and... underdogs? but when they got started they were accused of being Satanic and too effeminate, to the point that they were regularly being dragged into fistfights. (there’s an entire docudrama about this, which is actually grim and not terribly enjoyable, I only recommend it to completists) also their concerts were getting cancelled under mysterious circumstances. that was 2016; it is now 2022 and their concerts are still getting messed with under mysterious circumstances, as I write this they’re having trouble with bureaucrats in Atyrau

and back to the are-they-jerks question: the opposition has definitely been fueled by homophobia, which is much more standard in Kazakhstan than it is in the US/Canada/Australia/western Europe, and under such circumstances it would be understandable (if regrettable) if they joined in on the gay-bashing, but as far as I know (and there’s a lot I don’t know!) they never have. when reading homophobic hate comments after debut they laughed them off. while they themselves are all straight (occasionally going to the trouble of posting “We’re straight!!!” on Telegram, I don’t know what prompted that) and tend to act as if their fanboys universally are too, they have never shied away from including said fanboys in their Eaglez spotlights

and I will stop here, this has gone on long enough, here’s all the song reviews if you need them, suffice to say they are entertaining dudes who I do believe are trying to do good in the world with their work. yell back any time

#come enjoy my dudes! #everybody! #love you jamie #ninety one #come find me eaglez

[imkylotrash]

What Goes Around

Pairing: Hardin Scott x reader

Request: Could I please request an imagine/fic with Hardin Scott x Reader and basically Hardin of course has his bad boy reputation but this intrigues the reader. She is his complete opposite and finds his rudeness quite funny. Hardin is a little too mean to her one time and makes her cry. It doesn’t occur to Hardin that she likes him and by that point he feels like he has lost his chance to get to know her because of his.. ‘wicked’ charm? You can choose the ending. Anonymous

Tagging: @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​​

He’s watching you give your coffee order and it makes you smile. Everywhere you go, you seem to run into each other. At first, you’d just steal glances then go your separate ways but then it turned into “hello”. He made the first move and asked if you should have your coffee together one day. Ever since than you’d made polite conversation when you ran into each other and you had to admit that something intrigued you about the tattooed boy who refused to care about anyone other than himself. You couldn’t exactly relate to his perspective on life but you wanted to know more, to understand the boy who considered the world a cruel place rather than an opportunity to happy days. 

“This seat taken?” you ask standing with a hot cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. The “Red Queen” series have become something of an obsession for you after finishing the first book. You never thought you’d stray from the classics but lately, YA books had been catching your eye. 

“I see you’re still on the third book,” he smiles and in the same moment letting you know how he feels about YA books. You don’t take it too hard considering he’s not even willing to admit his love for books for anyone other than you. 

“I’m taking my time and enjoying the words.” You have a tendency to get too invested and rush through a book to get to the ending meaning you miss a lot of the little Easter eggs along the way. You’re trying to change that. 

“Hey, no judgement from me.” He’s lying but it’s a cute lie so you’ll allow it. Once you’ve finished your coffee, you stand up grabbing your things. You have exactly ten minutes before your class start but you like to get there early in case you need to do some last-minute preparations. Hardin remains seated and you remain neutral in regards to his lack of motivation when it comes to college. 

I’ll be going classes now. Want to come?” Okay, maybe not that neutral. He shakes his head smiling and you know what that means. It takes three days before you run into him again. This time at the library where you reach for the same book which sounds completely absurd and something that would only happen in one of your books. It’s a cute moment though. 

“I guess great minds think alike,” you say and he scoffs.

“Please. You wish you were as clever as me.” He offers you the book about to sit down when he spots some of his friends outside. You know he’s been a little vague about who you are considering just how different you are to them and frankly, you don’t mind. Hardin is an interesting character because there’s more to him than just the casual alcoholic teen while the people he surrounds himself with at those frat parties really don’t have much else going on for them. You went one time and you’d never been more bored in your life. 

“I should go,” he says Within minutes he’s out the door walking in the direction away from his “friends”. After that you don’t spot him for a while or maybe he’s avoiding you to avoid the questions his friends will inevitable have. Either way, you find yourself missing his sarcastic comments. You hadn’t realised just how much of an impression he’d made on you until he wasn’t around. But he comes back to you eventually. 

“Hey,” he says when he spots you at the coffee house. 

“I thought you’d moved city,” you tease pushing out the chair across from you with your foot. He sits down sliding a book across the table. 

“As an apology,” he grins. You turn the book over to see the cover and you can’t help but smile. 

“You remembered.” One of the first conversations between you and Hardin had been about ecocriticism and a book called “The Road” that you’d borrowed from the library more times than you could count. You’d discussed the topic in class where your professor had recommended this book and now Hardin had gotten it for you. 

“You wouldn’t shut up about the book for at least five hours. How could I not?” He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal but it still means a lot to you. Now you could read the book whenever you felt like it. And he’d gotten the original cover rather than the movie cover. It would’ve been the perfect gift if his friends hadn’t shown up and ruined everything. You see the change in him the second they enter the coffee house. 

“Hardin, who’s this?” Jace asks with hungry eyes making you feel incredibly uncomfortable. 

“Just a friend,” Hardin offers not wanting to give any information to these people. 

“Sure, friend. Do you feel the same way, honey?” Jace asks making the rest of the guys snicker. Before you have a chance to answer, Hardin opens his mouth and ruins everything. 

“Yes, friend. I mean look at her. Not exactly my type, is it? I mean, could it get anymore vanilla?” This earns him a high five from one of the guys but it cracks your heart. You’ve never thought much about your close or the way you looked because you thought the inside counted a hell of a lot more than the outside. But hearing that the idea of being with you seemed so ludicrous hurt more than you liked to admit. 

“I should get going.” You don’t look at Hardin when you leave and you don’t bring the book with you. If this is how he thinks of you then you don’t want anything from him. And it’s not even the fact that he considers you a friend. If that’s all it was, you’d be fine. It’s how easy it was for him to degrade you that really hurt. You tell yourself you won’t cry but it’s a lost battle as you head home. Unfortunately, you don’t reach home before he catches up to you.

“Leave me alone, Hardin,” you say picking up the pace. You’re determined to reach your apartment without stopping but of course, you can’t help yourself when it’s Hardin.

“Are you mad at me?” 

“Mad at you? Of course, I’m mad at you!” you yell not caring who hears you at this point.

“You of all people should realise what it’s like to be judged on the way you look. I like the way I look and I absolutely refuse to let you make me feel bad about it!” You don’t care if he said it because of his friends or not, it’s the fact that it came to him so easily. That means he’s thought it before regardless of the situation at the coffee house. 

“It was a joke!” he yells back opting for defensive rather than just apologise. You’re not doing this. You turn around and this time he doesn’t follow you. It’s weeks before you dare return to the coffee house. You don’t want to meet him again. Instead you dive head first into the universe of Jane Austen thinking he could’ve been your Mr. Darcy with his sour attitude and soft spot for you but it didn’t turn out that way. But your need for good coffee eventually win over your fear of seeing him again. The plan is in, order, pay and leave. It’s just not that simple once you’re inside. 

“You forgot this.” He places “The Road” in front of you as you’re waiting for your coffee. You can’t believe he’s held onto to it since that day. You figured he would’ve just chucked it in the bin. 

“I’m really sorry for what I said. It was rude and thoughtless. You deserve better.” It’s a good apology but you can’t help but think what the insult will be the next time his friends catch you together. 

“You’re right. I deserve better.” You get your coffee and head outside. 

“Throw me a bone here. I said I was sorry.” Of course, Hardin follows you outside refusing to let this go. 

“Hardin, you’re only sorry because I called you out on it. You don’t actually care that it hurt me.” He’s not the first guy who thought he could walk all over you and he won’t be the last but you refuse to accept that treatment. You deserve a lot better than that. 

“I’m sorry because it hurt you. I didn’t think you’d read so much into it,” he defends himself making it clear to you that it’s a pointless discussion. He’s not going to understand why what he said was hurtful despite his own appearance and the comments he’s received. 

“How could I not? I’m sitting there thinking we might have a shot and then you pull the rug out from under me. I’m not playing these games with you.” 

“What?” You don’t bother repeating yourself instead using this moment of shock to hurry away. You manage to avoid him for another week before he corners you on campus. 

“You can’t just throw something like that out in the world and then leave. It’s been going round and round in my head.” He has a hand on each side of you leaning against the wall. It’s effective for keeping you in place and distracting you from why you’re actually upset with him. 

“I never thought you’d like me like that. Shit, I would’ve done things very differently if I ever thought I had a chance.” This time you’re the one in shock. You didn’t think he’d put so much thought into what you said last time. 

“What would you have done differently?” Despite vowing to yourself that you’re done with Hardin, you find yourself curious once again. This bad boy persona with a loving man hidden inside seems like an impossible paradox.

“I would’ve kept you well clear of those idiots from the frat house. Bought you flowers maybe. Taken you to dinner. Bought you a hell of lot more books.” You don’t want to forgive him but it’s hard to think when he’s this close to you. 

“I can start now if you’d like.” He places a hand on your cheek and his touch gives you chills. You inhale sharply telling yourself not to give into him but your body has already thrown in the white towel. He leans down stopping inches from your lips. 

“I really am sorry. It won’t happen again.” Instead of answering, you lean up closing the gap between you. It’s the first kiss but definitely not the last. 

#hardin scott x reader #hardin scott imagine #hardin scott blurb #hardin scott after #hardin scott gif #hardin scott #after gif #after imagine #after blurb #After movie #after we collided #after we collided blurb #after we collided imagine #awc imagine #awc gif #awc blurb #awc

[scuttling]

Present

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 4,598 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Voyeurism, Masturbation in shower, Sexting, Oral Sex, Dom/sub, Protected Sex, Established Aaron/Sophie Summary: Sophie sends Aaron a sexy video while he’s away on a case, Spencer watches it, and smut ensues. Collection: Part 1 of 5 of Present, Perfect, Patient, Promise, Pretend series Note: This is a previously published work from A03, just moving it over to tumblr because I was thinking about it today. 🤤 Link to A03 or read below! “I sprained my ankle. I’m not injured, not really. I can even walk on it,” Sophie assures as she pours them each a cup of coffee in the break room. She sets the carafe down, takes a step, wobbles, and Aaron catches her around the waist with a raised eyebrow of judgement. “Okay, so I can’t walk that well, but I can certainly sit in a conference room bouncing ideas around and drinking coffee. That’s all Rossi does, anyway.” He chuckles softly, knows she’s still… warming up, to Rossi and his idiosyncrasies.

“You know the rules.”

“Yeah, because we’re so good at following the rules,” she teases with a smirk, running her hands down his stomach, stopping at his belt. He looks over at the bullpen out of the corner of his eye, shoots her a warning look that makes her sigh and pull away.

“Think of it as choosing our battles,” he suggests, hoping that might get her back on track. “If you want to continue making out in my office, you have to stay here this one time.” She smiles, crooked, nods her head.

“Okay, when you put it that way, I’ll take the make outs.”

“I thought you might. Plus, you get to spend all day with Garcia. I figured that would be like a dream come true.”

“It is, definitely. It’s more the long, cold, nights that I’m worried about.” He sighs, because she’s being so dramatic, but he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of making him smile again. He can’t be looking as smitten and infatuated with her as he is all of the time. “I’m going to be so lonely.”

“Oh, I think you’ll manage without sex for a few nights,” he teases, and she looks scandalized, as if that wasn’t exactly what she was getting at.

“It’s not about sex, it’s about intimacy, comfort, sharing my bed with a big heavy man who scares away the bad dreams.” She grins lecherously and he prepares to roll his eyes. “And who has a dick that won't quit.”

“Like I said,” he enunciates, taking his travel mug of coffee for the road, “you’ll be fine for a few nights. If you do decide to touch yourself, though, make sure you send me a present,” he reminds her, because they aren’t separated often, but when they are, a couple of racy pictures or videos almost always exchange hands. He bends for a quick kiss on the lips, brushes her cheek. “I love you. Behave.”

“I love you,” she murmurs, all tenderness and no heat, now. “Be safe.” Two days after taking the case, the team is on the jet for a night flight home. Spencer is tired, but he can’t sleep; JJ is stretched out on the couch, Morgan and Emily are slumped over in their seats up front with pillows and headphones, and Rossi has been snoring softly since they took off, so it’s just him and Hotch awake. They are in seats next to each other, Spencer by the window, because he knew he would be a little restless, and that Hotch wouldn’t sleep, so it seemed like the safest bet if he didn't want to disturb anyone’s rest.

He also enjoys the comforting presence of the older man, always, but especially in the calm, quiet atmosphere of the flight home.

He tries to listen to music, a podcast, but he eventually pauses it and just rests his eyes, his head, listens to Hotch as he flips pages or taps away at his phone. He’s probably texting Sophie, who’s home with a sprained ankle and who hasn’t stopped grumbling about it since. He smiles at the thought, likes when she’s comfortable enough to complain to him. Likes being someone she turns to.

He sighs. Feelings are complicated. Sometimes he hates being part of such a tight-knit team because it makes the things he feels all the more confusing, especially when the two objects of his (totally manageable) affection are in a relationship together; he feels like the odd man out, as always, can’t deny that it hurts sometimes.

He’s drifting in and out of the not quite asleep stage when he hears sound coming from Hotch’s phone, shuffling, ambiguous noises. He lifts his eyelids just slightly to see a video up on the screen, a wall that looks vaguely familiar, like a bathroom, maybe. There’s nothing particularly intriguing about that, but then he sees a pair of smooth, bare legs standing inside a bathtub and his interest is… piqued.

There’s another sound, unmistakably a shower being turned on, and then the woman—it is Sophie, no doubt; even if he can’t see her face, the tattoo on her forearm is easily identifiable—squats down, and she is so gloriously naked that he just… freezes. His body and his mind are suspended in a conflicting state of this is wrong, I shouldn’t be seeing this, and this is the best thing I’ve ever seen, and why is Hotch watching this right now, with me right next to him, and hnnng.

She pulls the shower head into view, lets it pour over her hair from what he can see of it, then down her breasts, her stomach, arms and legs; after that, she adjusts it to a stream that is harder and more controlled than one would typically use in the shower. He wonders why, thinks it could be uncomfortable, until she moves it to hover over her pussy, moaning softly, and then he really, really gets it.

His heart is racing as she runs her hand over her body, thumbing at her nipples, sighing at her own touch. She rocks back and forth a little so the stream of water hits her clit, then lower, between her lips, against her opening, and Spencer swallows hard.

“Mmm,” she sighs, and the sound goes straight through him; he feels himself getting hard as she murmurs, pressing her hand against the rim of the tub for leverage. “Mmm, yeah.” He can see that Hotch is breathing heavily next to him, eyes fixed on the screen. It’s too dark in the cabin to see his lap, but he knows he must be aching in his pants, too, wonders what it would be like if he reached out and touched him there.

Sophie is incredibly gorgeous as she works to reach her climax, bouncing lightly on her heels as the pressure builds, her moans longer and louder, but it’s when she stops moving and presses the shower head closer, directly over her clit, that he knows she’s almost ready to come.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” she whines, pinching a nipple, arching her back, and her voice is high and breathy and addictive. He would give anything to be in the same room as those sounds, to pull her wet body close and help her get off. “Fuck, mmm,” she purrs, bringing the stream even closer, and she comes, short, loud moans that sound like they’re being ripped from her throat as her thighs shake, her chest heaves.

She drags a slow hand down her body, like she’s soothing herself, and then shudders, pulls the shower head away like maybe the pressure is too much where she’s sensitive. With a sigh, she reaches for the phone, tilts it so her face is in view, cheeks flushed and wet hair clinging to her shoulders. She turns up her lips in a coy smile. “See you soon.” The video ends.

It takes Hotch a moment to lock his phone, and he looks a little dazed when Spencer risks a glance up at his face—with good reason. If he was on the receiving end of videos like that, he would never be able to focus on anything.

The rest of the trip is quiet, certainly uneventful in comparison. Spencer makes a show of opening his eyes fully, stretching, thinks it would be too awkward now to admit he saw and heard every incredible second; Hotch looks over at him with an expression he can’t read, and then flips open a new case file.

When they land, he and Hotch are the last two to grab their bags, and Hotch brushes up against him in a way that feels purposeful, but is probably wishful thinking. “Do you have anything going on for the rest of the night?” he asks, and Spencer shakes his head.

“Nope, nothing.” Maybe masturbating—definitely masturbating—but he doesn’t need to know that. Hotch nods, thoughtful.

“You should come home with me.” Spencer looks at him with wide eyes.

“What?”

“We both know that you saw the video,” he says in a low, no nonsense tone that makes him gulp. “I told Sophie, and she seemed… interested in the prospect. So you should come home with me. If you want to.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Hotch raises a hand, halting his train of thought.

“I may have had a suspicion that you were awake when I chose to play the video, so don’t be so hard on yourself.” Spencer looks at his face, trying to determine if he’s saying what he thinks he’s saying. He did that on purpose? He knew that Spencer was watching? “No pressure, if you don’t want to come over. I would never want you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“I do want to… do… whatever it is we’re doing,” he rambles awkwardly, and Hotch chuckles.

“What we're doing is having sex. And I won’t touch you, or anything, if you don’t want that. It can be me and Sophie and you and Sophie.” Spencer swallows hard again, so turned on and breathless that it makes him feel bold.

“What if I do want you to touch me?” he asks, and Hotch leans in slowly, hot breath at his ear.

“Then I’m going to touch you.” When he pulls away, his fingers brush over Spencer’s jaw. “Do you want to come home with me?”

His answer is an emphatic yes. Aaron is due home any minute, and Sophie is vibrating with nervous energy, puttering around the apartment in her robe, couldn’t sit still if she tried. She waits for him on nights he has to work late and can’t bring it home, sure, but it’s almost never like this, where they are apart for days on end. It’s seriously affecting not only her sex drive, but also her mental state, which she hadn’t expected; she feels clingy, needy already, wants to smell him and touch him and taste him and be caged in by him, and it’s frankly getting a little out of hand.

It doesn’t help, she guesses, that she sent that video, but she was horny and wanted his attention… and boy, did she get it, had several texts come through a couple of minutes after she sent it, all very sweet and dirty and good.

Then she saw one about Reid, wanted to be mortified, but she just… wasn’t.

A: So, Reid saw me watching your present.

S: Oh, really? Did he like it?

A: Yeah, he liked it.

A: I bet he’d come pretty quick if he got to see the real thing.

A: Touch you… taste you.

God, how can this calm, controlled man make her such a whimpering mess with just a couple of texts? It’s unfair, is what it is.

S: Maybe we should invite him over sometime.

S: I’ve seen him looking at you, too.

S: Imagine how pretty he would look between us.

That was about an hour ago, and the only thing she received in reply was a brief message letting her know they’d landed and that he was on the way home. She hopes she didn’t upset him, knows that he’s mentioned being interested in men but that he’s never slept with one, hopes she didn’t hit a sore spot. She promises herself they will talk about it when he gets home.

But when he gets home, he kisses her so deeply she feels faint. Her body is lit up in an instant, suddenly desperate for more of him.

“I brought you a present,” he says, so low and sexy, and she grins, breathless, wraps her arms around his neck.

“Ooh, you know I love presents. What is it?”

“It’s not a what, it’s a who,” Spencer says, then, from the open doorway, and she glances between them, bites at her bottom lip. He steps inside and closes the door.

Fuck.

“Hey, Spencer,” she greets, but she can hear the tremble in her voice when she does. He looks to Aaron, and Aaron reaches back, wraps a hand around his wrist, guides him closer.

“I told him what you said, about how pretty he would look between us. He happened to agree, so I figured, why wait?” He looks her over intently, like he’s making sure she’s okay with this.

She is so okay with this.

She wants to speak but she’s so out of breath, her heart beating so fast, that she just pulls him down for a kiss, messy and graceless, and then she reaches for Spencer’s shirt and pulls him close as well, doing the same. She takes turns kissing them, ten kisses each, probably, until Aaron pushes her back gently with a soft laugh.

“Easy, baby. He’s going to stay the night; we have time to go slow.” Her chest is heaving, and he walks around so he’s standing behind her, unties the sash of her robe, pulls it off to reveal the lacy black bra and panties she thought would be a sexy surprise.

He kind of outdid her in the surprise department, but she’ll forgive him this once.

He runs his hands over her panties, her stomach, her boobs, and she bends her neck back, arching up for his lips, moaning against them. Spencer approaches, a bit hesitant, puts his hands on her hips and kisses her exposed throat, her chest. She feels like she’s died and gone to heaven, two pairs of hands on her, two mouths, her body pressed between them tightly. She thinks offhand that she’s glad her ankle doesn’t hurt anymore, because she could stand between them all night long, if they keep this up, would be content to never move again.

Then one of Spencer’s beautiful, incredible hands slips down the front of her panties, and they stop kissing her to kiss each other, and she whimpers, and her knees give out anyway.

“So dramatic,” Aaron whispers teasingly in her ear as he holds her up, big hands on her body, and she shakes her head, wets her lips.

“Not being dramatic. This is so fucking sexy.” Spencer—apparently not worried about the fact that she almost collapsed on them because Aaron wasn’t—slides two fingers over the slippery wet lips of her pussy, and she groans. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take all the attention,” she murmurs, moving her hips against his hand. “Kiss some more, please.” Spencer huffs a laugh and leans in, catches Aaron’s lips with his. From her point of view she can see the slide of their tongues, lips pressing together, and she groans again.

“If it’s okay with you,” Spencer says to her when they separate, “I would really like to eat your pussy now.” He kisses her softly on the cheek, and she exhales, shaky.

“Yeah, please—please do that.”

“I’ll hold you,” Aaron whispers, lips at her ear. “I’ll be right here, I promise.” She hums, leans back against him, and Spencer drops to his knees, guides her panties down. She’s so wet there’s slick on the insides of her thighs, and when he lifts one leg to hook her knee around his shoulder, he licks it away. She shudders.

She feels like she should have known how hot and skillful his mouth would be, because he talks so fast sometimes that his brain—his incredibly high-functioning brain—can’t even keep up, and she usually finds his mouth cute, but right now she finds it sexy, will probably never be able to look at it without thinking of the way he feels with his tongue in her pussy.

He is very enthusiastic, licking her quick and deep, with one hand on her waist and the other rubbing her clit like he’s got a PhD in bringing girls to orgasm, and she knows she’s moaning like a slut, gets even louder when Aaron bites at her earlobe, kisses her neck, squeezes her breasts. “Fuck, oh fuck, yeah,” she pants, reaches a hand down to wrap it in Spencer’s hair, making him groan; she rocks against his delicious mouth, which he encourages, moving his hand to her ass and guiding her closer.

“Come for him, baby,” Aaron urges, hand inside the cup of her bra to pinch her nipple. “Isn’t he pretty, down on his knees for you?” She drops her head back against him, brings a hand to his hair, too.

“So pretty.” He stoops down to kiss her as best as he can, and Spencer’s looking up at them, gorgeous, and she comes tugging on both of them, panting into Aaron’s mouth.

When Spencer stands up and kisses her, mouth soft and wet after working her through her orgasm, and then Aaron leans in to taste both of them on her lips? It’s a wonder she doesn’t get weak in the knees again. Sophie is soft and pliant after she comes, clinging onto them, and Aaron lifts her into his arms and carries her to the bedroom, Spencer following closely behind. He sets her on the bed, unhooks her bra and pulls it off; Spencer watches closely as he does, kneels down to kiss her, brush his hands over her bare breasts, and she sighs at the treatment.

“What do you want to do?” Aaron asks them, getting down on his knees as well, and he kisses them, thrills at the similarities in their soft lips, soft skin.

“I wanna suck you both,” she says, and he touches her face gently.

“Are you sure you’re up for that? You look a little fuzzy.” He didn’t think that she would get submissive so quickly, since he hadn’t actually dominated her, but can see how feeling at the mercy of two men might make her go to that place; he just wants to make sure he does what’s best for her while she’s there.

“Might not be able to get you off, but I want them in my mouth. Can I?” She looks up at him, then at Spencer, who swallows visibly. Aaron gave him a little insight on the way there about how they normally interact with each other, how she likes to ask for permission and he likes to give it—or deny it, depending.

(Aaron Hotchner’s crash course on having a submissive girlfriend—he might have to find a way to monetize that, somehow.)

“You can, for a couple minutes. Then what do you want?” He looks to Spencer to see if he has anything in mind.

“I don’t—I’ve never done this,” he says quietly, and he and Sophie both touch him, and she nuzzles against his shoulder.

“Neither have we, it’s okay. You want to, though?” He looks at them with soft, open eyes, and nods without hesitation.

“Yeah, I want to.” Aaron takes his face in his hands, kisses him deeply.

“Okay, good. Sophie,” he says softly, touches her face too, “do you think you would be alright being with both of us at the same time?” She licks her lips and frowns a little like she’s confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we could lay you down, and one of us could be inside your pussy, and one of us could be inside your mouth. I’ll take your mouth,” he decides quickly, because she doesn’t like it too fast or rough and he knows her limits, doesn’t want to hurt or overwhelm her. “You’ll be full of us, baby. Do you think you want that?” She closes her eyes, nods, and Spencer touches her throat with long, gentle fingers.

“You’d give us that?” he asks like he’s in awe, and Aaron gets it, knows how much it means that she trusts them with something like this. “You’re incredible, Sophie,” he murmurs against her lips, and she sighs, pulls him closer.

Watching them make out is a very enjoyable thing, made all the more so when he decides to come up behind Spencer to unbutton his pants, untuck his shirt. The younger man moans at the feel of his hands helping him undress, and he presses back against Aaron’s chest, panting and eager. He guides him to stand, gets him naked, and wraps a hand around his long, hard cock, stroking it a couple times.

“You want her mouth on you while I get undressed?” he asks, and Spencer bucks up into his hand, nods quickly. Sophie reaches for him, pulling him closer, and she licks at the head, moans. “Gently,” he murmurs in Spencer’s ear, “let her be in control.” He nods seriously, presses a hand to Sophie’s cheek when she takes him in.

Between the two of them, their moans are so filthy, wanton, that he craves the heat of their mouths, so he captures Spencer’s in a kiss when he can, pulling off his clothes slowly so they can enjoy the time together. “Sophie,” Spencer murmurs, and she looks up at him, and Aaron’s arms around him, and whines. She pulls off of him, licks her lips looking hungry.

“I’m ready for you guys.” The simple sentence makes his dick throb, and he lays her back on the bed, kisses her soft and sweet and slow. Spencer curls around them, kisses them and rubs his hands over their bare skin.

“Spencer, can you get in that drawer and take out a condom?” he has presence of mind to ask, glad that the ones they have should fit him, and he stretches up, all long, lithe muscles, grabs one and tears the wrapper open, rolling it on. Neither Aaron nor Sophie can take their eyes off of him, and when he’s finished, Aaron moves out of his way so he can settle between her legs. She hitches up her knees, and he knows first hand how inviting that can be, understands completely when he shivers with pleasure.

Aaron kisses Sophie a few more times, whispers sweet, loving words into her ear, and then he crawls up by her head, the tip of his dick at the same level as her mouth.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, running his hands over her breasts, and she nods, puts her hands on Spencer’s hips and pulls him closer until he is fully sheathed inside her; he keeps still, panting, and Aaron leads forward to brush his hair back. “You’re so gorgeous, Spencer,” he coos, and then he presses into Sophie's mouth, sighs.

She takes him in hand, guiding him in and out at a pace she’s comfortable with, so he just lets her take the lead and runs his hands over her body, Spencer’s fingers where they press against her thighs. He is pumping into her deeply now, an easy rhythm Sophie matches with her hand, and the room is filled with a symphony of soft, wet sounds and moans and hums that Aaron doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

He is wholly unsurprised when he is the first to come, because watching Spencer’s hips move against her, his hands careful where he holds her down, and feeling her moan around his cock because she loves feeling full, it’s all too much for him. He spills with a groan, and Spencer watches his face like it’s art, which makes him feel warm in his chest. Something to explore at a later time.

Sophie lets go of him, panting, and he slides down to his belly so he can kiss her mouth, caress her. He looks up at Spencer, who appears to be trying so hard not to come, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and he rubs Sophie’s clit to help get her close, so he’ll stop trying so hard and just let himself feel good.

“Oh, god,” Sophie whines, brings her hands up to squeeze hard at her breasts. “This is good, so good, mmm.” She starts bucking hard against him, her neck stretched long, and he knows the instant she comes, her mouth opening in a wordless moan before she all but howls her pleasure. Spencer groans, shifts his legs a little so he’s hovering over the both of them, and he thrusts for a few more seconds before finding his own orgasm. “Hmm, yes,” Sophie sighs, and he kisses her slowly, passionately; Aaron rubs both of their bodies as they shiver with aftershocks, and they all sink into the mattress, deeply spent.

They cuddle together for a few minutes, until Sophie complains she has to pee, and she and Spencer go into the bathroom together to take care of business. Aaron runs a hand through his hair and exhales long, because this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen, while also being one of the most unforgettable nights of his life; he knows they’ll look to him for guidance about what to do next, and he’s really not sure what to say when they do.

When they amble back into the room, they’re both smiling softly, and Aaron smiles because he can’t help it. They climb back onto the bed, Spencer in the middle, though Sophie reaches across him to rub at the hair on Aaron’s chest.

“So that’s a thing that happened,” Sophie says eventually, propped up on her elbow, looking over at their two blissed out faces with nothing short of affection. “Is it a thing that’s going to happen again, or a thing we swear up and down didn’t happen?—No pressure, only asking so I know how to compartmentalize my many, many thoughts.”

Aaron looks to Spencer and can’t help but feel like there’s something more worth exploring, there. He thinks Spencer feels the same when he pulls him in for a tender kiss.

“I think it should happen again,” Spencer murmurs, and Sophie leans down to kiss him too.

“Yeah, it should happen again.” Aaron sits up, smiles at his girl, guides her mouth to his.

“Okay, then.” They kiss again, easy, sweet, and he breathes a laugh. “We owe you for this, you know: you and your little shower performance.”

“Oscar worthy,” Spencer says with a grin, and Sophie shoves him playfully.

“Hey, a girl has needs.”

“And we’ll help you meet them,” Aaron promises, running a hand suggestively along her body, and she covers it with hers.

“No way. I’m tapped out, buddy. Unless I get sleep or pizza, no more sex from me tonight.” Aaron feigns hurt, pulls away, flops onto his back with an exaggerated sigh, and she crawls past Spencer to straddle his waist. “So dramatic,” she teases, leans down for a kiss, then climbs off the bed altogether. “I’m good with pizza—I don’t want to go to sleep just yet, not when I’ve got two pretty boys in my bed.”

“I second pizza,” Spencer murmurs, his face pressed against Aaron’s bicep. Sophie pauses in the doorway, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Do you think they’ll do a third veggie, and a third pepperoni, and a third Hawaiian? Or am I gonna have to order two pizzas?” She comes back over to the bed, kisses them both soft, affectionate, and smiles. “Always complicating things, Spencer Reid.”

#aaron hotchner x original female character #hotch x original female character #latina original female character #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #spencer reid x original female character #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid x reader

[kaylathekittykat225]

Carnival Ride of Horror // Steve Harrington x Reader

Carnival of Horror // SH

Warning/s: Cursing, laughing at inappropriate times, (very minimal) mentions/implications of abuse/stalking (just wanna warn, its super small but just in case!)

Word Count: 3.5k

Hey guys! It’s been a bit since I’ve written, lemme tell you, life has been kinda crappy and its just a little less crappy now! So I decided to start pecking at the keyboard again and this is what came of it! This lovely person requsted this work and I just got around to starting to really write because I had a free week. Anywhoodles, it’s good to write something again and I hope yall enjoy it!

Again thank you for this idea @seraphiiii

omg i came across your post about writing ideas in my feed and got so excited to see both steve harrington and young justice in the tags lmao. but i think a steve harrington x reader where reader and him go to an amusement park and reader is terrified of the rides so he’s like comforting her throughout them and encouraging her but also laughing (in a good natured way obvi) about how scared she is and stuff? i think that would be so cute!!

Here’s my Masterlist.

Enjoy.

-----

“Stevie, when we agreed to have a date night away from the kids, I didn't think we would be going into a mass of more kids.” As he pulled the keys out, you stared at the bright light shining machinery that had been set in the middle of a field outside the city. The annual summer fair had finally made its way to Hawkins, and it had left a buzz in the air as everyone planned when they would go, talked about what rides had come this year, who their ride buddy would be; it had been all the kids had been talking about for weeks. They put a day together the coming weekend to go as a group and they planned to drag Steve and you along on the off chance that they needed an “adult” to allow them on the rides.

Funny how they assumed either Steve or you knew how to adult.

“Cause I thought it would be a nice change from us just watching movies or having dinner.”

“Oh, so dino nuggets are no longer date-worthy for you.” Steve almost took you seriously, but he saw the grin that has graced your lips at your own comment. He relaxed a little knowing that you weren’t upset with his idea for date night, but he had always wanted to kiss someone at the top of a Ferris Wheel, and he would do anything to get you to the top of the rotating ride.

“So, you’re not mad that I chose here for tonight?” You shook your head and pulled at the door handle separating the two of you from the outside life.

“Of course not Stevie, I just thought it was an interesting choice.” The smile you chose to have was one that hopefully convinced him that you were okay with where the pair of you were going, even if you weren’t happy with the choice.

You can be happy with the idea of going to a carnival as long as you don’t go on-”Cool, so what ride do you want to do first?”

“Shit.” The world slipped out before you could stop yourself as Steve finished paying for your tickets and asked what you had said. “Nothing just kicked myself. Um…” You looked around frantically for something to do that wasn’t flashing brightly and spinning faster than the legal highway speed. “Let’s go over there!”

Steve followed your hand as he saw you point towards the stands of games that were rigged and way too fricking expensive, but he would do it for you. “Alright, starting out with some games I see, I like it.”

The two of you ran through a few of the games, most of them where Steve got way too into it and you had to step between them as he tried screaming that he deserved that stuffed bear/pony/cat/fish, because he almost had it every single time. He did beat out the basketball one, one of the last ones the two of you did on that strip, bolstering his confidence just enough to get him into a cheery enough mood.

“Alright! We played some games, and let the crazies test out the rides so I’m pretty sure they won’t break down on us. Which one should we do first? They got a drop tower, or how about the pit viper swings? Or, or, or how about we…” The night had been going enjoyable up until Steve turned to the rides you had managed to distract him from and pointed at the glowing and fast-moving monsters.

“How about we do the haunted walk over there?” Steve followed your pointing finger with a quizzical look, he hadn’t really taken note of the scary attraction before, never thought to really look to it with everything else going on. “I bet it won’t even be scary to us after everything we’ve been through right ha.”

You took off with a dry laugh without waiting for a response from him; his cries were head behind you, but the haunted house looked better than anything else around you. “Y/N.” He called you again, but you walked faster. By the time you got to the stairs leading into the building, you were practically running up them to get into the dark house with smoke billowing out of it.

“Y/N!” Your name was the last thing you heard before diving through the door and physically bumping into one of the scarers dressed as a zombie. He seemed nice, breaking character enough to ask if you were okay before you had already turned the corner and left him behind too.

Twisting and turning, you didn’t pay much mind to the screaming witches, zombies, skeletons, or anything that happened all around you; over the music and screaming, you could vaguely hear your name, giving you an indication that Steve followed you.

Not too far in, you found a quieter corner with only a couple cobwebs around it where you quickly ducked back into and tried pressing yourself into it deeper, hoping to watch Steve walk right by you.

Why the hell were you running from your boyfriend? You gained a sense of logic for a second where you paused. Why were you running? This was super childish of you and really had no reason. All Steve wanted to do was go on a few rides and you were being selfish and completely ruining what was going to be one of the few evenings you didn’t have to babysit the kids.

As the guilt started to swirl with your desire to not be found, you didn’t notice as the Frankenstein in the room had taken notice of you hiding in the corner and started to tromp over to you. “Hey, miss, you can’t be hiding in here, you gotta keep moving.”

“I’ll be out in a second, sir, let me just-” “You can’t be here-” “If you give me a second, I will leave as soon as I can-” “Miss you have to leave-” “Give me one dan minute-” “Y/N!”

Among all the screaming the Frankenstein and you had been doing was your name being called by a third and new voice along with a hand clasping onto your shoulder. Looking to the hand, you saw the unmistakable outline of the man you were hiding from. “There you are babe, why were you running off.” Just looking at the Frankenstein’s demeanor, you could tell he went into defense mode suddenly.

“Were you hiding from him miss? Are you okay? Do you feel safe?” The painted man moved to step between you and Steve in an attempt to separate you two.

“Whoa, whoa buddy, back off. She’s my girlfriend, chill out.” Steve tried stepping around the man o little success.

“Oh, your girlfriend? And she’s running from you? I don’t think this is looking very good for you, buddy.” The two were shooting back and forth at each other, getting chest to chest, and starting to cause a larger disturbance that started o be heard over the music and background scream noises. More workers it looked like started to slip into the room and try to get the two men to quiet down, going so far as to begin threats of throwing them out of the haunted house.

You were pulled away from the situation before being pushed away and into the next room, looking like it was on its way to the exit in the next two or three rooms: your destination.

-----

“Y/N?” His voice finally chirped up next to you as Steve took a seat next to you on the grass at the edge of the carnival. “You okay?” When he saw you sitting over here, he had quickly jogged over and took her in as he did so: sitting with her face pressed into her knees and arms wrapped tightly around her legs as she kept herself in as tight of a ball as possible.

You didn’t respond at first, only moving your head to look up at your boyfriend, the person you have embarrassed tonight and most definitely pissed off with your childish antics tonight. “I’m sorry.”

“Whoa what do you have to apologize for? I’ve been worried about you and wanted to make sure that you are okay.” His hand found its way to your back and began rubbing circles into your shoulder blade.

“I was really childish today and you didn’t deserve it, all because I was scared of the stupid rides.” Your words may have been mumbles, but he heard every word clearly.

“Hold on. Babe, did you say you were scared of the rides?” Your small and timid nod was enough for him to understand. “Why didn’t you tell me? I never would have brought you here if I knew that!”

Swallowing the thick feeling in your throat, you looked up at him and saw the disappointment and hurt in his face and that hurt. “Because you were so excited about it, I thought I could get through it and do at least one or two with you. But as we got closer, I guess my nerves got the best of me and I just...ran. Like a stupid child.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no.” Steve quickly shuffled to kneel in front of you and grabbed your hands, holding them in his own and your legs fell down to where you were now criss cross apple sauce. “I’m not gonna force you to do any of these rides if you don’t wanna. If you want to just go home, we can make this a movie night if that works better for you.”

“No, Stevie,” His mouth quirked up at this name. “You already bought the tickets; I don’t want you to waste the money you earned because I’m a scaredy cat.”

Steve took a second to think, racking his brain on how to salvage what has been an eventful evening. “How about…” He paused again and just stared at you with you staring back at him, waiting to hear what he wanted to say. “You can say no, how about we try a few rides, to try and get you on some. If you don’t like riding after one, we can go home, and you can at least say you did it.”

Mulling this idea over in your head, your eyes shifted from where your boyfriend sat in front of you to the bright and joyous scream filled rides were. “I suppose they don’t all look so bad.” You murmured to him, staring particularly at the giant Ferris Wheel that turned, a small memory from early on in your relationship popping into your head. Steve had mentioned a few times that his dream date would be to take a girl up on a Ferris Wheel and cuddle her and kiss her when they got to the top.

“Okay, we can try a few.” Though shaky, your voice was a little stronger this time and you gave Steve a small smile.

“You sure?” A nod. “Okay, I’ll let you choose which one we go on, okay?” Another nod.

Together, the two of you stood to your feet and approached the hustle and bustle of the carnival grounds again. “What did that Frankenstein do to you? I hope he didn’t get you in trouble or anything.” You asked as you laced your hand with Steve while the other went to hold onto his arm, squeezing it slightly as you got closer to the machines and your stomach growing heavy again.

“Oh him, he didn’t do much, just tried scaring me when he though I was some creep chasing you.” He chuckled at the short story, glancing over to you as you took in the carnival for really the first time, looking for something that didn’t freak you out. “How about we start with those spinning pods over there? All they do is spin around and if you want it to, we can make it spin on the inside too.”

Following his finger, you saw what he was referring to as it did spin around, the four small egg things with windows in them were spinning on the main machinery but also appeared to be spinning on their own. As you got closer and apparently joined the line, you could see inside one of them a group of middle school boys cackling as they pulled on the weird center disk that kinda looked like a pizza pan. “Yeah, we can give it a try.” The shakiness in your voice had come back and your grip on Steve tightened.

“Hey, you got this I’ll be right here with ya.” He returned the squeeze to your hand and fishes through his pocket for two tickets to hand over at the entrance. “Up ya go.” He mutters as he helps you up the three stairs leading into the egg ride thing you were entering before he stepped in behind you and took his place next to you. You were already holding a death grip on the center console when the door was shut, and Steve sat next to you. “You know what this is?” He asked gesturing to the disk you were holding onto with the vice grip.

“Something for me to hold onto?” You shocked yourself with how violently your voice was shaking as you heard something start to rumble around you. “Oh, shit its moving.” Steve let a quick chuckle out before he stopped himself and tried explaining the center console would cause the pod thing to spin. “Fuck no! Don’t you dare make this thing spin.” Bloody murder was not even near definitive enough of how much you were screaming.

“Babe, babe calm down, it’s fine! I promise, ha!” In comparison to your screaming, Steve seemed to be having the time of his life as he laughed; at least he wasn’t making the ride spin. “Babe, babe, babe, I’m so sorry I’m laughing, I promise I didn’t mean to, but you were screaming so much! And it was hilarious!” Steve held onto his sides as he nearly fell out of the pod and waited for you to follow his laughing self. When you didn’t step out, he turned back around and saw you still had your hands clenched very tightly to the metal plate, your eyes wide and your lips pursed together. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the rides, do you wanna go home?”

Hearing him soften up got you to finally look at him and slowly let go of the wheel. “N-n-no. I’m…” You paused to catch your breath and steady your voice. “I’m good, I just don’t know if I can do any more of these kinds of things.” Taking his hand, you pulled yourself up and stepped out from the ride and have yourself a few seconds to remember how to use your legs.

“You okay?” You nodded at him and gave a shaky, but okay smile. “You sure you wanna do another one? Cause we can go-”

“No, no, I can do…” The carnival really did have more rides than just ones that wanted to make you die, but none that really made you want to jump on them. “Can we do the carousel? I know I can do that one at least, my mom took me on them enough as a kid to be desensitized to those ones.” Steve looked over and saw the carousel that was filled predominately by smaller children, but if you wanted to do this and it was because he bought the tickets, he couldn’t make her do something else.

“If that’s what you wanna do, then we can do the carousel all night long, babe.” You nodded at him and followed him as he took your hand and the two began the walk to the carousel.

The carousel ride was much less curse filled, thankfully. You and Steve had found a pair of horses sitting side by side and the two of you quickly claimed them. Like you had said, you did get to enjoy this ride due to having done it before and you were able to just chat between the two of you, talking about how the kids were cute, how excited you were to take the kids to the park and not have to rides. It was a fine ride, definitely better than the last one.

“You ready to go home, babe?” Steve turned to you with a smile on his face. Getting you to ride two of the rides was honestly enough for him, plus, he knew Dustin would ride all of them with him later, with you waiting at the end for him.

You were about to agree and leave this eventful evening behind you, but you saw what Steve was standing near and bit your lip. Should you do it? Could you do it? “Actually, I wanna do one more.” He gave a quick quirk of his head before he followed your eyeline and turned around.

“What? Babe, we don’t have to do that, you have been through enough today and you were great, you don’t have to prove anything.”

“But...you have been wanting to do it, you told me about it one time.” You responded a little shyly as you confessed that you were doing it back of what he told you that one time. “I just...I really want you to be able to do it.”

“You...you remembered?” Steve was kind of shocked that you remembered him mentioning it, he had told that to girls in the past, but none of them really went out of their way to think about it, hell, even to remember it. “Are you su-”

“Steve, yes, I wanna do it with you.” The grin on his face was immaculate and contagious as one grew on your face as he quickly took this well and pulled you towards the line to the Ferris Wheel and dug around in his pockets for another round of tickets.

As it went around, you felt your stomach grow heavy again when you finally saw how high it got and had to calm yourself down without causing another scene. “Come on, babe, looks like ours is up.” He gently tugged on your hand and pulled you into the seat next to him before the handlebar was lowered and locked in front of you. “And here we go!”

The squeak that left your mouth was nothing but surprise and terror as you clung onto the bar for your life, your knuckles turning white with the sheer force you were holding on. “It’s really stupid you know that the only thing holding us back from falling to our death is this small bar and it’s really stupid because was if I was reall-holy shit this is really tall!” You finally removed your hands from the bar and moved to press yourself in Steve.

You could feel him trying to stop himself from giggling as he moved his arm to wrap it around you. “You can laugh you know; I really don’t care. I’m the coward of an almost twenty-year-old who’s scared of a carnival.” A chuckle did come through as the ride kept rotating and you slowly moved closer to the bottom.

“I’m not laughing at you, babe, but the noises you are making are fricking hilarious.” His voice still held the chuckle as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and you responded with another squeak of shock as you started rising again.

Making it to the top again, you were waiting for it to hit its peak and for the relief of lowering the cart to begin, but instead there was a shudder before the ride stopped. “What’s going on, what’s going on, why are we stopped? Oh god we are about to die, fuck, shit, I don’t wanna die.”

“Babe, calm down, someone below us is getting off so they had to stop the ride for a bit. Remember when we had to get on? Same thing probably happened to someone else.” You nodded your head and just stared ahead to the tops of the trees you never thought you would have seen.

“It’s...it’s not too bad up here.” You finally mutter after a few beats of silence and getting your bearings. “I wouldn’t want to stay up here, but it does look nice.” Steve hummed in agreement and pulled you a little closer. “Hey Stevie?”

“Hmm?” He responded looking down at you.

“Thanks, tonight was fun.”

His face broke out into a grin again at your thanks. “Of course, thanks for giving a few of these rides a chance.” Smiling up at him, you sat a little straighter and caught his lips with your own, the two of you humming to the other that you were happy with your evening.

Though it was not as long as Steve would have wanted to stay in that moment with you (the ride started again and you broke away with another shriek), but he wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything else in his life.

#steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve #stranger things season 2 #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things season 3 #stranger things #joe keery

[creativeashproductions]

If I Stay Part Two (Final) // Luke Patterson

Summary: Life as you knew it shattered and now you’re left picking up the pieces with memories of a boy with hazel eyes in your dreams. A handsome guitarist who easily becomes your unseen number one supporter. If only you could see him again.

Warning: Swearing, mention of injuries, mention of car accident and talk of death.

Words: 2.5k (excluding the song lyrics of “I Won’t Let Go” by Rascal Flatts)

A/N: Second and last part to If I Stay! I really enjoyed this story because I adored Charlie St. Cloud and I really enjoyed If I Stay. The second part to Lost Time will be up soon when I feel confident in the storyline of it.

If I Stay Part One

Masterlist

In a split second for the first time, you felt yourself, poof, away to a sterile white room staring down at the person in the bed. Covered in cuts and bruises of all colours, was you. A broken version of you that made you sick to your stomach. You desperately yearned to go back to being unaware.

“I’m…a ghost?” You breathed looking at your blemish-free hands, a juxtaposition to the arm in a cast. Then in a nauseating thought, the grief faded for fear on your family. Had they survived? You ran out of the room straight to a nurse, “Where are my parents! Where’s my cousin Lou?”

Of course, the nurse was unaware of an upset, emotional teenage girl, a victim of a car crash and in a battle for her life. Realizing no one would answer you spent hours running around the hospital searching for your parents or Lou.

“Lou!” You shouted through the halls unfazed as you ran literally through gurneys and medical equipment even the odd doctor.

At the very last room, you found Lou sitting up in a bed staring silently at the white wall with an official man seated by the side of her bed. He held a clipboard in his hand.

“Lou, how are you feeling?” The man spoke, his white coat embroidered with his profession and labelling him a psychiatrist.

“Fine.”

“You’ve suffered a trau-“

“I’m aware. I was there. I saw a paramedic violently hitting my cousin’s chest, I saw so much blood. I didn’t know there could be that much blood!” Lou snapped glaring the man down, “I saw the brains of the idiot that caused the accident! You don’t know shit! Oh, your little degree magically has you able to understand what I’m going through?!”

“Lou-“

“You wanted me to talk! So, let me talk!” Lou screamed at the man startling you with the anger, “My cousin! My best friend, my SISTER is up in a bed in a coma! A coma because I wanted to go to a stupid resort to ski! It’s my fault! And no one will tell me anything about my aunt and uncle!”

You stumbled back at the pain Lou displayed, it broke your heart, and you couldn’t listen to it anymore.

“Lou, let’s talk about survivor’s gu-“

You fell through the closed door before you could hear anything more from the psychiatrist. You ambled around the floor aimlessly feeling the worst you ever had and to think for two weeks you hadn’t been aware of anything.

“Did you hear?” A nurse spoke from just outside your hospital room. You jogged over reading her name tag of Melissa.

“Heard what?”

“The father of the mountain accident he flatlined in surgery. Doctors got him back, but they’re concerned about brain damage.” Nurse Melissa told her fellow nurse with concern pinching her expression.

“That’s the father of the Y/L/N patient, right?” Nurse Lucy spoke glancing at your hospital door, “I hope they’ll be alright.”

“That poor girl has quite the decision to make. To live or to die. It’s all on her now.” Nurse Melissa replied, “Her mother died-“

“Little unprofessional to gossip about patients in earshot of everyone. Did you know that coma patients can often hear things while unconscious? Or my favourite tip…did you learn about HIPAA?” The doctor on duty asked, staring the two nurses down with a glared. Each nurse shifted on their feet, “Stop gossiping and do your job. I’m sure you can change bedpans or give sponge baths.”

The nurses scattered, leaving you standing in shock at the information given to you. Your mother was dead, your father could be brain dead, and Lou wasn’t coping well. Leaving you in a state of wondering what to do. Should you stay in a world without your parents or let go to join them in heaven. The thought had you collapsing into screams on the floor as everyone went about their work; walking through the hysterical teenager.

A warm hand slid into your own with a comforting squeeze, but all you wanted was to feel your father wrap you in a bear hug. To listen to your mother’s laugh, move in the air with that beautiful musical sound. You want Lou to be okay.

Luke was quiet as he sat the floor, squeezing your hand every once in a while. You slumped into his arms, staring unfeeling at the door that separated your ghostly form from your physical one. Luke poofed you to the Molina garage right on the couch where he held you tight for god knows how long.

“She’s dead.” Your voice cracked tears rolling down your cheeks once more, “My mom is dead.”

“Sh.” Luke cooed pressing his lips against your temple as you curled further into his body. His heart broke for you as the gravity of the situation became crystal clear.

“Hi.” Luke’s eyes met the concerned ones of Julie Molina, a girl that would undoubtedly know how you felt. The thing that connected you being the loss of a mother figure, “I’m Julie.”

Your blank expression lifted to see a girl you had often seen in the halls of Los Feliz High School and vaguely remembered her. She had been performing during the Spirit Rally months ago.

“I’m a friend of Luke, Reggie and Alex. I’m sorry you’re going through this, but you are more than welcome to stay here. You can be in my room or here if you’re more comfortable.” Julie offered knowing exactly how you felt when a year ago, she had been grieving the loss of her mom.

“Thank you.” You replied hoarsely. Exhaustion from sobbing closed your eyes, something that was different to Luke as a ghost was your ability to sleep. 

Alex theorized that you could sleep because your body was still alive, whereas the boys had no physical body. They were just ghosts. He and Reggie were in the studio sadly watching as you slipped in a deep unsettled sleep. Luke’s broken eyes met his best friends before he had Alex come over.

“Please stay with her.” Luke whispered, leaving the tall blonde to switch places. Luke disappeared without another word.

“Where’s-“Julie began, but Reggie interrupted her with a sad smile.

“Remember when we took you to Luke’s house? He’ll do the same but with her.” Reggie supplied coming to sit on the floor in front of the couch; his hand grabbing yours in support.

In a medium-sized house with a backyard kept tidy by the neighbours, Luke found his way to your room. His grabbed a few items of clothing and sneakers into a discarded bag before he dropped the bag off in Julie’s bedroom. His next stop was your hospital room. Luke settled himself in the chair beside you watching your chest go up and down from the breathing tube.

“Hi. I don’t know you in this form, but I know your spirit. I’m not good with my words, but I’m going to try. Two weeks ago I met you in a record store, and I fell in love faster than I can tune my guitar and believe me I have the record in the band. I never believed in love at first sight, but I also didn’t believe in ghosts, but here we are!” Luke chortled leaning to place his hand on yours, but it slipped through.

His smile saddened, “As much as I love holding you and kissing your head… I’d much prefer feeling that aching and yearning feel in my gut. If I felt that then it meant you would be alive and well. I’d rather be sad that I can’t feel you than have you die so young.”

Luke saw your eyelids flicker and he hoped it was because you could hear him.

“You have so much to live for. It’s gonna be hard. I can’t deny that, but I need you to stay. Stay alive and fight for me. For Lou.” Luke choked, squeezing his eyes shut grateful when a hand rested on his shoulder. He knew it was Alex.

“Whatever you’re saying. Continue.” Alex whispered, “It’s working, her body is slowly becoming transparent.”

Alex’s words were further proven as Nurse Melissa jogged in surprised as she took vitals, “Well I’ll be damned. You decided to fight.”

Alex and Luke shared a relieved expression as you got even more strong. Together they returned to the garage. Luke was able to press one kiss to your forehead before you flickered once, twice, thrice before you dissipated.

In that hospital room, a beautiful thing occurred. Your eyes opened. Luke swore the birds sang better at the moment.

Recovery was hard. Relearning the little things, you took for granted was frustrating. Lou would hover as if you would disappear and you thought you were going insane. If you were waking up screaming by nightmares of the crash than it was waking confused on dreams that felt like memories.

The small victories helped like when you walked the entire hospital or when you were able to use the toilet and not the bedpan. The best win was being discharged to Lou’s parents and only needing outpatient physical therapy. Six months later, your father was awake and getting better; the loss of your mother still burnt hot and red.

It was on the sixth month anniversary when you walked down an oddly familiar street. Merritt happily trotting on his afternoon walk; Merritt had been an immense help. In your first month of recovery post coma, you met Merritt who would become your service dog.

A sense of déjà vu nudged you as you took in a vintage styled record store you swore you knew before. Continuing on you stop again at a toy story with a dollhouse.

 “My cousin had one…for her unborn niece.” The sentence floated in your mind, but you couldn’t put a conversation.

 “Caspar?” A male voice recalled in a distant memory of a dream a few days ago. You couldn’t think of anyone who had that voice, and absolutely no way had you ever seen that dollhouse before.

“Just coincidence.” You mumbled scratching Merritt’s head as his wet nose nudged your head before you could worry more. You watched people roaming thankful that you could do that, that you survived.

It was the building on the very end that confused you the most. Your eyes scanned the name proudly announcing itself as a tattoo parlour. A gasp left your lips as a vivid memory popped into your head with a boy that matched that voice you had thought of earlier.

“Luke. My name is Luke. Hey! I know this shop!” Luke beamed, stepping back to take in the storefront. In the twenty-five years since he last saw it, the blue faded into a teal, but the door was still the same as it always was.

“You have a tattoo?” You asked, scanning his arms bare in the cut off shirt he wore.You couldn’t see any ink on his skin. Luke couldn’t help the smirk on his faceat the blatant heated gaze.

“No.It was 1994. We just played our biggest gig at the time, and Bobby decided we should get tattoos.” Luke’s mouth twisted at the mention of his former friend, “Of course we were sixteen and Alex just about fainted in the shop. The guy took one look at Reggie and laughed at our fake IDs. Told us to come back in a few years.”

“So, you’re a ’90s kid.” You raised an eyebrow coming to a stop on the edge of the street, pressing the button to cross.

“Technically a ’70s kid. We died in ’95 a few hours before a life-changing gig.” The mood turned sombre as Luke thought back on that one night that life decided to raise both middle fingers at his dreams, “Death by a hot dog.”

You were so thankful for Merritt as he nestled up into a dog version of a hug as you felt the crippling anxiety. He was always there and knew about to help, support dogs don’t get enough credit.

When your eyes opened, it is like a dam broke and suddenly you remembered walking this street with three guys. The conversations and even the garage where one had held you in an incredibly vulnerable moment. Three ghosts that helped you when you needed it but didn’t know.

“Luke.” You breathed seeing a form shimmer in the sun as it flickered into a hazy form. Similar to how you did in the garage before going back to your body, he flashed three times. He solidified on the fourth with a great big grin.

“You can see me.” Luke cried, walking closer as he felt on top of the world when your eyes focused on him. He finally felt that yearning to meet your gaze fade away, “I missed you.”

You followed him to the Molina garage.

“I thought we’d never be able to talk again.” Luke sighed, reaching over, and he physically grabbed your hand, “I don’t know if I can touch you because of your former state or because of Julie.”

“Hm?” You questioned sitting cross legged on the bed.

“When I wasn’t watching over you, I was with Julie and the guys.” Luke went into detail about Caleb and the jolts, “We didn’t cross over because it’s not our unfinished business, but the stamps were destroyed when Julie hugged us. We’re sure that just like our instruments are connected to our souls that Julie did as well.”

Your hand brushed Luke’s cheek taking in the silky feeling of his skin, “I thought I was going crazy. I had these dreams of things I didn’t do in reality. My mind just wasn’t ready to remember the beauty of our connection.”

“This is an interesting little relationship you and I have.” Luke chuckled, thinking on how lucky he was to even know you, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You whispered gratefully to intertwine your fingers with Luke’s hand as well. It was like they were made for each regardless of the circumstances that brought you together, “I’m not ready for anything more than friendship, but I do strong feelings for you.”

“Being dead has an advantage. I can wait for eternity, and for you, I would. Just so you know, I have strong feelings for you as well.” Luke beamed scanning your face, taking in the blemishes from the crash. In the time you hadn’t been aware of him following coming out of the coma, he had become acquainted with your injuries.

When those little victories of weight-bearing, walking one step then two and finally that entire hallway Luke had been there unseen cheering you on. When you ‘graduated’ from the inpatient therapy Alex, Reggie and Luke had been there in silent support.

“Do what you need to do, and I’ll be right here for you.” Luke smiled gently, removing his guitar from the case, “Can I play something?”

You nodded in response as started strumming to a new song he had created in the last handful of months.

“It’s like a storm

 That cuts a path

 It’s breaks your will

 It feels like that

You think you’re lost

 But your not lost on your own

 You’re not alone

I will stand by you

 I will help you through

 When you’ve done all you can do

 If you can’t cope

 I will dry your eyes

 I will fight your fight

 I will hold you tight

 And I won’t let go

It hurts my heart

 To see you cry

 I know it’s dark

 This part of life

 Oh it finds us all (finds us all)

 And we’re too small

 To stop the rain

 Oh but when it rains

The song touched you so intimately as he sang the last few lines softly keeping eye contact with you.

“…Oh I’m gonna hold you

 And I won’t let go

 Won’t let you go

 No I won’t”

You pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek that flushed at the feel of your lips against his skin. His heart fluttered and knew that you were his soulmate and he truly hoped Julie could find someone that could love her like she deserves. Luke’s heart belonged to yours and yours alone and vice versa for you as well.

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#luke patterson imagines #julie and the phantoms imagines #jatp luke #luke patterson x reader #julie and the phantoms #angst #caitsy and ash productions #agentsofsupernaturalmarvel

[sobsicles]

Opening Line Tag Game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I was tagged by @dont-offend-the-bees - thanks! ill just do my spn fics and not any ive co-written because i didn't start the first chapters for those, though they're very good (Season Z and The Bad Santa Clause, respectively, that are fics written by a group of many amazing authors!)

Dean starts falling in love with him on a slow Sunday morning under slanted sunlight that slips through the gaps in the trees. — six hundred sundays (and many more)

Why did the curtains have to be yellow? — i want to do with you (what spring does to cherry trees)

In a bar on a Tuesday morning, it's a few months out from the final shot at the world ending. But hey, Chuck's long gone, and everything has worked out for the best, and the world keeps right on turning. Funny how that goes, huh? — dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)

There are certain moments in one's life when things go exactly as planned. It's like the stars align and the skies open up to reveal rays of sunlight and, against all odds, everything seems to be in perfect harmony. This is a phenomenon that Dean is genuinely not accustomed to, as it doesn't really happen for him. — finding hope (and finding him)

The first time she meets him, he's nothing more than an almost-missed appointment. — break the skin (to break the barriers)

The first time Dean and Cas kiss, it's not even really a kiss at all. It is, in fact, mouth-to-mouth. — a kiss for every season (literally)

The brass chip slides back and forth in a small path across the leaning desk Bobby has had for years and still hasn't gotten around to fixing. The chip reads: To thine own self be true. Unity. Service. Recovery. — separate ways and sleeping dogs

Getting used to Heaven is something of a marvel. It ain't perfect, and Dean thinks he'd hate it if it was, which is probably why it isn't. There's just enough human-esque nuances to it that keep it feeling like life rather than death, and he's thankful for that because he's got the smallest inkling that he should have gotten to live a little longer than he did. — oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith

So, the first thing that happens is Castiel comes back. It's at a pretty inconvenient time, considering the amount of pain Dean is in and how close he is to being dead. — things happen (they do, and they do, and they do)

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. — what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)

It's different now, no matter how much they're pretending it's not. Mostly out of self-preservation, because sometimes their sanity is hanging by a mere thread and it's so obvious that they simply have no choice but to fake it 'til they make it. They've done a lot of that through the years, practically crafted it into a fine art, but this is the best performance yet. — according to all known laws of life

Time is different here. — what they deserve (it's better this way)

The first realization he remembers having is that the stars are oddly bright from where he lies sprawled on his back. The second, of course, is that there are troubling sounds coming from some vague point to his left. He supposes that's fair—vision and auditory processes are usually the first thing people make sense of when they wake. He knows that much, at least. Not much else, though. — Memories Bring Back Memories (Bring Back You)

Dean would think that a failsafe like this wouldn't exist. It doesn't quite add up in his head when he sits down and thinks about it, but Sam assures him over and over that it's well within the realm of possibility for the Men of Letters--supposed smart people--to come up with something as stupid as this. — home is where the heart is (and you have mine)

The blackbirds start singing a dawn. — profoundly bonded (by law)

So. So, the thing about desperation, and want, and desire, and how it controls, is that it's all bullshit, and Dean wants absolutely no part in it. — staring at ceiling in the dark, same empty feeling in your heart (love comes slow and it goes so fast)

Cas wasn't a music fanatic of any kind, Dean knew this firsthand. Sure, he listened to whatever Dean was listening to, or whatever was playing in the car on long trips. But he never went out of his way to listen to music in his spare time. — listen to the song in my soul (only you can hear)

All things considered, Castiel found solace in the fact that his life couldn't get any worse than this. — Just A Touch

There were a few things that were known about Dean Winchester, undeniable things that hadn't wavered once in his entire life. — a helping hand (let's not be friends)

Dean was merely ten years old when he discovered that bridges didn't close the gap between two worlds. — The Bridges We Built

insane to me that none of these opened up on dialogue. i don't open up with dialogue that often, as it turns out. also, most of these fics are dean pov. only three of these out of twenty are cas pov (1, 12, 18). my personal five favorites out of these: 3, 5, 10, 14, 15.

im supposed to tag people, but like, i want anyone who wants to do it to do it! if you see this and want to do it, definitely do so! tag me if you do; i'd love to see your answers!

#sobs says things #sobs adventures in writing #this is a fun lil thing to do actually #just something to pass the time #plus it's informative about my own writing so that's interesting #destiel #destiel fic

[drabbles-mc]

Can’t Take Her Anywhere

Bishop Losa x Reader

Song Request from @bishopslosawife: the song is Can’t Take Her Anywhere by Dylan Scott 

Warnings: none, maybe just some mild language

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I chose Bishop for this because I feel like he’s one of the only guys in the club who is mature and level-headed enough to behave this way when other guys are flirting with his girl haha

Bish Taglist: @masterlistforimagines @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @multiyfandomgirl40 @sillygoose6969 @queenbeered @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @arveeee @mayans-sauce​ (If you want to be added to this taglist or the tags for any of my writing, let me know!)

When Bishop had come home earlier in the week and said that multiple charters were going to be in town for the weekend, you were excited. It wasn’t often that everyone came down to Santo Padre. Plus, when the parties were happening at Bishop’s clubhouse, that meant you got to go and be a part of it. Very rarely did you ever travel with the guys for anything. You were fine with that part of the deal, but it was nice to be part of the excitement and controlled chaos.

“Thank you for all your help, querida,” he walked up behind you and kissed the side of your neck, “You really didn’t have to do all of this.”

You laughed, “It was either I pitch in, or Chucky handles it by himself and gives himself a heart attack,” you turned so you were facing him, “Besides, I like helping.”

He chuckled, “I’m sure that Chucky appreciates it too. He going with EZ to Felipe’s?”

You nodded, “Yea, they should be back soon, actually. Then we’ll be pretty much ready for when everyone gets here.”

By the time you and Chucky wrapped things up, and you went home to get changed and ready, everyone was starting to show up to the clubhouse. Bishop had offered to take you on the bike, but you told him to go ahead since you weren’t quite ready yet. You walked across the expanse of the yard, loving the sight of so many of Bishop’s brothers there having a good time. The music was loud, and everyone had a drink in their hand as they stood around talking and catching up.

You weaved your way into the actual clubhouse. You smiled as you saw most of the Santo Padre boys over by the pool table. Bishop was going up against someone from Oakland, and even though you had no idea who the other man was, you knew that Bishop was going to win. You grabbed a couple beers from behind the bar before heading over. You were greeted with warm hugs and kisses on the cheek from Angel, Tranq, and EZ. You patiently sat back and waited for Bishop to be done with his turn before saying anything.

“A beer for you, Presidente,” you said with a laugh as you handed the bottle to him.

He smiled and took it before placing a light kiss on your lips, “You’re perfect.”

You batted your eyelashes at him, “I try,” you scanned the room, “I’m gonna go mingle.”

He chuckled, “Go, have fun. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You were never one to have to be glued to Bishop’s side during parties. He wasn’t an overly clingy man and that was something that you always loved about him. You had always been more of a social butterfly than him, and he wasn’t going to make you feel like you had to stay within arm’s length of him when you could be mingling and making friends. Being a hostess was practically in your DNA—he wouldn’t have been able to rope you in even if he tried.

The night continued on, and every time Bishop looked around for you, you were talking and laughing with a different group of people. You knew quite a few of the men from different charters, but there were always new faces and new stories to tell. He loved how easily you blended into this part of his life when you could have easily told him that you wanted to be separate from it. You caught his stare from across the room and flashed him a smile and a wink before going back to your conversation.

Bishop was sitting at the bar with Angel, talking about some vague details for an upcoming run. Angel stopped himself mid-sentence and nudged his shoulder, “Hey, Pres,” he gestured farther down the bar, “Fuckboy, 6 o’clock.”

Bishop turned and looked with a confused expression on his face. He let out a laugh when he saw what Angel had been referring to. Bishop watched as one of the prospects from the Yuma charter attempted to flirt with you. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, and Bishop knew that it wouldn’t be the last. You not being velcroed to his side all the time meant that people who didn’t know the two of you would usually assume that you were single.

“He’s harmless,” Bishop said with a shake of his head.

“You gonna let him talk to your girl like that?”

He chuckled, “She can handle herself. Can’t take her anywhere without that kinda shit happening. I stopped getting worked up over it a long time ago.”

“Damn,” Angel chuckled, “I don’t think I could be that alright with it.”

“It comes with maturity,” Bishop gave him a pointed look before laughing again.

He and Angel returned to their conversation, but both of them kept a close eye on what was happening with you at the end of the bar. You made sure to keep some physical distance between yourself and the prospect, but you always did get a little bit of amusement out of them chasing after you.

“Can I get you another drink?” he offered, a hopefully glint in his eyes.

You smiled and nodded, “Yea, I’ll take another beer, if you don’t mind.”

He handed you the bottle and as the two of you continued your conversation, you could feel him getting closer and closer. You wondered how you were going to break it to him that buying you a drink wasn’t going to get him very much of anything besides a nice conversation. You leaned back against the bar, laughing at his jokes and pretending not to notice each time his eyes travelled up and down your body.

Your eyes met Bishop’s across the length of the bar, and a smirk crept across both of your faces. He knew exactly what you were up to and he shook his head with a smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” he called out to you, “Can you come here for a minute?”

You laughed, nodding, “Sure,” you turned back to the young man in front of you, “It was nice meeting you. Enjoy the rest of the party,” you patted his chest lightly right over the prospect patch on his kutte before walking down to Bishop.

You couldn’t help but to laugh as Bishop immediately pulled you in and pressed a kiss to your lips. You wrapped one arm around the back of his neck and leaned into him. When you pulled away you smiled and shook your head at him.

Angel laughed from the barstool next to you, “Yuma looks like he’s about to pass out.”

“Should I tell his sponsor that he was hitting on a president’s old lady?” Bishop said with a laugh.

You chuckled and shook your head, “Oh stop. How was he supposed to know?”

“Breaking hearts everywhere you go, hermosa,” Bishop smiled as he kissed your temple.

“That’s my cross to bear, I suppose,” you laughed.

Bishop pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arm around your waist, “Angel was about to fight the kid on my behalf.”

You laughed, shaking your head at Angel, “Angel, honey, you gotta get over that. If someone talking to me needs a busted lip, I’ll give it to them. Don’t worry,” you shrugged, leaning into Bishop, “But a free drink or two never hurt anyone.”

The three of you sat together at the bar for a little while, taking in and commentating on everything happening around you. Every now and then, Bishop would give your leg a light squeeze and you would melt farther into him.

“Dance with me?” you looked up at him with a pleading look in your eyes.

He chuckled and nodded, “Anything for you.”

You hopped off the stool and tugged on Bishop’s hands, pulling him towards where everyone else was dancing. He smiled as he walked behind you fingers loosely entwined with yours so he wouldn’t lose you as you wove through the clusters of people.

“You know,” he pulled you flush against him as he wrapped his arms around your waist, “I’m not going to let anyone cut in.”

You laughed, tilting your head back slightly, “I know, Obispo,” you draped your arms around his neck, “I love you.”

He smiled, “I love you too,” he kissed you softly on the lips, “Even if you try to stir up trouble everywhere you go.”

You pulled him close so that his forehead was pressing against yours, unable to wipe the smile from your face, “I know, I know, you can’t take me anywhere.”

He shook his head slightly as his arms wrapped tighter around your waist, “No, I’d take you everywhere if I could. Let ‘em all be jealous.”

You giggled quietly as you felt him lean in and kiss you. His lips locked onto yours and for a few moments you completely forgot that there was a party happening around the two of you. It was so easy for both of you to get so wrapped up in your own little world.

When he finally pulled away from you, there was a smile on his face. He ran his hands up and down your sides, “If this wasn’t our party,” he chuckled, “I’d be leaving with you right now.”

You laughed and shook your head, “You’re too much,” you rested your hands on the sides of his neck.

“I’m so in love with you,” his voice was low enough so that only you could hear him.

Warmth flooded throughout your entire body, “And I’m so in love with you,” you pressed a kiss against his jaw, “And now I really wish we could leave.”

He smiled, “Soon.”

You rested your head against his chest, “Not soon enough.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #bishop losa #bishop x reader #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa imagine #bishop losa fluff #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 7:

Fast!

Bar Playlist: Youtube, Spotify

Fishing In the Dark

“Okay Logan, we are going to be on Peanut together. Sound good?” Leo held a kiss dazed Logan’s face in his hands as they spent the last hour convincing Logan to go on the trail ride with them. Kissing him until he couldn’t focus on his fear was seeming to work the best. Finn got in on it too before he had gotten on his own horse, along with most of the team. Celeste and Dumo decided to stay behind and help Judy clean up.

Leading a still dazed Logan over to Peanut he helps him up, Leo following soon after. Hands under Logan's arms holding the reins. Lo was leaning back into Leo’s chest and only noticed they were on a living vehicle when said vehicle started moving to join the others.

Leo rubbed a soothing hand over his side to let him know he was okay. Finn and Clay trotted over to Leo and Logan with a smile on their faces. There was a brown Burmese cat that was lazily stretched across Leroy’s rear behind Clay.

“It’s about time! From what I’ve heard Logan is pretty good at riding, should transfer over to equine.” Clay winks and Logan smacks Leo’s arm as he tries to hide his laugh. “Just know that Leo tells me everything… even stuff I don’t want to know. But I do the same with him.” Clay shrugs and turns around going over to Thomas, Noelle and Reg, the cat just fully relaxed as Leroy bumped it around.

“How long have you had him?” Thomas vaguely gestures to Clay and his posse.

“About 4 years, found him in the woods eating a rabbit.” Clay smiles at him as they ride side by side down the trail Leo and Logan were leading. Jerry, a little song bird that loves to ride with Leo anytime he goes down the trail perching himself on the rim of Leo’s hat.

“Wha- I thought horses were herbivores!” Clay looks up at a confused Thomas and raises an eyebrow, then it clicks.

“Oooohhhh, you think Leroy is a HE! Nope, she’s a mare! Had her since I was 9 years old. Tina is a man though, fathers all the kitties around the farm.” Smiling his million dollar smile at him. “I also have a sand boa named William-”

“Snakespear?” Clay blinks a few times and laughs nodding.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Maybe to some of us who… maybe still browse Tumblr on occasion.” Thomas winks at him causing Clay's face to heat up, swallowing the happy feelings that he knows he can’t have. He smiles back and trots ahead to be next to Logan and Leo.

Logan was gripping Leo’s wrist the entire trail ride, Finn was so distracted at one point Kuny let go of a tree branch and it smacked him across the face because he didn’t listen when he was told to duck.

It was a nice relaxing ride through the countryside, nothing fancy, just an easy going adventure. Everyone made it back to the pasture in one piece, thank god, everyone was hopping off and unsaddling the horses.

Leo got off Peanut first just for a moment, in that moment he watched Logan completely freak out when Peanut took three steps to the left to graze. Hiding his smiling by sucking his lips in between his teeth, walking over to Lo he helped him off of the horse. Logan was clinging to Leo like a koala, and tight enough it was hard for Leo to breath.

“You okay?” Leo put a hand under Logan’s booty to support him and ran his other hand through his soft curls. Hoping he felt safe now.

“I am now.” Logan looks up at him and smiles before lightly nipping at his jaw. Leo laughs a little and nods a thank you to Reg who is un saddling Peanut. Leading everyone inside to relax until they go out later tonight. Walking into the entrance hall and kicking off his boots all while holding Logan still.

“I thought these were school pictures!” Jackson, or Nado as the team calls him, points to the bunches of framed photos of Leo. “Are these… mugshots!?” He laughs in disbelief. The rest of the team starts to examine the pictures more closely. Some pictures had Leo with bruises or blood, some had him smiling with a middle finger up or peace signs, others had him looking annoyed. His younger one from when he was like 12 -13 years old were of him looking scared or crying.

“Yeah, they are all my mugshots from when I was, I think, 12 to this year. The Sheriff doesn't like us at all, arrests Clay and I for random reasons and even if, like when we were younger we would call the cops because someone vandalized the gate to the ranch and tried to break in. I got arrested for a false call. I was 14 I think. The cops are definitely not afraid to use force with us either… I hope he fucking leaves us alone while y’all are down visiting.” Leo is looking at his first mugshot ever of him sobbing at 12 years old. The week of his birthday, someone threw a rock through a window at a shop and blamed him.

“Is this your sister?” Timmy points to a mugshot of Eloise from last year and Reg bursts out laughing, Clay snorts and Leo looks confused.

“That’s my mom…”

Hours later, the drunk trio had already left for the bar to get a table and to talk to some of their friends they haven’t seen since the beginning of summer. The team was in their little ranch hand house getting ready, the speakers in the house all blaring Fast! By Sueco the Child because they know… they know there will be nothing but yeehaw music to assault and molest their ears tonight.

Thomas was pulling his grey shirt over his head, smoothing the fabric down as Noelle chills in her sweatpants and his t-shirt. People who didn’t want to go out are going over to Clay’s house to learn a bunch of mixed drink recipes and to talk shit. It was mostly the girls who didn’t feel comfortable getting harassed by middle aged men with beer guts, Dumo and Celeste who have become close friends with Judy overnight, and people who didn’t like going out in general. Like Olli, Adam, Timmy, and Sergei.

“We should talk to him.” Thomas sits down next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, kissing her forehead. Looking at the ceiling all he can think about is how easy they got along with Clay. How his smile and Noelle together made his heart speed up. When they both turned to look at him earlier he thought he was going to have a heart attack.

“I think you need to talk to him first, this is something new for you. To like a man. I- I’m not going to lie the thought of Clay and you separately give me the same feelings, but you two together. It makes me feel the happiest I’ve ever felt. Do you maybe want to talk to Lo or Finn before we talk to Clay? To make sure this isn’t just us… I don’t know, using Clay in a way we don’t mean to?”

“Yeah, I think that's a good idea. But when can we get them away from Leo long enough to talk to them?” Looking at his watch and hearing all the thumping down the stairs he gives her one last kiss before standing up and stretching.

“You could try to corner one of them tonight?” She smiles at him and winks at him as he shakes his head. “Have a good time tonight, Babe.”

“You too.” He heads out the bedroom down and down the stairs. He was riding with James and Coops to the Bar but maybe he would try to switch and ride with Finn and Logan.

“Red-ay!” James slings his arm around his shoulders and ruffles his hair. He thinks for a moment, then sees Finn swinging the keys to his rental car on his finger as Logan is on the ground struggling to yank his boots on. He was wearing heavy combat boots to dance around at a ‘Honkey-Tonk’ as Leo calls it. Seems like a bad idea.

“Actually I think I’m gonna tag along with Finn and Logan.” He smiles at James who shrugs and slaps his back before running off. Walking over to Finn, he looks down at Logan and gives Finn an ‘is he serious?’ look.

“He doesn’t want to be called short by all the hot cowboys and these are the tallest shoes he owns.” Sighing he looks back at Logan who is laying flat on the ground out of breath from fighting with his shoes. Reaching out he helps him up. “What’s up?”

“I’m gonna ride with you if that's fine.”

“Sounds good, let's go.” Finn skips to the car while Thomas and Logan walk side by side. Getting in the car, Thomas was squished into the backseat. As soon as the doors close he is asking questions.

“How did you guys know?”

“Know what?” Logan looks back at him as Finn starts the car. Thomas looks out his window watching the other cars pull out and start driving towards the gate.

“Know that three was the perfect number for you…” He looks back at them and sees them share a look for a moment, having a silent conversation before Logan climbs into the back with Thomas.

“It took us a long time to figure out, but we knew that Leo was for us because we could barely function as a couple without him. Like we could do it but, it just wouldn’t be the same. There was always something missing after we both started getting feelings for him.” Logan sighs a little. “It's hard to explain but it was like there was always a perfect Leo sized gap wherever we went. Once we both realized we wanted him, and he wanted us… it was a no brainer to ask him to be with us.”

“It’s definitely a feeling of loss when they leave and it's just you two together. So maybe it will cement your feelings when you get away from that person for a while. If they are the main topic of conversation when it's just you and Noelle… maybe three is the perfect number for you as well.” Finn smiles at him as he drives past the gate and follows the google map to the bar.

“What if we have already had time without them and.. We- I don’t know, we want to talk to them but I’m scared because.” He gulps and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Because I’ve never felt this way towards a guy before.” Finn blinks a couple of times and Logan nods, making a noise of understanding.

“ It’s a scary feeling at first, I freaked out for a long time until I finally met Finn. Then I freaked out even more and actually tried to leave the Frat. Then I finally let myself fall and I fell fast and in the stupidest way.” He laughs a little remembering when he realized he was in love with Finn. “Basically Finn had this mini basketball hoop in our dorm room the first year we had to share a room. Second semester I finally gave in to my desire for him. We had sex, honestly it was terrible because neither of us had any fucking clue what we were doing. But after, this bitch!” He starts laughing as Finn starts getting red on the tips of his ears from embarrassment. “He got up after like two minutes of cuddling because he had so much energy and started playing basketball! I was curled up in my duvet watching him with a sore ass, and a stupid smile… That's when I knew he was for me.” Smiling at Finn, just absolutely in love he turns to look at Thomas who is still laughing a little.

“I think I realized I liked… This person after they sent me a video of them playing a harmonica really annoyingly and another person in the car threw it out the window and he pulled another one out of his pocket.” Snickering, he smiles at them. “Thanks for not freaking out on me, Noelle told me to talk to you guys because she also really really likes Clay.” He realizes he just said the name he was trying to avoid and looks at them a little worried.

“It was pretty obvious how she was flirting with him all afternoon, and you just kind of watched and looked like a little puppy following them around.” Logan moves out of the way as Thomas tries to smack his arm and puts his hands up in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry! I meant like the big strong manly man you are.” Laughing, Finn pulls into a parking spot in front of the bar and shuts the car off.

Walking into the bar the smell of sweat and beer washed over them, making them scowl for a moment. They spot Reg talking to a blonde girl with a red cowgirl hat on. Leo and Clay are already hustling a game of pool with some people who look about the same age as them. The team made their way to the tab Reg was at and got comfortable. Ordering drinks and listening to music. Leo and Clay stopped by after losing $100 on the pool game. Chatting for a few moments when suddenly a sound like bagpipes came over the speakers.

Thomas watched as Clay's face completely lit up, dragging Leo out onto the dance floor. Everyone got into orderly lines and started stepping and dancing to the song all the same. It was mesmerizing. Thomas would be lying if he said he didn’t watch Clay completely lose himself in the music and didn’t have to take a drink to cure his cottonmouth. Especially when those goldish lights would land on them.

Making them even brighter than before, the lights giving Clay’s skin a bronze glow. When Clay pulled his tank top out of the waistband of his jeans, he choked on his beer. Patting his back Finn was chuckling as he watched Leo dance.

He moved so easily, like it was second nature, the dance didn’t look hard but Finn was known to have two left feet off the ice. The lights were amazing, making Leo’s hair poking out from under his hat look like gold leaf.

He was beautiful.

It was obvious that Leo and Clay were platonic soulmates, they mirrored every move perfectly. They had fun and acted like they were the only ones on the floor and whipping their heads back and forth to the beat of the music made Clay kick Leo by accident and he would just laugh.

Once the song was over Logan, Leo, Sirius, Thomas and Clay all went to smoke outside. Sirius and Thomas were out there to get some fresh air while Logan and Leo traded a cig back and forth. Clay puffed on his own and closed his eyes looking up to the sky. Hearing Footloose come on over the speakers Logan and Leo rushed inside because that was one song Logan actually knew how to dance to.

Leo joined him on the floor and would laugh but catch him anytime he would stumble with his boots. He would end up spinning Logan back into place and singing off key from behind him.

Reg was watching his friends as he spoke with Kuny about the wildly different styles of boots and hats people were wearing when a panicked looking Clayton came up to him. Grabbing his arm and walking towards the one dark lit corner of the bar and kicking a couple who was making out, out of the corner. He turns to Reg. Watching someone behind Reg walk towards the door and leave.

“You alright?”

“Thomas just kissed me…” Looking at him with wide eyes looking so lost, Reg grabs his arm to make sure he doesn’t bolt. “He kissed me and he has a girlfriend Reg! I- I’m not a homewrecker I swear!”

“Whoa whoa, hey Clay. Look at me.” Clay makes eye contact with him and starts to relax. “Thomas isn’t the type of person to just kiss someone out of nowhere, and I bet he is going to tell Noelle right away. It’s okay.”

“But Reg, I really like them… like in the way Leo likes both Logan AND Finn. I don’t want to lose them. I just figured it out the other night. I was never going to act on it because, its pretty fucking rare, but now Thomas did and- and what do I do!”

“How about we go and sit down for a couple of songs? Maybe dancing might help you out because it always seems to relax you. Okay?” Clay nods and follows Reg back to the table, after a few fidgeting moments he goes to the bar and orders a couple of shots and takes them all in a matter of seconds. Taking a deep breath he starts to relax. He feels a familiar hand run from his shoulder to his hip.

Ashley.

“Long time no see, huh.” She smiles a sly smile at him and leans her back on the bar. She was wearing a low spaghetti strap tank top and painted on blue jeans with red boots that look like Clay’s. He swallows a little. She did look good, and he was getting to be just drunk enough to be horny.

“What do you want?” She catches him looking at her boobs and smirks; he flushes red and turns around to also lean his back on the bar, looking out to the dance floor where some of the team has joined Leo in dancing to Hillbilly Bone by Trace Adkins. He looked at the table and noticed Reg staring directly at him.

“I just wanted to say hi, looks like you’ve really been taking care of yourself.” She feels his arm that he unintentionally flexes and she squeezes his muscle. He looks at Reg one last time, making his decision, he looks back at her and nods towards the door.

He leaves with her.

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Reg watches him leave. Absolutely shocked. He gets up from the table and walks onto the floor, walking over to Leo he taps his shoulder. Leaning down so Reg can talk into his ear, Reg tells Leo exactly what happened.

Looking up and around the bar he can’t spot Clay anywhere, he excuses himself from the group and walks outside with Reg. Seeing Clay’s truck is still there they walk over to it and knock on the window before looking in. Empty. They left.

“Fuck. I’m texting Judy.” Leo does exactly that.

Leo, having taken a few drinks to calm down, lets himself relax. He was at a bar with his friends and boyfriends, he could have a little bit of fun. They all decided they were leaving in an hour anyway.

So when Fishing in the dark by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band starts he grabs Finn and pulls him close swaying to the beat of the music as he mumbles the words into his neck, still stressing about Clay leaving like that. Holding Finn as close to him as he could he let himself just forget about anything but the man in direct contact with his body.

Once the song had finished he stood there still holding Finn for an extra couple of moments, letting Finn kiss the top of his head, his hat being on Logan’s head who was sitting at the table because his feet hurt. They eventually pull apart and start back towards the table.

“Oh fucking Christ!” Leo sighs as he notices who has taken his chair at the table. Ashley’s brother and the Sheriff’s son. David. He walks over and stands next to the chair. “What the hell are you doing over here?”

“I’m socializing with some new people, you didn’t bring them. Why would they want anything to do with you?” He laughs and his lackeys on the other side of the chair also laugh and slap his shoulder.

“Actually they did come here with me.” He crosses his arms and the rest of the team is looking a little uncomfortable and confused. “So if you and your shithead friends would oh so kindly leave. I would appreciate it.” Narrowing his eyes David stands up in a way that is sizing Leo up. Leo raises an unimpressed brow because David is a good five inches shorter than him and a scrawny man.

“Do they know you’re a fucking faggot? That you’re a cockslut? A fairy?”

“Why do you think we are here?” James pipes up and the three idiots across the table look at him in shock.

“You’re a whore, I could never!” David looking back at Leo and jabbing a finger in his chest. Looking David up and down slowly with a cringed face he nods.

“Yeah, you couldn’t. Now, I believe I asked y'all to leave.” Leo points with his thumb behind him.

“You’re dad would be so proud.” Leo grabs him by the collar of his shirt and aggressively pulls him closer to him with a look of pure fury on his face.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“I said. you’re disgusting dad-” Leo is pulled away from David by Sirius.

“At least my dad wasn’t a murder!”

“AT LEAST MY DAD DIDN’T KILL HIMSELF!” Leo stops fighting against Sirius’ grip and calmly gets away from him, storming out the doors, kicking them open and walking towards his truck. Kicking rocks up and trying his best to hold himself together. Getting into his truck he slams the door and grips the steering wheel, pressing his forehead against the hot plastic and squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he can.

Minutes later Finn and Logan crawl into the truck in silence. Leo goes to apologize but they hush him and just give him understanding smiles and both of them cup one of his cheeks. He was so close to crying but he just couldn’t. Not in front of them, the people who are supposed to see him at his best.

Once they get home everyone goes to their rooms and Leo walks down behind the barn to the pond.

He spends the night by himself under his dad’s tree.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

[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. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand #cp2077 #fem v #aidan v becker #aidan becker

[amlovelies]

17. a teasing / sensual kiss for Serena! (or any pairing you might prefer!) :3

random kiss prompts

okay I know you sent this to me months ago, and I’m sorry it took me so long. Writing has been rough in 2021, but hopefully I’ll get it together soon!

This is the first thing I’ve been able to write in weeks, and it’s a bit jumbled and I’m not even sure if it makes sense, but I’m posting it anyway because progress!

This would take place after chapter 5 of Just another liability

Tempered

pairing: Mason/f!oc (Serena Willis)

warnings: lightly nsft and vague mention of past abuse and cursing

words: 1.5k

              I always liked sitting by water. Even when I was young, I’d often wander out to the nearest creek or stream and just let the melody of the water sooth me.  It had been one of the hardest adjustments when I’d moved away. I couldn’t find the solitude I was used to. There were always barking dogs and screaming children. I couldn’t hear the music of the water.

               I’d missed it. A fucking lot. There were recordings and shit I could listen to, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t same when I couldn’t dip my fingers in the water and feel the pull of the current. It wasn’t the same when I couldn’t throw in a leaf or a twig and watch it disappear, and pretend I could go with it.

               Wayhaven is more like home. It’s not hard to find a spot around its banks where I can pretend, I’m the only person for miles. I might actually be.

               It’s a good place to watch the sunset; the colors reflecting off the waters and painting the whole horizon in watercolors. It’s a good place to just be. To let the lap of the lake on its banks and the chorus of birds quiet all the swirling thoughts in my mind.

               It’s his cigarette that gives him away. The acrid smell of smoke interrupting my otherwise idyllic afternoon. I turn to the source and see Mason stepping out from the dim underbrush. He tosses his cigarette to the ground and grinds it under his boot.

               “You better pick that up.” I tell him before turning back to the vista.

               “Or what?” he asks with a smirk in his voice.

               I tap my finger against my bottom lip as I try and think of a fitting punishment. From his tone I can tell what type of answer he wants. At this point it doesn’t take much for Mason to get what he wants from me. Mostly because it’s what I want to. I would have thought the sexual tension would fizzle and die once we actually started to mess around, but if anything, it feels stronger than before.

               I’m sure our conversation will descend into innuendo soon enough, but I’ll try to keep it PG at least at little longer. It may feel like no one is around for miles, but we are still in a public place; a fact I’m sure I will conveniently forget the second Mason touches me. It is also fun just to mess with him, “I can think of a few new artists Farah might like. Really intense stuff, lots of bass.”

               He only grumbles in response, but from the corner of my eye I see him bend down to pick the butt our of the dirt.

    ��          The log rocks a little as he sits next to me. I glance over as he settles into place, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his shoulder brushing against mine. Golden light bathes his features and I can’t look away. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. A light breeze rustles his hair. I have to suppress the urge to reach out and tuck the strands back into place. Sure, I’d seen him naked and undone, but this feels too intimate, a tenderness that hasn’t been present in our exchanges before. I don’t know what would be the worse outcome, if he would stop me and pull away or if he would let me.

               “I thought you came out here to watch the sunset, sweetheart. If you wanted to stare at me, we could go back to the warehouse and I’ll give you the full view.”

               Warmth blooms in my cheeks at being caught staring. “I’m not actually here for the sunset,” I say as if that is some sort of defense.

               “Its about the water and the quiet more than it’s about the sunset.” I begin to explain. “It’s something I used to do when I was younger. Everything felt a little easier after I’d sat by the water for a while.”

               He nods, “I get it.”

               I thought he might. I figure he goes out to sit on the roof for much the same reason I got to sit by the water.

               “Though maybe I should stop. It’s actually how I got stuck here. I was hiking out to sit by the river, and then there was a light, and everything went diagonal.”

               “So, are you out here hoping to find a way home?” he asks his voice soft. Softer than I’m used to and it causes a twinge in my chest, the same one that’s been happening more and more. The same one I’ve been trying to ignore.

               “Oh, I couldn’t do that. Adam would miss me too much.” I make a joke because of course I do. It’s better to make a joke about it that to let myself wonder if he would miss me.

               He doesn’t laugh. Not that I really expected him to. Only a tiny sliver of sun still hangs over the horizon. I should probably head back to the Warehouse if I don’t want to be stumbling in the dark. I shift my weight as a I get ready to stand.

               “Do you miss it?” Mason asks and I know he means home.

               “Less than I thought I would.” I saw with a shrug as I rise from the log. The things I miss I lost long before I passed through the portal, or they never really existed at all.

               I can feel his eyes on me, studying me, and I wonder if he is putting his interrogation skills to use. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. It’s hard to miss a place where I always felt alone and unwanted. Being here, being in Wayhaven is the happiest I can remember being in a long time. And that terrifies me.

               Whatever he sees he seems to be satisfied, or at least he doesn’t push the issue. If it was a few months ago I would say it was just indifference, that he doesn’t care about anything but his smokes and chasing tail, but I’m not so sure anymore. It would be easier to put him in that box. Yet, his silence never feels dismissive, but rather accepting. I guess that must be easier when you effectively a walking lie detector.

               “I should head back to the warehouse before it gets too dark,” I say as I rise from the log.

               “Don’t worry I won’t let any monsters get you,” Mason says with a toothy smirk.

               I just roll my eyes. I half want to make a joke about the irony of a vampire saying that, but the vamp jokes got old a month ago.   Little pieces of bark have dislodged from the log and now cover my backside, and I begin to brush it away.

               “You missed a spot,” Mason has his hand outstretched but waiting.

               I’m sure it’s just an excuse to grab my ass, so I slap his hand away. “I’m not going to fall for that.”

               “You’ve fallen for less,” he says with a shrug.

               “Don’t remind me.”

               Then he is standing, so close that only a breath separates us and I can feel the heat rolling of his body. Between that and the scent of smoke I feel like I’m standing too close to a bonfire, and if I don’t move back soon it’ll consume me. I don’t care.

               “Oh?” he asks, his voice gruff and sending a shiver down my spine. “Are you sure you don’t want me to remind you?”

               There is a part of me that wants to be petulant, to tease and coax, but then his hand is on my lower back, and our bodies are pressed together. It’s still not close enough.

               “Well, a refresher wouldn’t hurt.”

               The words are hardly out of my mouth before his lips are on mine. Kissing Mason is always an all-consuming experience. I am used to how quickly my body responds to his attentions, like a spark to tinder.

               But today he holds back, never quiet breaking the kiss he pulls back. His lips move over mine slower and more deliberately than I can remember. This is no flash bang, no explosion of leaping flames, but rather a slow stoking. A building heat until I feel like I have been placed in a furnace, and I am melting.

               When he pulls back, I can still feel the ghost of the kiss dancing over my nerves.

               “Should I continue? Or was that enough of a reminder?”

               “We both already know the answer.”

               “Still like to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

               And I do.

tagging (let me know if you would like to be added or removed 💜): @lord-king-saint, @lilyoffandoms, @tracing-freckled-constellations, @vienocalledmebuddy, @whippedforethanfreakingramsey, @utterlyinevitable

#thank you! #ask #prompts #random kiss prompts #the wayhaven chronicles #twc mason #elmshore #lovelieswrites #just another liability #oc: serena willis

[half-bakedboy]

I know there's only a handful of hours left of femslash February... BUT what about a "The Happiest Season" Clizzy AU? Very random suggestion inspired by no conversations at all. (Also you are great let's be best friends and go to a concert)

Kelly, you wonderful, incredible, perfect human being you. This might be my favorite fic I’ve written this weekend. Obviously, this prompt was inspired by no conversations at all, so you had no idea I would’ve preferred Abby with Riley. So you would definitely not expect that Abby is Clary and Riley is Izzy in this fic. So ENJOY IT. YOU’RE GREAT. AND I WOULD LOVE TO BE BEST FRIENDS. 🥺💜

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Clary wandered the streets of the small New York town alone, wishing that the cold air would quell the annoyance bubbling inside of her. She wanted so badly to just be with Heidi while she explored the town she grew up in, but instead, she was on her own, doing anything she could to stay away from the house she had thought she was invited to as herself.

She wasn’t supposed to be Clary Fray; an art student, out and proud lesbian, strong and brave feminist. No, she was supposed to be Clarissa; a business student, as heterosexual as they come, and an orphan who relied on Heidi for a family. She should have left the moment Heidi asked her to be anything other than herself, but she wanted to make their relationship work. She had never been so in love with someone before, or so she thought. 

“Hey,” a vaguely familiar voice knocked Clary from her thoughts and when she glanced up from the snow-wet cement, Heidi’s childhood girlfriend, Izzy, stood in front of her. 

“Uh, hi,” Clary said nervously, wiping beneath her eyes to ensure it wasn’t obvious she was crying over her dinner a few moments earlier. 

“We meet again,” Izzy teased, widening her eyes playfully. Clary huffed out a laugh, grateful that she still had the ability to do so, and nodded slowly. 

“Yeah,” Clary agreed lamely.

“No Heidi?” Izzy asked and Clary nodded quickly, gulping down the leftover emotion in her throat. 

“No, uh, she’s with her family? I’m gonna meet up with her in a little bit!” Clary said overly enthusiastically because she couldn’t really say anything else without sounding completely pathetic. She glanced down at the bag Izzy was holding and changed the subject easily, “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s--” Izzy cut herself off and glared at Clary with a teasing glint in her eye. “I can’t tell you that because it’s for the Yankee Swap,” Izzy said, hiding the bag behind her back and out of sight. 

“Oh, you go to that?” Clary asked. It wasn’t that she cared that Heidi’s childhood love was still so close with her girlfriend, but it definitely seemed strange that Clary didn’t know that before the trip. 

“Yeah, our families get together every year, unfortunately,” Izzy said with a roll of her eyes. She seemed to notice who she was speaking to and corrected, “I mean, it’s like the best party of the year!” Clary couldn’t help but laugh again and Izzy laughed along with her, both of them nervously rocking back and forth on their heels. It was like neither of them wanted to go their separate ways, but Clary knew they couldn’t stay.

“I’m, um, really glad I ran into you, actually,” Clary began in mock seriousness, “cause I’m having this thing where if I stick my finger in my eye, it, like, really hurts.” She finished with a joking smile on her face. The one conversation they had prior revolved around people asking Izzy for ridiculous medical advice the second they found out she was a doctor so Clary had to play around with her a bit. She thought for a moment that Izzy hadn’t remembered their talk until she replied.

“Oh, hmm. That sounds like a classic case of,” Izzy looked up in thought as if scanning through years of textbooks in her mind before glaring back at Clary, “contact stupiditis. Because it’s a stupid thing to do.” 

“Wow,” Clary said, mock impressed as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Yeah, very dangerous. Once you get to the finger-poking stage, you’re pretty much on your deathbed,” Izzy said, looking almost regretfully at Clary. 

Giggles bubbled out of her again and before Clary could think about it, she blurted, “I would really like to drink some alcohol. Do you know where I could do that?” Izzy considered the question and glanced up at the sky before her gaze met Clary’s again. 

“Yes, but only if I can tag along?” Clary nodded because there was no way she was drinking alone again. 

The last place Clary expected the small bumpkin town in upstate New York to have was a bar complete with drag queens. When they walked in, Clary grinned at the two women up on stage with their makeup impeccably done and their wigs perfectly placed. She had always appreciated good art and drag makeup definitely counted as such. They were playing what sounded like joyful Christmas music but Clary was pretty sure the lyrics were probably raunchy. 

“What can I get you both?” The bartender said as they walked up to the counter. 

“I’ll have a whiskey and coke,” Izzy shouted with a wink and Clary held up two fingers to tack on a duplicate drink for herself. She wasn’t sure what she was in the mood for, but whiskey sounded like the best way to drown her sorrows and warm her frozen body. They both watched the queens perform, laughing and clapping along to their wonderful songs, the tension easing from Clary’s shoulders every passing minute. 

“Alright, so, you have to tell me,” Izzy began once the bartender handed them their drinks and gestured to the newly open booth a few feet away.

“What do I have to tell you?” Clary asked as Izzy held out a hand, gesturing for Clary to head over first. They sat down together on the same side of the booth so they could both see the performers and Izzy glanced at Clary consideringly. 

“What are you doing here with Heidi?” Izzy asked with no hesitation in her voice. Clary choked on her drink and sputtering, grabbed at the napkins on the table. Before she could get a hold of them, Izzy held her chin in her grasp and wiped at her face gently with her thumb, a teasing smile on her lips. 

“I can’t believe you just asked that!” Clary mumbled, not making a move to pull away from Izzy even if she knew she should have. Izzy looked so good from up close. Heidi’s eyeliner was always overdone and she never wore any lipstick, but Izzy was the exact opposite. There was barely any makeup on her eyes, just mascara darkening her already stunning brown eyes, and dark red lipstick drawn flawlessly on her supple lips. Still, Clary was drawn to her beauty in almost every way she had presented it. 

Izzy laughed and leaned back, sipping her own drink before she said, “She must have told you that I was a straight-to-the-point kinda girl. You and I are alike in more ways than one.” Clary looked away, unsure how to tell Izzy that there wasn’t much Heidi told her besides the bare minimum to prepare her for their eventual meeting during the trip. She was supposed to hate Izzy on principle, but she found that it wasn’t that easy. 

“I mean…” Clary trailed off and sipped her drink slowly, already starting to feel the effects of the alcohol easing her nerves. She stared over at the drag queens, wishing it was enough to drop their current subject, but she should have known Izzy would push it. 

“She--” Izzy gaped at Clary who held back her laughter by pressing her lips together. “What has she told you about me?” Izzy asked. Clary couldn’t blame her. If she had her ex’s current girlfriend in reach during her last relationship, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from getting all the dirty details. 

“How are we alike?” Clary countered, but when Izzy said nothing further, she sighed. “She told me that you were her first girlfriend in high school,” Clary offered, “that’s about it.” Izzy seemed to consider the lack of information for a moment and chewed on her bottom lip like she wanted to say something. Clary prompted, “Is there more?” 

“Yeah, a little,” Izzy said unhelpfully. She continued to stare at Clary and after a few moments, she sighed as if relenting to Clary’s pleading gaze. Clary was glad her pity was clearly evident on her face. “We were inseparable as kids. Best friends turned lovers turned almost enemies in the matter of a few years.”

“Enemies?” Clary asked. When Izzy glanced away, Clary reached out to grab onto her hand, lacing their fingers together in what could have been seen as a friendly gesture if she hadn’t hidden them underneath the table. 

Izzy nodded and continued, “We kept it a secret - obviously - and when one of our others friends found out, Heidi, she, uh--” Clary squeezed Izzy’s hand tightly, reassuringly, needing to hear the story almost as much as it seemed Izzy needed to share it. “She wasn’t ready and that was okay for me, but she told everyone I was bi. She tried to tell me later that the only reason she said anything was because she thought I was ready to come out, but--”

“But it should’ve been your choice, not hers,” Clary finished. All Izzy did was nod in acceptance, but when Clary said nothing further, she spoke again. 

“Everyone found out. I mean, small town high school meant everyone knew everyone’s business, you know? And they were so awful. I mean, I had my siblings - Alec and Jace, you haven’t met them yet - around to beat up anyone who made a noise about it, but that didn’t stop me from knowing what was happening. Kids are cruel,” Izzy finished, holding her glass up for a cheers as if pretending the past didn’t hurt her as much as was evident on her face. 

Clary clanged their glasses together and muttered, “I’m sorry. I-- I’m really sorry.” She knew it couldn’t make much of a difference, but she still felt like she needed to apologize for Heidi. Having the choice to come out on your own terms taken away was horrible, especially when it was by someone a person thought they loved. 

“Yeah, so…” Izzy cleared her throat like the conversation had gotten just a bit too serious for her to handle, “what I meant is that we’re alike because we were - or are in your case - in love with someone who’s too afraid to show the world who they are and brings us down with them.” The word hit Clary like a ton of bricks, freezing her heart and causing her stomach to tighten. As if sensing her discomfort, Izzy squeezed Clary’s hand before she added, “But hey, that was a long time ago and--”

“No,” Clary interrupted, removing her hand from Izzy’s. “It might have been a long time ago for you, but that insight just proves that Heidi is exactly the kind of person she’s been proving herself to be this entire trip,” Clary explained, tossing back the rest of her drink just as one of the drag queens wandered over to their booth. 

“What are we celebrating, gorgeous?” She asked, twirling a strand of Clary’s fiery hair in her perfectly manicured finger. 

“I am celebrating the end of my unhappy and unhealthy relationship,” Clary cheered, glancing over at Izzy who shook her head with a wide grin on her face. Izzy gulped down the rest of her drink in solidarity and laced their fingers together again. Izzy’s hand felt like it was meant to fit in hers and Clary wouldn’t dare to let go. 

“And you?” The performer asked, leaning across the table and resting her very real looking breasts on Clary’s arms. She laughed loudly in pure enjoyment and felt the alcohol heating her skin and muddling her brain already. It was the first time in the entire trip she felt pure joy and it was all because of Izzy. 

“I’m celebrating being able to take this beautiful woman home with me tonight without any qualms, if she’ll let me,” Izzy tacked on, shooting a questioning glance at Clary. The shyness in her chocolate eyes had Clary’s heart warming out of its frozen state and her stomach erupting with butterflies as they gazed at one another. 

Clary hoped that the passionate kiss she pressed to Izzy’s lips was enough of a resounding yes. 

Send me WLW prompts for Femslash February

#clizzy #clary fray #isabelle lightwood #shadowhunters #femslash february #happiest season au #my writing #AHHHH THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE AKJSDFKL;AS #OMFG #THANK YOU FOR THIS AKLSDJFAL;S #ALSO YOURE THE BEST #AND IM HAPPY I MET YOU!!! #villiageidiot #answered #prompts

[whumpinggrounds]

Fresh Start

not super long but a lil update on Mara and Jude! first Mara’s perspective and then Jude’s and let’s be honest everyone here is trying but this is just not an ideal situation for anyone :/ Uh Oh

tagging @shapeshiftersandfire and @killtheprotagonist ! please let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

CW: pet whump, lady whump (there’s not really any whump but it’s like. references/the structure of the story so i want to be safe), dehumanization, angst, bad self-esteem, scars

It’s morning, the sun pouring through the window in her bedroom, and Mara’s feeling wrung out, drained, new. It’s a strange combination of feelings, an emotional hangover that makes her want to roll over and go back to sleep…but that’s not fair. There’s someone waiting in the other room.

Someone she still has to name.

Grimacing to herself, Mara dresses slowly, dragging out the process, wishing it were a weekday so she could at least escape to work. It’s a coward’s impulse, but the thought of the looming conversation makes her want to hide. She could, too. She could hide. She could stay in her room on her phone all day and the girl in the other room wouldn’t dream of looking for her. It’s tempting. It’s really tempting…but after almost an hour of putting it off, Mara decides to face the music.

With a forced smile, she walks out the door, and upon seeing the girl in the other room, her face relaxes into something more real. The girl looks so nervously happy to see her. Mara’s seen the way she fingers her simple black collar, the way that she trails after Mara, doesn’t even like to be in a separate room from her. She may not be Jude but she’s someone, and she looks at Mara like her owner hung the moon. Mara can’t help feeling fond of her, even if, after last night, she feels like she hardly knows the girl in front of her. She’s responsible for the Box Babe. She’d better start acting like it.

“Hey. How’d you sleep?”

“I slept well, Mara. How about you?”

The name comes without a stutter, and Mara feels a surge of affection for the boxgirl. She’s trying so hard. “I slept pretty well, too.”

There’s a pause, a little awkward. The girl starts slowly, hands twisting in the front of her shirt. “Would you…would you like me to make something for breakfast?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Mara waves the girl toward the couch. “Yes, in a minute, but…actually…actually I wanted to talk to you about something.” The girl follows, looking nervous. Her first impulse is to kneel on the floor, but when her knees start to fold, Mara makes sure to pat the cushion next to her. The girl lowers herself onto the couch uncertainly. “I…thought a lot about what you said. Last night. About not being…not being the, the person I…thought you were.” Another tiny, uncertain nod. The girl still looks fearful, and Mara doesn’t know how to do this gently, so she just sighs out all the air in her chest and gets to the point. “I think it’s time to give you a new name.”

The girl’s face changes, but only just. She goes from nervous-fearful to surprised-nervous-still fearful. Mara wonders how long it will take her to stop looking vaguely fearful. It’s only been a week, but then, Mara had hoped there’d be some improvement. Deep down, Mara wonders if this will ever get better, how long she’ll be walking on eggshells around the girl. It’ll be fine, she reminds herself at that grim thought. She’ll…she’ll get better.

“If that’s what you would like, I would like that. Mara. Thank you.” The girl dips her head in a deferential little nod, keeps her eyes on the floor.

“Hey.” Mara chides her softly. “C’mon. Eyes up. Look at me.” Ever so slowly, with no small reluctance, the eyes come back up. “Yeah. There you go. Good girl.” The girl flushes, looking pleased, and Mara smiles back. “So, what name should we pick for you?”

The girl’s eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. “I would like whatever name you choose for me, Mara.” The smoothness of her voice tells Mara this chant has been drilled into her a thousand times or more. I would like whatever BLANK you choose for me, Master. Just insert whatever noun your Master happens to be talking about, and there’s an all-purpose response for every question! Barely swallowing a sigh, Mara nods.

“Okay.” Mara looks over the girl, frowning. Naming another adult person is definitely going down as the weirdest thing she’s ever done. Should she pick something generic? Or unique? Or pretty? Something that has a particular meaning? Maybe she should wait – but then, the sooner she stops calling the girl Jude, the better. And thinking of her as the girl is kind of bizarre, too.

The silence feels like it will last forever, and then, unbidden, a memory comes to Mara’s mind. When Jude was sad, she had this tradition – this completely ridiculous tradition, begun by her older sister, which she religiously carried out even while she was at college with Mara. It was Twilight, or rather, watching Twilight. The awful series of Stephanie Meyer books that had become an awful series of movies – Jude had seen the movies probably twenty times, knew almost all the lines by heart. Apparently, her older sister had adored it as a teen, and Jude had adored her sister. When she was sad, it reminded Jude of home. Even Mara had to admit the sweeping shots of ocean and mountains and trees were kind of really beautiful.

So, hardly believing what she’s doing, Mara clears her throat and says the only name she can think of. “What about Isabella?”

The girl nods with what Mara hopes is eagerness. “That sounds lovely, Mara.”

“Isabella.” Mara tests it, and the girl – Isabella, now – nods her assent. It might be Mara’s imagination, but she seems almost relieved. Mara nods to her, and Isabella springs off the couch to go make breakfast.

Isabella. It’s a nice enough name. Not Bella, though, that’d be a little much, Mara thinks to herself, rolling her eyes. Next up she’ll have to get Isabella some clothes, and some of her own toiletries, and probably a collar, a nice, simple one, just to make her feel secure. She can do that. Mara can do that, can do this, can step up and give this girl the best life she can. She owes it to her – to Isabella, to whatever shreds of Jude might be left in the boxie’s ruined brain. Isabella is hers now. For…forever.

“Isabella,” Mara tries again, and the girl’s voice floats from the kitchen.

“Yes, Mara?”

“Scrambled eggs, this morning, I think.”

“Of course, Mara.”

This, then. Not Jude, but Isabella. Not a friend, but something else. A companion. A…not a pet. Mara doesn’t believe people can be pets, but…but someone that she’s responsible for. Someone she has to figure out how to have a life with.

Okay. Start here. 

_____

It takes a long time for Isabella to understand Mara’s rules. It’s her own fault – her owner is so, so smart, and Isabella’s only got her dumb pet brain to work with. Usually, her owner is patient, and Isabella can figure it out, but it’s confusing, trying to keep up with what Mara seems to want. Sometimes Isabella wishes that Mara would just tell her, but her owner must have reasons for not telling. She wants Isabella to be smart, she wants Isabella to figure it out for herself. Isabella isn’t good at that, but she’ll try. She’ll just keep trying.

Sometimes Isabella tries and tries, and still gets it wrong, and it’s as if Mara wants her to believe there are no rules – but that’s not true. There’s no way that’s true. The handlers taught her that over, and over, and over. Her owner wants things from her. The alternative is too scary, because if owner doesn’t want something from her, that means…that means she doesn’t want Isabella at all.

Shuddering, Isabella shuts her eyes against that thought. She’s not going to think about that. She’s going to think about the rules. If Mara doesn’t want to tell her, it’s Isabella’s job to figure it out on her own, and Isabella is going to prove that she can be a good pet, that she’s worth it.

First, Isabella is supposed to call her owner Mara, even though the first-name basis feels strange, like putting on airs. At night, Isabella practices, turning the syllables over in her mouth. Mara. Mar-a. Marrra. She needs to be able to say it without a stammer. She sees how irritable it makes Mara when she says it with a stammer, so Isabella chants it every night, tries to use the name in her head. It still makes her uncomfortable, sometimes even makes her afraid. She doesn’t even want to think about what Handler Collins would have done if she called him by his first name – but Mara isn’t Handler Collins. Mara is much more important than that. Mara is her owner, and if she wants to be called by her first name, Isabella will call her by her first name. It’s, it’s lucky that she gets to do that. It’s a gift that Mara is giving her, and the thought of that makes Isabella smile tentatively to herself in the dark.

She practices a few extra minutes for good measure, afraid that all her ruminating counts as questioning her owner. Mara. Mara. Mara. And now…now, what other rules are there? What else does she need to practice?

Look Mara in the eye. The face-to-the-floor approach doesn’t work with Isabella’s owner. In fact, most of the ways that Isabella was taught to respect her owner don’t seem to apply here. Mara wants her to sit on the furniture and speak without prompting, clearly and distinctly. Mara wants her to have ideas, opinions. She wants to be able to have conversations with Isabella, which often end in exasperation, because Isabella just doesn’t have the knowledge or personality to really be interesting to talk to. Still, Mara tries. Her attempts are enough to leave Isabella terrified at her own incompetence.

Does Mara want a reason to punish Isabella? The thought makes the girl squirm uncertainly. She’s supposed to be…she’s supposed to be good. If Mara wants to hurt her, she should just hurt her. Isabella doesn’t know how to earn it on purpose. That’s not how things are supposed to work. She wants to be good, but sometimes when she’s trying to be good, trying to be easy and pliant, all it does is make Mara’s eyebrows furrow, make Mara grimace, make Mara heave one of those huge explosive sighs.

Isabella is just stupid, is the problem. She’s a stupid little pet, and Mara wants so much from her, believes so much in her. It makes Isabella happy, when her owner praises her or nudges her toward doing things on her own, but it also makes Isabella afraid. If she messes up, she’ll make Mara angry, and that’s the last thing that Isabella ever wants. She loves her owner! Mara brought her out of the facility, and she feeds Isabella every day, and lets her sleep on the couch, and never hits her or hurts her. Isabella wants badly to make her owner happy. She wants to earn all the rewards she’s being given. She just doesn’t know how, and so the lingering fear creeps in around the edges – she hasn’t earned any of the nice things that she has, so what if Mara decides to take them away? What if she decides Isabella isn’t good enough?  

Does Mara…does Mara like her? Isabella finds herself confronting her reflection in the mirror when Mara’s gone at work. Brown hair and green eyes and scattered freckles. Her face is fine – too plain for a Romantic, Collins always told her, but in the end he might’ve been wrong. There was that extra training – that awful, confusing, hideous extra training.

But Mara doesn’t use her that way. Isabella wrestles with the questions, the confusion, turning everything over and over in her head. Finally, after examining every other part of herself, Isabella confronts the last big question, pulling at her t-shirt to examine her scar in the mirror.

It’s an ugly thing, big and rippling, the skin rough and red and angry. It’s like two ragged handprints, uneven and patchy, and it still sometimes hurts her at night, though she doesn’t say a word about it to Mara. In the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom, Isabella stares at it, defeated.

It’s ugly. It’s a defect. It’s wrong.

Maybe this is it. Maybe that’s why Isabella sleeps out on the couch and doesn’t do much more than light cooking and cleaning. Mara will hug her sometimes, squeeze her hand, sling an arm around her on the couch, but Mara doesn’t use her the way that Handler Collins told her she’d be used. She gets a little irritated when Isabella lingers too close – apologizes for it, says she can’t stand clinginess but – but – but is that really true?

Maybe Isabella is too ugly. Maybe she’s too damaged. Maybe she’s not good enough.

Isabella isn’t in pain, and she hasn’t been threatened. Isabella’s lucky, because there are owners that are much worse, resort to violence far harsher than indifference. There’s really no reason for tears to be leaking from her eyes.

#lost cause jude #pet whump #lady whump #reluctant whumper #ish? #mara isn't really whumping anybody #dehumanization #aftermath of conditioning #angst #bad self-esteem #scars #incompetent caretaker

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Tag Fact #3 -  I’ve come to realize I’ve always been a fan artist more than I thought. so here is a timeline of influences that shaped my childhood to now. from nostalgic times, to sad changes, to great loss, to strange rises to fame and phases, to stepping stones and finally a laughing place. all the things that make up your favorite fan artist Tag.

1. Rayman (bumped into this in the year of 1999) was actually the first fandom (with crossovers) I bumped into when I was 9. although the internet wasn’t available at the time it was still fun to dwell in home amusements. I remember the storylines and the OC’s I made but they’re kind of embarrassing and it’s probably a good thing there was no internet. I’ve done fanart and comic crossovers of Rayman with Calvin and Hobbs and Nights Into Dreams, spinoffs of Sonic the Hedgehog OC’s, Yoshi with Pikachu, and the Pokemon/Digimon craze with OC’s and other Nintendo comic shorts. but the drawings and comics are long gone and disappeared in the garage in a backpack due to suspecting my sister’s dad accidentally throwing them away. years later towards the year 2018 (now 28), we decided to move to North Carolina and it was my chance to find them again. unfortunately the backpack was gone just like I suspected (my main stuff), but for some reason I found my Pokemon/Digimon fanart, a good batch of Super Mario drawings (vaguely remember doing these), my sister’s drawings and some other neighborhood kids’ drawings in a dirty box. I was partially happy I found something at least but it was the backpack I wanted the most. sometimes I regret not looking for the backpack (’cause I was too busy being a kid) but it’s alright, noone needs to see that shit anyway, ha ha. anyways, I recall being a fan of Rayman from 1999 ‘til 2002.

2. Sonic Adventure 2 Battle (bumped into this in the year of 2003) my second fandom I bumped into when I was 12 going on 13. at the time, my sister and I both liked the Sonic The Hedgehog Franchise based on the Battle remake and ended up making our own secret fanart club that consisted of only us two members. she liked Sonic (and that was her boyfriend, ha ha) and I liked Knuckles (and he was my boyfriend, ha ha) and we were crazy in love about Shadow’s backstory. we listened to the game’s soundtracks as we drew fanart and comics after school and man, those were good times. however, as we grew older towards the year of 2005, we ended up having separate rooms and I believe it played a part in disconnecting on the same interest. then one day, I asked her why she wasn’t into Sonic anymore and she replied, “Because I grew up.” I was sad after that and slowly observed that she was influenced by the emo culture and the new friends she’s made. I was the only member of our little club for a little longer...but eventually I moved on too. I still have some surviving fanart we did together but it doesn’t mean shit anymore since she turned out to be an abusive mother from the last I’ve heard of her. 

3. Gorillaz (bumped into this in the year of 2006). as the Sonic years were at its end, I first heard the song “Feel Good Inc” on Music Choice and seeing the first image of them as displayed on this post (except the fan-made background doesn’t count since I can’t find the original artwork). this was my third fandom and later had proper access to the internet to the website I still currently use called DeviantArt. at first I liked 2D but eventually fell for Murdoc and developed a spiritual connection towards the character as obviously seen in my old fanart and rare photos of my devotion shrines on Valentine’s Day and his birthday every year. for the longest time since being a permanent fan from 2006-2017 (11 1/2 years) I had no knowledge that it was a political propaganda band and other realizations I don’t want to talk about. I only followed them because it was a cartoon and not the bullshit behind the musical project. the world I’ve built and support for them for all those 11 1/2 years shattered the fuck out of me and I just wanted to be left alone to find myself again, somehow. activity stopped on all my profiles, the flow of fanart stopped since I now cringe from the fan service and felt I was used for my talent. I didn’t want to be reminded of it all so I took down all my Gorillaz fanart and archived them for old followers’ nostalgia but also in the hopes they’ll be forgotten in my timeline. I ceased to exist in the fandom for huge personal reasons but it’s best to not say why. I know for sure that the fandom wonders what happened but it’s none of their business. THE END.

4. Waluigi (although I knew he’s been around since 2000 during childhood, I took deep interest once I revisited the character again in the year of December 2013). as silly as this sounds, when I revisited him again, the character was so bizarre that I ended up staying up 3 nights and 3 days in a row just looking all over the internet on everything about him and the questionable “hush-hush” absence of a backstory. despite there being no backstory he slowly gained a cult following and in many ways it’s a good thing. however, since the early 2010′s tension has been building up between Nintendo and its fans about him starring in a main game but everyone hasn’t fully gotten it in their heads that it’s not gonna happen. as long as Nintendo is in control of that, the fandom will not win, I’m sorry to say. on the other hand, if it’s going to be this way, then that’s what fanart and comic projects are for. as for me, I am doing my very best to get my comic project “Waluigi Land” going. again, I apologize if it’s taking very long to get Chapter 2 going if you’ve been keeping track but aha moments need to develop before I start permanent drawing (since concepts, character design and storyline needed improvement badly). as of right now I am still a Waluigi fan and I will not quit on him.

5. Turbo from Wreck-It-Ralph (although it debuted in 2012, I watched the movie two years later into the year 2014). for some bizarro reason, I had an unhealthy obsession with this character to the point where I dressed up as him for Halloween 2014. only 2 fanarts of him and the Turbo Twins exist on my profiles, mainly because my mind was more focused on just ‘thinking about him’ or ‘being him’ rather than drawing physical drawings. luckily, this supposed alleged fandom didn’t last long a little after Halloween so I chalk it up as a very short phase. to this day I don’t know what has gotten over me about him. the only thing I can think of now is that I think it’s because the character had yellow eyes and teeth but I don’t know. now that I think of it, that little fucker was ugly as hell and I STILL don’t know what had gotten over me. one day, my brother mentioned what that was about, and I said to him, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

6. Undertale (although it debuted in 2015, I later took interest in it in 2016). It was all about Sans and Papyrus. I couldn’t get enough of the skeleton bros. eventually Toriel and Mettaton EX became my favorites but it took a long time to draw more of all 4 of them because I had other important things to do in my life plus I was still waiting for the next Gorillaz album to revive my imaginative juices (or so I thought). I really want to have this as one of my frequent fandoms but I just don’t have time for it anymore. it’s still in the back of my head to want to draw them but at this point I still have other better interests to be in. and besides, I’m lazy just like Sans.

7. Cuphead (June 28th, 2017 was the official day I called quits on the British-based band Gorillaz due to the bullshit behind it. since that date I was lost, had no inspiration to look forward to and no cartoon guy to make me smile...but lo and behold of the same year, I took an interest in playing the game Cuphead and man...that shit was a frightening exaggerated metaphor for being on that one drug (forgot the name though) and having sex at the same time but man that was the best fun I’ve had in years. I mean, it’s like, enemies are just so happy to murder you and that scared the shit outta me. and the facial exaggeration?....I think I should stop, ha ha. anyways, the Moldenhauers saved my ass from spiraling down, they have no clue. anyways, eventually I became a permanent fan of their work so to ease the hurt and erase my past from the G-fandom I had to re-wire my brain into a different cartoon category that’s a rather more American, so anything Toon related like Roger Rabbit, Felix the Cat or another favorite that’s a western-based cartoon makes me feel better, especially my new man .......King Dice <3 <3<3<3. however, there was something about this new fandom category I still didn’t quite understand until the date March 14th, 2020. I finally understood what it was but I feel I shouldn’t bring it up. anyways, Cuphead and anything western or rubber hose is my last stop in inspiration for the remaining years of my life. many say never say never but I believe I’ve found my laughing place and that’s all that matters.

#tag facts #influences from cartoons #likes and dislikes #thoughts i have about characters #toons #rayman #sonic the hedgehog #gorillaz #waluigi #turbo #wreck it ralph #undertale #cuphead