#and turn it over to the cops without a warrant

[absurdly-useful]

Maybe consider backing up your important files to other media. Whether that's cloud or not isn't really relevant to the question of "do you have backups".

Personally, I use a Synology NAS with two 4TB HDDs in it for things that don't need to be on the cloud.

Things that I want to be able to edit from multiple devices, those need to be on the cloud.

me: saving a file locally any program: hii 😏save it on the cloud... 😫🫠hey did you know we have a cloud service??😳🤤 hey🥺. you want to save locally 😫😭but pleassse upload. 🫠😫😫omg our service now includes😈 online sevicr😏👄. upload it to 🤤clowud👄..we have a 👀 cloud🤤🥺🥺. give it to me Rachel😳😫hey! 😘 look!!👀👀 online servbive .save it on 💦 our 💦 server💦🥺🥺 😈. oww m g 👉🏻👈🏻pleasss😳🥴 uploard your fileee on our cloud service😭😩. it's so good!!😵‍💫 give it to mmmeee 😫🥺 do it.👄 noo 😮not locally🥴😭😭. use our 😘online servjceeee👉🏻👈🏻���

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ Learning on the Job

Dean Winchester x sister!reader Summary: Running away from the police is the best way to learn how to drive for the first time! No?

Note: this is my attempt to steer away from writing so much angst 😭 they're just so addicting

There was not one hunt that went smoothly this past month and you thought - you prayed - that this one would be the one to break the cycle. It almost did.

The day started off totally normal, which should've been your first clue that something was about to go very, very wrong. There should've been an argument or no food in the fridge for today to go nice.

Dean had dragged you and Sam out to investigate a haunted diner in Missouri. Sam had gone inside to interrogate the overly peppy waitress while you and Dean waited outside in the Impala, munching on curly fries like it was just another Tuesday.

That's when the cop pulled up behind the Impala. Lights and siren on.

Dean squinted in the rearview mirror, casually flicking a fry into his mouth. "Huh. That guy looks…suspiciously like someone I punched in a bar last week."

You glanced back. "Dean, that's a detective."

"Correction," Dean said, shoving the keys into your hand, "that is your driving instructor for today."

You blinked. "I- what?"

"Move over, Y/n. You're driving."

"WHAT?!"

"I got a warrant in this county!" he whisper-shouted as he climbed into the passenger seat, somehow without spilling his soda. "Go! Hit the gas! Pretend it's Mario Kart!"

"Dean, I've never driven before!"

"Perfect time to learn!"

You squealed, stomped on the gas, and the Impala lurched forward with a mighty vroom, throwing Dean back into his seat. He shouted something that sounded vaguely like "YEEE-HAW," which felt very unhelpful.

“I’m gonna kill you!” you yelled, gripping the wheel like your life depended on it. Because it did.

"You're doing great!" Dean said, trying to simultaneously cheer you on and hold onto his fries. "Okay, now go left!"

"I forgot my left and rights!"

"The one that's not right!"

"That doesn't help, DEAN!"

Behind you, sirens wailed. The cop was in pursuit, and gaining fast.

"I'm going to jail. I'm going to jail for learning how to drive from you!"

"You're not going to jail,” Dean said, calmly dunking a fry in ketchup. "Because you're gonna lose him. Take the next right. Drift it."

"Drift it?! I don't even know how to turn properly!"

You yanked the wheel, nearly missed a mailbox, and definitely took out three garbage cans and a lawn flamingo. What kind of house has lawn flamingos in real life?

Dean whooped. "That's my girl!"

"Are you having fun?!"

"Only slightly more than usual. And by the way, your driving is better than Sam's."

"I will drive us into a lake."

Dean snorted, but then looked behind you. "Okay, he's still there. Time for Plan B."

"You had a Plan B?!"

Dean reached under his seat, pulled out a duffel bag, and dumped it on the seat in between you two.

"Smoke bombs," he said with a grin.

"WHY do we have smoke bombs?!"

"For educational emergencies! Like this one!"

You tossed one out the window just as the cop was getting close. A thick cloud of smoke exploded behind you.

"I think that’s illegal," you muttered.

Dean just smirked. "So is impersonating a rodeo clown, and yet here we are."

You skidded around another corner, heart hammering, palms sweaty. Somehow, miraculously, you weren't dead. Or handcuffed.

When you finally pulled behind an abandoned warehouse and killed the engine, you just sat there. Silent. Shaking. And possibly aged fifteen years.

Dean patted your back like you’d just finished a marathon.

"Kiddo," he said proudly, "you're officially a Winchester driver."

"I hate you."

He grinned. "You say that now, but wait until you're parallel parking in reverse down a mountain."

"I'm never driving again."

"You're driving us to Taco Bell."

"I am absolutely not driving to-"

"Too late. I already texted Sam to meet us there."

[quokkaholic]

Confession and Cuffs s.c

Warnings/tags: suggestive fluff, cop hate lol, cussing duh, y/n aggressively flirty low key would be harassment irl. Lightly edited

Synopsis: You are a notorious criminal that is very familiar with your local police force. Detained on a faulty warrant and interrogated for hours, you give them nothing but sass and harsh criticism. That is, until you meet Detective Seo.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

You remain in the same sterile interrogation room you have been in for hours, stainless steel chair bruising your tailbone and digging into your spine. With an adjustable lamp clamped to the edge of the table turned off, the lighting is dim but you can still see the reflective surface of the one way glass opposite you. Even though you are alone, and have been for a while, there is no mistaking the feeling of eyes on you monitoring and examining your every move, every breath, every blink. You feel like it has been at least an hour since the last officer was in here with you demanding a confession to a crime you, for once, didn’t commit; even if you had, you’d never spill your guts to them. The only reason you are here now, is they arrested you under the guise of a warrant out for not paying a speeding ticket you received years ago as a teen. You know for a fact you paid it and got it expunged from your record, but it was so long ago you no longer have proof of the transaction. On top of that, it's a Friday night so the records department won’t be up and running again until Monday. These pigs orchestrated the whole thing to get you in their custody, and you aren’t even the perpetrator in this case.

Since your arrest, it has been a revolving door of officers trying different tactics on you. They’ve made offers of food and lenient sentencing. Tried to coerce you to sell out your compatriots. The last guy practically just screamed at you for half an hour, voice screeching and droplets of spit flying from his red hot face, trying to scare out a confession, but all you could do was laugh. He must be new, you thought, despite being a criminal, you have gotten to know and are on decent terms with a lot of the more reasonable officers. After having to release you on the grounds of no evidence countless times, many of them have accepted that your actions tend to only harm other members of the seedy underbelly of the city.

That is the case for most of the force, but obviously not the next officer that walks in. You can tell by his demeanor that he is going for bad cop as he saunters in with an expression of disgust and accusation when he looks your way. He avoids eye contact, maybe because he wants you to feel lowly and beneath him, but it's more likely he knows you will see through his ruse if he lets you meet his gaze.

“We know it was you” he spits flipping through a folder labeled evidence that is without a doubt filled with blank pages. While you usually give ambiguous answers or simply remain silent, you’re over messing with the investigators at this point,

“Hmmm no you dont” you hum out matter of factly

“Quiet! We’ve got you this time,” he must be really committed to the bit, raising his voice and ordering you around.

“Really? What dirt do you have on me? Go on. I wanna see.”

“It's in the evidence storage for the night,”

“You don’t have photos in that conveniently marked folder you've got? If I’ve told you dipshits once, I've told you 100 times,” you pause to squint at the name badge on his chest,

“Skinner, I’m not your guy” shouting back to get the attention of the people that are without a doubt recording, before leaning back in the chair that feels like a bed of nails at this point. Not allowing your discomfort to show, you continue,

“You're a bad liar, Skinner. If you had something real I'd have been arrested for a real charge and not some backhanded bureaucratic nonsense. I’m done talking” your statement punctuated by the crossing of your arms over your chest. The goose bumps on your skin are impossible to ignore; it's a damn icebox in here, another tactic to get you to admit to this crime you played no part in. Despite your refusal to engage, he went on accusing you and shouting garbage before stomping out like a frustrated child.

A while later, you are beginning to doze off with your head resting on the frozen table, but the sound of the locks being opened shakes you from your drowsiness. In walks a hunk not in the typical uniform. He’s got on a white button up that hugs his thick arms so perfectly accentuating his toned form and a black vest over it and pressed black dress pants with a key ring and badge clipped to the belt. You turn to the mirror and attempt the make eye contact with the people on the other side before blurting out,

“Oh so we’re doing sexy cop now? That's new,” before looking back at the man entering the room. He puckers his lips and presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek trying to fight back a smirk while dropping his file on the table across from you.

“I’m Detective Seo. I’ve been assigned to this case, and I just wanted to ask you a few questions” He says with confidence but politely as he pulls out the chair opposite to you and takes a seat.

“You and every other pig in this pen.” You say coldly before allowing your grimace to shift into a cheeky grin, “Don’t worry, I can kid around with them. We’re all close; I practically know them all by name” feigning sincerity in your tone.

“I bet you do” he lets the words slowly fall from his mouth as he mocks you for your seemingly endless unofficial record, opening the thick folder,

“I’ve checked out your file”

“Oooh a fan I assume?” you question, heightening your tone to speak more sweetly staring up at him through your lashes. He looms over you flicking on the table lamp. If he wasn’t so jaw droppingly handsome, you'd be irked by his attempt at asserting dominance over you. You like the look of him above you, but it ends all too soon as he pulls out the chair on the other side of the table and gracefully and controlled lowers himself into the seat drawing your gaze to his muscles straining against the fabric of his button down.

“You could say that,” he mumbles seemingly unimpassioned. His eyes skimming the papers in his hands,

“I can’t lie, I’m impressed. Life long career criminal and not a single conviction”

“I don’t know what this criminal nonsense you speak of is, but you're damn right, my record is as clean as a whistle. Well, I guess until today,” you aren’t trying to maintain an ere of innocence. Everyone here knows what you do for work, and you aren’t oblivious to that, but you’ll be dead before they get audio of some half ass admittance of guilt they can spin and manipulate to finally take you to court.

“We both know this charge is bullshit, and you’ll be set loose on Monday,” he nonchalantly muses and he peers over the top of the papers at you. His warm eyes would be mezmerizing in any other circumstance, but you have to remain sharp.

“You sound sad, babe. We’ll work hard to make the most of the time we have together,” you tease. Leaning forward to rest onto his elbows,

“I know I will,” he assures you then asks,

“So why did you do it?” he asks. You give an exaggerated disappointed huff before answering,

“So so handsome, but unfortunately just as dense as your mates,” clicking your tongue before continuing,

“Just as I told your last goon, and the one before that, and the one before that, and I’ll say it again just for you, babe, I. Didn’t. Do. It.” Holding unblinking eye contact you lean forward closing the distance between you, your voice becomes a cooing whisper as you go on,

“I don’t know how else to put it, love. Why can’t you understand me?” drawing up your eyebrows and slowly shaking your head to convey distress continuing to draw closer to him.

“My name is Detective Seo,” He mutters trying to correct you as he seems to struggle to keep his eyes from drinking in your approaching features.

“Oh I know, baby” whispering for only him to hear.

He has remained strong, not letting your seductress intimidation technique win out over his macho demeanor, but as you near only a foot of nose to nose separation he pushes back not only his upper body but his whole chair from the table causing a smug smile to spread across your features. His slight fluster is impossible to hide due to the pink rising to his cheeks and his lack of grace as he gathers his documents before heading to the door. Soon the feeling of watching eyes fall back over you, and you hope so deeply that they are his.

Despite the painful furniture and frigid temperature the only thing on your mind is Seo. He’s there when you’re awake being grilled by other cops or just staring at the damn wall, and when you get brief moments to rest, he's in your dreams.

You’ve long lost track of time in the windowless room, another way they are trying to disorient you to let your guard down. With some sweet talking, you convince them to allow you to use a private bathroom as opposed to the grimey stalls that the other detainees use. While you are lucky to be affording this luxury, you have ulterior motives. As your escort guides you through the hall passing cubicle after cubicle, you get a glimpse out the window. The light is dim and dusky; it must already be Saturday evening. Your romantic daydreams have done wonders for making time fly by. After a few turns down corridors, you see what you’ve been looking for, not the bathroom, a rich wooden door with a window covered neatly by a curtain, and just to the right a gleaming placard. Detective Seo Changbin. Such a pretty name for such a pretty man. You commit the path to his office to memory for potential future use.

They graciously let you rest for just a bit longer before starting up the interrogations again. Without fail you continue your typical slough of jesting and snarky comments without revealing any semblence of guilt, but unlike usual, there are some requests for the handsome detective sprinkled in. This continues late into the night and you can assume early into Sunday morning.

During a particularly kind session of questions, more like pleading on their part, you had just had a scrumptious meal hand delivered by your favorite officer; you are feeling generous. After some careful deliberation, you decide to throw them a bone but only on your terms.

“Bailey, you know me. You know I work alone and what little evidence you have points to a group of at least two. The fact that you guys won’t drop this line of questioning after hours of getting nowhere is making me question your sanity, lady,” you chide with a mouth full of food.

“I feel bad for you, hon. So bad, in fact, that I want to help you guys. I’ll share…” her face lights up as if what you're about to say will free her from this never ending game.

“But only to Seo” and her giddy face shifts to one of despair before one of determination as she rushes out the door pulling out her phone from her back pocket as the door slams behind her. Not an hour later, the man of your dreams is pushing open the thick door. Equally as confident as last time, but he has ditched the tough guy demeanour for a more flirtatious one to match your own.

“I heard you were begging for me all night” he humors with the corner of his full lips pulling up into a sly smile.

“Oh baby that wasn’t begging, that was negotiating, but I'll beg if that's what you want.”

He moves close, foregoing the chair and sitting on the edge of the table forcing you to tilt your head back to keep the steamy eye contact that makes a heat rise in your stomach. He sends you a wink and opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off,

“Getting you here is only part of my request. I'll help you, but in exchange, I demand a date with you once I’m released”, his sultry look quickly shifts to a genuine smile and red cheeks as he breathily chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief,

“Before you go on about it being unprofessional, this is all just a big misunderstanding on record, babe. Remember, there was simply a glitch in the system that put out a warrant for my arrest. I am perfectly innocent. Actually, this is a massive mistake on your part and a major inconvenience to me. It truly is the least you could do”

“Oh really? I don't think innocent is the right word,” he leans down a bit, eyebrows raising knowingly.

“How about blameless? I'm just a blameless woman held hostage by a mismanaged police force, the least you could do is take me to dinner.” jokingly sticking out your lower lip to pout. He gives his best attempt at a disappointed sigh, but no matter how many times he attempts to release his tensing cheek muscles, they keep returning to a full smile.

“Fine, now who was it?”

“You think I’m that easy, Changbin?” pulling back clutching your imaginary pearls with one hand in faux shock,

“I'm not doing your job for you, plus I can't be on record selling out a coworker can I? Now, you promise me to take me out Monday after we clear up this silly clerical mistake, and I'll tell you where to look, you just have to trust me, yeah?” Caused by the name drop and your outlandish proposal, the shocked look on his face is genuine unlike yours.

“Trust you!?” he chokes out the question, but you just look back expectantly waiting on his response.

“I promise, y/n, to take you on a date this Monday” This the first time hes had a serious look in his face since he walked in.

“No take backs detective Seo” you warn. His flush brightens hearing you say his title for the first time after only calling him pet names.

“The old storage units on the west side of town”

“The owner? No way Mrs Lee had anything..”

“Let me finish!” you yelp, holding hand up to stop him.

“The owner of unit 87. Me and Mrs. Lee are actually members of the same book club, and I have it on good authority that the owner of that unit hasn’t paid his dues in three months”

“So he's the…” you once again interrupt him trying to jump to conclusions.

“No! I said I'm not doing this for you! However, your cute looks and eagerness make me want to help you extra. His kid has some unsavory affiliations, and they have been using said unit to store some… things. I'm not saying it's them, but what I am saying is the stuff you find there will lead you guys to the perp as long as one of you has even the barest minimum of reasoning skills. I know that can be few and far between in this line of work.” You just had to slip in that last jab, “Now, there's your in. You're welcome in advance, baby” He is a whirlwind running out the door, but before it shuts he shouts back to you

“See you tomorrow!”

They keep you in custody for the majority of Sunday, but no one enters to question you further. Only a few familiar officers pop in to chat or share a meal as you're finally able to drop the smug persona since Changbin is hard at work clearing your name. He returns to finally have a normal conversation with you and iron out the details of your date before your release. While it is policy to keep suspects cuffed on your way out the door, they usually never do, but Changbin insists. Both enjoying it a bit too much as he locks your wrists together before guiding you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. You stop before the main entrance of the station for him to remove your restraints. While your conversations have been respectful and polite ever since you gave the crucial information in solving the case, his smirk resurfaces as he twists the key.

“If you behave for me, maybe I’ll bring these tomorrow night.”

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

A.n- I can’t be anti authoritarian; one of my best friends is a cop! Thanks for reading! I felt particularly delulu writing this one. Wanted to name this ‘If you’re bad cop, and I’m good cop, who is sexy cop?’. Also, what the hell else do you call a smirk? Lots of smirking in this one. I can only alternate bt smile, smirk, and grin so much before I start feeling silly

-mo (acab)

Masterlist

[anon-sect]

Can you write something like "A handsome cop in the metro station arrested someone and was about to take him to the police station.. But he was too stubborn to go and then the cop decided to turn him into his (cop's) cock and take him to the station

But the cop changed his mind and decided to keep him as his cock Against his will and nobody would know he's down there.. "

Officer Jason Blake was stationed at one of the busiest streets in town. He had his radar gun pointing at the traffic passing by. His radar gun alerted him to a vehicle good 95mph in a 45mph zone. He turned on his lights and pursued the suspected car. The car pulled over once the driver realized that he was after him.

Officer Blake got out and approached to see the driver was an average male with an average built frame. "I need to see your license and vehicle registration and insurance, please." He spoke to him. The driver handed him his credentials. "I pulled you over for speeding 50 miles over the speed limit" He added.

Melvin didn't want to get caught because he would be in even more trouble than a speeding ticket. He was driving with a suspended license, vehicle registration out of date and a canceled insurance card. "Mr. Officer, could I just get off with a warning rather than check those, please. I promise to obey the speed limit from now on." He slightly pleaded for some mercy.

"I have to do my job. I will be right back." Jason spoke to him as he went back to his patrol vehicle. He checked his credentials and found a suspended license of six months, vehicle registration that expired two years ago, and an insurance policy that was canceled even longer. There was also a warrant out for his arrest for driving without a valid license. Jason knew about how much paperwork this would be to take the guy in.

Jason went back to the vehicle. "Sir, you are under arrest for driving under a suspended license. " He issued him his miranda rights.

Melvin didn't want to go in. "Please let me off with a warning. Maybe pretend you never saw me." He spoke, refusing to unlock his door for the officer.

"You must come with me down to the station." Jason reiterated to him.

"Please, I will do anything to not be arrested." Melvin pleaded.

Jason thought about it. There was one way to get him down to the station. It would be a little tricky, but it surely will work. "Okay, get out and suck my cock. Your only option other than getting arrested." He spoke with a serious look on his face.

Melvin couldn't believe what he heard. "You serious, officer?" He had to ask to be sure he heard him correctly. "Your choice, be arrested or be my cock bitch right here and now." The officer told him looking really serious. He saw this was his only way of getting out of the situation. He didn't like either choice, but getting arrested would be the worst choice. He got out of his car and followed the officer to the other side. He knelt on the ground while the officer pulled out his cock. He swallowed his pride and began to suck it. He closed his eyes not to see his own embarrassment of what he was doing, just not to get arrested.

Jason looked down as the guy had his eyes closed and sucking his hot cock. He pulled out his TF ray phone with the setting of cock addition set. He fired a flash at the guy. He watched as the guy shrunk rapidly and absorbed into his cock. He zipped up his pants and got back in his patrol vehicle to head back to the station.

Melvin didn't know what happened, but he found himself quickly absorbed into the cop's dick. He couldn't stream for help. He could only manage slight movements to let the officer know of his dissatisfaction. This was a nightmare. Now, he would have rather been arrested. He didn't want to be another man's cock. He struggled and struggled in his new form, hoping to annoy the officer.

Jason felt his cock getting hard in his pants. He couldn't tell whether the guy loved his new look or hated it. Either way, he was stuck there for now. As he was getting closer to the station, he found himself enjoying the addition to his cock. His struggles were very erotic. As he got closer, he threw the guy's credentials out of the window. The guy was a great addition to his cock. He may as well keep him where he was, he thought to himself. If anyone asked, he would deny ever seeing the guy.

THREE MONTHS LATER.......

Jason passed by the missing person board. He saw a picture of the guy on the board. He smirked, looking at it. The guy really wasn't missing. He actually had been very busy being sucked on and driving into many asses. He was just the only one who knew about it.

[kedsandtubesocks]

all the trouble we’ve seen

Max Phillips x Witch!Reader

written for the PPCU x MCR WRITING CHALLENGE | prompt song: You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison

summary: Max is in trouble, real deep shit after what he did at the office. So what’s gonna happen when you’re stuck baby sitting the most annoying (and handsome) vampire you’ve ever met?

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. Canon divergent AU (Max doesn’t die) enemies to lovers, forced proximity, magical realism, supernatural themes, Bi!Max, imprisonment, blood imagery, death mention & discussion, asshole but kinda sweet!Max, angst angst angst, scent kink, vampire moments with blood drinking, dry humping, smutty themes & heavy smutty implied, use of pet names

word count: 4.1k

a/n: thank you to @sp00kymulderr for hosting this challenge I’m so happy I could participate & I’m incredibly sorry this is getting posted later than expected!! This fic try wouldn’t be here without @perotovar @hauntedhowlett & @pedgito who let me cry/scream & gave me the guidance I need, i love each of you & I owe y’all my life lol and to you, if you decide to read this - know I’m thanking you a million times

The last time you saw Max Phillips was over five years ago, and you had threatened to hex his ass to hell.

You just never thought you’d see him again, especially in the mess he’s in. Though, the horrifying scene before you is almost fitting for Max.

The restaurant had been a mess when you arrived. You almost felt embarrassed. Bullets scattered all across the floor. Blood splattered against the floor. The gunfire had erupted when the cops tried to take Max in only for them to realize their bullets weren’t working.

Now Max sits among the shells with his arms raised up high in surrender. The chaos settles in debris all around. He smirks horrendously coyly when he sees you.

“Thought I smelled you, little witch.” He grins and the glimmer of his fangs shine out.

You simply say nothing, frowning hard and unamused.

Charged with high crimes after changing an entire business into vampires, the warrant had been put out on Max weeks ago. It wasn’t just the supernatural community looking for him, but actual law enforcement. This sleazy vampire just got sloppy at hiding.

Yet Max doesn’t even seem bothered one bit when your kind placed him in the magical chain spell. You always admired him for seemingly cool under pressure unbothered ease.

Until now in the council’s courtroom as the sentence is given and you see a new side of Max.

“Death.” The high magistrate declares cold and unflinching.

You almost choke on an inhale.

Max’s face falls, the first move vivid and true reaction he’s shown this entire time.

Max’s eyes immediately snap to you, and you see it - a flash of crystalized fear.

You don’t even know how to react.

Two guards come and drag him away from the council room.

“Wait! Wait! You can’t fucking do this to me!? Do you even know what they’re gonna do to a guy like me in prison?!” He screams.

It’s all he says before the doors close and he’s gone.

They would send him to die.

The council deemed him too dangerous. Carelessly exposing the supernatural and being so blatantly cocky about it upset them. You just never thought they would be this harsh.

Your body feels numb. You don’t even move out of your seat. A solid hand against your shoulder startles you out of your daze.

The high magistrate stands besides you grinning softly, almost expectant.

“You must be glad he’s finally in custody.” She says.

You couldn’t fully say you were.

“Didn’t expect that verdict.” You truthfully tell her.

She sighs, weary. “The cases made against him were too much, and this last instance of turning so many innocents into vampires is unacceptable.”

You understood that. But death?

“Besides, you out of all of us know how much of a bastard he is.” The magistrate says, and a bitterness bubbles in your mouth.

Now wearily nod.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to take in, but the law is the law and he needs to be punished.”

She squeezes your shoulder before drawing you into a solid hug.

“Call me when you get home.”

“Yeah mom, will do.” You sigh, hugging her back.

But you don’t get much sleep that night.

The walk to the dungeon the next day isn’t too far. The sleek business-like building simply melts away once you get past the attendant. Immediately you’re transported into the hollow prison. The cold stone, the stale air, the rumble of ancient dangerous magic, all form an eerie atmosphere.

The ruins on the wall illuminate a path that guides you.

The dungeon, an ever changing landscape, is specifically a holding space before the criminals are arranged for their sentences.

Max’s arm stretches out from the bars before you even see him.

“Was wondering what took you so long to come see me.”

You almost want to turn around and leave. You don’t even know why you came.

But you walk to the front of the jail cell. Even among the bars, Max is so damn handsome it makes you angry.

“So, you come to laugh at me?” He asks, rubbing at his jaw.

You stay silent.

“Can’t even say I look sexy in this jumpsuit. Putrid green and white stripes aren’t my colors.” He scoffs.

You still can’t say anything.

This vampire now begins pacing around his small cell.

His eyes flicker to you sharp.

“Did they tell you about my cellmate? He’s out for lunch right now. But he actually used magic to kill his ex’s wife’s lover. That’s who your fucked up system thinks I’m as bad ass. I didn’t even murder people! I brought them back to life better than before!”

You swallow hard, unable to find your voice still.

It pisses Max off that he rushes to the bars and slams his hands against them. The magic of the barrier against the metal sparks to life, refusing to let him leave.

“Say something, witch!” He snarls your name, and it jolts your heart.

You don’t say anything. You can’t even say why you came. So you turn on your heels and leave.

Max’s laugh, bitter and loud, bounces off the walls and haunts you the entire way home.

He would have a month in a prison hold before the actual sentence came. In that month he would be under the watch of another magic user…

And of course he picks you.

Your mother tried to change the arrangement, but the criminal had the right of choice.

Now you stand in the bleak apartment as Max glances around the place scrutinizing it.

“Couldn’t they have at least set us up in like a Hilton or something? This looks like some shit ass studio college dorm looking place.”

“The little prodigy witch couldn’t even get special treatment, huh?” He sneers at you.

You glare back.

“Why did you even pick me? To what? Just torture me too?” You finally snap.

“Oh of course.” He bows, annoyingly ridiculous and smirking bright. “If I’m going out, I’m taking you with me.”

You storm out of the living room and slam the bathroom to sulk alone.

The small studio apartment was highly protected, a jail cell in its own right. Protective barriers would keep anyone leaving or coming in.

Then the final piece arrives for your month-long confinement.

One of the secondary magistrates comes to place a sigil on Max’s neck. The skin sears with the magic pressing into him, and he even hisses.

“What the fuck, I forgot how awful it is being human.” He mutters almost slurred.

His powers would be completely suppressed now due to the spell. Max is practically human now.

Now it’s just you and him, for one damn month.

“I’m surprised they didn’t leave a coffin here.” You dryly comment.

“Oo, kinky. I knew you had it in you, witch.” Max smiles.

“We should at least fuck, that’s all we might be able to do here. Plus it’d be for old times sake.” Max immediately offers, and you make a disgusted face.

“You haven’t even slept with me!” He argues absolutely upset. “If you do, I’ll make you see why you should’ve back then.”

He smirks, winking at you.

Back then - Romania.

It had been your first big aboard mission, and it was where you first met Max. Still so cocky and smug, you hate how effortlessly he charmed you at that college bar. He constantly purred at how he hadn't seen a witch as cute as you, except how unfortunate it was that witches' blood like yours smelled so bad he couldn’t stay near you long. Then you spotted Max fucking a waitress behind a bar and didn’t want anything to do with him.

Still don’t. So you simply decide to ignore him.

Most days you stay focused on your laptop letting Max talk aimlessly like an annoying podcast host with no listeners.

“You know what’s really evil? Why hasn’t Philadelphia Cream Cheese brought those good strawberry cheesecake snacks from the 90’s? Like, why are they withholding the goods?” He says lounging on the couch.

Ignore.

“Oh you think ignoring me is gonna break me? You’re cute, sweetheart.” Max scoffs.

Ignore.

He even starts a full lecture about the importance to the seductive nature of sales, and you put your headphones in.

Eventually when you start preparing dinner, and he’s slumped on the couch, this annoying vampire blurts out -

“I miss my mom.”

You almost think you misheard him.

“Guess getting closer to death makes you think of things like that. She would’ve liked you.” He continues. “She always said I needed someone good to keep me in check.”

He never once mentioned his mom.

“Always thought you were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.” Max adds soft. “So damn smart and strong.”

Before grabbing the pasta you need to boil, his words freeze you.

“Should’ve run away with you. Wanted to.” He comments wistfully.

“No you didn’t.” You finally speak, and your voice creaks like a haunted house.

Max sits up immediately staring at you.

“I’m being serious.” His voice is unwavering just like his hard earthen eyes.

“Always wanted you. Always think I will.”

“You’re spewing bullshit now.” You flat out tell him. “I saw you that night with that waitress.”

Max sits up more. A hyper awareness rises in you, and you notice how thin the air feels now as the vampire moves to you in the kitchen.

“Besides, you always made it really fucking clear you couldn’t stand to be around me.” You add with a bitter bite.

“Little witches like you always smell so damn bad” - it’s like what he always said. You even repeat his words back to him.

Max stays surprisingly silent now, transformed into the deadly predator he is. Before you realize it you’re pressed against the kitchen wall at a dizzying speed. This handsome vampire stares down at you so close.

You aren’t afraid of what he can do. You know the spell is doing its job at suppressing him. But what is more dangerous is how badly your heart races.

His fingers run up against your chest delicately then to your neck where they stop.

“Only said all that because you drove me so damn crazy.” He mutters lower and hesitant than you’ve ever heard.

“Knew if I let myself even have one taste of you I’d never recover. I’d follow you forever.” He adds.

You swallow hard, barely able to breathe. Then you make the mistake of looking into his eyes.

You know his powers are suppressed. The magic radiating off him smells like a dusty room. Yet his eyes lock you in, almost hypnotizing you as if he was in his full form.

You can’t tell who moves first. You or him. It’s simply a collision of lips messily pressing against each other with Max instantly molds his body into yours.

He drags you to the couch in the living room. The boiling water sits on the stove overflowing. You can’t even seem to care. Not when he eats you out with a possessed consumption, a type of devouring that makes your eyes roll back into another dimension.

You’re surprised at how generous a lover he is, and how well endowed he is. It’s all delicious and good. You hate how much his kisses and heat melt into your bones.

You even hate how easily you fall asleep in his arms.

The next morning you’re still tangled in his hold.

“Haven’t slept like that in decades,” Max yawns groggily when he wakes up. “But that’s what a good fuck and pretty company to sleep with does to a man.”

You snort smacking his bare chest.

The mood shifts after that.

You and him watch shitty day time television together and really get into The Price is Right. You spend hours talking to him about everything and anything.

He also fucks you until your brain melts out of your skull and maybe even after that.

The days melt together and what’s worse, it feels natural falling into place beside Max.

“If we didn’t have all this…” he waves his hand around the room while you and him lie in bed together still not wanting to get up.

“I think we would’ve been good together.” Max muses.

You snort. “We would’ve killed each other.”

Max doesn’t say anything, instead lets his fingers just dance along your bare skin.

You’re about to ask him if he’s alright when he begins to cough. The cough started up last week. Now it sounds hoarse, getting worse over these past few days.

The binding spell is doing its job, keeping him suppressed, but it’s essentially draining him to the brink of no return.

That reality is now manifesting before you and terrifies you. So you’ve tried to sooth him, make him tea or even rub his back.

It’s a ominous awareness that seeps into the cracks of this facade you’ve been in.

“We should run away.” Max says suddenly the next morning after he fucked you senseless in the shower.

“What?!” You shriek.

“You heard me, witch.” He grins toothy. “We should run away, you and me.”

He nudges his chin at you, and your stomach flips.

Now you’re the one staying quiet as your mind scrambles like a frantic rat running from the light.

“Hello?!” He cries out your name, and his voice snaps your spine straight.

“So are you really just gonna let them kill me?!” The vampire snarls.

“You broke the law, like extremely. This is the punishment.” You fire back with a snap.

“You know what’s the real damn punishment? Being here with you. Knowing none of this will matter and...” he cuts himself off fast and glares hard.

You can taste what he’s going to say.

This make believe dream of living with him, of maybe having a life together is just a dream.

A contorted nightmare of what is to come.

You and Max avoid each other the rest of the day.

Until another coughing fit comes, and he collapses in the kitchen. It’s scary watching this suave powerful hunter wither away into almost a husk of who he is. You immediately rush over to help steady him.

Calling out his name, he’s barely in and out of consciousness.

You’re panicking. You know this is what would happen. He only has a week left before his execution.

But you can’t stand this. You don’t want to see him suffer. Not when you’ve felt the Max beneath his grimey jackass surface crust, felt his tender kisses, seen the bashful smiles he gives you, known the way he makes you feel-

So you lower your neck down to him.

“Max, do it.” You order.

“But what about…” he mutters through a wheeze.

“Don’t care. We’ll figure it out.” You firmly cut him off.

Max’s hands shake as he draws himself to you. He even places the softest butterfly of kisses against your skin.

Then he bites down.

His fangs aren’t sharpened so the piercing of his teeth into your skin makes you hiss, feels so much more animalistic than you would have thought.

Then the pleasure immediately washes over.

A honey syrupy warmth courses into your veins, and you moan feeling him suck at you, feeling his tongue lip out to your skin.

You don’t even realize Max has shifted, gained more strength, until your back hits the cold kitchen floor and your hands clutch onto him.

He slides his body between your legs and immediately grinds up against your core.

“Oh fuck, knew it. I knew you’d taste amazing.” He slurs watery as your blood fills his mouth.

You moan more clutching at him as your hips rise to grind against his more. It feels like you could burst out of your skin at any moment with this all consuming pleasure.

Max dry humps you more and you don’t care that you’re picking up a more frantic pace trying to reach your edge.

“Shit yeah, give it to me.” He commands, and your climax hits you dizzying that your vision goes out for a minute.

But you’re not the only one, Max groans loud, a punched out moan signaling his release.

“No one’s made me fucking come in my pants since I was a little bat. You naughty little thing.” He mumbles with a grin against your skin, kissing and licking away at the wound he gave you.

When Max lifts up from your neck, you swear his eyes flicker a shade of crimson.

Eventually he gathers you into his arms. A warmth has returned to his cheeks. You hate that this dumb vampire hasn’t wiped off your blood from his face and instead seems to wear it proud.

“Your blood is my honor badge, witch.” Max winks, and you roll your eyes.

Now the silence returns.

“I’ve wanted to ask…Why did you do it? Change all those people in the office?”

In his arms, you feel Max shrug.

“Why not? Humans are weak, easily broken. Why not give ‘em a shot to be better? If not, they're just food, like a walking grocery store for my kind.”

A dread sickness sinks into you hearing him talk this unbothered and slightly cruel.

“You were human. You couldn’t have always thought like that.” You say firm even as you your fingers trace against his.

Max sighs.

“Yeah that’s true. But love and life’s a bitch ain’t it.”

Curiously, you can’t help but ask what happened.

Max stays quiet. You’re worried this soft bonding bubble has popped.

“I fell in love right before I turned.” His voice takes that uncharacteristically soft somber tone.

Max tells you about the man he met and how the two of them vowed to be together. But then Max was changed, and his partner saw him as a monster. Then all the faith and love shattered right before Max’s eyes.

So, this existence has been a prison of its own for him.

“Then I met you, someone else stuck like me between the mundane and magical.” Max says and your heart jumps.

“You had laughed so damn loud at something the other witch with you at the bar said and it annoyed me. Didn’t think someone could be that happy.”

You’re about to snap at him until he continues.

“I wanted to annoy you as much as I could until I knew you inside and out.”

It’s a Max way of saying he wanted to be with you.

Something heavy and rusting settles in your chest and drags you down to a depth you don’t want to face.

“You still don’t know me.” You mutter.

“I know enough, know you aren’t the type that wants to be an apprentice magistrate, much less a high one. That sounds like what that mother of yours wanted.” Max comments, always seeming to just have the best ability at reading people and it makes you fidget in his arms.

And he’s right.

You never wanted to be a magistrate.

You have dreams of a beautiful occult shop, warm and inviting, getting to run it yourself with all the knowledge of magic you know. Binding and blending the supernatural with the everyday world - that’s what you dreamed of.

You even tell him this.

Max surprisingly listens to it all patiently.

“We could make it happen.” He suggests. “After all, I’m a damn wizard in business.”

That makes you laugh and he joins in.

But it’s a candy coated dream holding a truthful rot beneath all.

“There’s this saying I heard once,” Max says suddenly. “Life’s but a dream for the dead.”

“That’s…morbid.” You reply.

“But true.” Max shrugs simply. “Trust me, I’ve been dead long enough to know. Guess that dream might be ending soon.”

It’s that unspoken festering truth.

The end is approaching.

It now feels as if the prison chains around Max have possibly been around you as well.

What will you do?

Before you head to bed you notice the light from the streetlights casts a shadow from a window that crawls across the floor - it looks like jail bars.

That night you let Max drink from you again and go to absolute heaven. Because if this is your hell then why not taste the sublime even if for a little bit.

You feel more drained than normal, barely staying awake. Max softly reassures you it’s because he’s fed off you twice.

“Just get some rest honey, I’ll be here.” He kisses your shoulder and spoons you in his hold.

Wearily you slip into dreams of a hotel room down the street, where you and Max would escape to. You’d change your name and he’d change his. Max of course manages to negotiate a buy and you get your shop filling it to the brim with tarot cards and blessed candles. It’s your own little slice of heaven, and Max complains about it all the time. But you’re happy, and he stays right beside you.

And then you wake up.

Your mother, the high magistrate, actually is the one shaking you awake.

“What happened?!” She cries petrified and panicked.

Wearily you glance around and find more magic users and guards storm in and out of the apartment.

Max is gone.

Claw marks scratch against the door and the wood is broken open. He found a way out. Absolute horror crashes into you.

“Did you let him drink from you?! Answer me!” Your mom demands screaming your name.

You’re too terrified to answer. The silence is enough and your mom explodes.

“How did you forget?! A vampire drinking a witch's blood allows them to momentarily gain abilities to break seals and spells?!” She screams.

You had been so deep in this delusion… you hadn’t even thought of that.

Your blood runs cold.

That bastard had charmed you with all the suave of a slug. And here you are, left the buyer hoodwinked by the rotten lie he sold you.

All that’s left from Max is a single piece of paper written for you.

Life is but a dream baby…

Crunching the note in your hands, you set the paper on fire.

-

Your prison cell is more comfortable than others and you know that. Being the daughter of a high magistrate is like being the child of a president. You understand the privileged benefits that it brings.

But a cage is still a cage.

You’d be in this single waiting room cell of the dungeon for another day until it was decided where you would go for your crimes of assisting a fugitive.

Your mother is still trying to argue that you were under the influence of Max. In some way you were, but just not in the way she speaks of.

Just thinking about that monster makes your blood boil.

Down the hall of the dungeon, a faint clang echos like something hit the floor. Your guard curiously peeks down the dark shifting labyrinth

The guard’s eyes flicker to you for a brief moment, then he walks off to investigate the noise.

You don’t give it much thought and return to reading your book.

The new footsteps come clocking down the hall. They don’t sound like the familiar boots of the guards and you wonder if it’s someone from the magistrate’s court.

“You miss me baby?”

The air goes still.

Your reaction to hearing Max’s smooth acidic voice is visceral.

You throw your book at him.

“You fucker!” The emotions take over, volcanic and consuming.

He’s dressed in the nicest suit you’ve ever seen and covers his head from your book attack. But you also don’t miss the blood soaking his shirt, still lingering around his lips.

“Hey, hey, hey! Is that anyway you should treat your rescuer?” His face scrunched up in confusion is still as handsome as ever.

“You’re the reason why I’m here to begin with!” You snap.

He hushes you.

“You want us to get caught?!” Max seethes.

Before you can yell at him more, your vampire walks forward and kicks open the gate. The magic shimmers, a fluttering electric wave, then crumbles as the lock opens.

Max stubbornly walks over to snap off the binding spell on your wrists even though it faintly burns his hands as you notice the harsh sizzling sound.

He really is setting you free.

You’re almost too stunned to move now staring at him confused.

Max sighs annoyingly dramatic. “Baby, are you coming or what?”

He holds his hand out, eyes expectant, but there’s a glimmer of hesitation.

You don’t grab his hand, but instead rush forward to kiss him frenzied, not even caring there’s still traces of blood against his chin. It becomes a distorted but consecrated blood vow sealing. You’re thankful this dumb vampire is quick to react grabbing onto you with a fierce hold.

The guards would be coming soon. Max’s intrusion and your escape will be noticed if you don’t act fast.

But for right now, it’s just you and him.

And you think, it might be you and this vampire until the sun bleeds.

And as you place your hand in Max’s - you realize you’re more than okay with that.

[specialagentlokitty]

Patrick Jane x reader - support

hiii!! could u write about reader and Patrick Jane? Where reader is dealing with personal issues and she’s stressed about it. Then her and Patrick are working on a case and is questioning a suspect then the suspect insults her and it makes her mad and she almost hits him and Patrick pulls her away and questions why she almost hit him and then she tells him why. I hope that made sense and thank you! - Anon💜

Dropping the file on the desk you sat down, running a hand down your face.

“Don’t even think about it Jane I’m not in the mood.” You said lowly.

He raised his hands, grinning a little as he sat down on the edge of your desk.

“No trouble this time I promise, Lisbon has a suspect for you. Given the suspects aversion to law enforcement and your patience and calmness we think you can get him to open up.”

“Is he here now?”

“Yup, just waiting, let’s go.”

Jane held his hand out to you with a charming smile and you took it so you could stand up.

Letting go you looked around the office before you gestured towards someone else’s desk.

“Grab their badge.”

“Now I could be wrong (Y/N), but I’m pretty sure taking an agents badge is just a tiny bit illegal.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Just go get it.”

With that, you walked away, heading to the interrogation room and you headed to the room next to it to begin watching your suspect.

Overall he wasn’t an impressive man, balding, he was small, didn’t seem very muscular to have done the damage to your victim but looks could be deceiving.

A minute later Jane came back.

“So, why do I need the badge?” He asked.

“The suspect hasn’t seen you yet, you’ve been here with me all day. Since he hates law enforcement it’s going to piss him off when he sees that there’s two of us in there.”

“Well that part I gathered, but I could’ve done that without it.”

“You don’t look like a cop that’s the issue, so just flash the badge then put it away he doesn’t need to see it.”

Jane nodded his head, and he opened the door, gesturing for you to go first and you did, entering the room.

You said nothing as you sat down and you studied the suspect for a moment.

“Is it fun for you to chase people around wielding a shotgun?” Jane asked.

The suspect scoffed.

“Stop wasting my time.”

“Well, you’re our top suspect, your shotgun matches the one we’re looking for and I’m sure if I get a warrant we’ll find it’s recently been fired.” You said.

The suspect snapped his eyes to you and narrowed them a little.

“What the hell are you?”

“Agent (L/N).”

“So, what are you his assistant or something?”

“Actually I’m her assistant.” Jane said.

The suspect looked between you two and Jane gestured for you to get up and follow him so you did.

He took you to the other side of the room, and he glanced at the suspect before turning to you.

“He has no respect for women..” he whispered.

“Clearly, that might work in our favour…”

Jane furrowed his brows a little bit.

“Take control of the interview he’s more likely to respond to you..”

“Right, okay.” He said.

Jane went back to the table and you followed sitting down.

You didn’t say much, you let Jane ask the questions and if he was stuck you would ask something and he’d repeat it to get an answer.

It was going well until the suspect turned his attention to you after checking his watch.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home, your husband won’t make his own dinner or fetch his own beer.”

“Excuse me?”

“Run along bitch, only men belong here.”

You stood up, and so did the suspect.

Jane quickly stood looking between the pair of you, he was really sure what to do.

“Have some respect.” Jane warned.

“I won’t respect someone like that.”

You had enough, you were angry as it was, and you stormed around the table.

You just saw red and you swung your fist, connecting with someone and you heard a thud of someone hitting the wall.

“Jeez, one hell of a punch…” Jane mumbled.

Your eyes shot open and you stared at your coworker.

Jane walked over, placing his free hand on your elbow, his other hand holding his nose.

“Let’s take a few…” he mumbled out.

He led you out of the room and he took you back to his desk before holding up a hand and vanishing.

You passed on the interview on to Rigsby and you went home for the day.

It wasn’t a good idea for you to be there and you needed to calm down, so you went home and got a shower before changing into some comfortable clothes and ordering food.

Sitting on the couch, you buried your head in your hands taking a few deep breaths to try and calm yourself and compose your emotions.

You heard your door open and closed and you slowly reached for you gun.

“Don’t shoot it’s me!”

Sighing, you set it back down.

“In here!” You called back.

Jane walked through and he pushed your stuff out the way to sit on the table in front of you.

“So, what happened in there? You’ve never once lost your temper like that before.” Jane said.

You sighed, leaning back on the couch and you looked at him. You could see the blood on his shirt, and the blooming bruise around his nose along with a small cut.

“I’m so sorry I hit you…”

“You weren’t aiming for me I got in the way, you can really throw a punch it’s amazing. But doesn’t answer my question.”

“I… I have some personal stuff going on..”

Jane got up, and he sat next to you.

“Let’s talk about it.”

You looked at him, and he gave you a warm smile and you sighed.

You explained everything to him that was going on and he held your hand as you did.

When you were done you cleared your throat and stood up, gesturing to his shirt.

“I’ll get that out I have a spare sweater hold on.”

You disappeared and Jane said nothing about it.

He didn’t want to pressure you about anything else and he knew your distraction was to find things to do, so he changed into the sweater and let you clean his shirt.

But he decided he was going to keep an eye on you because you needed the support and you wouldn’t ask for it

[tuttle-did-it]

STOP USING BIOMETRICS TO UNLOCK YOUR TECH BEFORE GOING TO A PROTEST, RALLY, OR ACCESSING BIRTH CONTROL OPTIONS

Encrypt your tech. If you are US based, or in a country that does not protect your rights when it comes to cops, please read these article. There are not currently laws stopping the police from using your thumb or face to unlock your phone without consent or a warrant. Especially if you are taking any part in any protests throughout America, or accessing birth control needs.

Or you're, you know, queer, disabled, a person of colour, a woman, or generally just know how horrible the cops and government can be. They can pull you over for no reason, unlock your phone, and look for something to charge you with later. They can and will and have.

Cops will do ANYTHING they want, and chances are, the courts will let them.

(this might be relevant for other countries, too-- the protest rights are completely fucked here in the UK, so please be careful out there!!)

Helpfully, there is also a cop-proof your phone article as well:

[manicplank]

Getting pulled over, their reactions/responses/if they are even in a car, that sorta stuff heehee :)

Oh shit, it's the cops!

Peppino: Gets super nervous. He was absolutely speeding so he could deliver the pizza on time. He's sweating bullets. The cop thinks he's hiding something asks so many questions. He ends up just getting a ticket.

Gustavo: A law biding citizen. The cop was being nit picky as he forgot to use his turn signal. He gets sent off with a warning.

Mr. Stick: Was pulled over for speeding. Like... a lot. Doesn't give the cop a hard time and gets a ticket.

Pepperman: Pulled over for having his rear view mirror blocked by paintings. Has to find a way to store the paintings without blocking his mirror. Gets off with a warning.

The Vigilante: Never been pulled over.

The Noise: Gets a little worried. Not entirely sure why exactly he's been pulled over. Suspects that he might have a warrant. He did. He ends up getting arrested. Noisette has to bail him out.

Noisette: Gets pulled over for wreckless driving. She accidentally drove on the sidewalk in front of the officer. Gets a ticket with a hefty fine. Uses Noise's money to pay it off.

Fake Peppino: Never been pulled over. Cops are afraid of him.

Pizzahead: Ends up in a high speed chases. All he had to do was pull over. They were gonna give him a warning.

Pillar John: The hell did he do? He's just walking. Oh, they got the wrong person. They apologize.

Gerome: Gets pulled over. Looked like the car that was running. He gets let go with no trouble.

[radfemsiren]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP88PjC3Y/

I rlly hope the link is right lmao

ANYWAYS

Sorry for clogging up your asks with tiktoks babe but I saw this and saw red lmao

First of all, if she were a millionaire, why couldnt she go to an actual hospital when she was giving birth to EIGHT KIDS and only got an epidural when her piece of shit husband was not there????? Why was her studio turned into a school room??? Why was she giving a ugly ass egg apron and not jewelry or clothes????? Or anything that her husband "would" know she would love?????

And second, the fact that we're expected to make jokes and just move on bc she's a millionaire???? Hello???? Let me go ask the many queens and noble ladies who were killed by a demon spawn clawing its way out of them. Let me go ask the many "trophy wives" who are secretly abused by their husbands!!

The lady in the tiktok usually has good takes but this is the lamest more over done reaction lmao.

For the app that warrants there is no perfect victim (WHEN ITS MEN) it sure as fucks seems like they dgasf about women who are abused in other ways that aren't physical

Ughhh the good old “she’s a rich white woman, she’s FINE” excuse.

Shitting on wealthy white women and denying they ever experience misogyny doesn’t make it better for woc, like I’m so over this argument 😭

Reminds me of this white girl that had a panic attack because this dancer in Times Square touched her without permission. He understood she didn’t like it and apologized and moved on, because he’s a performer he knows how to do crowd work. But everyone on TikTok freaked out and called her racist, and literally said this was the next Emmet Till. For not wanting to be touched on the arm by a random man! 🙄

She didnt call the cops or anything, she just cried and moved closer to her friends. She could have OCD or trauma or literally any reason why the touch was upsetting, but still she got attacked. It’s so annoying!

[shawshankshadow]

my relationship with the sonic movies is that i adore the character designs they settled on, and really like how they’ve played with sonic’s personality and writing to give us one of the most vulnerable and kid-like versions of him we’ve ever had. almost everything else makes me :c

in no particular order:

their voices.

the fact that it’s live action

tom being a cop who aspires to work for the LAPD because he “wants to help people and make the world a better place” (DHEHDBFJSJJCJFJDJCJFJ)

the misogynoir

tom in general? like, he’s not a necessary character, there is nothing he does that maddie cannot do. we could have had a “vet finds an alien freak” storyline with a subplot exploring her relationship with rachel. the second movie having a plot line where he struggles to call tom his “dad” - wouldn’t it have been more moving if we’d instead had a plot about him struggling to call maddie “mom,” due to unresolved grief over longclaw? then we could have had a subplot where tails calls HIM “brother”, and juxtaposed his found family conflict with knuckles, who ALSO has unresolved grief over his slain tribe + family. we could have had themed n shit, about mourning and healing and letting yourself have family again. but no whatever okay WHATEVER

where the fuck is amy. how are you going to adapt the classic games and then ignore amy and skip straight to the adventure era. amy was a pivotal part of sa2. what happened to sa1. back the fuck up.

i know its supposed to be “the year of shadow” or whatever the fuck - and i LOVE him i GET IT - but shadow is not nearly good enough to warrant skipping amy’s introduction AND sa1 just to speed to the shadow debut. sonic 3 could have been adaptations of cd (introduces amy and metal sonic) and sa1 (tikal, chaos), while seeding foreshadowing and plot buildup in the background for the eventual lore drop and character-reveal of shadow in sonic 4.

i pirate everything anyways but the. industry support of idf. are you for fucking real

sonic was originally a subversive freedom fighter who hated the military and engaged in direct action against shitty people (blowing up eggman’s stuff, having zero respect for institutional authority). so what is this copaganda pro-military bootlicker shit. UM.?)

my god, animation is not “lesser cinema”, it’s perfectly possible to have an incredible kickass story without using live action. i promise it’s not “cooler” for it to be live action, spiderverse was the coolest shit ever and it didn’t need fucking live action to make it so. please. live action fucking sucks so much it’s so boring if i wanted to look at people id go outside why are you making me pay money to look at REGULAR PEOPLE I COULD SEE ON THE STREETS FOR FREEEEEEE

the child trafficking joke???????

how’re you gonna give us our most CHILDLIKE BABY SONIC EVER insofar as characterization and character profile, and then saddle him with the voice of an 18 year old high school senior. this guy should sound like those squeaky kids from the amazing world of gumball. he should sound like a kid who’s barely hit puberty but insists he’s got a beard. instead he is, writing-wise, dipper pines, but voice-wise, jean-ralphio from parks and rec.

i cannot believe they gave us maddie the vet and then made us experience meeting sonic through the eyes of tom. TOM. MADDIE IS RIGHT THERE

sorry i’m still not over the disrespect for amy. shadow’s fucking heel-turn in sa2 is directly because a conversation with AMY made him realize the truth about maria’s wish. AMY DID THAT. SHE TURNED THE TIDES OF THE PLOT. SHADOW WOULDVE JUST MURDER-SUICIDED EVERYBODY FULL VILLAIN-MODE. OH MY GOD.

R O U G E .

so yall just hate women. this bad. yall hate women so bad yall will make the perfect girl character and proceed to completely neglect her in favor of her white male police officer spouse. and make us watch you do that. tom could have been a footnote. an email.

what the fuck is this longclaw vs echidna tribe backstory. like these story lore drops are crazy, how are you gonna say that and then not go back and develop it fully. how are you gonna keep it vague about mobius and NOT develop it. i’ll kill you.

THE RING ZONE PORTAL THING????????????? HELLOO????

THE PLOTS WE COUOD HAVE GOTTEN. BUT INSTEAD WE STAY ON EARTH AND USE THE RINGS TO PORTAL AROUND LOCALLY. FUCK OFF.

can you imagine a world-domination!robotnik getting his hands on the portal rings. and using them to conquer planets in his quest for domination of the universe. and sonic having to protect the rings from him while evading detection from the humans. like, a real Classics robotnik, instead of the “formerly a government employee” plot line we got.

WHATEVERRRRRRRRRR

could have had a pom poko ass plot line where mobians are aware of earth but earth isn’t aware of them, and sonic has to lay low on earth while trying to protect the portal rings and work with other freedom fighters to try and save his zone/world from robotnik’s reign. that would have given us the earth plotlines from sa2 while allowing for the mobius plotlines from classics era.

blah blah blah “portalling mobians land on earth and return to their home planet while accidentally take away a baby!robotnik from his family on earth. they don’t know how to return him but decide to raise him. he grows up different, has a Grinch Villain Arc, and it combines with his incredible genius to make him a mad scientist bent on world domination so that everybody HAS to like me!!! the mobians accidentally portal to earth after their portal accidentally crosses paths with another portal (this one going across space AND time) which throws off their trajectory. the other portal is eventually revealed to be a time tracker using chaos control to do something - the set up for silver the hedgehog.

[mjonthetrack]

vice queen II

Chapter Five: “Cupcakes, Tattoos & Runway Dreams”

The sun slid through the blackout curtains like it was sneaking in to gossip.

Zilla didn’t move—broad chest rising slow, arm slung heavy across the woman sprawled half on top of him like gravity personally requested it. His usually guarded face was soft now, peaceful.

And Courtney?

She was awake.

Barely.

Lashes fluttered, lips curled into a smug, sleepy grin as her eyes cracked open and realized exactly where—and who—she was lying on.

Zilla’s hoodie was halfway off his chest, his gold chain tangled around her fingers. Her body was draped across his like a damn reward—legs tangled, head tucked beneath his chin, and her hot pink belly ring glinting under the soft morning light.

She stretched slightly, tattoos shifting across her skin like whispers.

Then smirked hard.

“I used to charge over two hundred bands to hold my hand,” she mumbled, voice raspy, “This a cool half a mil right here, baby daddy.”

Zilla didn’t even open his eyes.

“Might’ve been a discount. You snore a lil’.”

She gasped and popped him lightly in the chest.

“Lies. I purr.”

Then—

BANG.

The door SLAMMED open like the cops had a warrant.

“WAKE UP! I WANNA WEAR SPARKLES AND GO TO PARIS!”

Maya stormed in with the power of a thousand bedazzled opinions, holding a tiara, three outfits (none matching), and the same attitude as if she paid the rent around here.

Courtney turned her head, still lying halfway across Zilla, and blinked at the tiny tornado now climbing onto the couch.

“Well damn,” she said, smiling, “good morning to you too, Boss Baby.”

Maya planted herself right between them like a judge in a court of chaos. She shoved a hot pink tutu onto Courtney’s lap and handed Zilla a pair of glitter sunglasses.

“I’m the fashion director. Daddy, you need more pizzazz. And Miss Loud, we’re putting on a fashion show in the foyer in fifteen minutes. Also, I want waffles shaped like Beyoncé.”

Courtney cackled. “You got Beyoncé waffle makers in here?”

Zilla rubbed a hand over his face. “I do now. Amazon been my hostage since she moved in.”

Maya didn’t even blink. She handed Courtney a sparkly lip gloss.

“You have to be the finale.”

Courtney raised a brow. “Finale?”

Maya nodded very seriously. “It means you wear the biggest dress and do the spin.”

Zilla looked up at Courtney then, sleepy but warm.

“You gonna spin for us, Miss Loud?”

Courtney tapped her chin like she was considering it. Then flashed her grill in a blinding smile.

“I’ll spin. But only if I get Beyoncé waffles too.”

“DEAL!” Maya screeched, leaping off the couch like a tiny CEO with a deadline.

She sprinted back out the room, yelling something about glitter shoes and Peaches' matching harness.

Courtney watched her go, hair wild, spirit wilder—and exhaled slow.

Then looked down at Zilla.

“You know,” she murmured, “I don’t usually do all this soft shit.”

Zilla pulled her closer again without missing a beat.

“You ain’t gotta. We just… us.”

She leaned into his chest, let her fingers trail over his collarbone, and smiled real soft.

“You a damn good broke boy.”

Zilla chuckled, eyes finally opening to look at her dead-on. “You a loud-ass fairy godmother.”

Courtney kissed his jaw. “Mmm. And your daughter’s runway coach. Don’t forget that.”

From down the hall: “MISS LOUUUDDD, WHERE THE LIP GLOSS AT?!”

Courtney stood, stretching like a damn goddess, grabbing her duffle as she grinned back at him.

“Time to werk, Baby Daddy.”

And just like that, the Fatu estate was no longer just a war bunker for a kingpin—it was a glitter bomb waiting to go off.

And Zilla? Yeah… He was real cool with that.

Chapter 1: Coco Puff & The Chanel Takeover

Maya wasn’t just a six-year-old with a will—nah, she was a CEO of demands, and today’s order was clear:

“I WANNA DRESS LIKE MISS LOUD. Exactly like her.”

Courtney, sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by racks of clothes and half-empty snack bowls, looked down at the tiny storm with wide eyes. Maya’s brown eyes sparkled with that fierce little fire only kids with too much personality had.

“You want my whole vibe, huh?” Courtney smirked, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “Aight, Coco Puff, you ready for this?”

Maya blinked. “Coco Puff?”

Courtney grinned, hooking her arm around Maya’s tiny shoulder like they’d been partners in crime forever. “Yeah, that’s your new name. Coco Puff. Sweet, a lil’ crunchy, and impossible to ignore.”

The nickname stuck before Maya could even protest.

Fast forward five minutes, and Maya was strutting around the Fatu estate like she owned the runway, decked out head-to-toe in a Chanel mini-skirt and matching crop top that mirrored Courtney’s own fierce fit.

Mini heels clicked confidently against the marble floors as she spun, giggling and tugging Courtney’s hand.

“Look, Miss Loud! We twinsies!”

Courtney crouched down, admiring her little mini-me in full boss mode. “Ain’t nobody gonna tell Coco Puff she ain’t the fiercest in the room.”

Maya beamed, hair bouncing, cheeks flushed with excitement.

From the corner of the room, Zilla watched the duo with a mixture of disbelief and something way softer—the kind of look reserved only for moments that crack open your chest and fill it back with hope.

Courtney caught his eye and winked.

“You see that, baby daddy? That’s your daughter’s new ride or die.”

Zilla shook his head with a half-smile. “I’m doomed.”

“Mmm, nah,” Courtney said, looping her arm through his, “You just blessed.”

And just like that, the Fatu estate wasn’t just a fortress — it was a runway for Coco Puff and her fairy godmother, Miss Loud.

Chapter 6: Shopping Spree, Protection Mode Activated

The mall was packed, lights flashing, music thumping—but Courtney was locked in, shopping with Maya tucked tight under her jacket like a secret weapon.

Suddenly, a shadow moved quick near the back corner, and Courtney’s sharp eyes caught the familiar, unwelcome face of a man nobody in the Fatu empire liked—a black mark in their book, top enforcer for a rival crew.

Courtney’s heart skipped but her face stayed ice-cold. She pulled Maya closer, one arm wrapped tight, hiding the little girl like she was priceless cargo.

With a voice sharp and loud enough to slice through the noise, Courtney shouted, “Baby Daddy!”

From the other side of the store, Zilla turned—his instincts roaring to life.

He strode over, calm but lethal, eyes locking on Courtney’s stance and the shadow lurking too close.

The man’s face twisted when he saw Zilla, recognition flashing—and then fear.

Zilla didn’t say a word, just stepped forward, the weight of the Fatu name in his presence making the air thick.

Courtney, still holding Maya safe, smirked and nodded, letting Zilla take over.

The rival enforcer? He backed down quick—no need to test the youngest Fatu man and his queen’s iron will.

Zilla scooped Maya into his arms, shooting Courtney a look that said, Thank you, I got you.

Courtney smiled, knowing that when the Fatu family moves, enemies fall back.

Chapter 7: No One Threatens the Fatu Blood

Zilla kept his eyes locked on the man as he moved through the crowded mall like a shadow trying to disappear. But disappearing from Zilla? Nah, that was never happening.

Courtney’s sharp warning had lit a fire in him. Protecting Maya? That was non-negotiable. The second he saw Courtney shield his daughter, he knew this wasn’t just some petty threat — this was personal.

He trailed the man outside, past the flickering streetlights and trash cans, where the city’s heartbeat slowed down. The man was jittery now, sensing the predator closing in.

Zilla caught him by the arm, yanking him against the cold brick wall behind the warehouse.

“You got a problem with my blood?” Zilla’s voice was low but deadly, like a rumble in a thunderstorm.

The man stammered, trying to backpedal, but Zilla’s grip tightened.

“Say it again,” Zilla warned, stepping closer until the man’s breath hitched.

Turns out, the dude had been running his mouth—threats, disrespect, trying to flex where he shouldn’t.

Zilla’s eyes narrowed. “You disrespect my family? You disrespect me. And that shit? It don’t fly.”

Before the man could answer, Zilla shoved him hard against the wall. A warning punch grazed his cheek, enough to make sure he understood.

“Next time you’re in my city, keep your distance. Or next time? Won’t just be a warning.”

The man nodded quick, swallowing his pride.

Zilla released him, watching the man stumble away like a beaten dog.

He pulled out his phone, sending Courtney a quick text: Handled. Keep Maya close.

Back inside, Zilla rubbed the tension from his jaw and thought about what this meant—no one, no one threatened his family and got away with it.

Chapter 8: Designer Therapy and Mini Heels

Courtney slid through the sleek glass doors of the designer boutique like she owned the place — because, honestly? She did.

Maya’s eyes were wide like saucers, soaking in every shiny bag and glittery shoe on display. The little boss bounced on her toes, clutching Courtney’s hand tight.

“Look, Coco Puff,” Courtney grinned, using the nickname she’d already locked onto Maya, “we gettin’ you the whole vibe today.”

Maya giggled, pointing to a tiny Chanel purse hanging behind the counter.

“That one!” she squealed, eyes sparkling.

Courtney gave the salesgirl the nod — swipe that black card, no questions asked.

Maya practically floated over to the checkout, holding her new purse like a trophy, grinning ear to ear.

Courtney watched her, heart warming in a way that didn’t make her feel soft — just… steady. Like this was exactly where they needed to be right now.

Just then, the boutique doors chimed open, and Zilla stepped inside, cool as ice in his tailored jacket, eyes immediately finding Courtney and Maya.

He stopped dead in his tracks, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he saw Maya’s little hands clutching the Chanel bag, Courtney’s black card in action, and the way Maya’s grin lit up the room.

Zilla cleared his throat softly, making both ladies look up.

“Well, well… look at my two favorite girls out here stuntin’,” he said, voice deep and teasing.

Courtney tossed him a smile. “Had to keep the princess distracted from some unwanted drama.”

Zilla knelt down to Maya’s level, ruffling her curls gently. “You flexin’ that purse good, Coco Puff.”

Maya beamed, then turned to Courtney, “Miss Loud got me right!”

Courtney laughed, “You know it, baby.”

Zilla leaned against the counter, watching the scene — his family, his queens — and felt that fierce protective pride settle deep in his chest.

Chapter 9: Seafood, Sushi, and Lap Thrones

The trio slid into a cozy corner booth at The Blue Pearl, a sleek Miami Beach seafood and sushi spot where the lighting was soft, the music smooth, and the air heavy with the scent of ocean breeze mixed with fresh wasabi.

Courtney flipped through the menu like she was scanning a stock report — precise, confident — while Maya, with zero hesitation and all the energy of a six-year-old queen, climbed up and plopped herself right on Courtney’s lap.

“Uh-uh, princess, you sittin’ with us,” Courtney said, looping an arm tight around Maya’s waist, a grin tugging at her lips as the little girl snuggled in, legs dangling over the edge like she owned the place.

Zilla, sitting across, caught the move and shook his head with a soft laugh. “Child got good taste. No kiddie chairs for my Coco Puff.”

Maya beamed, pressing a sticky finger against Courtney’s glossed lips. “You taste like cupcakes and candy.”

Courtney laughed, tapping Maya’s nose gently. “Only the best for the princess, okay?”

The waiter slid over smoothly, crisp white shirt, black tie — a contrast to the colorful energy bubbling in their booth.

“Good afternoon, folks. Ready to order or need a few minutes?”

Courtney didn’t skip a beat. “We’re good. Edamame to start, a bottle of your coldest sake, and then surprise us with the chef’s best sushi platter.”

Maya’s eyes sparkled at the mention of sushi like she’d just heard magic.

Zilla smiled, folding his hands in front of him. “Make it extra spicy.”

The waiter raised a brow but nodded. “Spicy it is.”

As the waiter left, Maya wriggled a little, looking up at Courtney. “Miss Loud, I want to try everything. Teach me how to eat fancy like you.”

Courtney winked. “Lesson one — always have your people close. Lap seats included.” She kissed the top of Maya’s head. “Lesson two — don’t be shy to ask for extra wasabi.”

Maya giggled, already imagining herself bossing the room.

Zilla shook his head again, amused and softened. “Y’all making me feel like I’m in some family sitcom.”

Courtney threw him a playful look. “Nah, we just vibin’. Family business, baby.”

Maya then looked around like she had a secret plan. “I want dessert. Like, a big one.”

Courtney raised her eyebrows. “Big dessert, huh? What kind?”

Maya tapped her chin, thinking hard. “Uh… chocolate cake with sprinkles! And glitter! And maybe some ice cream.”

Zilla snorted, “Glitter on a cake? What is this, a unicorn birthday party?”

Courtney laughed. “Girl, you’re setting the bar high.”

The waiter returned just then with the edamame and the chilled sake, setting it down with a smooth nod.

Courtney swiped her black card with ease, the swish of her purse echoing quietly as she pulled out the card.

Zilla’s eyes flicked to her — not just respect but something softer, like trust, like this woman was already family.

Maya was already reaching for the edamame, popping a pod into her mouth and crunching with delight.

“See?” Courtney said. “You’re a natural.”

Maya grinned up at her, then wiggled in her lap. “Coco Puff loves her Miss Loud.”

Zilla’s lips twitched. “You’re really spoiling her, huh?”

Courtney smirked, hand resting on Maya’s back. “Spoilin’ her right because someone else tried to run her off earlier.”

Zilla’s smile turned serious. “Yeah, that black mark don’t play. But we handle it.”

Courtney’s eyes flashed with fire. “Always do.”

Maya tugged Courtney’s necklace again. “Can I have the big sushi now?”

“Patience, baby. First course is queen’s choice,” Courtney teased.

The sushi platter arrived shortly after, colorful and artful — salmon nigiri, spicy tuna rolls, avocado slices draped with microgreens.

Maya’s eyes were wide as saucers as she reached for a piece of salmon, popping it in her mouth with a surprised “Mmm.”

Zilla watched them both, the gentle moment grounding him like a rare calm in a life full of storms.

Courtney caught his gaze and smiled. “You good?”

“Better than good,” he said quietly. “I’m here for this.”

Maya beamed again, “Miss Loud is the best teacher ever.”

Courtney grinned and pulled Maya close. “And you’re the best student.”

Zilla reached over and squeezed Courtney’s hand. “We all got the best.”

[lucydixon]

Firestarter, Chapter 16

10k Znation x Original Female Character

Summary: Exhausted and short two people, the gang hits up a country club and winds up misplacing Murphy

CW: Swearing, Cannon typical violence, Zombie apocalypse typical weapons, Violence, Death

Country Club Drama

“Do you think we’ll ever see them again?” Cassandra asked a few hours into the drive, unable to bear the tense silence any longer.

“Mack and Addy?” Warren asked, smiling sadly “My heart says yes, but my mind?” She shook her head “My mind says no.”

“I was kinda hoping they’d make it with us to the promised land.” Doc frowned.

Despite having thought that they���d never cross paths again the last time the couple had parted ways with the rest of them, Torch couldn’t help but feel like there was no keeping this group apart. There was something, almost otherworldly about their ability to find each other over and over again. She didn’t know how long it would be, but she knew that they hadn’t seen the last of Mack and Addy.

Nobody spoke until the truck rolled to a stop in front of a roadblock.

“Now what?” Warren sighed tiredly

“Heads up everybody”

“I hate roadblocks.” 10k whined and Torch laughed while he shot her a halfhearted glare.

“Can’t you just push that thing out of our way?” Murphy grumbled

“Can you?” Torch flicked the back of his ear “There's gotta be ten cars in that mess.”

“No thanks,” Warren ignored the girl’s annoyed stare. “I’d like to hold on to this truck.”

She opted to drive in through the downed fence lining the road, navigating through the long grass in an attempt to find a way around the blockage.

“This golf course has seen better days,” Doc commented.

“This is so sad,” Murphy gazed out the window and shook his head. “I learned to play in prison. Always wondered if it'd be like to hang out with the real country club types.”

10k side-eyed him and the man scoffed.

“What about you Firestarter?” Murphy turned to Torch just to annoy the boy “You look like you’ve spent some time in a cell.”

“Been known to commit a crime every now and again,” She shrugged far too casually “Difference ‘tween me and you thought is I ain’t never been dumb enough to wind up in the pen.”

“You weren’t even old enough to wind up in jail.” Cassandra shook her head and chuckled.

“Never really got caught for nothin’.”

“What kind of crimes?” 10k asked, surprised for some reason despite there never having been a normal thing to come from her mouth in all the time he’d known her.

“Let’s just say, if there was still cops ‘round n’ they were a little better at their jobs, I might have a couple warrants.”

“In how many states?” Murphy asked, grinning.

Torch just shrugged, smirking with that mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Are we talkin’ felony or misdemeanor?” Doc asked, trying to get a little bit more out of her. “You’ve gotta give us somethin’ here girl.”

She turned her lighter over in her hands before flicking it on and off.

“Guess and maybe I’ll tell ya if ya get any of ‘em right.”

“Arson!” Murphy exclaimed, uncharacteristically excited as he jabbed a finger in her direction. “You’ve definitely committed arson.”

“That ain’t no secret.” The girl rolled her eyes, “Course I have.”

“Okay,” Doc nodded thoughtfully, “Theft?”

“May have dabbled.” Torch shrugged, leaning back in her seat until the side of her leg was flush against 10k’s “That’s all y’all are gettin’ outta me.”

It eased 10k’s surprise a little to know that she’d already told him about the theft. It was the first time that she’d dropped a bomb like that without leaving him feeling like he didn’t know her.

That little nagging voice telling him that he’d never be able to catch up got a little quieter.

“Think that bridge is gonna hold the truck?” Doc ended the conversation when Warren stopped in front of it.

“Guess we’re gonna have to test it out.” She shrugged, killing the engine and hopping out.

They all followed and walked up to the bridge, tentatively stepping out onto the weathered wood.

“Seems solid.” Doc hopped up and down.

10k looped an arm around Torch’s waist and pulled her off the railing when she climbed halfway up, rocking back and forth to see if it swayed.

“I’m testin’ it!” She grumbled, squirming a little, but ultimately not putting up much of a fight.

“We’re not driving over the railing.” 10k told her once he’d set her back down, trying to be serious.

“Well, what if Warren swerves and we whack it?” Torch retorted, only half annoyed.

Before they could argue any further, Citizen Z’s voice crackled through the satellite phone on Warren’s belt.

“Delta X-ray Delta, this is Citizen Z, calling all cars.”

“Delta X-ray Delta, back at you.” Their leader spoke into the receiver.

“Hello, uh. It’s good to hear from you. It’s been days and I worry.”

Torch let out a soft scoff.

“Thanks mom,” Warren chuckled. “Any news on Mack and Addy?”

“No, uh. Nothing yet.” they could hear the unease in his voice “Maybe they’re just off grid somewhere and can’t make contact.”

“Maybe?” Warren frowned

“How’s Murphy?”

“Murphy’s pissed.” He grabbed the phone out of her hand. “Where the hell is that lab you keep talking about?” He started walking away from them “And have you found that witch doctor that almost killed me? Doctor Merch?”

“I’m still working on that.”

“And you call yourself the NSA?” Murphy grumbled “Quit looking at porn and find the Quack. We’ve got business to settle.”

He flicked the phone off and cut the transmission.

“Uh, oh” Cassandra drew all of their attention to the swarm of dead golfers flooding out from the brush.

“I got the one on the right.” Warren fired a shot while 10k picked off as many as he could until they both ran out of Ammo.

“Look, some Clubs!” Cassandra snatched one out of the grass and Torch was quick to follow along with the rest of them, feeling the weight of it in her hand.

“Ah yeah” The girl twirled it before swinging at a skull, watching the explosion of gore “This’ll do.”

She wouldn’t mind hanging onto one of them.

Torch swung again and the force of the blow cut through the top of the nearest Z’s head and sent a chunk of brain matter in Murphy's direction.

The man shrieked and speed walked further into the tall grass.

“Make a run for the clubhouse!” Warren shouted, leading them there and holding the door open as they rushed in.

“Where’s Murphy?” Doc asked.

“Who gives a fuck” Torch rolled her eyes and panted “they ain’t gonna eat him. He’s safer out there than we are in here. Saw him run off.”

The dead were surrounding the building, smacking the windows and clawing at the doors.

“We’ve got company” Cassandra palmed another club, eyeing the hallway and the Z’s spilling into the room.

Warren dropped one while 10k fired golf balls with his slingshot and Torch tore her way around the room.

“There’s too many!”

“No there ain’t!” The girl retorted, still swinging when 10k grabbed her and dragged her along after them into the kitchen “We’re gonna get stuck in here if we pussy out!”

Nobody paid her any mind and all she could do was grumble under her breath when they all made it into the room and slammed themselves against the door.

“This isn’t gonna hold much longer” Warren grunted, trying to hold it shut

“Better in here than out there.” Doc muttered, shaking his head.

“I could go up in the ceilin’ and come out the other side,” Torch proposed, looking up at the tiles above them “pick a few of ‘em off n’ get ‘em away from the door.”

“No.” 10k shook his head immediately, “That is not happening”

“I’m just sayin’” She grunted, struggling to keep her boots from sliding on the kitchen floor “if ya just let me take a few more of ‘em out, we wouldn’t be in this mess”

“I wasn’t just gonna leave you out there!” He exclaimed

“Not the time!” Warren scolded them both.

Gunfire sounded outside and they all jumped, sharing startled looks as the dead were being slaughtered just outside the door. When it stopped, it was quiet for a full minute save for their heavy breathing.

“You can come out now” A voice came from the next room over.

“That was not Murphy.” Doc hissed.

“It wasn’t a Z either.” Warren held her ear against the door “Alright, get ready.”

They all raised their weapons and burst out of the room to find three armed strangers. There were two men, one much older than the other, and a woman with blood smeared across her face.

“It’s all clear.” The younger one assured them, holstering his gun.

They all relaxed a little and Warren sighed, lowering her own weapon.

Torch kept her hand resting on the hilt of her buck knife and scowled at them. When 10k tried to step out in front of her, she didn’t let him.

“Good timing.”

“Don’t get too relaxed.” The woman glanced out the window “There are still more outside.”

“We got another guy outside too.” Doc nodded.

They all stood around the window and watched Murphy playing golf outside while the dead walked around as if he wasn’t there. The group that had been traveling with him wasn’t surprised in the slightest, but the strangers looked shocked.

“I don’t believe it.” One breathed.

When Murphy finished, he waltzed over to the clubhouse resting his club over his shoulder.

“Little risky don’t you think?” The younger man asked him, still looking baffled.

“No,” Murphy scoffed “the Zs love me. Who the hell are you?”

“Brett Zimmerman” The man answered “This is Henry and Janice.”

“Roberta Warren,” Their leader made their introductions “That’s Cassandra, Doc, 10k and Torch. And the fool golfing with the jacket is Murphy.”

“You’re just jealous they like me better.”

The group of survivors was treated to a meal and heavy-handed drinks by the three strangers who were a little too curious about Murphy and his miraculous talent. Torch slammed back her drink the second it was poured and let the older man pour her another one.

10k looked startled next to her and took a small sip of his own drink.

“What?” She shrugged, “I ain’t got watch today.”

“Hey,” Warren warned when she took a big sip “Take it easy. We don’t know how long till we’ll have to run.”

“Two drinks ain’t gonna keep me from killin’ Zs.” She rolled her eyes. “I won’t have another one, ‘kay?”

“Mhmm,” The woman hummed, looking unconvinced.

Torch tuned out Murphy’s yapping as soon as he started going on about the bites and just overall being incredibly stupid with the amount of information he was divulging to the strangers.

It wasn’t until she started to feel bleary-eyed and dizzy that she looked up from her plate, blinking at 10k, who looked like he was as exhausted as she’d suddenly found herself.

“Shit, maybe I shoulda-” She started to say, but her head hit the table before she could finish and she was out cold.

“Torch”

“Torch, wake up.”

The girl gasped for air, sitting up abruptly and whipped her head from side to side, finding most of her group on the floor right along with her.

“What the-” She went to rub her face, but found herself handcuffed to 10k and Doc. “Ah, fuck.”

“Uh, guys?” Cassandra whimpered at the end of the chain, cowering away from the Z she was joined to at the wrist.

“Damn” Torch breathed, looking around frantically for anything they could use as a weapon. Until 10k yanked her arm up along with his to grab an umbrella and hand it to Cassandra before pulling himself, and Torch to their knees so they could give the girl a little bit more range of motion.

Once the Z was dead, they all sat there breathing heavily, waiting for the adrenaline to die down.

“Okay,” Warren muttered, “how do we get out of these?”

“Uh,” 10k looked around before nodding to the metal bar that Warren was cuffed to “Can we bust that rail?”

“Well, if we can’t, it ain’t gonna be for lack of trying.” Doc sighed.

“I got it.” Torch dragged 10k’s hand to the floor and grabbed a golf-T despite her eyes still feeling heavy.

They all watched as she held 10k’s wrist in between her knees and used the T to pop the lock easily. He looked back at her wide-eyed.

“Do I even wanna know where you learned that?”

“Probably not.” She rested her now free hand on his shoulder and winked at him before working on the other side to get Doc free, then the others, struggling to keep her eyes open.

Once they could stand, they all stomped off towards the car.

“What happened to us?” 10k asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I believe we got roofied.” Doc shrugged. “Drugged with Rohypnol”

“Course.” Torch huffed, still beyond tired “Imma kill those fuckers when we find ‘em.”

“Where’s Murphy?” Cassandra looked around once they reached the bridge.

“The others are gone too.” 10k grumbled.

The battery in the Tahoe was dead, so they found themselves popping hoods up at the roadblock, wasting time while Murphy got further away.

Torch was propped up against the side of a Limousine, trying to wake herself up. She’d been fine for a few minutes inside, but now she was dizzy and felt like she was gonna pass out.

“Torch.” 10k called over to her, frowning when he saw her cradling her head with one of her hands “Hey”

He tried one more time before going over and crouching on the ground next to her so he could see her face.

“Hey,” he brushed her hair out of her face, not liking how pale she looked “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“M’fine.” She muttered stubbornly, but her words came out slurred “Just dizzy.”

“Doc!” 10k shot to his feet looking around wide-eyed for the old man, who rushed over. “There’s something wrong with Torch!”

Her knees buckled and he grabbed her, gently lowering her to the ground.

Doc tilted her head back to try and figure out what was wrong, but she was out and snoring softly before he could ask her a single question.

“What’s wrong with her?” 10k looked panicked “why is she sleeping?”

“How much of that whiskey did she drink?” Doc almost looked amused

“She drank the first glass really quickly.” He said slowly.

“First glass?”

“Yeah,” the boy frowned. “She had another one.”

“No wonder she’s out.” Doc scoffed, standing with a grunt “I’m surprised she even woke up earlier. No need to worry kid, she’ll sleep it off.”

“What do I do?” 10k’s brows pulled together.

“Nothing we can do.” He shrugged “We load her up in the trunk once we get the battery fixed up and wait till she wakes up.”

When Torch woke up hours later, it was alone and with a pounding headache.

She sat up, groaning and clutching her head, blinking at the empty vehicle she found herself in with a furrowed brow.

The last thing she remembered was standing by the roadblock.

Just as she was starting to wonder if she’d been left behind or something, her eyes landed on a piece of paper with messy handwriting on it.

‘Coming back, stay here.

-10k’

She chuckled to herself before stretching out in the back and taking inventory of what she had left in her bag. She’d forgotten about the stuff she’d stolen from the bear ladies and laid it all out in front of her, reading labels as she went.

There was a decent amount of antibiotics and a few bottles of Oxy that Doc would surely appreciate.

Before she could finish, A white van screeched to a stop outside and before she could even get a glimpse out the window, the trunk was being opened and she was fumbling to get her gun out in front of her, still a little clumsy and sluggish.

She relaxed when she found 10k staring back at her, seemingly unbothered that she’d been aiming her gun at him.

“You’re awake” He grinned at her.

“Where’d y’all go?” Torch frowned, lowering her weapon and looking past him wondering where everyone else was.

“We’re switching cars.” he told her, grabbing the last of his stuff from the truck “I’ll tell you in the van.”

Torch just shrugged and shoveled the bottles back into her bag before following him into the back of the van.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me THURSDAY (May 2) in WINNIPEG, then Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

#20yrsago MIT Tech Review makes a fool out of Jack Valenti https://web.archive.org/web/20040529210502/www-tech.mit.edu/V124/N20/ValentiIntervie.20f.html

#15yrsago Shatnerquake: bizarro novel about every Shatner character sucked into reality to hunt down William Shatner https://www.toplessrobot.com/2009/04/william_shatner_william_shatner_william_shatner.php

#15yrsago US Trade Rep lies about Canadian piracy https://web.archive.org/web/20090503075121/http://www.michaelgeist.ca/content/view/3912/125/

#15yrsago Why neutrality is more important than connection speeds https://isen.com/blog/2009/04/broadband-without-internet-ain-worth.html

#10yrsago Every 27 seconds, Canadian telcos hand over subscriber data to cops (mostly without a warrant) https://www.michaelgeist.ca/2014/04/telco-disclosures/

#10yrsago Smooth sales-patter from Union Square’s Gentleman Peeler https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCUct4NlxE0

#5yrsago Serpent profiteers: how a summer camp snakebite turned into a $142,938 medical bill https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2019/04/29/717467217/summer-bummer-a-young-campers-142-938-snakebite

#5yrsago The platforms suck at content moderation and demanding they do more won’t make them better at it — but there ARE concrete ways to improve moderation https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/04/content-moderation-broken-let-us-count-ways

#5yrsago Big Tech’s addiction to illegal, overreaching NDAs protects wage discrimination, sexual harassment, and other evils by “terrorizing” employees https://fortune.com/2019/04/29/silicon-valley-nda/

#5yrsago Chase’s stupid poverty-shaming “inspirational” tweet, and Twitter users’ magnificent responses thereto https://mashable.com/article/chase-bank-tweet-backlash

#5yrsago Duke University acquires the archives of Charles N Brown, founder of Locus Magazine https://blogs.library.duke.edu/rubenstein/2019/01/11/locus-archives-documents-the-history-of-sci-fi/

#5yrsago Securepairs.org will send debullshitifying security researchers to Right to Repair hearings to fight industry FUD https://www.wired.com/story/right-to-repair-security-experts-california/

#5yrsago Most US eighth graders have taken apart a gadget to fix it or see how it works https://www.nationsreportcard.gov/tel/student-questionnaires/

#1yrago Weak Institutions https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/30/weak-institutions/

[frida--y]

I.. do love Hojo, I feel like he's more than the average ego-centric prick Inoue loves to show. There's a difference to making a character like Hojo and going, "what would this character do in this situation?" and making Kusaka do awful shit cause Kouhei is like, "Inoue! They like my character! Let's make him more awful!" lol, Hojo is a prick cause he's a reactionary character, Kusaka is evil in a malicious way, cause it's funny. And I hate Kusaka!! It was fun to hate him!! But the things he did were so malicious, and knowing it was just cause "the audience likes me" instead of "what would the character do" just shows the differences. Like Hojo's faults ARE his ego, but he's just the right amount of pathetic that I him so endearing (like all pathetic Inoue men). And his tendency to become obsessive over a subject really helps him as a detective, like he's an actual good one. I love episodes 18 & 19, with the pacing and the contained 2-episode plot wise, it's my favorite. It really shows Hojo's true morals, he could of brushed past this and buried it deep inside, but he truly cares about his job and what it means to others. He's forever a good guy in my eyes due to this. He turned in his hero, his mentor that taught him everything, that brought him to where he is today... and it really ate at him so much that he cries. Any other classic Inoue prick, would have manipulated the situation to their benefit, but the moment Hojo sees somethings off, he goes into his detective mode and brings the murderer (his hero) to justice. Like, legally, the most "wrong thing" I ever saw him do was go into Kino's house without a warrant cause he lost his patience waiting for him to return back home lol.

He's also.. handsome and I love him! I usually love to hate Inoue's "evil" guys, but Hojo truly feels different! Also design wise, I love him, you just HAVE to put the stuck-up, serious guy in a 3-piece suit, you just gotta! I loved that Shoichi loosened him up enough to get him to ditch the jacket to think harder about how to do Shoichi's magic trick. Do... do you think he has to take off his jacket to think harder in tough cases.... cute..... that's so cute to think about.. His haughtiness is also very cute. Like, he's nice enough to bring cake to Mana's uncle's home, but it's a gourmet cake. Eats at french restaurants. freak. eat bbq with the crew asshole.

In the beginning I was just wondering "what's this guy's fucking problem with Hikawa", but after dealing with him, it truly is his obsession of him, of this average clumsy cop saving the day one time (except for one passenger) and being placed into a position that Hojo himself was probably aiming for (being the G3 operator), it's no wonder he hated Hikawa and waits for his downfall in the beginning. He definitely loosened up a bit after his run in with Aki, teasing Hikawa about how's he's a good person haha, and actually caring about Hikawa when he got tossed into a tree, but he went back to hating him after Hikawa lost control and beat him unconscious, which.... fair, it landed them both into the hospital. Such a tension between him and Ozawa, she's the only one to verbally talk shit to him to his face lol. Much like Hikawa, he's pretty much obsessed with her and her respect. He craves getting respect from everyone and when he's denied it, or feels denied, he wants to know why and will obsess over it. He's a petty man too, never forgetting getting punched in the face by Hikawa and getting kneed by Ozawa. He believes he has to be the best.

He also recognizes righteous people! He's happy that Shoichi is Agito and he finally gets to see how human Agito is and how wrong he's been about accumulating Aigto's into one single ideal. He even finally praises Hikawa that he's on Agito's level when he's in the g3-x suit (praising Ozawa's skills by admitting this) to try and cheer him up! Another favorite scene from Hojo that shows his growth is the scene where he keeps Hikawa's secret from the G3 crew. Hojo now trusts and puts his logical sense aside to let Hikawa pilot the G3-X in the last episodes even as his eyesight went during battle. This is him putting his faith in humanity since Ozawa views Hikawa as such and it’s such a theme in Agito anyways with Hikawa being the “human” rider. Love to see it.

[doilyboily]

about the eye contact point, I have a story about that.

I was home from school one day, I was sick, when two cops came to my house when my dad wasn't home, because they got an anonymous tip that my cousin, who had missed his court hearings regarding his drivers licence, was staying with us. I was 14 and home alone, didn't know what to do and couldn't hold eye contact with the cops because I find eye contact to be physically painful. They took that to mean I was lying when I said that we hadn't seen him in over three years, all because I didn't make eye contact.

They asked to come inside, and because I was extremely anxious about the cops and was terrified they would get physical if I refused, I let them in.

They quickly searched my dads bedroom, bathroom and closet before checking the two spare rooms, my bathroom, the toilet and then my bedroom, before they decided I was, in fact, telling the truth and left.

I was too scared to ask if they had a warrant, because no other adults were around, my neighbours were all at work and my dads security camera only turns on when there's no light. The police in my country (not the USA) don't have a very good record when it comes to "situations" involving autistic people, especially teenagers/youths.

When my dad came home that arvo, I told him what happened, and he was rightfully upset that they came here at all and a wee bit upset that I let them in without asking for a warrant. But he still understood that I froze in the moment and panicked.

So yeah, fuck people who immediately assume people are lying if they don't show fucking eye contact.

• Fidgeting and stuttering do NOT always indicate that someone is nervous.

• Avoiding eye contact does NOT always mean someone is lying.

• Having a hard time focusing does NOT always mean someone is lazy.

• Carrying around a stuffed animal or blanket does NOT make someone childish.

• Poor motor skills is NOT a direct indication of intelligence.

Not everyone fits into your box. Deal with it.

[vegetariant-rex]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66189643

Put this up on AO3 yesterday, but I'm bad at cross-posting. I'd recommend reading on AO3 for the Author's Notes, but its also below the cut.

Truly a labor of love. Enjoy.

“People still get married in this place? Jesus, the masses really are that fuckin’ stupid,” Johnny says as the photographer snaps a picture of the wedding party. They all seem happy enough with the occasion.

“I dunno Johnny,” V says between drags on her cigarette, “They might make it.”

“Oh, V,” He says it like he’s talking to a child.

The bride is in white standing on the church steps, her groom is in a poorly tailored tuxedo talking to someone by a car. Women in colorful dresses surround the steps, forming a half circle around the newly minted Mrs. Who-Gives-A-Fuck. She yells something at them before turning her back on the small crowd. Johnny thinks it’d make for a pretty shitty pit, but this isn’t one of his shows. Still he has an opening he’s been waiting 70 years for.

“Whose got the clap?” Johnny says as a chant slamming his hands together on the last word.

V laughs at him and Johnny soaks the sound in, she doesn’t laugh near enough these days. It's all doom and gloom now, and yes they are way up shit creek without a paddle so it's warranted. But goddamn does he love the sound of her laugh.

A woman catches the bouquet and is over the moon. He can hear the screams of delight from their spot up on the hill. The groom punches the man he’s talking to on the shoulder. Maybe his girlfriend’s the one who caught it. They're too far away to tell if he's happy. Just that he knocks on the hood of the car twice before joining the beaming beflowered woman.

“She always gets it,” Johnny says tilting he's head back slightly so she'll hear him better.

V is off the hood of the car now, standing just behind Johnny looking down at the world with him. He doesn't need to look behind himself to know. If he were real, he'd slip an arm around her, cop a feel, get punched for that because it's V and he'd deserve it. But he's not real so he doesn't need to do anything. He just watches the happy commotion below and feels her against his back. That'll need to be enough.

The newlyweds get into a Delamain. The normally spotless car has ‘Just Married’ on the back window in white paint. Rusted cans are tied to the bumper, making an awful rattling noise as they drive off. V wonders if they sprung for the Excelsior package. You'd need it painting a target on your back like they were. Without the bride and groom, the rest of the attendees had no reason to stick around. Instead they abscond to their various vehicles until the crowd is whittled away to just the couple on the steps. They talk for a couple of seconds before the man is dropping to one knee and fumbling in his pocket. V can't tell what he’s grabbing but she's seen enough movies to know what was going on.

“He's an asshole, she's a slut, and there's the ring to prove it,” Johnny says pointing as he goes so V gets the joke.

V's laughing again and he can feel it this time. She's close enough her breath ghosts against his neck. He'd shiver if his nerves were his own. Maybe Johnny'd die a hundred times over just to feel her laugh like this again.

“You just hate people in love,” V says it so casually, as if she's never seen what he'd do for it. Sand crunches under her feet as she walks back towards the Porsche 911.

“Couple shit makes me sick,” Johnny says with smug satisfaction at the fact he wasn't lying. He could count on one hand the number of regular dates he's been on.

“Wanna go fuck shit up?” V's asking him like he has a choice.

The wind picks up. She'd be impossible to hear if he was actually standing there. Johnny's still looking down at the church. She's waiting, half in his car watching for his answer.

“With you? Always.”

Sometimes Johnny can tell the truth.

---

V's driving through the North Oak hills in his Porsche- taking the turns a little too wide, a little too fast. She doesn't know where she's driving too, just that it's not towards home. They'll go back there eventually but not right now. Johnny glitches into view, lighting another cigarette.

A raindrop hits the windshield.

Another.

A third.

A fourth.

Before Johnny can pop his mouth off, the rain is falling in sheets dropping visibility to zero. Turning the windshield wipers on only makes the problem worse. V's slowing down, but not before she blows out the back tire. She's lost control again, and he's powerless to help. They're skidding to a stop, car parallel to a road barrier reading ‘Dead End’. He never stops smoking the cigarette in his hand.

“I hate walkin’ in the rain V,” he says with nothing more than mild annoyance in his voice.

She's turning to look at him. Johnny knows he's getting his way before she says anything. They'll go through a song and dance, but V's liable to do just about anything he says. Dangerous power for her to give him.

“What do you mean you hate walkin’ in the rain? We can stay here. Del'll be by soon to fix it,” V says almost annoyed at him for the oblique suggestion she get out and walk in the rain somewhere, “Could also just call another car.”

He’s going to talk her into something, she can tell by the way he’s holding the cigarette in his mouth. Filter between his teeth, lazy grin not quite reaching his eyes. V’s fishing for a cigarette to distract her from whatever bullshit is about to come out of Johnny’s mouth. He always makes it sound good, with a clever turn of phrase to remind her just what a cunning linguist he is. She'll listen because she wants to hear whatever pretty words he has for her this time. His prior 9-to-5 was cutting open his scars to get them stuck in someone's head. And, well, maybe Johnny did achieve one goal he had in his first life after all.

So she listens to him make a bad idea sound good.

“Or” Johnny says as he lights a cigarette taking a slow drag before restarting his sentence, “we can walk back down the road a bit an go bother Ker.”

“How do you even know he's home?” V asks to reflexively dodge his goading, she’s squirrelly about Kerry anyway.

She likes Kerry but doesn’t really know him. Or know how to get to know him. Sometimes when Kerry looks at her, she's sure he's looking for Johnny. Like if he stares long enough he can trade her baby blues for his wide-eyed browns.

Johnny's not looking at her, he's looking out at the rain taking a drag. Before she slipped him in, V could never imagine falling for the rockerboy. Honestly, she could barely imagine falling for any boy. Soft curves and hands were more her style. Taking it slow and savoring some pretty girls pussy, rather than take it hard and fast from some dickhead who wouldn't remember her single letter name the next day. Yet here she is falling for one of the men who wrote the playbook. Only because he’s hardwired into her now she thinks feebly feeling the lie ring hollow.

She didn’t fuck River just to pretend the man under her was Johnny. Johnny didn’t make the problem worse by watching the whole time feigning disgust. Calling her whatever he wanted in the moment, upset about having to fuck a cop.

V’s staring at him, trying to puzzle out the game he’s playing. Enough of their walls were up that she couldn’t see through him like normal. Johnny’s still looking out the window, smoking.

“He's home,” Johnny says far more sure of himself than she is of him.

“Ugh, fine. We'll go, but I'm staying in the driver's seat,” V says more for herself than him, he wouldn’t ask that of her again.

Johnny turns to look at her, blowing his smoke into her face. She’s raising a hand to wave it away, but his chrome hand is faster. He doesn't touch her often, but he's trying to make a point tonight. Although it eludes him when he's grasping onto her.

“You don't wanna go, we don't have to,” He says it while looking at their hands instead of her eyes.

As if eye contact were more intimate that sharing a body.

“No, we’ll go. Think Kerry texted me he found some old bootleg from 2007 of yours anyway,” V says remembering the text she saw before they got sidetracked on the church, “He seemed really excited about it.”

Fuck they'd played a lot of shows together, but the set list could only change so many times. Johnny knows how much Kerry loved it when Johnny sang his words. He felt the same when Never Fade Away came out of Kerry's mouth. It's why they fought like dogs about who sang what. But did Kerry really need to save a copy of every time he threw himself at Johnny like a bitch in heat? Because that’s what most of the variation was on the oldest Samurai tapes. Sure, Johnny had thrown himself back at Kerry more than once. And yah, Johnny forgot he licked Kerry's guitar in nearly every set. But the stage kissing was mostly Kerry's idea, even if Johnny kissed back every time.

“’Course he found another. I don't think he's trashed anything of ours since 03,” Johnny says with slightly more conviction than he feels.

Johnny's sure Kerry trashed plenty when they were fighting. Or making up. Or just for fun. Or when he died. He wasn't there, but he knows shit got burned.

He’s still holding V's hand when he remembers he’s dead, out of the car before she can say anything about it.

---

Maybe the rain has let up a little when V exits the Porsche. Johnny’s already halfway down the street, brooding about God knows what. He was doing that more, touching her before pulling away like she’s burning him. V’s not offended, she knows any contact between them is bad news. Hurts her a different sort of way that she wants him to keep doing it, consequences be damned. Raindrops on her head tell her to hurry up. Johnny’s singing bars about girls in white dresses sleeping with roaches. Just a few more of his least favorite things.

Puddles splash underfoot as V catches up with him. He’s still singing something she doesn’t recognize while she hops Kerry’s fence. Johnny’s by the door already, looking like he’d break it down if he could. Kicking down doors was simply more fun than knocking. V wants to annoy him, so in place of barging in she rings the bell.

“Castles don’t have phones, V,” Johnny says leaning over to whisper in her ear. He doesn’t need to- his voice is always in her ears, but its easier to pretend he’s real so he puts in the effort.

The door swings open to reveal one of Kerry’s many security bots. Soulless black cameras stare at her. She hates the feeling that washes over her so much that she almost misses what its wearing. A ill-fitting butler’s outfit, wrinkles making the tux look older than it is. White cotton threads are fraying along the edge of the collar. A blonde wig sits sliding off the bot's head. Robot with a receding hairline, you truly could see everything in Night City.

Johnny’s laughing at a joke she doesn’t get.

“Hi, Brad Majors and this is my fiancée Janet Weiss,” Johnny says unnaturally upbeat from his normal brooding affect it's clear he's quoting something V doesn't know- again.

Her knight's getting stranger and stranger.

“Its raining, asshole, let me in,” V says it while pushing past the bug-eyed butler.

The force is just enough to scalp the bot. Wig falling to the marble floor with an indignant flop.

V's shaking the water off her jacket and is surprised by the amount that comes off. Johnny's up on the stairs looking at another robot. Its wig is a ridiculous curly red mess about a foot across. The maid's outfit looks equally preposterous on the mindless killing machine complete with a feather duster in place of a gun.

“Well Ker doesn't half-ass it anymore,” Johnny says laughing to himself as he slides down the railing.

He's leaning against the wall now. V's bewildered by him tonight. Like she's getting to see a part of Johnny even he thought dead and buried long before he was. Unnerving.

“Don't worry, V, place is just decked out for one of the Master’s affairs,” Johnny says like he's setting up for another joke she won't get.

“Which one, Johnny, he has so many,” V says back trying to outmaneuver his shitty quip.

Johnny laughs a little too hard at that, like when stupid boys at stupid bars tried to pick her up. She's got half a mind to delta and go anywhere else and pick up the hottest chick she can find, and fuck her until she can forget about him. Forget about Johnny’s stupid fucking face, his stupid fucking jokes, the stupid fucking way his touches make her feel. She wants to rip him out of her head. Be anywhere else with anyone else. But she won't, weird as the night may be she's not going to go anywhere else.

“Kerry, you here somewhere?” V asks to the painfully empty space. Her words echo back to her like a bad call and response.

“Johnny? V? Whichever, I'm back here,” Kerry finally says from the back of the house. V's sure he yelled but his voice is so quiet when it reaches her ears.

“You got V, but it was Johnny's idea so he’s around,” V says with more than mild annoyance in her voice, “Blew a flat just up the road, and your part-time soulmate my full-time problem, thought it would fun to ‘bother Ker.’”

She puts exaggerated air quotes around the last words.

“Yah, all that sounds like Johnny. He should fucking love this,” Kerry says with a snort while pausing whatever’s on the too-big screen.

V looks up at the glass. The shot isn't centered on what she determines to be a movie playing. Instead, its focused on a group of actors on-stage below it. There's a woman standing in a white jacket and pink dress. She's frozen yelling at the man across from her. He looks an asshole, oblivious to any issues in his present scenario. He's wearing a boring brown jacket, boring brown khakis, boring brown glasses. Fuckin' square V thinks to herself. There was a third figure in frame, turned away from the camera so V couldn't see their face. Just a black cloak and curly black hair.

“I'll know when you figure it out, Johnny will yell about it, I'm sure,” Kerry says sounding thoroughly pleased with the situation while placing the cigarette between in his lips.

“Motherfucker better have done this a second time without me knowin',” Johnny says while waiting for her to catch on there's no malice aforethought in the words, “Because if this is what I think it is- and it is- I am going to strangle him.”

He only adds the second part for fun.

“Yah, yah, right after we kill Mikoshi and smash Smasher. And ‘sides, you reactin’ like this just makes me want to know more,” V says not fully getting what he meant, miming a mouth jabbering on with her hand.

Johnny's smirking at her now, smoking. He waits a couple more beats for her to still not get it. After deciding she won't, he dramatically rolls his eyes at her before pointing with his cigarette to the guy getting yelled at.

“All that fancy tech in your eyes ‘n you still can't see shit,” Johnny says with the same joyful tone he always insults her with, “Fuck, is that why we're always getting shot?”

On a second, closer look she can see it.

“Kerry, this you?” V asks bewildered by the image before her, finally recognizing him under the costume.

God he looks so young, V doubts she would have recognized him without Johnny's help. Kerry's hair is a little longer than it is now, darker too before the stress of the world could drain the color away. He can't be much older there than she is now. Maybe 25?

“Yep, for my, uh, 19th birthday,” Kerry says his voice carrying an edge, a threat, but not for her.

Johnny nods in recognition and debates telling V some bullshit lie about what she'll see. She'd believe him, because the best part of believe is the lie after all. Only problem is he knows exactly what frame they're on. Even if she can't place him under the layers of white make-up and black eyeshadow, he's going to throw off the cloak in about 40 seconds. V will definitely recognize the Hand. Or not because he did chip into the dumbest merc in NC.

So he tells the truth because it's funnier anyway.

“That rat bastard,” Johnny says doing his best to hide his utter delight with a layer of practiced fake anger, “filmed me in fucking drag. Never do anything nice for your chooms V.”

“Johnny, the fuck do you mean?” V asks after too many milliseconds of speechlessness.

V is incapable of understanding what Johnny's saying. Not because she doesn't know what the words mean, it's just that when Johnny says them in that order, her brain short circuits. Because Johnny Silverhand did not do drag, even if he was saying it to her face. He's just a lying liar that lies, right?

“Have him roll the clip since you can't figure it out, V,” Johnny says while sprawling out on the same couch as Kerry.

Fuck it he's said enough already, may as well give V the full picture since she's too gonk to get it without him spelling it out. Maybe even with him spelling it out with that broken gaydar of hers. Tonight that looked like going Ghost on the couch with your ex-bandmate-not-boyfriend who only ever kept writing about you. V's just looking a him now like he's grown a second head.

V nods at him trying to piece together whatever she could before doing anything. Cryptic words and phrases were always Johnny's style. He didn't need to work to write lyrics most of the time, looking through old journals gave him what he needed. Half the lines were about women he didn't sleep with and men he did, war, death, all the other angsty shit people got off to; the other half were about Kerry. No one else. No matter how much people wanted to twist his words to be about other bands’ bassists- that went double if their names started with a W.

Everyone always had so many scandalized questions about the Samurai front men all the time. Their behavior during the early 2000s did them no favors if they wanted to disabuse people of the notion they were fucking. Johnny and Kerry were infamous for throwing guitar picks, guitars, drumsticks, pieces of the drumkit, notebooks, and whatever else they could grab during recording sessions. Accusations of queerbaiting followed the pair, stemming from their numerous on stage make-outs. The vast majority of which were initiated by Johnny if the tapes she’d seen were anything approaching accurate. Although Kerry was the one who always found his way to his knees.

One particularly infamous stage gay kiss featured the not-a-couple wrapped in a rainbow flag. Rumors about what that could mean followed, most of which could be summed up as ‘No, but seriously, imagine it. The guys from Samurai are fucking each other’. When asked about this, Johnny would say he was “only gay above the waist” and Kerry would say the “only way [he] could get into Johnny's pants was by stealing them”. And for music media in 2007 that was enough to get them to scuttle of to another story about how someone else in The Scene was secretly gay. V never had found the words or reason to say anything beyond “the fuck does ‘only gay above the waist’ mean, Johnny?” but today it looked like she was getting an answer that went beyond “We're not drunk enough for me to tell you, V”. Whatever, she doesn’t need some straight guy justifying his seriously unstraight actions to her. Again.

When she looks at them now though limbs entangled on the couch, V almost feels like she's intruding on a could-have-been moment. She'd leave, but then so would Johnny, ruining whatever moment they'd found themselves in. Hoping he can't tell what she's thinking, knowing he can, she instead sits on one of the other couches. Glancing toward Kerry with his back against Johnny’s knee- almost leaned into it like he knows it's there. What a wonderful caricature of intimacy.

“He,” V says in a dumbstruck monotone while nodding to where Johnny is, “says to roll the clip.”

Johnny thinks he sees Kerry blush while fumbling for the remote to play the clip. He knows Ker can’t tell he’s there wrapped around him, can’t feel his chest on his back, ‘ganic hand over his heart. When Johnny closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he’s 18 again slipping the money in Kerry’s back pocket to get this on film. At least, Johnny assumed that's what Kerry did because they didn’t spend the night getting fucked up on classic coke. Playful threats were yelled if Kerry brought up the tape’s possible existence but they never watched it.

Oh, this should be good, Johnny thinks to himself as he shivers with antici-.

-pation while Kerry presses play. A flashbang in a firefight has more subtlety. Both Janets scream bloody murder as the Franks turn around. Johnny can feel the gears turning in V's mind, grinding against each other as she watches him strut in heals and full glam make up. She hasn't figured it out yet.

“Keep watching V, you haven't seen anything yet,” Johnny says to her as he keeps time in his mind. He wonders what Kerry's heart feels like, his right hand is there. But not really.

Johnny watches V watch him. He can see the glint of silver from the cloak, but she hasn’t picked up on it yet. She knows there’s more, but he won’t tell her in the 15 seconds before she has to figure it out. Up on stage, Johnny throws off the cloak. V’s working her way up from the bottom, taking in his legs in black fishnets. The black panties and garter belt leaving nothing to the imagination. The not quite fully laced up black sequin corset showing off his barely legal abs. V’s stuck looking at the string of pearls around his neck, and Johnny almost tells V to look a little to his left. She’s refusing to take in the key detail in the image. Until…

“Holy fuckin’ shit, Johnny,” she says aloud to Johnny while whipping her head around to look at him wrapped around Kerry.

“Would, did,” Kerry says from behind her with his breath held mid-drag, pausing to catch Johnny in the middle of a sensual step down.

Johnny's silver hand gives the game away. If its Kerry's 19th then Johnny's 18, V thinks. But that can't possibly be right because Johnny always seemed so much older than Kerry. Johnny came into the world fully formed in his anger and rage. But the images on screen contradict her. What a nightmare he must have been when he was a teenager. She won't acknowledge that half his most infamous stories happened while he should have been in high school. And he won’t make her.

“The fuck are we watching,” V says to Kerry this time because she's not sure she can ask Johnny.

“I let Kerry talk me into a very bad idea,” Johnny says before she can hear Kerry's answer adding, “and that was doing all of this. Not gonna listen to me anyway.”

“Like you would give me a straight answer,” V says with a sigh as she brushes his response off. He's right, she's not going to listen to him, not now. They would talk about all of this, later.

“You're not exactly going to get a straight anything here, V,” Johnny says as he glitches into his Samurai tank without moving from Kerry’s side.

“V, did you hear me?” Kerry asks her, snapping her out of her aside to Johnny.

“Uh, no, your uh ex-input,” V says to him putting just enough sarcasm in her voice to mock Johnny, “was yapping in my ear.”

“Is that what he's saying now?” Kerry asks with some measure of pride puffing his chest out.

“Actions, Kerry, say more,” V says with all the grace of a baseball bat to the skull.

Johnny just flips her the bird with the Hand. Best friends, maybe ex-friends at the end. But they were always better off as lovers and not the other way around. Besides, to be an ex-input you’d have to be an input. Conversations were not exactly their strong suit 70 years ago, so they never got around to putting a label on things.

“Anyway, convinced Johnny to do a Rocky Horror Picture Show cast with me, with him as Frank and me as Brad. I don't remember how I did it,” He says it sheepishly like he knows exactly how he went down.

“On his knees,” Johnny says correcting Kerry as casually as when a married couple tells you how they met.

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny,” V says in the same way one may try to tell a parrot to stop repeating slurs at a funeral.

“Anyway, paid the projector kid somethin’ like 500 eddies to film it,” Kerry says unaware of V's side conversation with his side piece, “watched it maybe once, after Johnny died. Thought I got rid of it.”

Bringing up Johnny’s not quite unexpected death nearly sucks the air out of the room. An inevitable part of any talk with anyone who knew Johnny in his first life was his death. Rogue was cagey whenever the topic came up, made it hard to get what even happened out of her. Always harder with Kerry though. He had to clean up Johnny’s messes more than anyone else. 50 years on and he still has bimonthly meetings with Johnny’s surprisingly extensive team of estate lawyers.

“’Course Ker would have kept it,” Johnny says through a lazy stretch, “always was a packrat.”

“Still don’t get what this is all about, Kerry,” V says confused by the entire production.

Kerry looks at V and Johnny looks at Kerry. She’s really going to make them spell it out for her. Johnny’s trying to figure out exactly what explicatives he has to say to get it through her thick skull. Kerry leans his head back so that he’d be looking right at Johnny if he were real. A one-sided conversation plays out as Johnny watches Kerry decide what to say. Backing off as Kerry closes his eyes and lets out a breath. Maybe he has a stock answer from all the interviews he’s had to give. He opens his eyes looking at Johnny again. They nod in sync in a moment that makes V almost believe in soulmates.

“Johnny lied about us for a reason, V,” Kerry says from a place of deep pain and understanding, “You didn't exactly get to be out when we were young.”

“As if Kerry was ever in the closet,” Johnny says deflecting from the central point.

“We could do whatever the fuck we wanted on-stage, get shirtless, kiss, feel each other up. Whatever, but one foot off and,” Kerry clicks his tongue while miming a trigger pull.

Johnny looks like he’s trying to forget something.

“Except for a few places, gay bars, couple specific beaches,” Kerry says amused by something he wasn't going to share, “and midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

“Yah, still don't know what that means,” V says more confused by Kerry's tangent than whatever movie he was talking about.

Johnny wonders how so much knowledge can be lost in such little time. Apparently sleeping with half the lesbians in Night City didn't teach the same lessons in her day as sleeping with all the gay men had in his. Fuck, half the mercs from the Atlantis ended up at shows when they weren't being buried. If he- infamously straight Johnny Silverhand- was up in his feelings about queer shit, Kerry must be a wreck. Or maybe its only shocking because Johnny spent 50 years being not quite tortured in not quite hell.

“Old movie that flopped,” Kerry says like it doesn't really matter, “But people started dressing up, then acting alongside, soon enough you've got a movie that's been in theaters for 100 years.”

Fuck, time might not heal all wounds but it sure made them hurt a whole hell of a lot less. Johnny assumes anyway because Kerry doesn't sound the least bit offended. He would be if he knew V was to gonk to put together that they were sleeping together by now. With Johnny draped over him in a way he ‘never would’ while alive. Only when the cameras were rolling.

Instead of getting offended by the mostly useless lesbian in their midst, Kerry grabs a cigarette case with the Samurai logo on it. It’s green instead of red and has pre-rolled joints in it. He takes one placing in between his lips, before offering it to V. She plucks a jazz cigarette from its former home holding it between her right thumb and forefinger. Before V can grab the lighter on the table, Kerry has it. He makes sure V can see the design etched in gold on the otherwise black lighter, so Johnny can see it.

Twin skeletons locked in an eternal embrace. The finer details have been worn away by decades of use. Fingers blur into ribs blur into vertebra. Most of the double border has become a single thick line. The corners shine like polished brass where the black was chipped away by time. But the mouths are still locked in a kiss. That has survived.

“Remind him our band never went that kitsch,” Johnny says not adding on he bought that lighter for Kerry while saying it was them.

V ignores Johnny this time. Pretty words out of a pretty mouth not feeling particularly important when Kerry's putting the joint in hers. When Kerry's holding her bangs back and striking the flame close enough she feels the fire on her cheek. For once since he slipped into her, there's not a damn thing he can say that will make her head turn towards him.

Once Kerry lights hers, he presses the tip of his to it. Pressure nearly snuffing the barely there ember. Its intimate, not efficient. Testing V's movements for Johnny's actions, looking into her eyes to try and find his. She doesn't move her hand to his hips like Johnny would, she just looks at him like he's a car about to hit her. Smoke trailing from his joint signaling success, Kerry backs off.

“Was thinking about how to do Halloween this year,” Kerry says as explanation sidestepping any other questions, “Needed to go looking for inspiration, and well I guess I found it.”

He's back on he couch with Johnny. Subconsciously holding it near Johnny's mouth between puffs as if his hands had a default mode. Muscle memory burned so deep it would hurt to do anything else. Johnny winks at V as he takes a real drag from his fake cigarette, and a fake drag from Kerry's real joint.

“Always was his favorite holiday,” Johnny says while recalling Kerry ‘s devil look from Halloween 2011, “Never could top that one.”

“Didn’t know people still had the time to celebrate that,” V says ignoring Johnny’s encroaching horny thoughts, “How the lifestyles of the rich and famous differ from us street rats.”

“Everyone wants an excuse to be someone else,” Kerry says between puffs, “Great excuses- Halloween and Rocky Horror.”

V sat with the thought for a moment, and gave Johnny a sideways look. He returned it. They'd talk about it later. Probably tonight after V fucks the night up, because she is turning into him. She doesn't need any excuse to pretend.

“So we gonna watch the whole thing? Haven't even gotten to the part where Johnny goes down on me,” Kerry says to sweeten the deal, as if V wasn't dying to see whatever was on the full tape.

---

V can't decide if she likes what she's seeing. Kerry had told her people acted along with it. He neglected the stripper- Trixie, who might be a younger Rogue but no one clarifies- during the opening song. Also that she wouldn't be able to hear the movie over the crowd.

V is surprised when after Trixie left the stage there’s a wedding. A brunette wearing nothing but black sequin bra and panties is holding the bouquet this time. She's standing up on the stage steps next to a butch lesbian. Just a raunchier version of what they saw earlier. Brunette tosses the flowers to that night's Janet. Johnny looks over and gives her the biggest shit-eating grin, like she hasn't seen anything yet. She can make out what the crowd's saying for once since Johnny said the same shit earlier in the night.

There are more scenes where V feels like she's rewatching her own night. Not one for one, at least she hopes there's not some other person narrating her life. Life imitates art but hopefully not that far.

“One more crossover V,” Johnny says from his spot tangled up with Kerry with so much glee in his voice it hurts, “You gotta dance.”

“What?” V asks without looking over at him, “I am not doing any dancing.”

“We'll see about that,” Johnny says while ghosting off so she doesn't have to see him, because of course he's gonna do The Time Warp again.

Kerry couldn't notice when Johnny left.

“STAND THE FUCK UP!” screams the screen.

“V, up,” Kerry says already pulling V's wrists up.

“Already told Johnny I don't wanna dance,” V says sounding more like a teenager than she means to.

“It'll be fine,” Kerry says reassuring the petulant young merc before him, “Johnny been enjoying himself?”

V doesn't understand why Kerry hesitates after dropping Johnny’s name. Like he's asking a trapped animal if it needs help. Maybe she's too stoned, maybe she doesn't have enough context. But it's not V he's asking. And it's not V who answers.

“Been enjoying himself just fine Ker,” Johnny says using V's words, “Been doin’ all sorts of couple shit. Makin’ me sick.”

V isn't sure if Johnny takes control or if she gives it to him. If his emotions temporarily force her away like one of those fucking pills. She knows she hasn't taken any of them, and it doesn't feel like a malfunction. Lay off the drugs, probably.

Yah.

Drugs.

Drugs were the problem, not the sword of Damocles hanging over her head. Although she had a feeling someone was going to be cutting those threads real soon. Maybe sooner if she goes lights out on Kerry's heated floors. If only she'd just said no.

“Still don't know how this Freaky Friday shit works between you two,” Kerry says with a smirk that said he got the message.

“Neither do we,” They say with her voice.

V is suddenly thankful she can do a little jump to the left instead of thinking.

---

Johnny is ogling a 6’7” blond ex-Marine in nothing but a gold speedo. Well, the 18 year old Johnny locked on screen is ogling this week's Rocky. Chasing him around the stage with wild abandon, like no one will ever see this version again. The 34 (88) year old locked in the trunk of her mind is unspooled on the floor. He's traded the Samurai tank for one with a pair of red lips on it. Like the ones at the beginning of the movie.

V hardly remembers falling back on the couch with Kerry. He hadn't wanted to kiss her on the roof at Dark Matter a couple weeks back, but now they can barely keep their hands off each other. Smoking the same joint, kissing it into the other's lungs.

V know she's being used, and goddamn does she like it. The kisses on her neck and hands roaming over her body weren't for her, she could feel it. But it didn't matter to her. Kerry won’t read her eulogy, maybe nobody would. She doesn't need that when Kerry is trying to pull Johnny out of her skin. Although he's kind enough to say her name instead of his.

“How the fuck did anyone think you guys were straight?” V asks still not really buying Johnny isn't straight with Kerry as his only exception.

“They didn't,” Kerry says while placing the joint back in her lips, “We just all agreed to pretend we didn't play for both teams.”

“Sounds complicated,” V says still not comprehending the weight of Kerry's words.

“Well bisexuality had only existed for 12 years,” Kerry says like someone complains about their team's win-loss record.

Johnny laughs at the joke V doesn't get.

“A lot has changed V, used to be a lotta pressure to stay on the straight and narrow, if you catch my drift,” Kerry says with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to the subtle art of queer detection.

“Yah, heard the stories,” V says now glued to the Johnny on-screen seducing a woman in a red room, “but like that was finished by 2000. You two never had to deal with that.”

Janet's asking what Frank's done to Brad. The crowd tells her not to worry. Saving the best for last.

She hears Johnny's bitter laughter before she can feel Kerry’s chuckle. Two very different reactions to what she said. Fire burns just a little underneath her skin, not hers but she knows where it comes from.

“No, V, homophobia was not defeated in ‘99,” Kerry says as he places a gentle kiss on V's cheek, “I’ve barely made a dent in biphobia. Was married to a fuckin’ woman for 25 fuckin' years ‘n everyone still acts like she was a pit stop on Rainbow Road.”

Twenty. Five. Years. Johnny doesn't think about how much it hurts Kerry could have been married to anyone for longer than they had together.

V laughs at that because she was supposed to and doesn't ask what he means because she knows. She's heard it, read it, even if she didn't want to because as far as she's concerned Kerry's always been one of the biggest names in music. She’s always heard the rumors but never believed them, she was to busy killing her way to the top of the corpo ladder.

Johnny is staring at them from the floor enjoying the sight of V in Kerry’s arms. He always liked the look of his women on Ker's arm. Never got jealous about it, not when it got him all hot and bothered to see his bandmate having a good time. Sure, the gasps from Rogue or Alt or whoever were nice whenever Kerry coaxed them out. But he always looked to Johnny while he did. Trying to remind him how much better he'd feel under Kerry's hands.

V hasn't taken things further, and he's not sure why. She was fine with fucking that cop while staring him down. At least with Kerry he wouldn't be calling her a slut for sleeping with the first gonk that'd get hard for her. On second thought that may have made the cop fucking worse. He'd seen what she was into by this point. She keeps looking at him like she's trying to solve a puzzle. Her gasps and kisses back betray her interest in Kerry. Johnny thinks about saying something to her, but is interrupted by her partner.

“Now, pay attention or you'll miss the best part,” Kerry whispers in her ear.

Kerry’s lying in a bed- same one Janet was in- lit by a blue light. The crowd’s chanting about Frank the Wonder Fuck while Johnny walks back on stage. V wonders just how long it took for people to come up with this shit. A blonde wig sits over the black one as he’s climbing atop Kerry. Someone yells about not touching the hair as Kerry’s already pulling it off. The same guy says something else she can’t make out.

They’re temporarily locked in a stare, Johnny leering over Kerry like he’s dinner.

“Hey everyone, look! It’s Johnny Silverhand and Kerry Eurodyne!” Another voice yells at them.

They laugh and flip the crowd the bird as Kerry pulls himself up to sitting between Johnny's legs. Not even a second can pass before Frank's coaxing moans out of Brad who should be going on about how he would never. But the teenagers on stage are far more interested in skipping to the good part. Silver hand on bare chest gets them back to where they started.

It's impossible to tell who's enjoying this more- Kerry looking like the cat who caught the canary or Johnny grinning from ear to ear while making his way farther down. Hands on hips and in hair has V almost convinced they're about to fuck on stage. Not ten seconds later, she's thoroughly convinced when Johnny pulls Kerry's legs up in time with the movie. Clothes are still on but they don't seem like that big of an impediment.

“Did you two?” She asks not finishing the question.

“Then or in general?” Kerry answers her question with another.

She nods her head to the screen in place of choosing an option.

“No, this was all foreplay,” Kerry says while sending his hands lower on her body as emphasis.

---

V's pretty sure the movies almost over. She hasn't really paid attention to the plot, but she's pretty sure that's okay. Sex is on the table, she can feel it in Kerry's movements. The way his hands will linger on her hips, tracing nonsense patterns on her skin. V's hands chase the chrome on his chest, while she glances down to their not quite unwilling third.

“If me watching is your hang up I'll ghost off,” Johnny says to her without taking his eyes off the screen, “but that's not it is it.”

Kerry’s hands are lower, still over her too short shorts. Fuck, is she wet. The denim is damp before his fingers do anything. V’s thinking about how good she’d taste on Kerry’s fingers if they go any further. Fuck they’d both be pretending the other was Johnny so it almost felt fair.

But she doesn’t want it to get that far.

“Nope,” V says nearly breathless at Kerry’s touch even in her head.

That gets Johnny to turn back around.

“When you wanna kill the mood,” Johnny says with a pointed head nod to the guy feeling her up, “ask ‘im what happened after this.”

Johnny watches as she thinks about what he's trying to say. She's passing judgement on him knowing enough about him to assume his next move, past and future. V's guiding Kerry's hands back to her breasts. Never breaking eye contact with Johnny.

Johnny hears Columbia scream and die in the background. He's seen this movie way too many fucking times.

“You fight that bad?”

Johnny just shrugs as Frank is shot and killed. It's bloodless, a bad VFX laser to the chest. Nearly fucking prophetic with the benefit of hindsight. At least he made a pretty corpse once, doesn't want to think about how he looked after the tower fell. Somehow Kerry only watched this after he died, knowing full well what he'd see. Weird fucking way to process a death but maybe the cause shouldn't be judging the symptom.

However the fuck this disc survived its a miracle. If the roles had been reversed, Johnny would have broken not only the disc, but the DVD player, TV, walls, maybe even burned the whole room down rather than deal with his emotions. Kerry certainly did some of that, destroying whatever he could get his hands on, while not taking it out on one of the last pieces left of him.

Probably. Johnny wasn't there.

Laying on Kerry's expensive floors watching V decide what to do, he almost wants her to just fuck him. Not blow up the night the same way he would just because she's turning into him. She's wrapped up in his arms, looking like she could actually be happy with this set up. The way she leans into him when Kerry kisses her. Gasps and breathless nothings betray her interest, but her eyes always find him. Johnny knew how good it could feel when Kerry put all his attention on you. On the rare nights the men had fallen in to bed together, Johnny didn't dream. Not didn't have nightmares, he didn't dream. He didn't want to think about the first time it happened.

The popular story had always been that Johnny was the one who found Kerry. Noticed him playing and challenged him to dueling guitars or something like that. As if he were the devil tempting Kerry with the power of punk. He doesn't remember when they started lying about that. Johnny's pretty sure he’d told the story a million and one ways, but the media either never cared to pull it apart or never caught the lie.

The horseshit coming out of his mouth every time he told it. Complete and utter horseshit.

Kerry had been the one to patch Johnny up when he first got to the Pistis Sophia back in 03. When Johnny was nothing but a 14 year-old kid in way to deep. Not that Kerry was much older than him. He was just more composed than Johnny, just a little cooler under the gun.

Beaten with a real bleeder of a wound just under his flak jacket Johnny’s sitting on a broken bathtub in a nearly unfinished hotel room. Rain pelts the carpet in front of the open door. Closing the door didn't feel important when the pain was growing worse with every step. The flesh on his right hip had been torn open by a stray bullet. Bits of skin held on by threads revealed the layers of muscle and fat. Blood trails down his pant leg, the dark patch slowly expanding. The blood leading to him wasn't much, but he could see the drops and handprints he'd left behind. Only a matter of time before someone noticed him.

“Need a medic?” asks a voice in the doorway.

He nearly shoots the intruder in the arch. Flickering lights and shaky hand sent the bullet wide and to the left. The glass window shatters into a million pieces. Johnny's ears start ringing from the bang and he begins to feel sicker. He pulls the trigger again, producing nothing but a small click. He's empty.

The figure hasn't moved, isn’t phased by the bullet flying at him. Instead, he holds out the battered kit as a gesture of goodwill. Johnny barely makes out the red cross on the bag.

“Not fuckin’ around,” Johnny says trying to make his voice sound less shaky.

“No, not fuckin’ around,” Whoever he is, he sounds tired.

Johnny waves him in with the pistol before placing it on the counter. Prior to the interruption he was part way through taking off his vest to see the damage. Dog tags around his neck were stained an ugly brown stuck to his chest by sweat and blood. Whether his hands were shaking from adrenaline or blood loss was anyone's guess. All his eggs were in one basket, and that was this strange kid actually helping him. He doesn't know the wound will actually kill him, he's only pretty sure.

The incandescent bulb buzzes in the busted vanity. Bitter yellow light exposes the dust hanging in the air, only disrupted by the sudden flurry of activity. There's half a bloody handprint on the wall, but it looks wrong- not quite human. The fingers are to rounded, smooth. Like whoever made them didn’t have fingerprints. Johnny's left hand clicks in time with his mind.

‘That's right,’ Johnny thinks to himself, ‘they turned me into a fucking monster.’

The idea weighs on him, as he fights the tears welling at the corners of his eyes. Fuck Johnny was in over his head. There hadn't been much of a plan aside from join up with the first corp that didn't ask too many questions about the obvious bullshit papers. Get the fuck out of Texas and don't look back. Now he's in Night City by way of Mexico with a heavy metal arm and an ugly side wound.

“Can I take a look?” His mystery man asks.

Johnny nods in lieu of using words. He's not sure what would even come out. Nothing coherent.

Gloved hands make quick work of his vest. The stranger looks at the wound and he seems calm. Johnny's breaths are shallow and ragged, not enough to be concerned about. He's just feeling the pain for the first time. He doesn't remember what it felt like when his arm was blown off. There was gunfire then darkness, not unlike dying. Consciousness was doing him no favors.

“Not too bad, looks like it just grazed you,” Stranger says as blue eyes force their way into Johnny's vision.

“That’s good,” Johnny says while gritting his teeth so hard the words sound more like a hiss.

God he doesn't want to cry right now.

“It is…” Stranger says with his words trailing off to prompt a name.

“Johnny, name's Johnny,” He says coughing out the words, not sure if the name'll stick but it's better than fucking Robert.

“Kerry. Wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Johnny,” Kerry says like they're chatting after swinging a few punches not over a gunshot wound.

Johnny huffs out a chuckle against his better judgment, trying again to stifle the pain. Whichever motherfucker said laugher was the best medicine was a sick son of a bitch.

“Gonna hurt real fuckin’ bad when I wash it out, Johnny,” Kerry says with a steady voice while cleaning the edge of the gunshot, “Can give you somethin’ for it, but it probably won't kick in in time. Oral med not injectable.”

“Give me whatever you got,” Johnny says his voice has gone soft around the edges of words. There's not enough brainspace to round them out.

He doesn't know if Kerry can hear the tears.

Kerry digs around in the kit for a second, looking at his pill bottles and shaking them. Listening to check the contents, a couple are empty. One rattles with a few pills still left in it, seems like something name brand.

Kerry slides off one glove and shakes the white bottle. The pills land in his hand, and he looks down at them before reaching out.

Johnny swallows the two white pills out of Kerry's palm like a starved dog.

“Gentle there, nearly took off a finger,” Kerry says in an attempt to bring any levity to the situation.

Johnny just leans back and winces as Kerry goes back to scrubbing the edges of the wound with a cloying flower scented soap.

There's nothing but screaming when the saline hits. The 18g catheter tip forcing the solution into his wound may as well be a firehose. Unintelligible noises tear from Johnny's throat as he tries to stay still. It's not better when Kerry’s hand gets closer and the spray more directed. Raw nerves firing past their potential bring nothing but pain through their axons. Agony so pure it cuts through Johnny such that his mind may well be a blank slate.

Nobody who could hear them would care, Johnny's not even the first to scream bloody murder tonight. Night City would never give a rat's dick about his screaming. Not when it was into the microphone for attention because he was just so bored. Not when it was his name from the top of Arasaka Tower just to feel alive. Not even when now, while he screamed so loud his throat bleed as the tip of the catheter probed the edges of the wound.

Johnny thinks he blacks out.

“No communication with your abdomen, that's better,” Kerry says with a far to relaxed tone as he comes to again.

When he looks up he can see the tears streaming down Johnny's cheeks.

Somewhere along the way the painkiller took hold. OxyContin that's the new one right, supposed to be non-addictive or something. Whether that was true Johnny didn't know, but he could barely feel Kerry's sutures. Which is a good thing, because he's pretty sure he's blown out his vocal cords.

“Stitches should dissolve so I don't need to take them out,” Kerry says pleased with his handiwork.

“Thanks, man, I owe you,” Johnny says his words fully slurring together from the drugs voice going hoarse from the yelling.

Kerry glances around the hotel room. Still wrecked from the previous tenants, the only additions from Johnny being the bloodstains on the wall.

“You got anyone here, Johnny?” Kerry asks him with some measure of concern in his words.

Johnny shakes his head no. He has no plans other than go north. Night City seemed like the place he could hide out, his welcome had been a swift gunshot wound to the hip.

“I set up a couple rooms over, could stay with me the night, get your head on straight,” Kerry says in a way that was more a statement than suggestion.

Johnny gives a half hearted nod rather than use words. He feels lighter than normal as Kerry pulls him to his feet. Wincing as he puts weight on his right leg, before collapsing onto Kerry. Their steps are jagged and uncoordinated, unfamiliar with each other. But the find an unsteady rhythm together. Johnny knocks something over as they leave, it sounds like glass breaking. They don't bother closing the door behind them.

The trek to Kerry’s room feels like an eternity despite being less than ten steps. The soft glow of repurposed Christmas lights give the cramped hotel room needed warmth. There's some angry song coming from the CD. The anger bleeds through despite the nice harmonies. Someone else screams the words to the singer, rough but practiced. Falling on the bed, Johnny thinks he should feel some sort of way about this. He know nothing about this guy and he's nearly passed out on him. But Kerry's not making any moves, just playing with his hair.

Relaxing into the touch is nice, borderline comforting. Feels really good to have someone hold him even though he doesn’t even know him. Almost feels like home. Bury him in the memory he took to his grave.

“So Kerry,” V says her voice cutting through the memory like a knife, “what happened after this?”

Johnny hears his 18 year-old self tell Kerry he loves him during cast shout-outs.

---

“Knew that was coming,” Kerry says his present voice conflicting with the shaking in his memory.

Kerry's hands pulled away from V like she's a falling knife. He damn near jumps out of his skin to get off the couch. He's running a hand through his hair, not quite smoothing the strands out.

“Johnny ‘n I were out back in the alley,” Kerry says as if he'd been rehearsing the answer while hoping to never use it, “when a couple of guys started yelling about how we were fagots and should start running.”

Johnny’s pacing behind Kerry, flak jacket back in place like it'll protect him from emotional shrapnel. V’s surprised she could still be shocked today.

“Way Johnny'd set it up, seemed like you two got into a nasty fight,” V says processing Kerry's words.

“Not exactly wrong there V,” Kerry says distantly putting distance between them, “Just the day ended worse for them than us. Next Samurai show someone threw a pride flag on stage, so we gave them a real show. So fuck them.”

Johnny's still pacing. V wants Kerry to elaborate, but he's already heading off to another room in the house. The screen fades to black and clicks off. Unnatural quiet smothers any chance at clarity.

“I gotta head out Kerry,” V says rushing to get the words out, “fixer pinged just now.”

“Yah whatever, do what you gotta do V,” Kerry's words bounced off the walls in the too big space.

---

The Porsche 930 is waiting for her outside the gate, the top is up- canvas blocking the rain. She should have called it from the beginning and avoided whatever tonight was. Johnny didn't show up right away. V starts driving through the hills going nowhere fast. Without thinking, she lights a cigarette and begins smoking it. She sees Johnny from the corner of her eye.

V’s driving too fast again, just trying to catch up to her thoughts. Maybe if she presses the accelerator a little harder she'll match the lightning in her brain.

Neither speaks during the drive.

---

“Coulda told me I was throwin’ a live ‘nade,” V says wary of the words coming out of her mouth like they're spiders instead of sounds.

She's smoking her third cigarette since she parked. Car headlights illuminating the sand dunes and wildflowers. V doesn't know how long she's been laying on the hood staring at the stars. Watching the smoke drift off the tip and dissipate into nothingness. Feeling the damage to her lungs and not giving a fuck. Sand crunches under boots that don't exist. The cherry goes out before he responds.

“Not my fault you're gonk enough to say my words without thinkin’,” Johnny says without feeling.

He's on his fifth cigarette and can't stop moving. Maybe if he were real he would be drinking his way through a fifth of whiskey instead. Maybe because he's real bent out of shape he'd see if Kerry still had that real expensive rum they’d bought in Hawai'i, called some dumb shit like Brum. Looked more like an expensive statute so it was almost certainly broken by now. Because it is 50 years in the future, as Johnny always has to remind himself.

“You really get called a fag?” V asks him shortening the slur even in her head.

“That night it was faggot,” Johnny says correcting her making it clear that was far from the only time they were on the bad end of a slur.

They're out in the badlands. Far enough from downtown the city's almost pretty in the moonlight. Neon lights still burning bright enough it's not fully dark out even miles out. The wind dies down to give them what passes for quiet. V’s almost looking at him now, leaned up on the windshield like she’s in an 80s music video. Johnny’s not stopping long enough to enjoy the sight. He’s too busy trying to work out what she’s going to ask next.

“How bad their night end?” V asks him more focused on lighting her next cigarette than his inner turmoil.

“One in the head, two in the chest,” Johnny says recalling the recoil and gun smoke, “tossed them in dumpster.”

“How'd Kerry feel about that?”

“He missed one shot, wide and to the left.”

She's nodding instead of speaking, smoking instead of thinking. There’s no tension between them, not like when one of his outputs would finally put together that he and Kerry were never just roommates. Definitely not like when Rogue let herself in to his apartment once and found them in a very literal dick measuring contest. You’d think Johnny was suggesting storming Arasaka tower the way she kicked him out on his ass.

But V’s not yelling at him, calling him a cheating bastard, telling him to grow up, or any number of other things women said when they found out. She’s looking at him like she's finally unlocked some puzzle about him.

“So the whole straight as a fuckin’ arrow thing was a total lie?” She asks like he'll deny it.

“Yep,” Johnny answers and not finding enough reason to hide the details adds, “Unless it was the only way someone would go home with me, then it was the truth.”

That gets her to laugh, the revelation finally not feeling like a sucker punch.

“Was something of an open secret. Do you know how many LiveJournals were dedicated to fangirls imagining how Kerry ‘n I fucked?” Johnny says while naming a site that went defunct before the DataKrash.

“Live what?” V asks so that its clear she's reminding him he's still old.

“Journal. Glad all the archives went down in the Krash, you'd go nuts if you saw what I willingly put out online,” He says finally stopping to look at her.

Perched on the hood of his car, legs spread so she can plant a palm between her thighs she looks ready to call him over to fuck her. He can tell she's thinking about it too. Shifting her weight and hands, V instead pushes off the car to join him on the sand.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” She asks while lighting a cigarette so she has something in her hands.

“Honestly thought you knew. Lord fuckin’ knows how many times Eurodyne's practically screamed ‘I was fucking Silverhand before he offed himself in Arasaka Tower and broke my heart' every way he could for 50 years,” Johnny says with nothing but sincerity in his voice.

She's leaning on him now, and he slips an arm around her to bring her closer. Not to try and cop a feel like he would have earlier that night, just to hold her tight. She nearly melts in his arms like they all do. He rests his head on hers and watches dawn break over the mountains.

Maybe they stand like that for ten seconds, maybe its ten minutes. Eventually the moment ends as he feels V shift against him, untangling herself from him. Walking backwards towards the car so she can still look at him watching the sunrise. Johnny doesn’t need to look back at her to know.

The car door creaks open, and he hears it shift as she steps half in.

“Wanna go home?” V asks her voice betraying her sleepiness.

Johnny watches the sun crest just a bit higher. V doesn’t need him to answer, but she likes waiting. He turns back to face her, hair caught by the golden morning light making him look just a bit heaven sent. Fuck is he pretty like this.

“With you? Always.”