#kerri how dare

[elvenbeard]

Glitter and Gold

upcoming masc underwear by winks uwu

[boatdriinks]

Kerry's head felt like it was practically swimming after that kiss to the tip of his nose. He was still pretty damn thankful for the low lights, else the fact that his cheeks had been set ablaze would've been so damn obvious. Christ, he was already acting enough like a lovestruck kid. He didn't need that on top of it all.

With a sigh, Kerry would begrudgingly back off from Vik's personal space. The last bit of his drink was downed, and thus his attention was put on boxing up the rest of his food. It definitely wouldn't be going to waste, that was for damn sure. He wouldn't be surprised if he managed to finish it off by the morning.

Looked like they'd be on their way out soon enough, though. With that in mind, Kerry began to put his half-assed disguise back together. Sunglasses back on and the hat once again covering up those (currently) signature silver locks.

"All right," Kerry sighed, looking Vik's way again finally. "Guess we're outta here."

The sound of the takeout containers dimly registered in the back of Vik's mind, but it wasn't until Kerry broke away to look that he realized what the noise must've been. Well, there were way worse reasons to lose track of time, and he'd seen before how Cal had dealt with more troublesome or simply annoying customers.

An answering soft snicker escaped past his toothy smile, and Vik rested his forehead against Kerry's. "Yeah, least there's that. But Cal's pretty good with signals, so let's not get on their bad side." One more peck, to the end of Kerry's nose, and another quiet laugh. "C'mon. We can get lost in each other more later."

Still, Vik's hands were reluctant in their departure from the older man, one lifting to brush along Kerry's jawline. He finally turned his attention afterward to packing away the food he hadn't finished into one container. From the sound of things, the live band's singer was taking a break to rest her voice; they really had been caught up for a while.

[voguefashion]

The Kennedys' on LIFE magazine (Part 2/3)

"Mrs. Kennedy, Caroline And John Jr. Wait To Join Procession To Capital" (Jackie, Caroline & John F. Kennedy Jr.), December 6, 1963.

"Who Will Button Up The Bottom Half Of The Ticket?" (Robert F. Kennedy), May 8, 1964.

"Jacqueline Kennedy: She Writes About Her Husbands Mementos - The Ones He Liked Most" (Jackie Kennedy), May 29, 1964.

"Bob Kennedy's Week Of Trial And Of Decision (A Happy Moment At Home With His And His Brother Jack's Children: Courtney, Caroline, Kerry, John Jr. Michael and David Kennedy), July 5, 1964.

"The Warren Report" (John F. Kennedy Assassination), October 2, 1964.

"As Congress Opens: Ted Kennedy's Recovery" (Edward M. Kennedy), January 15, 1965.

"By Robert Kennedy: Our Climb Up Mt. Kennedy" (Robert F. Kennedy), April 9, 1965.

"By Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr.: First Portrait Of Kennedy By A Member Of His Team - A Thousand Days" (John F. Kennedy), July 16, 1965.

"By Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr.: The Historian Resumes His Kennedy Narrative - A Thousand Days" (John F. Kennedy), November 5, 1965.

"Jackie In Spain" (Jackie Kennedy), May 6, 1966.

"Robert Kennedy: His Control Over The 'Legend' - His Truce With L.B.J - Will He Dare To Run In '68? - How Would He Handle Power?" (Robert F. Kennedy), November 18, 1966.

"A Matter Of Reasonable Doubt" (John F. Kennedy Assassination), November 25, 1966.

"Jackie In Cambodia" (Jackie Kennedy), November 17, 1967.

"A Contribution To History: Governor Connally Sets The Record Straight On The Fateful Visit" (John F. Kennedy & Jackie Kennedy), November 24, 1967.

"Senator Robert F. Kennedy", June 14, 1968.

"Jackie's Wedding" (Jackie Kennedy Onassis), November 1, 1968.

"The Kennedys" - Special Edition, 1968.

"The Fateful Turn For Ted Kennedy" (Edward M. Kennedy), August 1, 1969.

"The 60s: Decade Of Tumult And Change" (John F. Kennedy, Jackie Kennedy & Robert F. Kennedy), December 29, 1969.

"An Intimate Visit: Rose Kennedy At 80" (Rose, Ted & Joan Kennedy), July 17, 1970.

[schoute]

Nobody look at me I'm posting self-indulgent oc x canon art and fic (under the cut) 🙈

Warnings: NSFW THERE'S COCK TALK and canon typical violence so unless you're an adult don't click.

A swirl of fragrant smoke whirled around Crocodile's head as he exhaled with a hard sigh.

What had started out like any other day had quickly devolved into irritating chaos.

It wasn't the first time the Revolutionary Army had sought him out, keen on trying to get their hands on his imported weapons. In fact, it was the second time, most recently, that they'd tried.

The second time she had tried.

Peachy hair danced across his mind, with her frilly shorts and lilting chuckle, and Crocodile bit down hard on his cigar. It was the second time Kerry Corduroy had tried to steal from him.

He wasn't a forgiving man, and the first time she'd tried to raid his weapons supplies with a plucky little crew of Revolutionaries he'd sent her hobbling back to her ship with a gouge from his hook in her thigh.

A blast in the distance rattled the crystal ashtray on his desk, and Crocodile's hooked arm twitched reflexively, Kerry's toned, bloody thigh floating through his memory.

He'd have to ensure that the punishment he gave her this time made his intentions abundantly clear; no one stole from Crocodile.

Another, closer blast sent his matching crystal decanter careening to the ground with a crash sending crystal and his favorite scotch in every direction of his office floor. Crocodile clenched his fist; he'd make Kerry lick every drop of that expensive scotch off the floor, glass shards be damned. He'd twist a hand into the peachy waves at the nape of her neck, kick her feet from under her until she was on her knees in front of him--

His cock suddenly gave an interested throb and Crocodile grunted, annoyed that the pretty little revolutionary thorn in his side was making him hard while she ran rampant around his warehouse destroying his things and attempting, once again, to rob him.

What annoyed him the most, however, was that he'd allowed himself to indulge in these fantasies of her even before this moment. After he'd left her marred and hobbling out of his office he'd thought about Kerry; the way she'd swaggered all hips into his office, confidently placing a boot on his chest while he'd been lounging on the chaise.

She was stupid for even trying to use intimidation tactics on him, and he'd laughed in her face for it; but Kerry had simply smiled in return--an annoyingly charming smile--all while digging the heel of her boot harder into his chest, daring to say, ‘I’m taking your shit, handsome’.

He'd wanted to wipe that grin off her face right then, it would have been easy to kill her, and for a moment Crocodile considered it. But he wasn't interested in picking a fight with the Revolutionary Army, nor was he interested in them having his weapons; so he arrived at a compromise.

That's when he'd sunk his hook into her thigh, pulling her closer with whispered promises that if she came here again, it'd be the last thing she did. A conveniently timed intervention from some other Revolutionary Army members had prevented their conversation from continuing, but hadn't stopped Kerry's pale eyes from meeting his. Even with his hook buried into her thigh she hadn't lifted her boot from his chest or screamed for him to stop, and it was the intensity of her gaze that had first gotten his mind into this mess over the next few weeks.

He replayed that moment in his mind, absently rubbing the spot on his chest where her heel had been; except when he replayed that moment in his mind alone in bed at night he imagined what could have happened if they hadn't been interrupted. He imagined the shit-eating grin on Kerry's face pressed into the fine silk pillow of his chaise as he bent her over, smoothing a hand over her ridiculous frilled shorts before slapping her ass. He imagined how she'd sound, gasping and whimpering under his touch, how she'd beg for more and how he'd willingly give it to her; if she could behave.

It was those thoughts of Ms. Kerry Corduroy that frustrated him to no end, and that were making him hard even now as she stupidly returned to try and steal from him again.

BANG

The door to his office flew open, and Crocodile turned with a glare to see who was interrupting him when there were Revolutionaries to deal with outside.

Those pale eyes he'd been imaging moments ago locked into his.

Standing in the doorway to his office was his brazen little Revolutionary; peachy waves wild under her brimmed hat, and that same irritatingly attractive smirk he'd been fantasizing about. His eyes fell to her thigh, just below the teasing ruffles of her shorts, and he couldn't help but grin.

“That’s healing nicely,” he nodded nonchalantly to the starburst shaped scar decorating her inner thigh. “I should give you one on the other side to match.”

Kerry huffed and popped her hip. “I'd like to see you try, handsome.”

He wouldn't even have to try. Within the blink of an eye Crocodile could have his hook latched into any damn part of her he pleased, wrenching her closer while using his devil fruit powers to suck the very life out of her then and there…

As fate would have it, death wouldn't be in the cards for Ms. Corduroy today, he decided. It would be so much more satisfying watching her atone in any way he saw fit for all the trouble and destruction she'd caused him.

Sand drifted from his body and twisted around Kerry's legs, manipulating her into facing away from him. With an easy glide of the same sand he was on her, using his hand to pin and twist her wrist to her back, the combination of his height and strength along with his devil fruit powers easily pressed her into the wall of his office. An enticing gasp left her lips as the pressure of his body collided with hers, and Crocodile's cock gave another untimely throb.

“Whatcha got there,” Kerry drawled, with a wriggle of her hips. “Is that a black market gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”

Crocodile grunted; Kerry’s wiggling hips were effectively grinding her perfect ass into his hard length and the sensation was enough to send exciting thrills through his body.

It pissed him off.

“Quiet,” he growled in her ear, and gave her twisted arm a cruel tug, enjoying the way she gasped and arched back against him. “Where’s your little rescue committee?”

Kerry struggled against his hold, but her expression remained the same; that smirk that haunted his fantasies and caused a frustrating mixture of anger and desire in his gut.

“Oh they'll be here,” she said, her words tight from the weight of his body crushing into her. “I just thought we could have some alone time first.”

Her tone was teasing and silky even when slightly strained, and that frustrated him too. He wanted to show her right now a better use for that smart mouth; once again imagining how she'd look on her knees in front of him, eagerly taking his cock in that impudent mouth…

“Stupid of you.” He said, and drew his hooked hand slowly along the length of her unscarred thigh, leaving a thin line of red in its wake. He paused at the crux of her thigh, directly across from where he'd marked the other side and pressed the tip harder into her flesh.

He could feel her shiver against him at his touch, and Crocodile bit down hard on his cigar to ground himself. Trying to force the scenes he'd been imagining between them out of his mind.

“I should kill you for showing up here again,” he snarled, and applied more pressure with his hook point against her thigh. “But that wouldn't teach you how to behave, would it?”

Kerry sucked in a sharp breath below him, and even with the shadow of her hat he could see the flush painted across her freckled cheeks.

“I'd like to see you try and make me, handsome.”

She repeated her teasing words from only moments ago and Crocodile grinned.

He would gladly take that challenge.

Another boom suddenly shook the walls of his office, blasting out a nearby window and causing himself and Kerry to stumble, trying to keep their balance.

The distraction was enough that Kerry had somehow managed to twist out of his hold, and Crocodile watched as she sprinted from his office.

He could easily stop her, he should stop her.

Then she paused, and Crocodile watched as she spun on a booted heel to face him.

With that infuriating smirk gracing her pretty pink lips she blew him a kiss before whirling around, sprinting again towards the exit.

Crocodile huffed, and smoke twisted around his head, dancing across his vision just like his little Revolutionary soldier had and he promised himself next time he saw her, he'd make good on his own promise to teach her exactly how to behave.

[lady-raziel]

I'm angry. I'm really, really furious right now. I am absolutely livid that when the stakes are so high-- not just for Americans at risk from project 2025, not just for people in Europe being threatened by Russia, not just for people in Palestine, but for pretty much widespread global stability-- that the elites of the Democratic party would dare, would have the fucking gall to let Joe Biden run for a second term in the first place, and then when the magnitude of their own hubris is revealed, would not correct the mistake. And even worse, now, after what we've seen over the past two weeks-- that many of them, including some of the most progressive, would look out upon the people who they claim to be champions of, the diverse and varied America who will suffer at the hands of the conservatives' agenda--and they would EVER dare to say that YOU are wrong to point out the truth before your own eyes.

After the NATO press conference, where Biden absolutely had to prove he was not on the decline, and resoundingly failed to do so, I was appalled to go on Twitter (I'm still not calling it X, sorry) and see favored Democratic insiders claiming that the performance I had just seen was GOOD. That I should be PROUD of this. That I should WANT to vote for this.

How dare you. How dare you say that I should be proud, should wholeheartedly endorse the candidate at the head of a party who, time and time again over the past 30+ years, has only ever chosen to raise up its own aging elites, and occasionally younger people if they met the right demographics to portray the image of the "diverse party of the people."

No. It became evident a long time ago that you only ever cared about yourselves and consolidating your own power. Time and time again you have destroyed the chances of any candidate that strays beyond what you consider the bounds of acceptability for yourselves. There were good candidates in 2004-- and instead, the Democrats gave us John Kerry and handed the Republicans another four years of Bush. Hillary Clinton first ran for president in 2008-- had Barack Obama not been so compelling, had the idea of having the first African American president been so appealing, would you have allowed him to stand a chance? In 2016 you again and again ignored what the average person had to say, ignored concerns that had been brewing for decades that your commitment to "diversity" only mattered if it could be wielded against conservatives and used to prop yourselves up, and destroyed Bernie Sanders' campaign in service of an elite no one wanted.

The seeds of Donald Trump had been brewing for a long time, and instead of doing something about it then, you rested on your laurels and held on to your power instead of raising new people up to move the mission forward. And now, when the situation is MORE CRITICAL than it has EVER been-- still you refuse to listen. Still you refuse to change. Biden literally said in that press conference they aren't listening to polls anymore--is there ANYTHING that will get you to see that you are fucking this up???

So no, Biden campaign surrogates on my Twitter feed, DNC donation-prompt texts, endless barrage of emails one after another-- I see no reason to my proud of this. For many of us, this election as well as the last one was ALWAYS a strategic calculation to prevent worse things, empower local-level candidates, and allow a party structure to exist in some form in hopes of change. This was ALWAYS a dispassionate choice made with the full knowledge of complex situations in order to play the long game.

How dare you say I too should wholeheartedly believe the emperor is dressed in robes of splendor when he and the rest of you have lain bare for the longest time, while those of us trying to keep things from getting worse have to convince the rightfully angry people who still care to ignore the nakedness of who you are--to prevent people cloaked in blood from taking the reins. Shame on all of you, honestly. I wish I could say that this might be a learning moment for the Democratic elite, but I have little hope, and I expect to hear you pontificate on end regarding how "young people just don't understand the political process and that's why we lost" as we all go down together.

Fuck you.

[vole-mon-amour]

I'm thinking about Johnny feeling and being so protective over his personal relationships? Not wanting to show how it really was and still is, not wanting to appear vulnerable and, well, human? Not wanting to show that he actually has feeling, actual soft feelings, that he cared and still cares, and with such intensity too.

Alt? Don't you dare talk about Alt. Don't you dare judge me for how I treated her and what we had, you couldn't possibly comprehend it. Yeah, she was fine with what we had, it's none of your business. Stop busting my balls about that, you're just like her, don't know when to shut up.

Kerry? Yeah, I'll tell you that I want you to visit him for me (read=he means a lot to me and I want to make sure he's okay), but you better let me talk to him. Huh, you thought you and Kerry had something meaningful going on? Please, just a quick one night stand, you're nothing to him. (Which can both be read as “That's what I kept telling myself when he was in your place”) and “He fucked you because he knows I'm inside your head and he was so desperate to fuck me.” As well as “He’s still mine, whatever you had with him is nothing compared to what we had and possibly still have.”)

Makes all the similarities between Alt and Kerry and references from both TTRPG and the video game about them so curious. I am genuinely surprised that I haven't seen anyone talking about Kerry's made physical appearance and how much it resembles Alt from TTRPG. Especially considering the narrative CDPR created for Kerry and Johnny, and how Kerry was hopelessly in love and how Johnny could make Kerry eat out of his hand at any times.

Also, notice how Johnny talks about Alt, how poetic he is in his own mind when describing her (which means he can be just as poetic about Kerry), and how it leads to "It didn't matter how much was real in the end. I still fell hard for her. I'm that type." And then we see present Kerry the way we see him. Which could mean nothing, but hey. Too many coincidences.

Johnny and Alt were lovers, so were Johnny and Kerry—doesn't even have to mean sex. Just lovers, on every level.

P.S.: Rogue? "I paid her well." While he cheated on her with 3 other women and it wasn't even about money. Push people away, pretend like you're fine, ignore the problems, keep numbing yourself.

[mermaidsirennikita]

I've gotta say, as bleak as the convos surrounding the status of historical romance in traditional publishing have been lately, I've been so pleased by some of the recent books out and the books coming out

—The Beast Takes a Bride by Julie Anne Long is one of the best books I've read by her (and I've read... hmm... over 12, I think) and such a fabulous example of how to do something light without making it stakes-less

—Elizabeth Hoyt is back and absolutely up to her usual (high) standards with No Ordinary Duchess in December, with a really sensitive exploration of kink (and it's not heavy, which I personally think is something certain readers who've become used to a really casual usage of kink that honestly just exists there to titillate will ding her for, and it bugs me because "more kink on the page" is not inherently "good kink on the page" BUT WHATEVER) that's especially interesting when you compare it to Wicked Temptations, which by no means did it BADLY but did it in a more basic manner...

Just all around, a very sexy, character-based Hoyt, and I just want her to stick around and write for as long as she wants to.

—Lorraine Heath returning to her Scoundrels of St. James generational saga with A Tempest of Desire, which is another character-heavy angstfest (and I'm seeing a theme with all three of these authors being a bit less plotty than some of their novels have been, but avoiding the pitfall of "ain't shit happening") with a classic Heathian moment that made me go "NOOOOOOOOOO" out loud in the most forlorn way lol

—A Tropical Rebel Gets the Duke by Adriana Herrera, which I'm currently reading, being an easy knockout if she keeps this up (which I'm pretty damn sure she will) and combining social commentary with swoony romance in a way few authors can top

—TJ Alexander giving us a trans m/m historical romance with A Gentleman's Gentleman next year; haven't read, but I fully trust TJ and am so excited to see their work in the historical realm

—Alexandra Vasti continuing to make headway in her tradpub career with Earl Crush (on my list to read soon!), while she seems to be plotting a f/f historical next...?

—Vivienne Lorret finishing out her latest series with This Much is True, keeping that Tessa Dare-style romcom flag flying

—Enemy of My Dreams by Jenny Williamson taking us somewhere new (or, new for the first time in a while) with an Ancient Roman historical romance

—And honestly? The amount of influence and combination of historical romance with fantasy/paranormal I'm seeing. I've just started Kerri Maniscalco's Throne of Secrets, which is set, literally, in Hell... And we have ballrooms, we have lords and ladies, we have "I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW" Pride and Prejudice overtones. The Legend of Meneka taking us centuries back in a fantastical parallel world to India. When the Tides Held the Moon giving us gay mermaid action in 1910s New York. Hungerstone sending up Carmilla in a rapidly industrializing England.

There IS great stuff coming out, and it's interesting to see the continuing evolution of the subgenre.

[docholligay]

So, the true and glorious story of my own failure in the face of knowing how my own body works, despite having lived in it for 38 years.

Last night, I expected to be at least moderately on edge. I pretty reasonably decide that I would be better served to fall asleep and find out what life looks likein the morning. i'm not young any more (my wife worked for the Kerry campaign, I've been volunteering politically since the first Obama campaign. To date ourselves) and so, i don't stay up for results anymore.

Very reasonable.

So I take a pot pill. Great. i take it about two hours before i want it to hit.

I make the mistake of checking the results right before I head to bed, and while everyone is embroiled in hope, I see that I was exactly right about my initial impressions, months ago. That i got in trouble for! Anyhow.

Anxious, i go, "I gotta take something else" I have a bottle of .5 mg pills of lorezapam I've had for a decade, and I take one.

A pot pill, for me, is a quarter of a gummy. That's 2.5 mg. You may notice that between the two of these things, the dosages are very small. This is because my brain is wired bizarrely, and some things have a tendency to hit me harder than they do normal people. I know this. I know this!

Neither of these things have ever caused me any unusual symptoms. I just go to sleep.

But I am stupid. i have never met me, apparently. This body is new to me! I combine them.

My brain is so fucked that I have to do a patch test any time I try a new drug like I am VINTAGE CHINESE SILK. I know this, very well. That very night, I told Mike and Teddy I wasn't really going to drink because pot and alcohol can make me go full, "The Senate is lying to us!" So I know I have to watch it with combining stuff.

And y'all know me! I am not a teetotaler! I have sampled many fine drugs over the course of my existence. DARE made me think, "Wow that sounds cool." I am not a square. I am not suggesting straightedge behavior. This song did not work on me.

So I, forgetting the very makeup of my body, take this tiny, ridiculous lorazepam on top of my pot pill. It is the dosage my wife gives a twenty pound dog. it is a thing I have taken before.

But not together.

I crawl into bed, and I begin to get sleepy. Fantastic.

I roll over.

Oh. No.

My skin is alive, all of a sudden. I can feel every inch of it beneath the covers, where it touches on each individual wrinkle of the comforter.

"fuuuuuuck." I whisper between gritted teeth. Because, you see, I've done this to myself before. Not with this specific combination, but I have mixed things before, or just taken things, that make me aggressively aware of my surroundings. I am SO AWARE. There's nothing to do, once it reaches this point.

I have to wait it out. I pull myself up, and thump my twenty pound blanket on top of my body--which does help--and spend the next five hours riding each wave of hyperawareness, breathing through it, because it will end, like most hard things, and I am trying not to laugh at myself while it's happening. I know better! I know better!!

Finally it does wear off a bit, in just enough time for me to realize that I was right all along and the election has not gone my way.

38 years and I've learned nothing.

[xhollowfaerie]

silverv drabbles #8

a/n: here it is... no beta because my partner is asleep and I'm too excited to just post this so we die like John(ny) m*n. (edit: has now been proofread + reposted bc I think it bugged.) I really like how it came out, I hope y'all enjoy!! Dean Winchester definitely came through in this, but they're basically the same dude tbh

tags: John Cyberpunk gets isekaied into John Wick, a tiny bit of spice, angst, fluff. alternate title, You're in Love by Ratt.

- Heat of the Moment. ("Dude, no Asia." "I know, this station sucks.")

Johnny woke up with a gasp, feeling the cold sweat cling to his skin like sleet. The whiteness of his surroundings temporarily blinded him, blocking out the sunlight with a hand as he straightened himself up on the bed. 

“John?”

His eyes shot open at the unusual use of his name, given the familiarity of the voice. It sent the biggest wave of comfort through him as his heart began to slow the urgency of its beats. “Valerie?” A sweet laugh echoed in reply as Johnny’s surroundings slowly took shape, a most familiar yet strange feeling sinking into him.

Her hands slowly reached up to cup his cheek, lovingly running her thumb across his skin. “How did you know? I never told you what my godparents wanted to name me.”

Johnny’s mouth parted in shock, but no words managed to escape. He stared at her, dumbfounded.

He'd never seen V with her natural hair color, not as an adult; only in some of her oldest memories. She was dressed in a white, modest nightgown - tsk, it felt off; she never wore white- and her skin bore none of her scars or cyberware, but still had every one of her freckles.

He would know.

Rays of sun embraced her in an intimate warmth, and the words he spoke felt so natural, as if he'd said them a million times.

“You're so beautiful” Johnny breathed, relishing in the high of finally admitting what he'd thought so many times. Stupid, he knew. Stupid not to tell her sooner. Stupid, to act like he hasn't considered, more than once, that maybe she was his guardian angel. If such a thing existed, she definitely looked the part. Felt the part.

She giggled and inched closer, surprising him with the gentlest kiss he'd ever experienced - and Johnny had experienced quite an interesting catalogue of smooches in his lifetime. 

“Every morning, without fail… What have I done to deserve you?”

Johnny felt like he could melt into her; he pulled her closer, feeling her leg wrap around him as he kissed her, eager to taste the honey dripping off her voice. But… he didn't know how to be careful. His kiss was hungry, desperate - whatever the fuck was happening, he knew - it felt so wrong. A crippling feeling of dread and displacement was crawling its way up his gut. But, fuck, was he really not allowed a single moment of peace?

She moaned into his mouth, running her hands through his hair - his V, barely ever so gentle and loving, the Valerie the world would have been allowed to witness, had they been dealt different cards. Had they been born in another world, another universe, maybe. 

Maybe in this one, he could do things right, for once.

“I love you” he blurted in a gust of passion, even scaring himself. The confession came to him much too easily, but didn’t feel like it belonged in his mouth. He broke their kiss to move his lips to her neck, heart pounding in his chest. Although his hands were always rough, this time, he felt himself trying his damndest to show her how much she meant to him, so desperate to let her know. He'd thought those words before, sure. About Alt. About Rogue. About Kerry. But he'd never- fucking idiot!- never spoken them when he should have. When it mattered the most.

If he was dead, which he was strongly starting to suspect, he'd want her to know, almost- no, more than even his desire for revenge. 

Johnny wasn't too surprised. He'd always imagined plenty of women in his rendition of heaven - if he ever went, highly unlikely - but he'd never dared to picture V like this. He also never thought his heaven would be severely lacking this much booze and hard rock.

She giggled again and ran her hands over his arms, panting softly with pleasure as he explored her body. “As do I, John- I love you-” 

His lips reached further down her chest, earning a whine as he lovingly sucked and bit into her. What was up with him? It was so unlike John to be so wound up… The doctors had warned them, and he’d heeded their instructions to a T, rigorously following every precaution, but she'd missed his touch so terribly, and this time, it was electrifying - charged with a much different energy than she was used to, while still oddly familiar. This John was turbulent, chaotic, so eager to exteriorize his lust. It was a stark contrast to his usually calm, reserved self, but she adored him for it all the same. “I love you-” calling her Valerie, craving her so shamelessly… she blushed, curling her toes as his hands slid between her legs - she’d never seen this brash side to him, but there was something inside her that immediately fell for him all over again - “John- I love you, I love you-!”

Her grip on him tightened, but in a way that made his stomach drop ten feet below as her sudden coughing fit reeled him out of his reverie. He gently stopped everything he was doing, feeling a debilitating wave of panic course through him.

“Val? Hey, hey, hey, shhh, I got you, I'm here.”

She weakly smiled up at him through the stabbing pain in her chest. “What's with you today, John? You're acting strange.” Johnny didn't know what to say. He held her and stroked her hair, squeezing her hand in his. “...I don't know. I'm sorry.” “Don't apologize. I love every side of you.”

They held each other for what Johnny wished had been much, much longer than a few minutes, feeling his heart grow dangerously fond of… whatever this was. Wasn't he supposed to not follow the light? Well, shit. If this was heaven… he was glad he was dead. Free. He'd always been a selfish bastard, after all - never even thought he’d end up here, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, despite his instincts screaming otherwise. She always told him he was way too paranoid. His V.

“Was it the same nightmare again? I'm sorry to remind you…” she whispered into the crook of his neck, closing her eyes with a soft sigh as he rubbed her back. “You can talk to me about it, but only if you want to.” He pressed a kiss to V’s forehead, taking in a deep breath. “You were… real sick” he recalled the moment right before he passed out, trying to comfort her after a particularly bad Relic malfunction, when, truthfully, he was shitting himself with fear just as much. “Thought I'd lost you.”

He felt a few drops of moisture on his skin before his eyes widened. “What's wrong?” She shook her head and buried her face in his chest, whimpering as she clung to him as strongly as she could - which… wasn't very. “I'm so sorry, John. I'm trying to fight it. I'm trying my best.”

Johnny felt his heart tear itself in half - maybe a leftover sort of phantom sensation from Adam Smasher. Looking around, he finally noticed the stack of pills on the bedside table, the wheelchair and the IV stand. He caught the shine of the ring on his finger - wait, he never wore a ring on his - oh, no, no, no…

This wasn't no fuckin’ heaven. It was his own personal hell.

Having to watch V succumb to her sickness. Again. Because of him. A seemingly, shockingly non-fucked up version of them - except he’d still get her killed, in the end. His arms - both organic - held her so gingerly, like he was horrified to break her.

“No, Val, I'm - I’m sorry. But we'll fight this thing together, I swear.” “John… when I'm gone-” “No. You're here. With me. And I’m never letting go.” She let his love ease her worries away, like it did every time. “I love you, John.” “I love you, too, Valerie, with every damn fiber of my being.” And I’ll fuckin’ wrestle Death itself with my bare hands if it even tried to do us part.

After they both dozed off for a while longer in each other’s arms, Johnny helped her take her medicine and get out of bed. With a sour taste in his mouth, he realized that he'd pushed her physical condition earlier with his stupid, selfish desire. 

She was fine to stand on her own, holding onto his arm as they made their way to the kitchen. He couldn't stop staring at her - but the more he did, the more disillusioned he became. She started to look more like his V when they’d first met, and even before that, like Agent V of Arasaka. The bags under her eyes, the hollows of her cheeks. 

But he knew. He’d felt it in his bones. It was so tangible when he kissed her - in his maddening hunger to make love to her - as much as he wanted or hated for it to be true, that wasn’t his V.

She took a seat at the kitchen table after putting a kettle on, and Johnny allowed himself a moment to take in his surroundings. It was very clear this wasn’t Night City - hell, wasn’t even 2077. His eyes landed on a picture of - holy shit, he hadn’t dared to look in a mirror yet, but it really did look just like him - a clean, rich, put-together version of him, at least, both him and V beaming up at him from their wedding photo. As much as it warmed his heart, it also felt like something shocked him to his core when he tried to pick the frame up, quickly setting it back down. Okay. Maybe he shouldn’t be obsessively staring at their bizarro doppelgangers. 

He rubbed his face with both hands, exhaling loudly. “This is insane” Johnny muttered, gazing through the window at the car parked outside. Really? A Mustang? He huffed with a hint of envy. This guy seems like a pretentious douche, other than bein’ the world’s greatest husband or whatever. His eyes landed on a wedding invitation, wide in horror.

Helen and John, 09/15/2009.

He felt like he was going to throw up as a prior conversation with V played out in his head, the kettle whistling at them off the stove.

“Alright, I gotta ask.” “Y’know, I really don’t think you do.” “What’s your middle name?” She’d already seen his full name at the Columbarium. Well, not that he considered it his anymore.

V pondered for a moment, narrowing her eyes at him. “Fine, I’ll bite. Don’t have one, but they were gonna name me Helen, after Helen of Troy. Mom wanted it to sound more like her name, so they went with Valerie instead.”

Johnny dropped to the couch with his hands still holding onto his head, letting out a shaky breath. “Christ.”

“John? Are you okay?”

Helen’s gorgeous visage met his eyes as she knelt in front of him, lifting his face with her hands, checking his temperature. “Oh, you’re burning up, angel!” Johnny longed so terribly to kiss her again, to feel her atop his chest for days, to have a million, trillion, infinite late mornings like this one. To tell her she was his angel. But that wasn’t his wife. Fuck - she didn’t even know ‘im, he had no right. And god damn it, did this fuckin’ guy’s name really have to be John? It made this so much harder than it should be.

He placed a hand over hers with a bittersweet feeling. “I’ll be fine, Helen. Just got dizzy for a sec.”

She let out a small sigh of relief. “Ah, there he is! My sweet husband. I was really starting to worry.” Helen sealed their lips with another kiss that he no longer had the courage to return, letting her take his hand and lead him to the kitchen table. “Tea?” “Sure, in a sec. I… gotta wash my face.” “Don’t be long, I’m making your favorite! Eggs and toast.” Eggs and toast? Really? This fuckin’ guy… he couldn’t be more vanilla if he tried. “Mmm, sounds delicious, thanks.” He wanted to call her honey, baby, a pet name, anything - but his throat dried up at the thought. “Don’t mention it, my love.”

Johnny wandered through the house, taking note of all the little mementos of their love. The more he witnessed, the worse his nausea got, finally opening the right door that led him to a simple yet opulent bathroom. He turned the faucet on, gripping the sink; when his eyes darted upwards, someone else was staring back at him with a murderous intensity that scared him shitless. It was him, but wrong. Hair combed back, expensive all-black suit, splatters of blood on his face. Ugh, he almost looked like a ‘Saka lapdog. The running water buzzed in his ears.

“Get away from my wife” his own voice threatened from beyond the mirror. Johnny stumbled backwards. “Oh, what in the Freaky fuckin’ Friday -  I don’t want your wife, dipshit! Just wanna get back to my own.”

When he blinked, bizarro-him was gone, leaving Johnny with a splitting headache that distracted him from what he’d just said. He finally neared the sink again, splashing his face with a cold sensation; but this time, he blinked the water out of his eyes to find himself in a hospital room, face to face with Helen. Except… she was gone. And even though he knew, he KNEW, it wasn’t his Valerie, it still tore him to pieces.

“I can’t fuckin’ do this SHIT, no, NO fuckin’ chance, GET ME THE HELL OUTTA HERE!” he howled, knocking his chair back. He picked it up and started thrashing the hospital room, shattering everything in his way. Staff rushed in, attempting to restrain him by force as he kicked and screamed at the top of his lungs, deafened by the flatline of Helen’s heart monitor. “I won’t fuckin’ look at her, you hear me, YOU FUCKIN’ BASTARD, SABURO? HUH? I WON’T PLAY YOUR SHITTY FUCKIN’ MIND GAMES! THIS WON’T HAPPEN, EVER, I WON’T FUCKIN’ LET IT, NOT AGAIN!”

“Earth to jackass?”

Johnny felt the oxygen halt in his lungs as V’s voice reached him, calming his fit of rage. His voice came out as a shaky strain of desperation. A prayer.

“V?”

The grogginess taking hold of Johnny lessed its grip just in time for him to be met with a stinky tshirt clinging to his face. He let out a disgusted noise and pulled it off, watching V sort her laundry by the window in Megablock H10.

Nibbles woke as well, having previously been curled at his side, stretching lazily and jumping on the back of the couch to nuzzle Johnny’s face.

“You good? Couldn’t tell if you were havin’ a wet dream or a horrific nightmare. Was about to wake you up, although I did consider lettin’ you sleep in case it was the second option.”

Johnny’s hand reached to give Nibbles a few headrubs, earning a happy string of purrs as he rolled his eyes. An insurmountable amount of relief washed over him, feeling the nightmare scenario slowly dissipate into the back of his mind. He couldn’t help disappearing and reappearing, a hiccup that happened sometimes when he experienced a really strong feeling.  Thank. Fuck.

This. This felt right.

This was his V, and he wouldn’t want her any other way.

“Couldn’t imagine a sweeter wife” he grumbled in spite of the smile plastered on his face as he watched her. The sun crept in through the window, draping her in that intimate warmth he remembered so fondly. As if she registered his words, she curiously glanced at him, immediately taken aback by the lovestruck look on his face. She had to spew some sort of bullshit out before her heart leapt out of her chest.

“Ew, stop it!” “Stop what?” “Lookin’ at me, like- like that!”

He did not, in fact, stop, and V felt a blush bloom across her face. “Fine, whatever! Be a fuckin’ creep.” She looked away, pursing her lips to contain a smile as her body blocked the image of her lovingly caressing the dog tags around her neck with the tips of her fingers.

“Love you too” Johnny retorted, bringing his arms up behind his head as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table. He was having a much harder time than usual draping that tone of nonchalance over his voice. Although masked as a stupid joke, the words still stirred something inside of her. He felt a weight shift off his chest. A part of it, at least. Love, huh? Maybe he could get used to saying it. Maybe he could even stop parading it as sarcasm one day. Preferably before it was too late.

“Shut up” she barked at him, but he could hear the amusement hidden beneath. “Ah, c’mon! Admit it, V! You’re madly in love with me. Happens to the best of us.” “Yeah, ‘boutta serve you a knuckle sandwich made with a whole lotta love if you don’t stop pissin’ me off.” “Speakin’ of-” “I’m not makin’ your stupid fuckin’ mac ‘n cheese again! What the hell’s up with you today? You’re worse than usual.”

Man, he wanted to kiss her so fuckin’ bad sometimes. Shit, shit!, do not let her hear you think that.

“Just had a bad dream is all.” “Yeah? This ain’t bad enough of a dream for you?” 

Not if I can still save you.

“Man, you should’ve seen her - chick in my dream. Absolute babe. Had the hots for me like no other.” “Oh, I’m sure she did, grandpa. You know, there’s this nice house down the street, think you’d love it there.” “Real funny, V. Boutta piss myself laughin’.” “Yeah… they got diapers for that.”

He relished the sound of her voice, of her prickly retorts as they bickered, of her laughter, his eyes lost in the beauty of her day-old makeup, of the messiness of their apartment, of the guitar rested against the wall. Of their cat, their iguana, of the ashtray full of cigs smoked away while they talked for hours, of the dirty bowl of mac n cheese in the sink. The beauty of the Johnny + V tattoo on her arm, of the clink of his dog tags around her neck, like a wind chime on a hot summer day. 

Fuck, Valerie. I am in love with you. And I won’t let you die on me.

a/n: wow, if you read the whole thing, thanks so much and I really hope you liked it!! this was SOOO fun and also makes me really wanna start a John Wick fanfic too ajfsdjfsd I have so many ideas for an oc. ps, their wedding date is the same as the one on the fake virtual marriage certificate my partner made for us a few months after we met, haha. been five years since (we're not actually married/engaged irl yet lol) <3 Ar lath ma, Vhenan.

[fatsamsgrandslamspeakeasy]

“I have dedicated my entire life to the service of others,” cried crooked Bobby M! Puh - leeeze, Bob! The only one you ever served in your 50 years of "service" was yourself!!! What????? No pardon from your fellow crook, Biden???? Guess you 2 weren't exactly homies!!!! Well, no matter! With Good behavior, maybe you'll be out before you make it to be an octogenarian!!!!! But still.....at the end of the day, Menendez is small potatoes. Trump and the GOP have bigger fish to fry!!!!! Imagine how satisfying it will be when the axe drops on Pelosi? Schiff? Newsome? Weiner? Bragg? Merchan? J. Smith? Dorsey? Zuckerberg? Kerry? Fauci? Gore? Obama? Soros? Bubba?...and, dare I say it.... the biggest catch of all....HILLARY?

[storkmuffin]

Do you have any general media recommendations? Like music, TV shows, movies, or books!

I don't want this to get like my other crazy essays where I start and then I can't stop so I'm going to just uhh toss things out. Lemme know if any of these are your favorites too!

Books: Jeanette Winterson's books, all of them, but my especial favorites: Oranges are not the only fruit, The Passion, Sexing the Cherry, The Powerbook, Written on the Body. Her memoir is also excellent. Saturday by Ian McEwan, but do not read Comfort of Strangers. Possession by AS Byatt. The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Bishop is about a physically unattractive woman who makes a meaningful life, which is SO RARE in fiction. Sholokhov's The Quiet Don. If you want to know what it's like being a Korean woman of a certain generation, I would recommend Kim Ji-young, Born 1982, which I think was translated into English to some acclaim. Katherine Harrison wrote a terrifying and beautiful and grotesque memoir about an incestuous affair with her estranged father that began when she was an adult, The Kiss, which haunts me. For light reading, Murderbot the series is fantastic. Doppelganger by Naomi Klein is a fun to read and very clear layout of exactly how the world works right now. I recommend everything ever written by Alison Bechdel - Dykes to Watch out For, Are you my mother?, The Secret to Superhuman Strength. (I love books by the way, and I'm a compulsive reader so I will just artificially stop here, but like seriously, I can go on forever.)

Movies: I had such a thing for Gerard Depardieu as a weird little girl (he was my first movie star crush, believe it or not), so I say Le Retour de Martin Guerre is SO worth a watch. The Last Temptation of Christ with Willem Dafoe (another obsession) had me genuinely worried I was going to go to hell as I watched and it's fantastic. My Best Fiend a documentary by Werner Herzog about Klaus Kinski (another obsession) (I like weird looking white dudes, what can I say) taught me a lot about filmmaking. Lost in La Mancha, a documentary about Terry Gilliam failing to make a Don Quixote movie was also terrific. Fitzcarraldo and Aguirre Wrath of God (director Herzog, starring Kinski) can't be watched more than once but they'll stay in your mind forever. Himmel Uber Berlin by Wim Wenders. It's just beautiful. Do not watch the horrible Hollywood murder of that film. Pina also by Wim Wenders, which will show you awesome modern dancing. Penelope, where Christina Ricci is a girl born with a pig's snout and James McAvoy is in it. Oh, Atonement has the James McAvoy scene of all time, where he runs after the bus his girlfriend is leaving on. It's Ian McEwan's book as the base so you will be very wounded at the end. The Piano Teacher starring Isabelle Huppert is ... is sure something? It's perverse and gross and lovely, and very important, I think, in stories about women. Suzanne Farrell: Elusive Muse is the documentary that got me obsessed with ballet, and Balanchine, and basically changed my whole cultural life. Dunno if it's available anywhere though - I own a DVD of it. OH, Truth or Dare, which is a Madonna concert documentary is fabulous.

Uh. Do you want Bollywood recommendations? Because I can do that too.

TV Shows: I tend to not watch any tv, and then I get hooked on one tv show and watch it like, a bazillion times. RIVERDALE. Watch Riverdale. Be a RIverdale understander. Also this is my Riverdale Sideblog: @riverdale-retread. I also loved SCANDAL by Shonda Rhimes, starring Kerry Washington, because I received the same education from more or less the same schools as Olivia Pope and I found that so funny at first.

That's all for now but I'll answer any questions or do more specific recommendations if you're curious about anything I put here!

[genocidalfetus]

"Y'know, wasn't sure you'd really be here like... if maybe I'd just imagined the last couple months, goin' fully delusional. All the way, 'til I saw you standing on the railing... And now you're here." "And I'm not goin' anywhere again. Promise."

poses: x

[citadelofmythoughts]

RWBY was the perfect storm.

You not only have Weebs and Gamers(TM) expecting something shallow and simple where the plot is only there to show off cool fights or cute girls like a PM Entertainment flick (their movies were gun fights and car chases galore). You also had the web series come out on Crunchyroll.

If it came out on just Rooster Teeth's site, I don't doubt it would've been a moderate success but CR boosted its visibility with many who might've heard of Rooster Teeth and RvB yet either dropped it or never seen it. Thus you had many overlook how the series was obviously made on a limited budget like any web based animation.

Along come the YouTubers and all of their hot takes where among them, the most chartiable among detractors is that it's "harmless." That's irritating enough but what happened when Monty Oum died and a letter from a grieving animator kickstarts this mythological "vision" of his.

Then you have many who don't really want Monty's RWBY but the idea of Monty's RWBY, the idea that they each formed. This is mixed in with Fandom's brand of sexism where it's like they're real people who can be tried in court for... being as human as any male character.

I have noticed something as well and it kind of ties into the CR thing. There's a resentment towards RWBY for daring to be more than a dumb little webshow.

Also that animator letter always ground my gears. Why is he belived over Kerry and Miles? Because it fits the hater's narrative.

[swearingcactus]

i think a lot about the idea of v being questioned by diehard eurodyne fans that recognized him after the samurai reunion gig about who he is and if the rumors are true if he's dating the Kerry Eurodyne and what he likes about Kerry and v's like "uhh, he's cool..?" and they're like "elaborate." and he shrugs and just mention some offhand remarks about how kerry flips his lighters around his fingers and literally play with fire every time he wants to smoke (that's cool!) or how he has perfect pitch and can tell apart the multiple notes of cars honking in a traffic jam (that's cool!) or how he opens his soda cans with just one hand and then plops the tab back into the soda (that's sort of gross but kerry makes it cool!). and the fans eventually stop questioning him because they were hoping for actual cool celebrity backstage stories but they post it anyway because hey, Eurodyne content!

and kerry watches the video and he's torn between feeling offended because 'cool' is such an understatement of the century and also, how dare V just reduce him to a single word. but also he's pleasantly surprised that v doesn't immediately think being a successful rockerboy makes him cool, it's the little things kerry does subconsciously that gets to him. he's just cool!

[8-rae-rae-8]

Need You Now

[SilverDyne - Cyberpunk2077]

Summary:

Johnny can't stand this feeling. The way his heart thrums painfully against his sternum, or how his breath catches in his throat. He disappears post-concert, only for Kerry to find him hiding out in a bathroom with god knows how many worries in his brain. Or, Kerry holds him gently as he washes the screaming in his mind away.

Read below (Or AO3) 2.7k words

He doesn't like this feeling.

His body barely chugging along as his feet stumble into the venue's dirty bathroom. Every part of him burns with exhaustion, but his heart keeps thudding against his chest like he was still on stage with a screaming crowd in front of him. The adrenaline rush was good, until everything was quiet all too fast and he was walking away with his guitar in hand.

Wherever he set it down, he can't remember. Somewhere safe, backstage with the gang. He just knows it's not in his hands anymore, replaced by a pack of smokes and an almost empty lighter in his chrome hand. Post-gig haze evident in his eyes as he stares out in front of him, his reflection looking right back at him from the broken mirror on the wall. That hollow look in his eyes is almost haunting. Full of life not twenty minutes ago, and now, he can't seem to do as much as take a full breath.

His head steadies with each draw of the cigarette, and yet, his heart pounds faster and faster in his chest. Whether it's the cigarette burning his lungs or not, something makes his chest tighten with each shuddering breath. There's no point to trying, he quickly realizes. All he gets are shallow breaths, wheezes if he tries too hard.

He averts his gaze from himself. Rather, he looks down at the poorly spray painted, gross tile below. What used to be black and white checkered flooring, now just looks like years of footpath erosion and bad cleaning habits. Somehow, keeping his focus on that let's a little more air into his lungs as he puts out the cherry of the cigarette against the equally unclean wall behind him. There were worse places to be, undoubtedly. At least here, he could stand without losing his footing. Not that the sticky tile would let him.

The relief of a distraction only lasts minutes before that familiar burn turns into a full, straining pain in his chest. As if several tons of steel were dropped on his chest at once, and he can't tell if any of the bars pierced through his already scarred skin.

He can't stand this sensation.

Johnny's not a stranger to the pains, no doubt following him through every aspect of life. From the moment he was old enough to run from home, all the way til now. He's no stranger to it. Had his head ever gone completely silent with the hit of nicotine?

Thoughts from 'what if I die right here?' to a useless cry in his head, a desperate 'please' that he doesn't dare speak aloud. Anything in between his nonsensical thoughts melted together into some agonizingly loud TV static. Nothing, but everything screaming in his head. His eyes can't seem to move from where his gaze is fixed on the floor, some mess of blue paint there that he can't make out from here.

Any movement feels as if he's on autopilot, watching from behind his eyes while his body moved on it's own. Pushing further and further against the wall until his back presses into the corner. Only then does he let out a pained sound, a groan bouncing off of the walls around him. Energy to do so much as shout is lost on him. The weight in his chest grows heavier and heavier until he can only wheeze as tears form in his eyes.

The items in his hands fall from his weakening grip, clattering to the floor. All too loud to his ears, despite being next to sound equipment for hours. He lost track anyway. It's just too quiet now. The sound is all that fills the space, before it's gone and replaced again by his shallow breathing. Out of all the times his world could feel like it was crashing, why did it have to be when here? When he could so easily shout for someone, anyone? His mind lingers on the fear that comes with the thought—someone looking, seeing him with that unfocused stare and unknowingly shaking shoulders—fuck, what if someone saw that?

Johnny Silverhand reduced to a trembling mess in some neglected bathroom. His 'ganic hand reaches weakly for the fabric of his tank-top, tugging and twisting the shirt as it rides up his abdomen. He strains for breath, gasps and wheezes forced from his chest. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, underneath all of the need to appear strong, he wants someone, anyone, to make this go away.

There's no telling how long he's standing there. His shoulders hunch over his chest as beads of sweat form on his face. Distantly, he thinks this could be it. He'll pass out here and hit his head, and no one will come looking for the bastard he is. Really, he knows that's a better idea that coming to find him.

And yet, he freezes with an inaudible wince as light floods into the dim bathroom. Bracing, expecting… His eyes squeeze shut. The tears he had tried to hard to hold in begin to drip down his cheeks. He waits, for whatever he's expecting, just something. Not the steps that come closer, slow and steady, as if approaching a stray, scared animal. He can just barely hear it over the sounds of his own distress.

"Johnny?" It's almost lost in his jumbled thoughts. A gentle, but concert-wrecked voice calling out to him. Warm and familiar, if not anything else. He doesn't have to think to know who it is.

He doesn't understand why his hesitance fizzles out, and his gaze fixes back on the floor so easily. Any attempt to force a sound out of his mouth is met with nothing but stutters. He can't look up, but he can see the all familiar studded bracelet and cropped vest.

Kerry.

It shouldn't have been such a relief, but the knot in his chest loosens ever so slightly. Similar to how easily Kerry's expert hands untangled their equipment cords almost every other gig, threading lithe fingers through the black cords until he could fish out the next area to work on.

A hand settles on his back, another just over the neck of the samurai tank-top. The touch works to soothe the tensed muscles, brushing steadily over his skin until his shoulders fall back just a bit.

"Got worried, figured somethin' was off." Of course he's right too. Goddamn Kerry always being right, always knowing when Silverhand was ticked off, or crumbling somewhere he didn't want anyone to reach. His constant touch helps. The distinct way he brushes a thumb over his shoulder blade with each inhale, then down as he exhales, is no doubt an attempt to help. How it seems to work, Johnny can't say. But it's a consistency his mind aches for. Up, inhale, down, exhale.

"Ker…" His chrome hand wraps around the studded bracelet on the other's wrist. Holding, that's it. Just gently, though Kerry shivers at the chill of the metal brushing over his skin. A silent plea for him to stay.

"'m here, choom, c'mon." Kerry's hand on his back presses forward, slow and steady until Johnny falls into his arms. That chrome hand around his wrist moves to grab onto the belt of Ker's jacket, rather than his bracelet. The touch is weak, desperate to hold something.

There's no need to start any kind of discussion, no questions. Just Johnny's shoulders slowly easing as his cheek rests against the smooth, cold leather of Kerry's vest. He thumbs at the belt, as if he can feel it through the metal. His 'ganic hand finds away under his jacket, to hold as tightly to Kerry as he possibly can. To feel the warmth.

"Got ya, 'm here…" It sounds more like he's speaking to himself, rather than Johnny, but it loosens his chest just a bit more. The touch graces his skin, over the tight muscles in back, along a shoulder.

Fire burns through his veins at the simplest words. The smallest bit of comfort lighting his chest in a painful way, while warming him throughout his entire body. How can something so gentle hurt? It burns through his arm, his torso, down to his feet. Something akin to guilt sits heavy within that feeling. His 'ganic hand clutching onto the fabric of Kerry's shirt the more that heavy feeling pulls at him.

The most embarrassing though, is the way he can feel the tears roll off the leather vest the more he blinks them away. No, he's not crying—he doesn't cry. It's just his chest, the weight that feels like it's crushing him. He's not crying. His throat just feels tight, he's just tired.

Kerry's hand circles his back, in time with his shuddering breaths. Neither make a comment, but the arms around him tightens just a bit. There's no reason to talk, not when a moment was so fragile that it could either end in an accidental argument, or a fist fight, or the both of them sobbing on the ground with, probably stolen, booze around them.

It doesn't matter how Johnny holds tighter and tighter with a certain desperation that painted a depressing story, because Kerry is there. This time, his hands hold to something real. He can feel his heartbeat through the shirt, he can hear it. This isn't just some pillow he clutched for any kind of support. Selfishly, he wants this to stay. To not crawl back into a cold, unwelcoming mattress on the floor. Even though the other was probably asleep in the next room, wherever they were renting this time.

Staying in this moment is selfish, and yet, he can't bear to pull himself up away from his bandmate, not for a second, not when the idea alone makes him hold on as much as he possibly can. His chrome hand wraps around the belt loop on the jacket, while his other fists at the fabric of his shirt.

He knows that he's selfish.

Never once would he debate it. Johnny Silverhand, known only to do the best thing for himself, to use and abuse until there's nothing for him anymore. Manipulate and run away, whatever to get further. And yet, every time, his chest burns with it. He's not a good man, he won't fight that… But, he carries it so deeply that he doesn't think about what's buried underneath that anymore. That's all Johnny is; Selfish. So why would he?

Dammit, he doesn't want to just be that. And here, tucked into Kerry's chest as a hand gently comes to brush through the sweaty hair on the back of his head, that's not all there is. It's so overwhelming, pushing out and strangling any attempts to get air in his lungs. So grossly human, distinctly soft. Everything he isn't supposed to be.

"Kerry…" Johnny chokes, gasping as his chest heaved. His 'ganic hand cramps with the burn of whatever this feeling was. Too conflicting; Guilt, shame, agony, embarrassment. He doesn't know what lays under it, what leads him to hold on so tightly. He grabs like he's scared Kerry will disappear. In no world would he admit that.

He can't stand his own vulnerability.

"Got'ya, Johnny, ain't goin' anywhere." His voice has no business soothing that flame that seems to flow throughout him. Like an ice-pack to a scrape, or a bruise. How could he have he have said Kerry couldn't carry a tune when his voice sounds like a soothing melody in his head? Expert hands holding him close all while picking him apart and rearranging the pieces until everything makes sense again, with no need to badger him with questions he'd never answer.

"Stay…" Johnny's hand abandons the hold on his belt loop, in favor of wrapping his chrome arm around the other firmly. The lack of sensation in that arm almost makes him sob, just pressure, maybe warmth if he thinks about it. He can't afford to pay attention to the bubbling heat that wraps around his heart, that melts away the cage that had frozen into the tissue.

"I'd pinky promise if you asked…" He knows that's damn true, too. The laugh that bounces off the walls just adds to the conflicting feelings, but it tugs away what clouds his mind, piece by piece. That static his head fading into background noise, like it always had when that familiar laugh, that chuckle, filled the room.

A light, persistent throbbing replaces the white noise of the static. The more tears that wet his cheeks just seem to make it worse, each sniffle and shuddered breath not helping either. Really, some kind of medication isn't far, in the backroom, probably. Legal or not. Though, it would probably only make it worse in the morning.

"Johnny?" Kerry begins, the hand in his hair moving to his cheeks, wiping the tears without so much as a second thought, "Copy me, yeah? For a sec?" He prompts, only to take a deeper breath than Johnny had managed all evening, and exhaling slowly. He knows the technique, the gentle guiding… Still, he does it willingly. It's not lost on him the amount of times he'd done it for the other.

His ribs feel like they squeeze too tight to force a full breath into his lungs, only making it a second before shuddering and exhaling. But Kerry keeps going, the hand on his back circling in time with the breaths. That's new, the touch with these… His hand rises as he inhales, then circles back under as he exhales.

For some reason, somehow, the touch does him more good than copying Ker's breaths anyway. The tears dry on his cheeks, Kerry's hand remains there regardless, as a distraction from whatever keeps shouting from the depths of his mind. Through the pain of each agonizing breath, to the knot in his chest, to the tightness in his throat, Kerry holds his face as though it's something precious to be cared for. As one thing gets easier, he swears that a knot in his stomach just seems to start, with a completely different feeling. Not hollow, not hurting. How could he make everything better and worse?

Johnny sighs deeply when he finally draws in enough air. Finally able to pull back just a bit, to look Kerry in the eyes. Tears still sit in his waterline, slowly drying as he simply watches him. The way Kerry smiles at him so gently adds to that near-sick feeling in his stomach, nausea dialed back twenty times, but still present.

"You alright now?" Kerry hums, barely above a whisper. His breath fanning over Johnny's face from how close they are. Chest to chest. He can still feel his heart beat harshly against his sternum, but he moves his 'ganic hand to rest over Kerry's chest to feel his heart beating too.

"Better…" He nods in response.

Kerry mumbles something he doesn't catch as he presses his head back against the other's chest. It didn't matter how he was craning his neck, just that he could hear the steady beat of Ker's heart, that he could hear ramp up just a bit under the touch.

"Could do this all night if you needed..." He's quick to mutter, arms wrapping around him gently, all the way this time. Holding them front to front, breaths in sync.

"I know." Johnny whispers in response, content to shut his eyes like this for a minute. Residual tears dry as he let's his cheek press against the smooth leather of Kerry's vest. Whether this venue would close soon is far out of his mind, especially when Kerry's hands run over his waist as he re-situates his arms.

Right now, they're holding onto each other. That's the most Johnny could ask for now. Whether it be a fuck or fight later didn't matter, as long as he would lay in the same bed as Kerry for just the night. Takeout and a ride home was in order later, and certainly a night full of what-ifs and swirling anxiety in his head once whatever high faded. He holds closely for now, like he needed for so long.

[r3d-f0xs-blog]

How Dare (You)

A little scribble from an old prompt of Kerry and Voss.

Voss groaned when he heard the hushed voice having half a conversation somewhere close by. He opened his eyes and realised he had a blanket draped over his head and the arm of the couch, blocking out the light and muffling the sounds outside it.

“First, it’s the weekend. I told you I don’t take any calls about biz unless it’s like...” Kerry's voice held a sharp edge and irritated tone.

Voss peeked out from under the blanket and saw him pacing the downstairs lounge in front of the ridiculously oversized nude painting. His barely contained anger was in harsh contrast to the serene face rendered on the canvas. His robe had slipped off one shoulder, more rude awakening than a flirtatious style choice.

“No...no...I said no!” Kerry’s voice began to creep up the decibels, his hand cutting through the air aggressively.

Voss rubbed his eyes. The pain was gone but now he felt groggy and slow. The migraine hangover; it would take a couple of days for him to fully recover from this one.

Kerry stopped his pacing when the couch creaked as Voss sat up. The irritated expression flipped to tenderness as Kerry waved his hand for Voss to sit down again.

“No! For the last time Kovachek, I’m not doing it, not without askin'...” He was cut off mid-sentence, his face starting to tint red.

Voss knew what was coming and laid down on his back.

“Cut me off again like that and I swear...”

Kerry’s pacing became more stompy, as much as it could be in his flip-flops. He stopped, held the phone away from his face in disgust at what he heard. He glanced up at Voss who had an arm resting on his forehead.

“Say that again.” Kerry dared when he put the phone back up to his ear. His eyes glared when he heard the words repeated back.

“How...how dare you! How fuckin' dare you!” Kerry’s voice was hushed again. His whole body shook. “Can’t say it to him but you’ll glady pour that poison in my ears...”

The phone bubbled and hummed with the reply.

“Eat my fuckin' ass, Kovachek!” Kerry roared.

The phone was sent flying through the air and smashed into the wall. The glass front made a brittle crack when it shattered.

He turned around to see Voss sitting up again, eyes wide, his mouth open about to speak.

“Not now, babe. Gimme some time alone...” Kerry sighed. His shoulders rose and fell with the breath, his shoulders rounded slightly in on himself, head down as he left with his cigarette case in hand.