#plume's talkin

[plumede]

Ok, for real I’m gonna cry, guys. I saw episode 7, the scene where Edwin comes to wait for Death with Charles and you can't understand how much this moment touched me personally. You see, I grew up with an aviary and lots of birds. And when a bird was unfortunately dying my mother taught me the least we can do is provide them a sense of security and peace because that's all that really matters to soothes a prey's instinct. So we put the bird in safe place and stay with them when they were not afraid of us, and above all we keep them warm until the very end.

And well, I'm sure you can already see the parallel I'm trying to make here…Edwin is such a lovely and caregiver boy, considering humans the same way I consider birds; like vulnerable creatures who deserve to leaves in peace, with a appeased mind. I love him so much.

And I could bounce back on the fact at that moment Charles was indeed similar to a vulnerable wounded creature, who must have known the same weight as a prey dying, eaten away by the uncertainty of being discovered or not by his bullies and what more they could have done to him. And ohmygod I love this show so much !!

[nickbutnodick]

i am both stupid AND smart. it's called multitasking, motherfucker.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Letting Someone Go - Part 1

Benny Cross X Reader A/n: saw Bikeriders yesterday, needless to say I have a new Austin Butler character to obsess over <3 no better soundtrack to Benny Cross breakin' hearts than Zach Bryan. *the poem in this is lyrics from his song 'Letting Someone Go' Word Count: 2253 Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, Benny breaking hearts, angst, unhappy ending

What you had done to deserve Benny was beyond you. After all, you’d always tried to be a good person. Tried to do the right thing, to treat other people well. So who had you wronged so mightily as to deserve the torture that was Benny Cross?

“Hey. Hey! I’m talkin’ here!”

Sheila snapped at you, wrenching you out of your own miserable head. You dragged your gaze off of Benny, playing pool in the corner, and back to your friend. 

“Sorry, Sheils,” you mumbled. She rolled her eyes at you as you took a deep gulp from your Budweiser. 

“You’re still draggin’ ass about that man, aren’t ya?” She nodded unabashedly towards Benny, raising an eyebrow at you in question. You wanted to sink into the dirty floorboards beneath you, just get swept away in the sewer pipes or water table or whatever the fuck was below this personal hell you’d found yourself in. 

You shrugged, gulping down more beer in the hopes that it might dull the ache in your chest. 

“He ain’t worth it, hunnie.” 

You fixed Sheila with a hard stare. She shook off your glare, lighting her cigarette and blowing a plume of smoke up into the rafters. 

“I’m just sayin’, there’s plenty of guys ‘round here for you to shack up with. Benny’s just a loose cannon is all, who cares if he’s off ya.” 

You drank until your beer was empty. Your head was beginning to swim, but unfortunately the booze wasn’t touching the sadness that had sent you to the bottle in the first place. You stood up from your chair, pushing back from the table with a loud and clumsy clatter. No one really noticed over the thumping bass of the jukebox or the din of the crowd. You walked over to the bar, trading in your two empty bottles for two fresh ones. Zipco eyed you curiously from his usual seat at the back corner of the bar, but you refused to acknowledge him. Last thing you needed was another friend trying to cajole you out of your heartbreak. 

By the time you came back to Sheila, Wahoo and Corky had plunked down on either side of her. Probably trying to get her into bed, you thought darkly. And they’d likely succeed, based on how she was batting her eyes up at them. Usually, you welcomed the company of the Vandals, but tonight you found you could hardly stand them. Not necessarily that you wanted to be alone, just left alone. Sitting by yourself and knocking back an obscene amount of beer as you stared daggers into the back of Benny’s head was all you were really game for tonight. 

Rather than join the others, you swerved and walked towards the back of the bar, past where Johnny was sitting with Brucie, Gail, and Cal. The light was broken back here, and the shadows suited your dark mood quite nicely. You settled into a chair, tucking your legs up underneath you as you cracked open one of the new bottles and gulped down another greedy mouthful. Finally by yourself for the moment, you let your mind run wild over the last few weeks.

Where had it gone wrong? What did she have that you didn’t? And why the hell did you care so much, while Benny clearly cared so little? 

After all, it’s not like you and Benny were anything. You’d been sleeping together for a couple months, sure; but that was just the lifestyle. You’d been raised up on the back of your daddy’s bike. He was a founding member of the Red Devils of Hamilton, Ontario; so that made you practically royalty in the MC world. You knew what it was to be a Vandal before they’d even existed as an idea in Johnny Davis’ head. Hell, you practically taught Johnny everything you knew about how to run a successful club. 

That was probably why Benny hurt so damn much, you realized. You’d never admit it out loud, but this whole thing was ass backwards. You were the one that was supposed to run around and break the biker boys’ hearts. You were the one that wasn’t supposed to get attached, the one who would cut bait and run at the first sign of feelings. You were definitely not the kind of girl who’d get hung up on some loser just because he rode a nice chopper. 

But instead, Benny Cross had gone and played you at your own game. When you’d come back to Chicago to check on Johnny Davis’ pet project, you hadn’t planned to stay more than a few days, maybe a week. You had your sights set on California, on a small rancher high up in the mountains outside Crescent City. 

But then you’d met Benny. Benny with those piercing blue eyes, that gentle pillow talky voice, and the most gorgeous set of lips you’d ever kissed. He’d had you panting after him like a puppy dog within three days. A few days had turned into a few weeks, which had stretched into a few months. Now, you were still here, looking to spend your second Christmas in the cold. And unlike the last one, this Christmas would be a lonely one.

You’d been tangled up in Benny for the better part of a year now. He still drove you just as wild as that first time you’d seen him. Even from this far away, you could hardly stand to look at him without squirming. 

The first eight or nine months had been good. Maybe not great, but damn good. You’d wanted it to be fucking terrific, Lord knows you wanted that more than anything. But something in Benny just wouldn’t thaw for you. He was exactly the type of man that every other hard biker tried to be. He didn’t care about much, except his club. Didn’t show feelings for the simple fact that he didn’t have many, at least not the deep kind that you were desperate for. He was a detached, unbothered person. At first, you’d mistaken that for easy-going. It certainly made getting to know him nice and easy. But after nine or ten months, the edges of your relationship had started to turn brittle. While you were lying awake at night, daydreaming about getting a house together and getting married and maybe a baby or two, Benny was out doing the same old shit. Drinking, fighting. Generally avoiding anything that required commitment or persistence. Just livin’ life in the breeze.

But things had really taken a turn when she showed up. You could remember the night so clearly. It had been late fall, maybe two months ago. She’d come in looking like a misfit, all prim and proper in her white jeans and pink sweater, with her hair done up like Jackie Kennedy and her perfect eyeliner. Way too shiny and sweet for this kind of crowd. The guys had, predictably, gobbled her up with their eyes. No one more so than Benny.

The moment was seared in your memory: she was looking at the door, Benny was looking at her, and you were looking at Benny. Next thing you knew, Benny was gone, racing after her into the November air. You’d watched from the foggy window as she’d climbed on the back of his bike and they’d rode off down the street, all the while the club was cheering like it was fucking homecoming or something. Never mind that you were literally gutted, your heart trampled and lying like a used up bag on the floor of the bar. 

Benny had come back the next night, all hang-dog and apologies. All “I’m sorry baby, that was wrong” and “I dunno what came over me” and “I promise, it was nothing”. Both of you knew those were all lies, but only one of you really wanted to believe them. You were clinging on tight to the fading dream that was Benjamin Cross, meanwhile he was racing headfirst into the future that was Kathy Bauer. 

She kept coming around after that. That’s how you really knew that you were going to lose him. If that pretty little minx had kept her distance, then maybe Benny would have really been able to close that door. But she couldn’t. And, as much as you hated her for it, you couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t blind. She saw the same things in Benny that you did, you could tell just from looking at her expression when he was around. She had stars in her eyes, same as you. 

At first, Benny had put on a pretty good show of sticking by you. Even though the two of you weren’t officially anything, there was a code in the club. Fellas stuck by their gals, and vice versa. And, just by virtue of how long you and Benny had been, well, how long you’d been you and Benny, you were owed some measure of loyalty. 

But after a week or two, Benny was straying. Kathy would come into the bar and Benny would get this tiny smile. He’d find excuses to sit near her. Then it turned into talking to her. Then it turned into talking with her alone. 

Then he’d finally said the words you’d been dreading. 

“Baby, we gotta talk.”

No no no no no, you were screaming inside as you calmly sat down at the kitchen table of the small apartment you'd set yourself up in. Your hands were shaking, so you’d played with the nearest coffee mug until you’d chipped your nails. 

“Listen, darlin’, I… well, I’m not too good at this sorta thing.”

One tear had slipped out. You’d practically smacked yourself in a hurry to get rid of it. You couldn’t stand how upset he had you. 

“Just say it, Benny.”

Benny had tried to grab your hands from across the table - for what purpose, you couldn’t imagine. But you’d pulled away from him, your eyes burning. 

“I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to find someone else, baby. I swear. I just… it just… happened.”

Too many tears to wipe away now. You were squeezing the coffee mug so tightly in your palms that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.

“It’s Kathy, isn’t it?”

Benny hadn’t said anything, just nodded. 

“And you’re moving in with her, aren’t ya?” 

To add insult to injury, before Benny even had the guts to properly break things off with you, he’d adopted a bad habit of sleeping on the back of his bike in front of her house. At least, that was what Cal told you. After you’d practically threatened to cut his throat with your blade. Not that you were much of a threat, but Cal had a soft spot for you and you knew it. You weren’t afraid to press on the soft spots when needed. 

Another single nod from Benny. You couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or not.

“So… you’re done with me then, yea? Is that what you’re saying?”

Another. Fucking. Nod.

And so, that was the end of it. A fitting ending, all things considered. Benny, quiet as the grave, just nodding away the entire future you’d dreamt up for yourself at his side. 

Unable to figure out what to say or how to feel, you just shrugged and let the tears slip off your jaw and plunk down onto the plastic checkerboard tablecloth. 

“Aight then, Benny, you best get your stuff and get out, then.”

You wished you’d have added some harsher words at the end, leave a little sting on him, but you didn’t trust your voice not to crack. So it had been your turn to stay quiet while Benny packed up his things - a shockingly small amount, you realized, as it took him less than three minutes to shove them all into a pillowcase. 

The final dagger had been when he’d hesitated at the door, looking back over his shoulder at you. You were exactly where he’d left you: sitting at the kitchen table, crying, that coffee mug turning over and over in your shaking palms. He’d turned back and walked over to lay a soft, sweet kiss on your forehead. The most affection that man had ever shown you had been in the goodbye that he’d made you say for him. It was an irony that you didn’t think you’d ever get over. 

As you sat in that dark, lightless corner of the bar, watching Benny shoot pool with Big Jack and Cockroach, Kathy leaning against a high-top table a few feet away and beaming at him, you thought about some ridiculous poem you’d heard once. If someone had put a pistol to your head, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them where you heard it or who wrote it or even what the rest of the poem was about. Just one line came floating back to you out of the back of your mind:

One thing I’ve come to know, nothing kills you slower than letting someone go.

**Read part 2 here! **Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

[cyberwhumper]

    “You can sell the guns.” The words are so quiet, murmured through the kid’s blue-tinged lips, Rex almost doesn’t hear them. “Keep…keep the horse. She’s good…be real good f’r you…”

        Rex growls low in his chest. “Quit talkin’ like that. Ain’t ever known you to give up so easy.”

        The ghost of a smile crosses Montez’s face. “You ain’t ever…known me…at all, lobo.” He’s leaning heavy on Rex, head bowed under the weight of lost blood and cold in his bones, and Rex curses under his breath. The kid’s not dying on him here. Not now.

        “You ain’t allowed to bite it. I don’t get paid so much if I show up with a corpse.”

        “Yo…se. M’sorry. That’s why I said…sell the guns…”

        Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. Rex feels like he’s gone half-mad himself. He shouldn’t give a rat’s ass if Montez lives or dies. He’ll still get half the bounty, and the ride back will be a hell of a lot quieter without the kid yapping beside him. And Montez’s black mare is a real beauty.

        He could sell the guns.

        “...God damn you to hell, kid.”

        The pass is thigh-deep in drifting snow. Rex tugs his hat way down low over his brow, squinting against the wind, and spurs the horses on towards a tangled copse of pines. There’s a scanty little lean-to among them, he can just spy, somebody’s abandoned hunting blind, and it ain’t much, but it’s something.

        Montez is in and out of consciousness, drifting just as much as the snow is. He’s got barely any weight to him as Rex gathers him into his arms, like some stupid parody of a man carrying his bride. Christ knows neither of them are ever gonna get to do that for real. He blinks heavy lids up at Rex as the bounty hunter lays him down, eyes unfocused, big and dark and wet as a calf’s.

        “Easy, boy.”

The pines are dense enough that there’s still some pockets of dry wood in the boughs, and the pitch makes it catch the sparks off Rex’s steel real hungrily. He pulls Montez into his lap, as close to the fire as he possibly can, and yanks the kid’s shirt open, none too gentle.

“Mmn…que…haces…”

“I said easy.” Rex growls again. Montez took the shot right in the fucking gut, just down left of the navel. A hit like that is almost as much of a death sentence as the price on his head is.

Almost.

Rex drags his hunting pack over, cradling Montez in the crook of one arm as he digs out his knife and the last of the whiskey.

“Drink,” he orders, coaxing the kid’s pale lips apart with a knuckle. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Ahh…Dios…te salve…María…llena eres…”

“Shut up, kid.” He gets a slug of whiskey down Montez’s throat for the pain, one into himself for courage, and the last of it splashed onto the bullet hole, making Montez whine and buck weakly against Rex’s hold. “I know. I know. Here.” He unsheathes the knife and rests the blade in the fire, slipping the leather belt between Montez’s chattering teeth. “Bite.”

The leather isn’t enough to fully silence the howl that tears out of the kid’s throat when Rex sinks the red-hot point of the knife into him. The sound makes Rex’s stomach clench a little, to say nothing of the smell, but he digs the bullet out quick as a snake, and lucky for the both of them, Montez is fully unconscious before Rex has the knife reheated to press the flat of it to the wound.

Rex lets out a breath he didn’t fully realize he was holding, sending a white plume of fog in the air. He gently pulls the belt free of Montez’s slackened jaws and bundles the kid’s limp body close against his chest, as far inside of Rex’s big leather duster as he can get him, resting his head against his own broad shoulder.

He really does have the eyelashes of a baby cow, Rex thinks. He finds himself staring at Montez’s face openly. Softly. The curve of his nose, the hollowness beneath his eyes, the line of his throat down to his bared chest, the slightest ragged rise and fall of it. He’s so goddamn cold. Rex brings hesitant fingertips up to trace the rosary around his neck, letting the turquoise beads slip between his fingers the way he’s seen Montez do a hundred times, rolling the crucifix between his knuckles.

The Lone Wolf never learned how to pray, but. He thinks you get credit for trying.

“Dios te salva…Maria…weyva…fuck. Please. God. Whoever. Please, just let him…let him make it through the night. Just through the night, kid. Please…”

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

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[biographydivider]

Calling it a warmup for a busy writing day ahead, but it’s really a present for @yamujiburo��� - I read that ask about my favourite awful feline scamming his way into two meals and got inspired. For the most accurate reading, Meowth is in his Maddie Blaustien era, because she was the best thing to ever happen to the character and that was the version of Meowth I love the best.

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Pallet Town, and Delia was in her vegetable garden; occupying herself while Jessie took Arbok and baby Ekans for a training day in Viridian Forest. Ash was supposed to be home soon, and she thought she’d make a fuss. She had some garlic growing, and a crop of beautiful tomatoes that were practically falling off the vine; she’d make a nice pasta sauce. Oh - and those razz berries were looking just delicious, too! Perfect for a sponge cake.

“Haaa...oh, woe is me...”

Delia looked up to see the strange little Meowth that Jessie and James had adopted on their travels wandering along the path that led to her home. Delia knew that Meowth had taken the breakup of Team Rocket to heart; he technically lived with James, but sometimes he just took himself off on an adventure to Pallet to bother Jessie for a few days. He’d follow her around, yammering about this and that, bringing up the Good Old Days, and Jessie would pretend to be annoyed by him right up until the second he planned to leave. Then, the tears would start.

“I just don’t tink I can go on for much longer...”

With a swoon, Meowth flopped down just outside Delia’s garden gate.

“Oh my goodness!” she cried, scrambling to her feet and running to his side. She scooped the Meowth’s massive head into her lap; noticing how hot his fur was to the touch. “Are you alright, Meowth?”

“Huh? Who’s there? Come closer...”

“It’s me, Meowth. Delia. Jessie’s partner.”

“Oh, Delia!” coughed Meowth. “You were always so - hack! - so kind ta me...”

“Have you walked all the way from Celadon City by yourself?”

“Yeah...James was busy for the weekend. Wit his fashion stuff, yanno. He said he didn’t have time to feed me, so I...hack, hack! I wanted to see a friendly face.”

“Well, Jessie’s not home right now --” The pitiful whine from Meowth didn’t so much tug on Delia’s heartstrings as yank them painfully out her chest. “But you can stay with me until she gets back! I have a glass of fresh lemonade chilling in the fridge, you really must quench your thirst after that long walk...”

“Really? You’d do that for lil’ old me-owth?”

“Of course, dear.” Delia set Meowth on his wobbly two feet. “Now, run inside and have a nice long drink. Then, when you’ve cooled off, you can help me pick some razz berries for later.”

“Okay!”

Meowth dashed into the house happily, and Delia tutted under her breath. She loved James - really, she did - but she sometimes wondered if he and Jessie forgot that Meowth was a living creature who needed their care. She couldn’t imagine Ash forgetting to feed Pikachu, after all.

“Yanno, I gotta say, Deels - can I call ya Deels?” Meowth asked, popping another berry into his mouth, “You got real a nice setup, here. All’a this food, just growin’ on your doorstep?!”

“Well,” Delia said, filling up her basket with berries, “it takes a lot of work. But I’m happy the end result is so tasty, Meowth.”

“Oh, yeah; an’ after such a long walk, too, I really - ooh, chezz berries! - I really needed some sustanance. So, whaddaya pickin’ all this food for, anyway?”

“Ash is home, soon. And I’m going to make pasta sauce from scratch, and a cake.” Delia looked out over the horizon; wondering idly what the plume of dust rising from Viridian Forest was. It seemed to be approaching fast. She hoped Jessie and the Pokemon were safe. “I know Pikachu will appreciate a good tomato sauce, and Ash always did love my sponge cakes.”

“Oh. How, uh, how nice. For the twerp.” Meowth chewed thoughtfully on a chezz berry. “Say, uh - d’you think I could maybe stay a lil’ while longer? Maybe, uh, try some of that pasta you was talkin’ about before I go...?

The plume of dust was getting closer. Delia watched it race along the footpath, until a familliar and beautiful and violently angry figure emerged from within it.

“Jessie...?”

“MEOWTH!” Jessie shrieked. “I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU’D GO RUNNING TO DELIA, YOU LITTLE SNEAK!”

Meowth was on his feet as Jessie crashed into the garden gate, Arbok and baby Ekans in hot pursuit. “Hahahaaaa...Jeeeessiiiiee!” he cried; voice breaking, hands held out in front of his body - trying either to placate his friend or protect himself from bodily harm, “Whaddareya doin’ here? Delia said you was out training Ekans in the forest?”

Delia blinked down at Meowth. “I didn’t tell you that,” she murmured.

“I was,” Jessie hissed, “until we met you and James for our picnic. Until you ate all the food and wouldn’t stop blabbing for longer than five seconds. Until James told you that you can’t have cupcakes because sugar is bad for Pokémon --”

“Dat’s a gross oversimplication of events, Jess --”

“And until you --” Jessie picked Meowth up by the face and shook him violently this way and that, “went flouncing off into the forest saying he shouldn’t have brought anything you couldn’t have, and that you didn’t need our stupid picnic anyway! I should have known you’d go to Delia with some sob story, you greedy little freak!”

Meowth kicked out, aiming for Jessie’s face with his long, brown-and-white feet. “At least she’s nice to me - unlike you, ya big nasty mean ol’ lady!”

“What did you call me you --”

“That’s enough.” Delia hated pulling out the Mom Voice, but as both of them fell into guilty silence, she had to admit it gave results. “Jessie, I know you’re angry at Meowth but I wish you wouldn’t hurt him like that.”

“Ha!” cackled Meowth, wriggling out of Jessie’s grasp. “See, Jess? You should be nicer ta me, coz Delia says so --”

“And you.”

Meowth froze.

“You took advantage of my kindness, Meowth. You lied to me and told me James was mistreating you. That really hurt my feelings, and I’m very, very disappointed in you.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then, to Delia’s surprise, Meowth plopped down onto the floor and began to sob. “I-I-I’m sooorryyyyyyyyy...” he wailed, thick wet tears falling down his cheeks. “I didn’t wanna hurtcha feelin’s, but everyone’s so busy and the gang’s all split up an’ you’re so nice an’ I just wanted someone ta be kind ta meeeeeee...”

“Meowth, kindness goes both ways. Now,” Delia pushed the basket of berries into his paws, “you can go wash these for me in the sink, and put them in the fridge until I need them. That would be a good thing to do, to show me how sorry you really are. You want to show me you can be kind?”

“Yeeees...”

“Then scoot.”

“Okaaay...”

Jessie watched her friend head into the house - head bowed, sniffling - with a look of total wonder. “Did you just get Meowth to admit he wants to go straight?”

“Yes,” Delia said, standing up and kissing Jessie on the cheek. “I did.”

[civilization-illstayrighthere]

Ahh wait there are too many good options!!🫣You're too good to us Rama!! What about 87. for VxKerry with a hint of silverdyne? ( Take as long as you like ofc🥺)

87. he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserved to be fucked

I think I probably took this in a slightly different way than you may have thought when requesting, but this prompt absolutely gripped me and i ran away with it :’D Kerry/v, with silverdyne / silverVdyne, ~3.5k, absolutely explicit rating lol

“I think we should kill him.” Johnny Silverhand says.

Standing side-by-side, V exhales a plume of cigarette smoke directly into Johnny, watching his engram form fractal before the smoke dissipates into the open air.

“We’re not killin’ nobody.” V grumbles, though he’s feeling less and less committed to that as he keeps his gaze focused on the scene unfolding on the patio below. 

Kerry Eurodyne’s parties were something of a legend throughout Night City; even before V had met his now-input, they’d been preem front page screamsheet tabloid fodder, blurry photos of the who’s-who of Night City bumping shoulders, gossipy quips about who was allegedly bumping uglies. 

V was finding the tabloids weren’t as far off as he would’ve liked. The music world was downright incestuous; it felt like half the people here had at one point been Kerry’s one night stand, input, output, brief fling or fancy, and fuck, when did Kerry even find the time to do anything other than doing someone?

But V held his tongue. The Rockerboy was his now, besides; all those other guys and girls were in the rearview, as much as Johnny had been hissing otherwise in his ear.  

He wasn’t Johnny. Kerry was enjoying himself; he’d been so flippant about it when he’d mentioned throwing the party, but now here, V could see the man was in his element. He flitted between groups of people, laughed and chatted and preened. There was an extra swagger in his step, and not just because of the easy flow of booze and drugs. Kerry looked good in the limelight. V could share.

To a point. 

Kerry had introduced him earlier to a bulwark of a man named Patryk, ostentatiously chromed but not entirely unsurprising; after all, plenty of mercs went the private celebrity bodyguard route for the lucrative pay and relative safety compared to running fixer gigs. Him being an ex of Kerry was unsurprising as well. He was relatively handsome; built with broad shoulders, a shaggy head of straw blonde hair and a firm handshake that V’s sure he would’ve really felt if his own hands were not military chrome.

Patryk grinned. He squeezed V’s hand a little harder. “B, was it?”

“V.” He corrected tightly, flashing his gold canines in a mirroring grin. He squeezed Patryk’s hand back. Kerry, already tipsy, just chuckled and threw his arm around V’s waist, and Patryk dropped his hand. 

“Nice to meet you, B.”

Patryk kept grinning that shit-eating grin. Behind him, Johnny flickered into existence; arms crossed across his chest, he prowled around him with agitation, looking him up and down.

“Helluva ex.” He muttered. Getting closer, Patryk was oblivious to Johnny’s proximity and scowl. “Kerry always knew how to pick them.”

V only barely held his tongue, arms intertwining with Kerry’s as he settled a hand on his hip. He slipped a finger into a belt loop and pulled him in snug against his side. Kerry seemed genuinely oblivious as the conversation continued to whatever it was before V had wandered over to be introduced— or maybe, Johnny’s acerbic voice hissed in his head, he’s just enjoying all this attention. Kerry always liked having a couple of meatheads fight over him. 

He could argue with Johnny that it’d been fifty years between when he knew Kerry and now. He could feel the want to do something stupid grow. 

Maybe that was some of Johnny. Maybe that was a lot of V, who found Patryk’s gaze faltering to where his thumb traced the soft skin just above the waistband of Kerry’s tight pants, right under the hem of his tank as he held him close. 

“— good talkin’ to you Patryk, but I gotta mingle.” Kerry finished. He leaned over, pressing a kiss to V’s cheek. “V?”

V flashed Patryk a smug smile, his hand dropping down to Kerry’s ass as he lead them away. He could feel Patryk’s stare on his back. 

“Gonna grab another drink, you comin’?”

“Nah,” V excused himself, “gonna have a smoke outside, get some fresh air.” Maybe the irritation simmering in his blood was more nicotine cravings than jealousy; either way, one would soothe the other.

Kerry smiled; he knew the party wasn’t exactly V’s scene. “Come get me when you're done?”

“‘Course. You know I always wander back.”

The new second floor deck Kerry had built with the Us Cracks collaboration advance was nice; more importantly, it was empty and relatively quiet, save for the full thumping of the base from the music inside making the windows practically pulse. Chain smoking cigarettes and flicking the spent butts out into the waterfall feature was probably not the most social way to spend a party, but V was not a social creature by nature. He’d hold Kerry back.  

He hadn’t expected to see Kerry descend the stairs below to the shadowed patio below; he definitely hadn’t expected to see him followed by Patryk, either.

“One punch to the trachea,” Johnny goads, “easy as syn-apple pie.”

“No.” V grouses. 

“Just a little love tap to the temple.”

“We’re not killing anyone at Kerry’s house.” V replies to Johnny in his head, watching as the two talked below. The moving water kept him from hearing much of anything. It seemed Kerry had a similar idea as V, smoking as he chatted. “He’d immediately be suspected.”

“He’d get charged accessory at most.”

V rolls his eyes. “I don’t think he wants the media circus of what accessory at most will bring.” Eyes still on Kerry, he holds out his cigarette; he only briefly feels Johnny’s chapped lips on his palm, taking a short drag. He’d be more surprised at the sensation if he wasn’t so distracted. Patryk steps closer to Kerry; just as easily, Kerry keeps distance between them, his rumbling, nerve-filled chuckle rising over the dull roar of the waterfall.

“Like he doesn’t have the money to pay off whatever they might try and throw at ‘em.” Johnny complains.

“Again, I’m not fucking zeroing—“

Ice prickles up his throat as he watches the ex start to slowly corral Kerry backward, towards the darkness of the patio chairs; he can’t hear over the roar of the waterfall and the muffled din of the party still going on behind, but Kerry’s cringing body language and his reluctance couldn’t be telegraphed more clearly if he’d yelled it. The chrome fingers of V’s left hand twitch, instantly crushing the filter of the cigarette between them.

He’s expecting a smug “I told you so” from Johnny but is met, surprisingly, with a twin feeling of possessive fury, a second internal voice matching his own that is propelling him into immediate action. V vaults over the balcony railing; his reinforced tendons easily absorb the impact of the short fall when he lands in a crouch.

Save the lights coming through the glass where Kerry’s Aerondight is parked above, it’s relatively dark down here under the house; even the faraway lights of Night City don’t seem to pierce the gloom of the nook. Kerry’s eyes seem to glow. 

“What’d I say, Pat?” Kerry’s voice is strong, but he’s cringing as his ex-output steps forward, “I’m not fuckin’ interested. I got a mainline.”

“Yeah,” the man purrs, “but he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserved to be fucked, does he?” 

V straightens to standing. Spying V past Patryk’s shoulder, Kerry alights with recognition. 

“You always moaned so sweet for me, baby doll,” Patryk practically croons as he advances. Kerry takes another step back— his heel catches the edge of a lounger, and when he falls back onto his ass with a “whuph,” Patryk perks up like a slavering dog over a bone. “You were the best cock sleeve I ever had, and I know for sure I was the only dick good enough to fill your sloppy boy cunt. Lemme remind you—”

V allows his next step to fall heavier.

The man’s shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t turn around. “Fuck off. We’re busy.”

“Y’know, actually,” V clears his throat. “I think you’re done here.”

Patryk turns around. He’s got an inch or two on V; he looks him up and down with a sneer. “Ah, the little mainline.”

Johnny crackles into existence, pointedly placing himself between Patryk and Kerry, as if he could do anything; his Hand twitches towards the holster on his thigh. 

“Yeah, uh,” V sniffs, real loud, real obnoxious, and he reaches up to scratch at his nose with one crooked finger. Purposefully, carefully, because all of the blades of his knuckles are fully deployed. Kerry’s gold looks real nice with all of his house's professional lighting, but he thinks the way the lights plays off his silver serrated edges look good, too. “Man of the hour already asked you to, but now I’m insistin’. You should delta, choom.”

“Yeah?” Patryk snorts. He rolls his broad shoulders. “Make me.”

Kerry shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair. “Patryk, please just fuckin’ go—“

Patryk whirls, snapping, “shut the fuck up, Eurodyne.”

The man’s chipped, of course— Kerry had a type, unfortunately— but the momentary dumb display of anger gives V an easy turned back to lunge towards, viper-quick, to grab the back of his neck with one hand and the back of his shirt with the other.

He can feel Johnny’s anger nipping at his heels, coursing through his veins of blood and chrome plasma alike— Patryk immediately grapples for V’s arm as he walks the man stumbling towards the edge of the patio, hand fisted into the meat of his neck so tightly he thinks he could crush his spine if his grip twitched just so. He barely feels the ex’s fingernails biting into his syn-skin as he scrabbles against his arms.

“First of all, you’ve got a lot of fuckin’ balls just coming here.”

The roar of the waterfall nearly drowns out V’s snarl, though he knows Patryk can hear him. 

“Second, cute as you think that B bullshit was, my name is fucking V, you got that? V, the one who zeroed Jotaro, cleared out countless Scav nests, makes Maelstrommer’s shit their pants, goes solo toe-to-toe with Arasaka and Militech spec ops,” V grits out with a swiftly rising fury, coinciding with a ramping of his processors that has the chrome in his body audibly humming with the promise of violence. 

“The VDB that are left call me Agau, the Wraiths call me Dakota’s dog, but you, princess?”

V grins as Patryk’s face drops.

“You can call me V.”

He thrusts him into the direct steam of the waterfall, sudden enough that he knows Patryk takes a full gulp as soon as he’s under. Warnings flash in the corners of his vision’s HUD as he deploys all his chrome to keep him there; he can feel his body temperature rapidly rise, his chrome tendons creaking and some of the closest spray turning into mist where it touches exposed skin. 

“And then bothering your ex-output? Kerry fuckin’ Eurodyne? You’re not even worthy of lookin’ at his fuckin’ reflection. The stupidity of that, choombatta, I mean—“ V chuckles tightly, barely upholding the veneer of a casual conversation atop his white hot rage. He pulls the man out of the spray; he wheezes, flailing uselessly under his grasp.

“W-wait—“

“Nah, think I’m done waiting.” V interrupts, further cutting the man off by thrusting him back under the torrent. Choking loudly, his struggles grow more frantic as he keeps taking on water. “You wanna talk more about my output? My output? ‘Cause clearly he wasn’t interested in you and your pathetic dick, so even when he kept saying no, you really had to push, huh?”

All V would need to do was let go and this two-enny hack would tumble right over the side of the cliff-face. His body wouldn’t stop until he had rolled all the way down to Charter Hill.

“I want you to keep Kerry’s name out of your mouth, you got that?” V snarls, “mine too, while you’re at it. I’ll bounce your skull off the pavement if I so much as catch you thinkin’ his name again.”

He’s clearly a merc; hell, V might’ve even seen him skulking around the Afterlife. He could threaten his ties he’s got with fixers, scare him out of work until he had to leave the city to even make an enny with his name. But V didn’t need anyone else's name to invoke fear; not a fixer, not Kerry’s, not Johnny’s, nobody but himself.

It takes a moment before he realizes Patryk can’t respond while still under the water; he pulls him out, impatiently listening to him hack and wheeze in a full breath.

“I got it, I-I got it, alright,” Patryk sputters, clutching fruitlessly at V. All the bravado’s been wiped from him; there is snot down his face, spittle across his lips as he gasps, “man, I’m sorry!”

V slaps the whimpering merc across the face, open-handed, laughs at the way he flinches and cringes. When V steps back and tosses him onto the ground, away from the edge, his left fist balling up in his peripheral is silver.

“Get the fuck out of my sight.” V spits.

The man scrambles to his feet—tries to, but the fear is making his limbs uncoordinated, and slick from the waterboarding, he stumbles and falls face first onto the deck. It takes another try before he’s up and running, dripping, the long way around and away. 

V could follow the bastard, and watching his disappearing back makes something predatory pulse in him; he wants to hunt him down, a hound to a hare, press his teeth to the back of his neck until he crunches through bone and shake his body until he goes limp. He wants to rend him in two; wants to carve his name, his moniker, into his skin with his knuckles, a potent portent to any other gonk who thinks they could even conceive of laying a hand on what’s his and his alone—

“V…” Kerry’s voice, unnaturally small, breaks through behind him.

V turns. He crosses the gap between them in a few long strides, immediately dropping a knee onto the patio chair between Kerry’s legs to bend down and cup his face; he’s unharmed, and shaking, though maybe that’s actually V’s hands trembling in the comedown as his body starts to unwind from its tight coil.

“Ker.�� He murmurs, swiping a slick thumb over Kerry’s cheekbone, his temples, leaving behind a trace of wetness that makes the gold inlaid in his skin shine, “you alright? You okay?”

Kerry’s chest heaves. He says nothing; he kisses him, meeting him with a voracity that makes V groan, muffled by his lips and tongue. When Kerry fists his hand into V’s mullet and yanks his head back, he goes as docile as a lamb, only just managing to silence the whine bouncing behind his bared teeth.

“I thought you were gonna kill him.” Kerry breathes. His lips are spit-slick, just a touch puffy from the abuse of the hard kiss. 

“You want me to?” V demurs. “I’ll go get ‘im. I meant it all. I’d do it for you, Ker.”

Kerry sucks in a breath. “Fuck, V.”

“Throw him off the side, pummel him to a paste, whatever you like.” V continues, a deluge of words on the current, “I’ll go out there and do it now, gorgeous, you just give the word.” He feels frenzied, only kept in check by Kerry’s ringed fingers holding him tight by the root of his hair. “Let me kill him for you.” 

Kerry’s blue Kiroshis are so bright, just a sliver around the dark, fat pupils. He looks tempted. He looks drunk off the ultraviolence of it all. V would give him everything; he doesn’t even need to ask, not when Kerry looks at him like hat. 

“You would, huhn?” Kerry quietly marvels. He reaches up, rubs his thumb over one of the prominent scars patterned across V’s cheek; he turns into his touch, mollified.

He pulls V into another harsh kiss by the back of his head; their moans muffle underneath each other's lips. 

V’s greedy hands roam downward. He paws at his sides, gropes his chest. Beneath him, Kerry arches. The thought of that fuck touching Kerry comes back to mind, unbidden, and he feels another fresh bolt of possessive fury course down his spine.

“You’re mine,” V mouths against Kerry’s bearded cheek, and his voice lowers a too-familiar octave when he repeats, “mine.”

Kerry shudders. When V pulls back, his eyes are dragged behind Kerry; leaning back against the lounger, Johnny reclines. They hold eye contact for a beat. If he was solid, Kerry would be in between his legs, lying against his chest; now, his flak jacket wavers where Kerry clips into him. He strokes an unfelt hand down the length of Kerry’s neck, and his cyberware; V follows the motion, and Kerry bares his neck with a groan, slides his hand up to cradle V’s. Underneath those million-eddy hands, V’s blades lie dormant. 

“Fuck, V,” Kerry croaks, intertwining their fingers; he lets his head fall back, his hips rocking, his body a delicious supine. Johnny's hands follow where Kerry drags V’s down, across his collarbone, pushing at the neckline of his white tank top. 

He wants what’s underneath; he doesn’t take a moment of reflection, hooking his fingers into the collar and ripping the shirt down the middle with an elastic tear. 

He can feel the collective weight of their stare on Kerry’s exposed body, even if he’s none the wiser; V cups his pec, really takes his time to squeeze him, lets his flesh bounce a little under his hand. Only when Kerry starts to squirm does V run his thumb over one of Kerry’s pert nipples, pinching it sharply before rolling the pad over in a soothing, rocking motion. The breathless noise Johnny makes is nearly drowned out by Kerry’s breathless panting.

“Wanna fuck you.” V mumbles. He pinches Kerry’s nipples again; watches his body arch into the twin pain and pleasure, as enraptured with that as by the silver hand possessively stroking up and down his neck. “Can I?”

“Jesus, kid, like you have to ask—“ Kerry groans. And he seems to realize the irony, an almost wild laugh escaping him as he starts to writhe underneath V, fumbling to shove down the tight pants clinging to his hips. “Of course, fuck, fuck me.”

Anyone could come downstairs to the waterfall loungers, looking for the man of the hour; if they did, they’d see Kerry Eurodyne, hastily stripped down to only his ripped tank hanging off him like a vest, getting down on his hands and knees like a dog in heat, reaching back and spread himself with a growled command to “spit.”. They’d see the best merc in Night City get on his knees and do him one better, pressing his face inbetween where Kerry was shaved smooth and lick his hole, over and over, until the man was mewling under his tongue. 

They wouldn’t see a silver hand stroking down Kerry’s spine, detouring across the freckles that still dot his syn-skin. They wouldn’t see Johnny Silverhand perched on the back of the lounger, watching them both, the front of his leather pants painfully tented. He’s silent as he palms himself, his heavy gaze shifting between the two of them. That was just for V.

V gets his pants down just under the curve of his ass, pulling out his cock; with only spit as lube, it takes a few moments of delicious, tight stretching before he’s in, and then he’s fucking Kerry in slow, deep thrusts, hips slapping hard against his ass each time. He takes him so well; fits perfectly around his cock, clinging tight each time V nearly pulls out, moans when V buries himself back in to the hilt. 

V’s eyes slip closed in rapture. Only for a moment; his face jerks to the side as a slap lands soundly on his cheek, and when he opens his eyes, Johnny is glowering there, gripping his chin tightly.

“Keep your goddamn eyes open, V.” Johnny says. His voice is wrecked with disuse; with want. “And fuck him harder.”

He flickers back to the lounger, hungrily watching Kerry and V. V can feel Johnny’s annoyance simmering under the surface, too keyed up to hide his thoughts; he wants to be there, he wants to fuck Kerry until the plastic slats imprint into his knees. But time is dwindling for V, and this is as close as he can be; stroking his cock in time to V’s brutal thrusts, drinking in the sight of Kerry’s arched spine, the way his ass bounces on impact, the moans he wrenches from his output. Their output, and his; and that’s one and the same.

And that scares them both.

[watcheraurora]

"Fire" by Barns Courtney (not Hellfire, just Fire) is such an Ice Walls!Impulse song, so here's a written-out version of the animatic/AMV in my head that I can't make because I can't draw that well, let alone animate

—

The opening drums and music actually start with teenage Impulse on the drums, before he ever was Impulse the villain, with his punk band. Interspersed with present-day Impulse as the well-known, long-serving villain

"Lonely shadows following me," shows him walking down a dark city street, alone, translucent, floating figures (his parents, Doc, and Gem and Pearl's mother) appearing behind him like memories

"Lonely ghosts come a-calling," cuts to a couple, both blond, holding an equally blond, green-eyed toddler (Richard Tek, his wife Faye Tek, and their son Tango)

"Lonely voices talkin' to me," shows Deepfrost and Impulse, soon after Deepfrost returned to the city after his year in the Perimeter, staying a cautious distance apart, just talking, but clearly tense

"Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone," is Impulse at three stages of his life walking away, centered in the frame with his clothes and the background showing what he's walking away from. The first is the punk band as a teenager, the next is sneaking out of his and his wife's bedroom to go be Impulse, the third is him walking away from Joel as Lore in full villain gear

"And my mother told me 'son let it be'," shows Impulse's childhood with the broken home and bad parents he grew up with shouting through an open doorway, child Impulse hiding out of their sight, listening and crying

"Sold my soul to the calling" is the first plume of fire young adult Impulse makes upon choosing to become Impulse. There's purpose and determination in his face, wearing a rudimentary first draft of a suit

"Sold my soul to a sweet melody" shows him as a civilian in a dark nursery leaning over a baby's crib, a curly redheaded baby girl (infant Gem) sleeping in it while clutching one of his fingers

"Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone" is him turning and walking out of the room, switching from civilian clothes to his Impulse suit as he crosses the threshold (this is meant as a visual metaphor)

The chorus of "Oh give me that fire!" three times and "Burn, burn, burn" are a neatly-spliced selection of his action setpieces of his years of being a villain. Fighting Lore/Joel, HoTGuY, and young Deepfrost. Each instance of "fire" and "burn" in the lyrics specifically is him calling on his pyrokinesis in various flame sizes

There's a quick fade-to-black that sharply returns to Impulse standing in the center of a city sports stadium as the lyrics begin, "A thousand faces staring at me."

"A thousand times I've fallen" is several quick cuts of him knocked down by heroes, standing back up again.

"A thousand voices dead at my feet" snaps back to the stadium, but this time the whole thing is on fire and people are fleeing, then jumps to a large private ballroom-like area with all the enforcers of an organized crime faction splayed out and charred on the floor

"Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone" is a longer shot of him running through said ballroom and pushing through the double doors to go after the crime boss

"And my mother told me 'son, let it be'," is him crouched in front of 12-year-old Tango at Tango's parents' funeral, hand on his shoulder. Tango's eyes are unfocused and don't actually see Impulse, obviously grieving

"Sold my soul to the calling" shows him putting on the modern Impulse disguise with a tongue of flame burning behind his head, his eyes glowing bright yellow and the frame tight on his face

"Sold my soul to a sweet melody" is a cut to him back in his civilian clothes many years back rocking baby Pearl (dark, straight hair in a blue blanket patterned with a moon and stars) in his arms and grinning softly down at her

"Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone," is quieter as a woman his age with curly red hair (Gem and Pearl's mother) says over the lyrics, "I can't take this. They're safer with you anyway." She spins around and storms out of the house

"Oh give me that fire!" (x3) returns with a blast of flame consuming the whole screen, this time showcasing some of Impulse's worst villain moments, intercut with him as an adult at his drumset, both of the shots showing him clearly venting his emotions into his actions

"Burn, burn, burn" merges the two, revealing his drumsticks are on fire in his hands when he stops

"Ghosts and devils come a-callin'." Impulse stands in the middle of a ring of fire higher than he is tall. On "Ghosts", Richard and Faye Tek and Gem and Pearl's mother fade in and out on either side of him. On "devils," Doc's face looms from the flame

"Calling my name out, lost in the fire." GeminiSlay and Blood Moon facing away from him in the flames but twisted back to look at him, each holding out a hand in invitation, both smiling

The image glitches and the girls are gone.

"Sweet virgin your blood is callin'..." shows a gentle, intimate-ish scene between Impulse and Gem and Pearl's mother, under the sheets sharing a romantic moment but the frame tastefully cut to avoid anything too explicit and any inappropriate nudity from either of them specifically because this is a PG-13 movie dammit

"Callin' my name out, lost in the fire," gets quiet once again, back to the scene when the girls' mother walked out on them and she's saying, "I wanted you, not Impulse. I can't handle both." She sounds both heartbroken and angry. The screen glitches back to the shot of her leaving the house, slamming the door, and the frame is consumed by fire once again

The slow build of the music in the next couple seconds is quick, tight shots of GeminiSlay and Blood Moon gearing up, putting on their armor, their masks, grabbing their weapons

The newly-formed Soup Group leaping slow-mo into battle in front of an explosion of fire as the lyrics turn back to "Oh give me that fire!"

The rest of the song is shots of the same fight. Poultry Man and Deepfrost are seen in the background, taking on HoTGuY and Sheriff respectively, but the focus of the fight scene is how smooth and seamless the Soup Group works together between the girls' combat prowess and Impulse's sheer firepower (pun intended)

The second repeat of the chorus is Impulse alone in the middle of the fight, in his element, eyes yellow and glowing, reflecting his flames. The shot pans around him and zooms in close to his face. He smiles in pleasure and self-satisfaction as the song hits its last note.

[mumblingsage]

Another batch of terrible opening sentences for our shock and delectation!

Some of my favorites:

If there’s a snake in your boot, you dump it out by the creek, and if it’s got feathers, you dump it out in the creek, and if it’s talkin’ at you, you dump it out gently and apologize and keep an eye out for the mama dragon, and tarnation these city slickers don’t know the first thing about stayin’ alive out here. Mara Lynn Johnstone, Santa Rose, CA

(I'd actually read a book that started like this, even!)

After the unfortunate events involving the wicked stepmothers of Cinderella, Snow White, and Hansel and Gretel, the city council set out to ban all men from remarrying until further notice. Ezra Greenhill, Portland, OR

***

The tall, slender seductress had Tom Pauley wrapped around her little finger, and she had James McGee hanging from a necklace, but the police were still waiting for the lab results to determine whose body parts she had used to make her earrings and that stunning tennis bracelet. Julian Calvin, Atlanta, GA

***

The second she stepped into my office I knew she was Trubble, Sarah Trubble, she was wearing a name tag and I’m a detective Phil Saunders, Barrie, Canada

***

It was a dark and stormy day easily confused as night (for it is December in Svalbard that our story lies) and probably not helped by all the Julebokk we had drunk, but when in Svalbard . . . Bill Anderson, Dublin, Ireland

(I swear I've heard Svalbard name-dropped more often this year than ever before in my life, but I digress...)

Draxyl’s breathing quickened—finally, in his hands he held the Sacred Jewel of Grondor, the key to the legendary Chamber of Secrets, the icon that so many had died for, and the perfect gift to win the heart of his beloved; the question now was how to fit all those things into his pockets without the shopkeeper noticing. Dave Agans, Wilton, NH

***

Buford The Bold was the last descendant of the proud Bold family and was particularly proud of how he chose to keep “The,” his father’s middle name. Marc Luban, Chicago, IL

***

The clouds drifted lazily through the crystal blue sky like cotton candy from last summer's county fair except that if a plane flew cotton candy the engine would ingest so much sugar that it would lock up the engine and force the pilot to make an emergency landing, perhaps in the river below where the body of a white male in his mid 50's with no identification floated face down, which is where our story begins. Ken Hill, Elkville, IL

***

It was love at first sight—he was tall and broad-shouldered, with a dimpled smile, twinkling green eyes, and in keeping with his combination of statistically unlikely but deeply alluring features, type AB blood, and that condition where cilantro tastes like soap. Ananya Benegal, St. Louis, MO

***

They had gone through fire and ice to be together, but the general mood of the wedding would have been improved if he wasn't suffering from second-degree burns and she hadn't lost several toes to frostbite. Eliza Frost, Bellingham, WA

(is "Eliza Frost" her real name or a nom de plume? Either way...)

There are many, many more through the link, some of them very silly.

[kharonion]

For the wip game: can I hear about "Danger Pretty" please?? 😗

[ ask about my WIPs ]

This is a fic series that is so self-indulgent, it's unreal. 😂 Danger Pretty centers around the alternate start of Vikt where he becomes a club dancer instead of a mercenary after his termination from Arasaka. During his time at Empathy, he meets Kerry, and it is a partnership that gradually teaches Vikt what it means to have something genuine—a rarity in this verse.

SNIPPET:

Behind him, the door locks. The heavy bass of the music is muted in here, but that just… adds to it, really. Smoke wafts in the air, a backdrop for the cedarwood cologne and natural musk—an intoxicating combination, Kerry is quickly learning. Some of the plumes are fresh from the man waiting for him, sitting there on the sofa with his legs crossed at the knee, the perched foot idly bouncing to the faint beat. His makeup is pebbled and runny from sweat. A cigarette hangs from his lips, its cherry reflected in those hard eyes.

He takes a long drag but doesn’t move otherwise. “You’re becoming quite a regular.” The words sound like they’re being dragged through gravel, but it makes Kerry’s stomach damn near leap in his throat. It’s a voice that gives away that this man is far from a gonk; he’s seen shit, been through shit. Weathered, haggard.

And fuck, why is it so fuckin’ attractive?

“Eh, well,” Kerry tries to laugh—and not nervously, “keeps me from getting bored, I guess.”

“A man such as you, getting bored? I find it hard to believe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He tries to inject some venom in there, but Kerry can tell it falls flat. That or this man isn’t much phased by anything.

He simply takes another drag. “Means I don’t believe that Kerry Eurodyne doesn’t have anything better to do than come to a braindance club by himself. Wanted to get your rocks off, you could’ve simply stayed in your personal palace.”

“You just invite me here to make this a big deal? Or do you actually have some point to make?” Kerry lets his tone dip into a growl. “If you do, I’d suggest starting to make it.”

The man’s propped leg slowly falls, his knees easing apart. Those eyes are scrutinizing—Kerry can fuckin’ feel them on him. It doesn’t much help the fire raging across his cheeks as he ogles at just how voluptuous those thighs look in that tight leather, their curves not at all left to imagination. A hand slowly wanders their insides; the fucker knows. And he so casually answers, “I’m simply curious why you’d risk coming here. Risk being plastered all over the screamsheets. You must have a reason… and I want to know what it is.”

“And it matters to you because…?”

“Call it a hunch, but…” He huffs the smoke one last time, tossing the butt somewhere, swirls curling out of his nostrils. Then, he stands—or more accurately, towers. Kerry’s stuck there, unable to move. Not even as the man starts yanking shit off. The hat’s first, then the sunglasses… and just like that, Kerry Eurodyne is exposed fully.

And, y’know… he can’t bring himself to care.

“Something tells me… I’m your reason.”

“Sounds like your ego talkin’.” That earns a tiny smirk.

[wonbillion]

❝ i really think it’s awesome. the real you. ❞ 🥰🥰

            source :   prompted   /   status :   accepting .

by now ,   okuyasu knows that reimi is the type to   pour her heart out   without warning or precedent ;   altruism   &   empathy beam from her radiant specter the same way   daylight   pours through a crack in his curtains ,   glowing against his skin in a warm caress .   everything she says   &   does hails from a place of love ,   &   in a number of ways ,   this defining aspect of her feels devastatingly familiar ;   the kind ,   gentle eyes ,   the genuinely tender smiles ,   the words of affirmation   &   encouragement   ━━━━   it registers like something ,   someone ,   he once knew .  

    he cannot bear to think about it ,   now ;   though he fears   forgetting her   more than any of life’s horrors ,   perceivable or otherwise ,   there’s an ache that comes with   remembering ,   too .   he does not wish to show reimi his grief ,   his sadness ,   because she has enough of her own ,   &   okuyasu does not wish to burden her beyond what she has already been forced to carry .

    but maybe she already knows .   she must see the weight slung across his back ,   too ,   the   cruelty   he’s navigated as long as memory serves him .   she would be able to see it clearer than anyone .   hence ,   her words engender bewilderment :   how could the ugly ,   tangled mess inside him be anything awe - inspiring ??   sure ,   he’ll be   damned  if it ever gets him down for long ,   if it’ll stop him from living   the best fucking life he can make for himself ,   for his loved ones ,   but there are times he craves to surrender to the void ,   to be swallowed by the same   lightless abyss   that claimed his brother .   okuyasu won’t allow that to happen ;   if he’s got   anything ,   it’s stubborn resolve .   but he knows it would be easier ,   &   that haunts him enough .

    “   didn’ know there was a   fake me ,   ”   he mutters .   it’s meant to be lighthearted ,   a joke ,   but it leaves him a bit more soberly than he intended .   it isn’t like he was ever smart enough to craft some intricate persona to make himself more compelling ,   more charismatic ,   more   [   . . .   ]   worthy .   “   i’ve never been th’ best at talkin’ about my feelings ,   or anythin’   [   . . .   ]   ya know ,   sentimental ,   ”   okuyasu explains ,   blunt nails scraping thoughtfully against his scarred face .   “   it always turns into a big mess ,   &   i feel like nobody even gets what i’m tryin’ to say .   ”   he hadn’t really had anyone to have those kinds of conversations with ,   before josuke .   before koichi .   before reimi .   but now that the opportunities are plentiful ,   he realizes he’s   unrehearsed   at navigating the   wild west   of all he’s been holding in .   “   but ,   i think   [   . . .   ]   i dunno ,   i guess it’s a lil’ easier to show that side of me around you .   ’cause i know you understand .   more ’n anyone else ,   anyway   [   . . .   ]   ”

    the   heat of embarrassment   starts to plume from his collar ,   magma   clawing its way up a volcano .   that same hand that had scratched his cheek in an   uncertain habit   palms his face ,   tail - less brows scrunching inward as an   innocent frustration   extinguishes his desire to delve any deeper into this topic .   “   i really don’t know what you mean ,   reimi ,   ”   he tells her ,   though it’s not entirely true .   it’s just hard to acknowledge ;   he’d never doubt she’s being sincere ,   it seems that’s all she ever can be ,   but he simply can’t fathom that her words are true .   a reeling dissonance .   after that ,   the alley is quiet ,   much like it usually is ,   but the haunting emptiness is not present .   they’re here together ,   after all .

    “   you might have t’ explain it to me .   i ain’t that smart ,   ya know .   ”

[foolofatook001]

Faerie Fort Week Day Six -- Dawn

Darkest Before

It's cold on top of the Shadow Tower, and even more so when the sun is not in the sky. This is where Lizzie is, though, so it's where Ren's going to be for the foreseeable future. She hasn't said much since they arrived at the tower at dusk, still dusted in ash from the burning of the Fairy Fort. If Ren looks behind him, he can see the plume of smoke still billowing up into the air, blotting out the stars that are just beginning to show their faces, though it seems as though Cleo has controlled the flames so they don't set the entire forest ablaze. 

BigB is currently down below in the tower somewhere: hiding, Ren's fairly certain. Lizzie is sat up on the parapet, facing the ruins of her home, but Ren can tell from her distant gaze that she's not really seeing it. He's keeping an eye on her— he doesn't know much about fairies (or whatever it is that Lizzie really is), but it seems as though the burning of the Fairy Fort has had more of an effect on her than just a base being destroyed. She's seemed… lost, drifting away from awareness all night. Ren knows he ought to be planning how to recoup their losses, rallying anyone who might still be interested in an alliance, maybe start cashing in some favors— but he's worried if he leaves, something equally tragic will happen, and he knows neither of his allies are in a state to handle anything right now. He's not much better, to be honest, but he can at least hold it together until Lizzie and BigB can collect themselves again.

(He misses Cleo. She'd be able to whip them all into shape in no time.) 

Right now, he simply sighs and shifts position on the ground, adjusting his back so it settles more firmly against the wall behind him. He should've put some chairs up here. He might do, if this becomes a regular occurrence, he supposes. 

"My lady," he tries, as a particularly sharp gust of wind pokes its fingers through his cloak and sends a shiver running through him. "Perhaps we should get inside? Where it's warmer?"

Just like the last six times he's made this suggestion, Lizzie simply continues to ignore him. 

"Right," he mumbles, and pulls the cloak a little tighter around himself. He'd go inside, but even that seems too far when Lizzie— distant, seemingly unthinking Lizzie— is sitting there with her feet dangling off the tower. He doesn't dare take his eyes off her, not until she's back to some semblance of normal. 

"Well," he says, when the weight of the darkness and the ash still staining his hands grows too heavy to endure in silence. "You know, it isn't the end of the world." He winces at the cliche of the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but he soldiers on regardless. "We can rebuild— or regrow, I suppose. Or you could just come and live here! I mean, not to brag, but this is a pretty solid base, if I do say so myself— and there's plenty of room, you know." He tilts his chin up, looking at the dim sky. "This isn't the end of the Shadow Alliance, either. We're all still here, mostly. And green! Also mostly. Plus, I've been talkin' to some people, if you know what I'm sayin'. We've got friends out there— and I think that's sort of comforting, right?"

He's just rambling to fill the empty space at this point without expecting an answer, so he's startled when Lizzie speaks up. "Friends?" she rasps. 

"My queen— do you want water— I can—"

"Who are these friends?" Lizzie repeats, turning to face him. 

"Well— Martyn, mostly," he says, off-balance. "We've been talking, and he says he'd join up with us on the sly, give us intel from the South. Etho, too— he wasn't concrete on anything, but he seemed pretty interested in making a treaty of some kind."

There is a light in Lizzie's eyes that has been absent these past hours. "We can work with this," she says. Then her face softens, and she slips down off the parapet and crosses the tower to Ren. He jumps to his feet, and she takes his hand in both of hers. They're cold, but somehow the small smile on her face counteracts the chill entirely. 

"Thank you," she tells him. "For keeping watch. And keeping your head." She laughs, a little self-deprecatingly. "That's what I get for tying up my magic into a base like that."

(Ren files that away for later.)

"It's nothing, my queen," he says aloud, hunching his shoulders a little awkwardly. "I mean, someone had to do it."

"You were right, Ren," she continues. "It isn't the end of the world. We are still here." And she raises his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Then she lets it go. "Now, we ought to head in. There's lots to do."

"Of course, my queen," he replies, falling into step behind her as she makes her way toward the ladder. 

And in the east, the first tinge of dawn pierces through the smoke of the past night's events. 

(also on ao3) (prompt post)

[plumede]

J'ai tellement de peine pour Scar. L'attachement qu'il avait pour Jellie se reflétait pratiquement dans chacune de ses vidéos et il n'y a aucun doute d'à quel point elle était importante pour lui. C'est déchirant de perdre un animal, dans n'importe quelle circonstance. Mais un animal qui nous sert de pilier, qui grandit avec nous et qui s'installe dans nos vies autant que nous-même, nous nous installons dans la leur. C'est faire résonner bien plus encore que de la tristesse et un sentiment de perte...

Je lui souhaite tout le courage et toute la force du monde pour supporter le deuil...J'espère qu'il sera indulgent envers lui-même et qu'il s'autorisera une pause aussi longue que nécessaire. Et surtout que tout le monde aura la décence de ne pas lui en tenir rigueur de prendre du temps pour lui.

Repose en paix petite boule de poil. Tu as été sincèrement aimé de ton maitre et de nous tous.

[amischiefofmuses]

What is your biggest fear? (Morph, Cable, and Constantine maybe?)

Ask Random Muse Questions || Always Accepting

There's silence for a few beats, glances shared between them before John just SIGHS and decides he'll start. Cowards.

-- ❝Since I'm the only one whose got the balls to share, guess I'll start this off.❞ Lighting his cigarette, he takes a long drag and huffs out a plume before he continues. There's no nerves, no shame. ❝Endin' up bein' the one who brings hell to Earth- fuckin' up so hard tryin' to escape my own eternal sufferin' that I end up just changin' locale and doomin' everyone along with me.❞ There's side-eye from Cable, who still doesn't buy into the whatever the petty dabbler is peddling when it comes to talk of Hell and Angels- but the sentiment is close enough to his own that he feels a little more emboldened to share.

-- ❝Mine isn't much different-❞ The admission is gruff, and he can feel the way John and Morph are looking at him, both equally surprised he's actually sharing. Ugh- he regrets opening his mouth but it's too late now to stop without looking like he's backing down. ❝Less.. Hell but that I fuck up the timeline somehow, that I'll be the reason people I care about die.❞ Somehow it's heavier coming from Cable than it is from John- something in the tone, the delivery, like he's seen it happen before. The silence drags. -- ❝Christ, mate. Try t' lighten up a bit, yeah? We're just talkin', y'not about t' be subjected to it.❞ John finally interjects, busying his hands with relighting his cigarette, it's embers having ebbed out while he was stilled.

-- ❝See, mine sounds like NOTHING compared to all that. I'm terrified of being mind-controlled- again.❞ Morph remarks with a half-hearted chuckle, shrugging their shoulders. Though it can't be seen, Cable's own shoulders tense a little, his gaze moving to the floor. ❝Seems to keep happening and I'm hoping it's not a trend.❞ There's been a handful of times now where they've doubted their own control, had to take a moment to do something only they would think of - often resulting in them shapeshifting into something RIDICULOUS. -- ❝Nah- I get it, if it's like bein' possessed then that shit is can be HORRIFYIN'.❞ John nods, settling a hand on Morph's shoulder in support, giving it a squeeze before pulling away. He's been possessed or otherwise puppeteered more times than he can count. ❝Y'know, I've had enough talk of fears now 'cause this is getting far too fuckin' morbid- who wants a drink?❞ -- ❝First lick of sense you've made, count me in.❞ Cable's quick to jump on that particular offer, this whole thing was getting far too emotional for his capabilities. Better to avoid all that. Morph nods, giving a light shrug of their shoulders. -- ❝Yeah, sure, why not.❞

[notladylikes]

her fingers work slowly, putting the pieces of the rifle she just cleaned back together, the hint of gun oil on her fingers enough lubrication for the job to go smoothly. when she's done with this task, she wipes her hands off on the fabric of her denim pants before shifting from where she was sitting, to standing up near the watch tower that had been made. cigarette perched between her lips, she exhales a plume of smoke before dominic, resident leader of their little commune and personal friend.

"'m ready for that run,"

she says, offering up the cigarette to the man. when he takes it, he dabs ashes off the end before indulging in a long slow drag himself, and she realizes that he's drawing out the conversation. curious, she shifts a bit closer, rests her hand on his arm and prods not so gently.

"you're not talkin', who fucked up? do i gotta kick some ass?"

she takes back the cigarette and finishes it off before stubbing it out underneath her boot. tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear, there's a look as she shifts the weight from one foot to another.

"new girl took the run, you're off the hook for today."

"the fuck you mean?"

she asks, a tilt of the head and her fingers automatically shift into fists at her side. realizing that she seems a bit more menacing than she should be, she unclenches her firsts and takes a breath.

"she asked, i figured i'd give you a break."

her anger is welling up from the inside and threatening to escape in a whirlwind of emotion. she can't explode here, she'd already been labeled as a hot head and she doesn't want to do any more damage to her current reputation. instead, she grabs her gun from where it was perched on the side and heads back to her bunk. for the time being, she paces back and forth, desperate to understand why she was picked over this morning. what did this girl have that she didn't?

willa didn't believe the schtick about 'giving her a break', something obviously had to be up between this so claimed 'new girl' and dominic, and a wave of jealousy flared from the inside, causing a reddish tint to spread across her features.

by the time it's nightfall, the new girl has re-appeared. willa corners her in the mess hall just before she's able to have her supper, intentionally trying to intimidate her as she swings about the butterfly knife that is in her possession.

"so, you're the new girl, huh?"

willa says, looking over at @likesouvenirs, trying to hide the jealousy that is evident across her features, but knowing she's ultimately failing at this task. "what's your name, new kid?" she asks, a tilt of the head as she pops a piece of bubblegum in her mouth, chewing it just enough to blow a small bubble before watching it pop on her tongue. she already knows this girl's name, but she doesn't put any stock in that little fact.

[icybreaths]

TWO ENTER. ONE LEAVES.

Talkative bunch, these quincy were. Theatrical, but kind of boring. Jewel came from an action oriented division, where combatants talked more with their weapons not their mouths. Words as weapons weren’t the kind of movement that appealed to her. Threats meant nothing without action. She would have rather agreed to the match and dove in right then and there, but here she was, all but tapping her foot impatiently.

The fanfare felt unnecessary to her. Was this man so desperate for validation that he needed this kind of uproar to pump himself up for a fight? Kind of a pathetic thought, wasn’t it.

Jewel tapped her blade against her shoulder in contemplation. She wasn’t one to jump the gun but it was clear that this Mask fella was rarin’ to go in terms of battling her. She had enough of all of this buildup – it was getting to be annoying.

Yeah, fuck it. She’d ‘ring the bell’ her damn self and get this thing goin’.

She drove the blade into the ground and calmly said, “Hyoumari.” The ground gave a subtle quake before a spiky mass of ice shot out from the ground, splitting it apart wherever it emerged.

Her ice was a show stopper in its own right, for it traveled as fast a bullet, and her opponent was well within firing range.

“Enough talkin’ – c’mon already! I got more important people ta hunt down!”

The presence of her ice set Hyouhakyoku's storm in motion, starting with the drop in temperature, and a faint blue-grey fog that plumed off of and lingered around the ice cluster. Cloudy reiatsu wisped through the air and began to spread out.

A HERO TO THE PEOPLE.

They where more than ready for the main event of the evening, all the challenges they have been through, the matches they have had to take, cage matches, ladder matches, iron man matches, handicap matches, you name it the champ has pushed ahead and overcome each and every single challenge laid down to him, all for the main event.

The title on the line ..

The people cheering louder and louder, all of them having bought their tickets, some front rows, others within the cheap seats all the way in the back, like ants fighting and killing one another, but he would make sure even they got their entertainment, that even they got to see him fight with the title on the line.

Announcer #1: In all my days of sitting at this table I have never seen the champ quite like this, this is truly a match for the ages, the rules are simple, two enter one leaves, the winner claims the world title and the loser, dies. You cannot have bigger stakes than that right there, with everything on the line here and now, who is going to be the one to go home with the gold! Announcer #2: Right you are partner, Mask De Masculine has walked down every single road there is leading him to this moment, he started out at the bottom, wrestling before a crowd of five people for nothing more than a handful of notes and little else, but it was the thrill of the sport of Mask De Masculine, it was that one person cheering him on, his first fan and most loyal one as well, James, you could say they are quite the unit, both of them working together. Announcer #1: I have word from Mask De Masculine himself, that he wishes to dedicate tonight’s victory to all of his friends, his fans, who have perished this night, this war has taken much from all of us and Mask De Masculine knows that the weight of the king himself is on his shoulders, such pressure would crush anyone else, but Mask De Masculine – could you even start to call him normal by any means, he stands within a league of his own, there is no one quite like him.

As he kept flexing, pumping himself up, even more, taunting to the crowd around them, pointing and waving as he was quite literally hulking himself up, getting himself pumped, getting himself hyped, getting himself more than ready for what was to come this night, the main event and the chance, to slam down another rival and defend his title, for a recording breaking time.

“You have never heard of Mask De Masculine!” As they raised their hand and pointed right at them! “You will know the name, when I piledrive you down to the mat, for the one, two and three!”

[fox-steward]

WHY can’t i actually block plume??? report for adult content, report for spam—back to terrorize the gay community without delay.