#rockerboy shadow

[ironaparrot]

WE GOT IDOLVERSE SHADOW!!! ART OF COURSE DONE BY @zucchiyeni AND OF COURSE IDOLVERSE BELONGS TO @zucchiyeni

he a silly rock & roll man

HE'S CANON!!!

Working with reaper!

[the-nation-of-today]

You're looking and whispering You think I'm someone else This is hell, yes Literal hell

[baublekute]

🦾 Rockerboy or Tapeworm

"Is this guy for real?" Johnny tells a bad joke.

In this together or shadows of each other

[civilization-illstayrighthere]

143, 10, 20 - whoever fits the bill c:

143. “You like messing with my head, don’t you?” “Only because it clearly turns you on.”, 10. “Wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.”, 20. “How much do you want this?” (Thanks for asking anon! Know you sent this awhile ago so not sure if you’ll see it, but…) ( smut prompts )

Samurai-era Silverdyne, 1713 words, ~M rating

The metal door of the club swings shut with a bang. That’s not what makes Kerry flinch; it’s the following sound of it being quickly thrown open after, hard enough that it hits the opposite wall.

“Kerry!”

He doesn’t turn around for Johnny as he storms across the parking lot.

“Kerry, would you stop being a little bitch—“

Kerry ducks into the nearest alleyway. He pulls out his cigarettes; his hands are shaking from how furious he is. The time it takes for him to light his menthols makes his irritation that much sharper.

Johnny curses as he turns the corner. Standing in the open alleyway, the halogen street lights of the parking lot cast his shadow across the ground, reaching all the way to the dead-end of the wall. That’s easier to stare at then Johnny himself, his pupils blown behind his aviators, just in a tank despite the nip in the air because he had followed right on Kerry’s heels as he stormed out.

“Fucking overreaction, as always.”

Glaring, Kerry takes a short drag, exhales out a furious plume from his nose. The nicotine’s doing nothing to calm his nerves. “Yeah, me, overreacting. Not the fucker who shot out into the crowd. You could’ve killed someone, Johnny.”

Johnny stops. His momentary confusion melts away with a disparaging scoff.

“I didn’t.”

“You want me to clap? Hoo-fuckin’-ray.”

Johnny frowns.

“Would it kill you to stop being so sensitive? Nothing happened.”

This time, Kerry wants to say, but he’s still so fucking angry and he just wants Johnny to leave, so he grinds his teeth together and nearly bites the filter in two. He’s not even half as concerned as Nance is about deposits and being able to play in some shithole club again, not with the way their record sales and popularity has been spiking, but even he can admit that it was an exceptionally dumb move of Johnny’s. The gun had been aimed high, but taking out a light and raining the back corner of the crowd with glass had probably been the best case scenario for a rockerboy’s errant trigger finger. The idea of accidentally killing a fan of theirs just for Johnny’s lace-fueled power trip made him sick—

“C’mon. That’s not what you’re really mad about. Right? Admit it, Ker.”

Because it’s not like Kerry ended the set after the shot. It’s not like he made a stand and stormed offstage. They finished the show. Went back to the green room. Cracked open what was left of the liquor in their room and a few more sent by adoring fans too stupid to be scared away by any of Johnny’s petty antics.

“We should play spin the bottle,” one of the groupies giggled. She was blonde, big tits, and dumb enough to think Johnny could care about her past how good she rode cock. Just his type.

Kerry never felt any jealousy towards them; fuck, he liked having a guaranteed warm body, too. Had a handsome woman lying across his lap, high as a kite and purring against his lower stomach as he pet over her buzz cut. Johnny always liked to think the world revolved around him; that Kerry, at any moment, was pining after him the same way he did those first few months in the band.

And yeah, maybe Kerry still would’ve slept with Johnny. He was his best friend. In some dream world where Silverhand wasn’t so aggressively straight, and didn’t only get off on his humiliation when it came to Kerry. But he didn’t have notions of maybe-possibly luring Johnny by wearing his pants two sizes too big real low on his hips, playing in that perfect way under the spotlight that’d make Johnny want to fuck Kerry in the green room after, batting his lashes and playing with his hair.

He wasn’t seventeen anymore. He didn’t have some little kid crush. Johnny was the juvenile one. Johnny laughed when he spun the bottle and it landed on Kerry. Crawled across the circle him and Denny and Henry and all the random clinger-ons of their fame and talent had made. His knee hit the bottle and it spun out across the floor somewhere; Kerry didn’t see it because he could only watch Johnny on his hands and knees moving towards him, the top two buttons of his pants undone because the big-titted girl by his side kept playing with them all faux-coy. And he knew what he was doing, his hair still mussed from the show hanging in his face, practically slithering up to Kerry. He smelled like sweat, distinctly Johnny and achingly familiar from their years sharing squats and tour buses and beds. His breath, that smelled like whisky, and he only knew that because he got close enough that Kerry could smell it, could breathe it in. Johnny smirked, devastatingly mean and knowingly attractive, achingly good looking in only the way a rockerboy with dark circles under his eyes and his lips quirked in a sneer could. The only way Johnny could.

And then Johnny kissed him.

Johnny kissed him. He got Kerry breathless. He got him so turned on, a fucking puddle in his hands. And when he pulled away, he shoved Kerry’s shoulder and he turned around, and he looked at everyone in the room— he looked at that groupie, that girl that was everything he wasn’t, the one he actually wanted to have under his hands— and he laughed.

Yeah. Yeah, Kerry was mad. He takes one last drag of his cigarette, throws the butt on the ground and stomps it out under his heel.

“You like messing with my head, don’t you?” He spits.

Johnny doesn’t answer right away. Humorlessly, he chuckles. Shakes his head. His shoulders lift, somewhere between hopelessly conceding and a silent laugh.

Finally, he says, “only because it clearly turns you on.”

Kerry’s hands clench by his sides, lip curling. “Fuck off, Johnny. I’m not playing your stupid games.”

Stalking forward, Johnny closes the distance between them. Kerry shakes his head. He doesn’t want to look him in the eye. He’s going to hit him.

“Go back inside.” He says.

“You don’t want that,” says Johnny.

What Kerry wants is to go back in time and push Johnny away. Laughed at him and told him to fuck off then when he was kneeling there in front of him. Instead he stared, dumbfounded, arrested in place. When Johnny grabbed him with his metal hand buried in the roots of his hair, yanked a little, tugged a lot, Kerry went easy. He bared his neck. Moaned easy, too. It wasn’t his fault. He was kind of drunk, too. Not as much as Johnny must’ve been, to be doing shit like that in front of so many people and the band.

Johnny steps forward. Kerry steps back. He juts out his chin. Tilts his head up so he’s glaring right into his bloodshot eyes, noticeable even behind the cover of his aviators.

“Fuck. You.”

Johnny takes another step forward.

Kerry’s so fucking angry, he’s so fucking done, and Johnny takes another step forward and so does Kerry this time, throwing his weight into the punch that hits Johnny square in the face. It sends him stumbling back. Kerry’s knuckles throb.

Doubled over, Johnny laughs. When he rights himself, there’s blood in his smile; split lip, to match Kerry’s split knuckles.

Johnny doesn’t have to lunge, doesn’t have to move with any urgency. Kerry stands there and Johnny just grabs him. His chrome hand cinches like a pair of handcuffs around his wrist, a sharp point against the bone.

When Kerry doesn’t move, he just pushes into him; even digging his heels into the concrete doesn’t give enough purchase not to stumble backward, not with Johnny wrenching his arm out and upward. It throws him off balance— the wall catches his back, brick rough where his shirt rides up a little and Johnny pins him there.

Johnny’s thigh cages him in from the front, wedged right between his legs, pressed firm against his cunt.

This is new. This is the furthest he’s ever pushed it. It’s all body warmed leather against body warmed leather, no boxers in-between. Kerry exhales shakily, managing to still glower up at Johnny.

He’s got blood smeared over his bottom lip. Kerry hates that he wants to taste Johnny’s lips again. Before, back in the green room, he tasted mostly like alcohol. When he sucked on Kerry’s tongue, dug his fingers into his hair, he tasted exactly like he thought Johnny always would.

“How much do you want this?”

Johnny’s voice is all low, gravel under the tires of that hotshot Porsche he just bought and the way he growls in the mic after twelve straight hours awake on blow and whisky. Kerry wants it. Johnny knows it. He doesn’t have to ask, and he sure as fuck doesn’t have to answer; but he does, because he’s Johnny Silverhand, and he’s always been an unrepentant dick.

“Answer me.”

“Yeah?” Kerry tries, “how much do you want it, Johnny? ‘Cause you’re the one who came outside and followed me.”

The corner of Johnny’s mouth twitches. Like he hadn’t expected Kerry to still fight back— like maybe he liked it, or couldn’t decide either way. He pulls his arm a little further up, until Kerry’s shoulder twinges, pinning it to the brick above his head as he leans in; he stops when their foreheads butt together, lips an inch apart. When Johnny opens his mouth, Kerry’s close enough to hear the sound of his lips parting, of his tongue wetting his lips before he speaks. Slow, measured, so that every single word sinks under Kerry’s skin:

“Wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.”

Kerry sucks in a breath like a gunshot. His cunt throbs.

“You’re drunk, Johnny.”

Johnny smirks. His ‘ganic hand settles against his hip, right under where his tank rode up and his pants were riding real low, and makes him flinch in surprise.

“You’re—“ Kerry croaks, and his voice traiterously thins when Johnny’s thumb rubs over his hipbone, then dips down to trace the waistband of his pants, “fuck you—“

Johnny kisses him; without an audience, without a spotlight.

[elvenbeard]

Blank Canvas

Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfic Summary: Mr. B has called, and V and and Kerry follow his invitation. The man who claims he holds the solution to V's problem in his hands, has yet to deliver the proof and keep his word... This is truly V's last shot at a long and happy life, and he sacrificed so much to get here... it better be worth it. (Post-Sun-Ending, mostly canon-compliant, Chapter 8/?, 7542 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V, content warning for mild body horror and canonical disgustingness! - notes at the end >> Previous Chapter >> Read from the Beginning

V’s Kenshin tech pistol rested heavy in his lap. The sharp, cold metal ridges of the word “arasaka” engraved into the barrel bit his tracing fingertips. His eyes were pinned to the building not far ahead, casting an ominous shadow on them in the late afternoon light.

“Got the sneakin’ suspicion we’ll lose contact as soon as you go in,” Rogue said on the holo, “So if I don’t hear back from you within an hour…”

“Send in the cavalry,” V chuckled, as did Rogue on the other end of the line. She sighed.

“Don’t think you gotta worry as much as ya do. They’re shady motherfuckers… but that’s what’s gonna be your protection. They wouldn’t wanna draw the attention hurting you would get ‘em… and even more so, fuckin’ Eurodyne.”

“Good point,” V said, but he couldn’t quite shake the impression that Rogue herself wasn’t so sure about this, deflecting, relativizing a little too much. She’d been in this business more than thrice the time he had, knew what she was talking about. Usually. But even she didn’t know more about these people than V did.

“Ya really think it’s a good idea to take him along?” she asked after a short pause.

V kept his eyes straight ahead, to not give Kerry, on the driver’s seat next to him still, any indication that they were talking about him.

“Well, what do you think?” he said in a tone as neutral as he managed.

“That he’s almost as fuckin’ stubborn as Johnny,” Rogue said, “I get it, really do. Still… Y’know what happened last time I took a rockerboy to a gig.”

“Yeah…”

This knowledge, this memory, was exactly why V did not want Kerry here with him, amongst many other reasons practical, logical, and probably also irrational.

“I’m not sayin’ that lightly,” she said, “But be careful. He might be doin’ this for you, and it could make all the difference. But they sure as fuck know he’s your biggest weakness while you’re in there together. They’re not gonna hesitate to use that against you if they gotta.”

There was a short, heavy pause.

“C’mon now, go, kid,” Rogue then said, ordered almost, “Lemme know how it went… And don’t worry ‘bout the Afterlife. We’ll cope with not havin’ ya around a little while longer.”

“Still not a fan of my optimization plans, hm?” V grinned.

“Fuck off. And move your ass. I’m not gonna come over and kick it for ya.”

She ended the call and V sighed.

“So… she got any final words of wisdom?” Kerry asked, fingers gently drumming on the steering wheel. They had swapped cars at home, and with what Rogue had said just now V wondered if it might not have been better after all to use Kerry’s Aerondight to get here… But then again, if shit hit the fan in some way, he didn’t want any more unnecessary negative attention drawn to him.

“Not really,” V shook his head, “Nothin’ I didn’t think of already at least.”

“Told ya so,” Kerry shrugged, pulling out his cigarettes at the same time. He only paused when he noticed V’s stern stare.

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled and then got out of the car. They had not only swapped cars, but also changed clothes quickly while at the penthouse. As he slipped from the driver’s seat, Kerry’s black bomber jacket rode up briefly, revealing the gun tucked into the waistband of his cargo pants.

“You shouldn’t do that,” V said as he got out himself, “Posers in action films keep their gun in their pants. In the real world that’s gonna get you shot in the ass faster than you think.”

Out of reflex V closed the passenger side door with his left elbow, flinching at the pain shooting through his shoulder and chest. He took a deep breath, then adjusted his own gun holster worn snugly under his coat.

“Fiiine,” Kerry sighed, lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and he put the gun into his jacket’s pocket. Not ideal still, but better. V smiled at him, and then slowly turned to look down the short, narrow side street they were parked in. They were close to the Santo Domingo district border, in the middle of the industrial area at the edge of the city. The location coordinates Mr. B had sent him laid not far ahead. A new, sleek white building, curved and modern in design, rose at the center of what he remembered to be factory grounds formerly. V guessed it around seven stories tall and it was far from imposing, a little bit lost on the large lot even, but it blended in well with the surrounding corpo complexes. The entire compound was fenced in. V spotted cameras and security turrets near the reinforced entrance gate. No security staff though, not even mechs or drones, much to his surprise. Or maybe they were simply not out in the open, or cloaked, or, or, or...

“I’d like to have a short look around before goin’ in,” V said, turning back to Kerry, “You wanna wait here?”

“I’d rather tag along,” he said, then added, “If I’m not in the way.”

Kerry’s tone was off, he stood slightly hunched over, as if to make himself smaller.

“You’re not,” V quickly said, forcing a smile as he reached out to tug on his sleeve briefly. Kerry really wouldn’t be a bother for some casual scouting ahead of time. He might even notice things V didn’t. Four eyes, and all that.

“I’m just asking ‘cause I’m still not sure what to really expect. Give you the chance to back out, y’know?”

“V, how many more times do I gotta tell you you’re stuck with me?” Kerry asked sternly, then slowly started walking towards the compound and V followed. As soon as they’d reached the end of the side street though, he hesitated and turned back around, downplaying his uneasiness with a brief smirk and cocky shrug, as if to say, “after you”.

“Let’s go for a short walk around the block,” he decided, nodding to have Kerry follow him around the corner. To look around, and to maybe walk off some of their nervous energy.

They headed along the main road in northern direction, “Francis Street” said the small buzzing signs at the intersection. The building was to their left now, and they’d slowly surround it counterclockwise. Kerry stayed close, V had his scanners active and investigated the security setup, looking for weaknesses in the system or structure, and anything out of the ordinary they could potentially use to their advantage.

“Isn’t it, dunno… suspicious to walk around out in the open like this?” Kerry asked shorty before they’d turn around the first corner, “I mean, not tellin’ ya how to do your job, but…”

“No, you’re not wrong,” V said, “But this is not a stealth job. If we had to sneak in quietly, I would’ve parked the car somewhere else to begin with. Do the reconnaissance from further away, over a longer timeframe. But since they expect me, and we got an access token…”

“Then… why make the effort?” Kerry wondered.

“Can’t hurt to know what we’re up against if something goes wrong,” V said, “I don’t know this area well, and it’s good to have a rough layout of everything in mind at least. ‘specially since the place doesn’t seem to have regular windows.”

They stopped briefly on the northern side of the compound and V nodded into the direction of the building. So far, he had noted nothing out of the usual, nothing he wouldn’t have expected in one way or another.

“See that?” he pointed to a gate on the side of the building blending in so well with the exterior walls, it was barely visible without a scanner, “Could be a garage entrance, and going by the size it’s big enough for a small tank. Could even lead underground. And the lights on the roof, the colors, and the way they’re arranged, suggest an AV landing pad. But can’t tell from here if there’s one there right now or not. No big communication towers or anything though, so this is all pretty closed off, which fits their secrecy and posing as an independent little lab with no ulterior motives. The security tech I’ve seen so far… all Arasaka, even if they removed the branding for most of it to make it less apparent.”

No wonder, his former employer’s name wasn’t well-liked in Night City once again.

“Huh,” Kerry pondered V’s explanations for a moment, looking the building up and down, “Wouldn’t even know where to start, like… sure, there’s security turrets and cameras but, what to do with that info…”

V had been uncertain about whether or not he wanted to… but in the end, he was convinced that Mr. B would expect him to check out their security upfront.

“Can you keep an eye out for a moment?” V asked, “Just out here on the street. Make a note of anyone passing by or giving us weird looks.”

“What’re you up to?” Kerry wanted to know, shoulders tense, but voice relaxed.

“Check the cameras. Just a minute or so, don’t wanna push it,” he said with a grin, hacking into the CCTV at the same time. His vision blurred and he gained control of the camera nearest to their position. It was attached to the corner post of the fence surrounding the compound.

“Oookay…” Kerry said reluctantly, and through the lens V saw themselves, Kerry looking around with his hands in his pockets, surely clinging to his iron.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to soothe him, “I’ll be quick and then we continue.”

The cameras on the outside of the building were all part of a separate closed-circuit network, and V couldn’t find an easy way to gain access to any internal systems. Not that he had expected to. He switched through the various cameras, most of them on the fences, around the gate, then surprisingly one surveying from the rooftop. He panned it around.

“Huh, no AV on the roof,” he informed Kerry, “Also, nothing out of the usual… apart from all security completely automated it seems. No illusive private security firm like the Peralezes had to deal with…”

He logged out of the system again, blinking a few times until his optics had refocused.

“Let’s move on.”

They completed the rest of their lap around the compound in a little less than ten minutes overall. There was not much to discover, nothing out of the usual, and V had to shut up the nagging voice in the back of his head complaining that all he did was procrastinate the inevitable.

“Last chance,” he said quietly, turned to Kerry, who shook his head sternly, eyes narrowed and dark.

“The only way I’m not going in there with you ’s them draggin’ me back out by my feet.”

V more mouthed than said “okay” in response, but still his whole body screamed to put Kerry back into the car and lock the doors until this was over. Instead, he stepped down from the curb onto the dusty tarmac. Crossing the few yards now separating them from the compound entrance seemed to be an insurmountable distance, while with each step V’s dread grew.

The gate at the center of the lot was heavy black metal, just like the fence. V recognized security scanners embedded into the floor. A couple of signs attached warned of trespassing and lethal force being used, the usual markings one could find to the entrance of every corporate- or government owned facility like this. Only now V finally noticed the nameplate above the entrance. It was somewhat subtle, fine silver letters engraved into white marble-like material, mirroring the design of the building.

“Beyond?” Kerry muttered as if he’d read V’s mind. V glanced at him also reading the sign, then Kerry looked at him.

“Heard worse names for a startup,” V shrugged. Very faintly below the “Beyond” a tagline stated “Technologies” in a spaced out, heavier font.

“Guess time will tell if they’re beyond awesome or beyond awful,” Kerry muttered, and V chuckled.

“Beyond belief, maybe?” he said, and Kerry groaned.

“Beyond belief how many bad puns this will lead to…”

They both snickered, briefly forgetting why they were here, that there was nothing really to joke about just yet.

V looked around for an intercom or something comparable, but there was nothing.  Security cameras, yes, but even as they finally stood right in front of the gate, there seemed to be no immediately visible way inside, nothing happened.

“Hello?” he asked out loud, for lack of a better idea in the moment, his heart beating in his throat, “I’m here… For Mr. B?”

Nothing.

Kerry stepped a little closer, hands still in his pockets, and looked around, over his shoulder, at V.

“Gonna try and call him,” V said after a couple of moments, but then a soft crackle of static somewhere above their heads made them both look up.

“Welcome,” a voice said. Not Mr. B’s as far as V could tell, probably an automated receptionist. He still couldn’t tell where exactly it was coming from though, it seemed to be all around them with no discernible source. Not loud or otherwise attention-drawing, only just so they could hear it.

“Please step into the scanner,” the voice ordered.

V did as he was told, somewhat reluctantly, and he flinched slightly when suddenly Kerry grabbed his hand. Not to hold him back, just to hold on as he followed. The scanner activated, blue lights flashing and surrounding them completely for a few seconds.

“Firearms detected,” the voice said, “Combat cyberware detected.”

“A cyberdeck is classified as a weapon now?” V muttered under his breath as the scan completed.

“Ezaki, Vincent, 28. Fixer, Afterlife-Merc. Ex-Agent, rank III, Arasaka Counterintelligence. ‘King of the Afterlife’, wanted in Night City for - …”

“The fuck, you wanna yell my whole biography across the street?” V complained and almost simultaneously Kerry also started berating the voice.

“Shit, how do you even know - …”

They looked at each other, as the voice continued. Then it dawned on V. He only heard it in his head.

“Fuck me sideways…” Kerry muttered quietly, coming to the same conclusion, “That’s not creepy at all...”

“Scan complete,” the voice said before they could even recover from their realization, “Token verified. Visitor access granted.”

There was a loud click and a thud, and then, like an ancient creature awaking from its slumber, the massive gate crawled open.

“What the fuck was that?” Kerry asked, both of them hesitating to enter.

“Intimidation tactics,” V said sternly.

“If that’s how they treat their guests I don’t wanna know how they treat their enemies,” Kerry mumbled. V wondered if concepts like “friends” and “enemies” really mattered all that much to these people.

“Stay behind me a bit, just in case,” he said, still convinced that any moment now someone would open fire, or snatch Kerry away from him, that he was not wanted here after all. Reluctantly Kerry let go of his hand as they entered the compound, the gate rattling shut behind them again. Mr. B had sprung one of his may traps once more.

A white-tiled path wound its way between coarse dark gravel towards the entrance of the building, framed by freshly planted, synthetic bonsai trees that were all a bit too uniform, too perfect. V and Kerry were not even halfway there when the tall black entrance doors slid open, revealing a sprawling hall beyond. A handful of flat steps led up and into it, and the hair on V’s neck stood up when they stepped inside.

“Got a bad feeling,” Kerry uttered out loud what V was thinking.

Describing the entrance hall as imposing was an under- and overstatement at the same time, somehow. Its dimensions were certainly breathtaking, encompassing at least half of the building’s height and width. A smartglass ceiling projected the endless night sky above them, cosmic clouds swirling between sparkling stars and far solar systems, the logo “Beyond Technologies” floating among the digital nebulas. The darkness of the ceiling was reflected in the black marble flooring, while the indirectly lit walls were white. Decorative silver lines crawled between earth below and sky above, reminiscent of circuit boards. “We reach for the stars” seemed to be the message here, and the first impression was certainly something. Apart from that though, the room was disappointingly empty, almost as if the budget had run out mid-furnishing. No desks, chairs, decorations. No people, either, and the security systems, which certainly existed, were well-hidden. On the inside the building was just as devoid of actual life as its surroundings.

The only outstanding architectural element was a large glass tube housing two separate elevator shafts at the center of the room, the only other visible ways in and out. Just as V had finished the thought, an elevator came into sight from above, within the familiar face of Mr. B.

“That’s him,” V whispered, and Kerry shuffled, whether with unease or to ready himself he was not certain.

The elevator stopped on their level, the door slid open elegantly. Mr. B, dressed in a white blazer combined with sleek, silvery pants today, stepped out towards them.

“So glad you could make it this soon,” he said, tone overly friendly, “Although you look somewhat more roughed-up than Saturday…”

“Nothin’ to do with the gig,” V quickly deflected.

“Didn’t think so,” Mr. B said with a nod. He slowly, steadily walked towards them, but stopped retaining about three yards of distance – respectful or distrustful? Arms behind his straightened back, he held his head high, and blue glowing eyes looked V up and down briefly before wandering to Kerry.

“Mr. Eurodyne,” he hinted a bow, “A true honor and pleasure to meet another Night City legend in person.”

V half expected a snarky response like “wish I could say the same” or “can we just skip the pleasantries and get down to business”, but in fact, Kerry remained quiet. V looked over his shoulder, just to make sure he was still there.

“So, you’re the guy claimin’ he can save V’s life?” Kerry then finally said, the tiniest, most gut-wrenching tremble accompanying his last few words.

Mr. B’s smile grew slightly wider.

“I’m not just claiming it,” he said, oozing confidence.

“How?” Kerry asked promptly, “’Cause - …”

Mr. B raised his hand to stop him, and Kerry scoffed.

“I think it is easier to show you than to explain,” he said, “Follow me, please.”

He half-turned and elegantly gestured towards the elevator. V and Kerry exchanged a quick glance. V could sense Kerry’s nerves, his nausea about this whole situation. Every cell in V’s own body warned him about stepping into that elevator and yet… Was that Johnny’s lingering influence, his aversion to corporations and slimy bastards like Mr. B, or really V’s own instinct speaking? Also, Mr. B seemed surprisingly relaxed about Kerry even being here… V had expected more of a resistance, more hoops to jump through. And now they were invited in just like that?

Mr. B led the way and V and Kerry felt they had no other option but to follow, as if they were being pulled by an invisible leash. There was no way for them to speak, communicate what to do if something went wrong. V did a quick scan of their surroundings as they walked, noting that there really were no doors beyond the entrance and the elevators in this whole cathedral of a room – was this really built just to show off, impress the – presumably – rare visitors?

“After you,” Mr. B said and V stepped into the wide, circular elevator, closely followed by Kerry, glued to his side.

“I know everything is a bit bleak still out here,” Mr. B then said with a glance over his shoulder, right as he joined them. V shivered.

“Not at all, it is impressive,” he flattered, “But yes, you mentioned this building is brand-new?”

Blue-Eyes nodded.

“You are among the first of our… clients to walk within these walls,” he said, “For lack of a better term.”

The doors slid shut with precision. V couldn’t see a control panel, and yet the elevator just seemed to know where they were headed, ascending towards the galaxy ceiling, and then passing through. Remote controlled, probably. Blue-Eyes had to be stock-full of chrome capable of little tricks like that, nothing that impressed V too much just yet.

“Who are your other ‘clients’, apart from people you invest in,” V inquired instead. Unable to hide his curiosity he deliberately used Mr. B’s terminology, even though he’d always hated to be treated as some corporation’s investment. Kerry’s stinging stare was like a knife to his throat, but V kept his eyes on Mr. B as they ascended slowly. The elevator shaft was only see-through on the ground level, further up the futuristic magic of it all was somewhat diminished, replaced with run-of-the-mill skyscraper interior aesthetics.

Mr. B turned to look at V, smile as piercing as his eyes.

“So far it is only people we invest in – in one way or another,” he said.

The elevator came to a halt, the doors slid open again, revealing a long, bright corridor that screamed “lab”. There were doors left and right, but V could not make out identifying markers, nameplates, or anything else to give an indication of what lay behind them as they followed Mr. B to the end of the hallway. The silence, apart from their echoing footsteps, was thick, and V counted the doors, memorizing how far apart they were and approximated how long it would take to run the entire distance to the elevator, how quickly they would be able to find cover.

Mr. B opened the tall white door ahead of them. They entered a large office, its shape followed the curve of the building’s exterior walls, and V roughly knew where they were now. Somewhere above the large garage gate they’d seen from the outside.

The room was about twice the size of V’s old Megabuilding H10 apartment. The entirety of the curved wall was covered in smartglass displaying once more the name “Beyond” on a minimalistic, slightly animated white and silver background. It provided enough illumination to bathe the whole room in soft, almost-natural light. A large white desk sat roughly at the back center of the room, a modern art piece of its own volition. There were two comfortable armchairs for visitors and a large office chair behind it, all white leather. In fact, the whole room was so bright, so white, so immaculately clean that it made V dizzy. As if he’d walked right into the afterlife – the literal one this time, not the bar. And again, apart from the desk and seating, there was nothing else in here. Some modular shelves built into the walls that weren’t covered in screens, but no decoration, no sliver of personality. Smooth, cold, bright, blinding, corpo-chic… in a way, it did make sense after all that this was Mr. Blue-Eyes’ office.

“Please, have a seat,” Mr. B said as he sat down in the office chair. V and Kerry obliged, Kerry still with his hands in his pockets, slumping back, legs spread wide, right one slightly bouncing. He never took his eyes off Mr. B. The latter pulled up a holographic screen in front of him, top-notch tech if V had ever seen any. Arasaka’s collapse was probably what had made the setup of this lab possible in the first place – certainly the security measures, so why not the tech on the inside as well? In a way, V was suddenly thrown back into Jenkins’ office, the many lengthy private meetings either with just V alone or the other agents on his level invited.

“I take it Mr. Eurodyne has been brought up to date on why you’re here today?” Mr. B then asked, catching V completely off guard. Blue-Eyes tapped around on his screen briefly before leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, and hands folded expectantly. Only now Kerry briefly glanced at V.

“Wish I was being brought up to date still if I’m being completely honest,” V said sternly, “I’ve kept my word, no mention of what I did for you until it was done.”

“Who else knows?” was the counter-question.

“No-one that wasn’t directly involved,” V replied fast and truthfully.

Blue-glowing eyes stared him down intensely, certainly equipped with the tech to read intention and recognize lies. But V was a good liar, and in this case, for once, he even told the truth, had nothing to hide. After a couple of moments, Mr. B’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, but V’s heart continued to run a marathon in his chest.

“I’ve left him in the dark long enough. Your turn now,” he added sternly.

Mr. B slightly tilted his head, and his smile returned.

“You remember our conversation at the Afterlife?” he asked, “I promised you something beyond your wildest imagination… An instant and permanent solution to your medical issues.”

He cleared his throat briefly, then continued. V had to force himself to relax his own posture, mirroring Blue-Eyes’ now with his legs crossed, as if they were having a nice dinner date to talk business.

“The way I see it, having known you and your condition for a while now, your problem has always been the one of an alert, bright mind, trapped in a dying body,” Mr. B said, “First it was the Relic slowly killing you, and now it’s the only thing that’s left of your life how it used to be.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” V shook his head, but he was sick to his stomach hearing what he knew deep down spelled out so clearly, with so little emotion. The doctors they’d dealt with so far had always at least somewhat tried to sugarcoat the facts, usually in medical terms. Or provided them with the same “options” Hellman had already loved to push on him, “options” to consider apart from chasing a cure that didn’t exist.

“You can sense it though, don’t you?” Mr. B continued, leaning forward slightly now, “You should, at this point. Your mind disconnecting itself, slowly but surely, from a host not fitting its specifications anymore.”

“Can you cut it out with that gross tech-jabber?” Kerry interrupted him now, “V’s not some machine, and his body is his body, not a ‘host’, for fuck’s sake.”

Mr. B briefly turned to look at Kerry, keeping up his friendly smile.

“Apologies,” he said, “I do sometimes get caught up in the technical terminology.”

“How do you know all that anyway?” V then asked, trying to maintain his relaxed posture while his head began to throb in pain once more, “The emptiness the… disconnect. Because yes. That’s how I’d put into words what I’m feeling lately. Or… not feeling, rather.”

Blue-Eyes reached out to turn around his screen for V and Kerry to see.

“We were able to get our hands on a lot of very interesting data from Arasaka’s ‘Secure your Soul’ program,” he explained, “It is far from complete, but we have access to a large database containing both simulations and clinical trials with human study participants, for both the original Relic and the Relic 2.0. With what we have, gaps were easy to approximate.”

V scanned through the data on the screen briefly, recognizing some names and information here and there from his own venture into the depths of Arasaka’s labs during that long, dark, awful night back in June.

“The 2.0 never made it to completion though,” V then said, looking up from the terminal, “I’m the first one where it… somewhat worked as intended. Failed successfully. Hellman himself said so.”

“Indeed,” Mr. B nodded, “We were able to secure many notes of Mr. Hellman’s team as well, verifying his concerns on our own time meanwhile, and reaching similar conclusions. In subjects where the Relic malfunctioned or the engram didn’t fully take, even in those otherwise most promising, there was always mentions of a growing numbness, disconnect, distance between engram and host… until the engram eventually malfunctioned and, for lack of a better word, disabled itself.”

“You mean, died,” Kerry said sternly.

“I hope you’re not implying you’ve carried on Hellman’s work…” V asked, his mind racing at the mental image of the basement levels of this building just a whiter, friendlier-looking copy of Arasaka’s labs, while containing the same or even more messed up levels of human experimentation. He did not like Mr. B’s widening, predator-like smile.

“Not in the sense you’re imagining,” he shook his head. But he did not outright deny it either.

V swallowed, he struggled to continue holding eye-contact with Mr. B, when his mind told him “Run. Now!”. Kerry looked back and forth between V and Blue-Eyes tensely, brow heavily furrowed, slowly sliding closer to the edge of his seat.

“Anders Hellman’s focus were the Relic’s architecture and the engrams themselves. Optimizing those two variables to ensure the transferred personalities were as close to their originals as possible,” Mr. B continued, “For Arasaka’s purposes that was a valid concern. Nothing worse than transferring Saburo-sama into a new host body only to have him, well… come back wrong. Not the man, the leader he is. It makes sense.”

He paused, uncrossed his legs, and got up from his chair. He turned to look at the smartglass wall behind them, the slightly pulsating “Beyond” engulfed in digital fog. Then he looked back at V.

“Your concern though, as mentioned, lies in the fact that you’re currently in the wrong kind of host body, which is actively rejecting your psyche.”

“Get to the fucking point, fucking hell,” Kerry muttered and pulled out his cigarettes.

“I’d kindly ask you not to smoke in here,” Mr. B said, tone still friendly, but he looked down on them, towered over them.

“Make me,” Kerry challenged, rummaging for his lighter at the same time, eyes electric and wild.

“Kerry,” V awkwardly placed his injured hand on Kerry’s right thigh in an attempt to soothe him. Only after staring at each other intensely for a couple of moments Kerry stopped searching for his lighter.

“I don’t like where this is going either,” V thought, hoping somehow to convey his conflicting emotions without words. He hated everything about this, but… Mr. B’s promise was his last shot at a life together. At the very least he wanted to hear all details of his offer, even if…

Kerry put his hand on V’s carefully, holding it in place. He understood.

“I know this is a lot to take in at once,” Mr. B then said, “Even more so I am glad to have you both here, as, with how close you are, my solution to your problem will certainly be a concern for each of you to consider.”

V’s stomach twisted at that implication alone. Mr. B tapped around on his screen once more, and a sudden hissing noise behind them made both V and Kerry flinch, then spin around. A previously invisible hatch in the ground slid open, steam rolling in, probably caused by the reaction of some sort of coolant with the nicely air-conditioned office. A large platform began to rise from the ground, on top of it an eerily coffin-shaped and -sized container.

“Here is my offer, my solution, my payment for you, V,” Mr. B said proudly, “And my promise for a bright future ahead.”

V’s heart and thoughts were racing. The platform came to an agonizingly slow halt, locking into place with a metallic thud. The cold steam slowly subsided, and Mr. B walked around the desk passing them, towards the container, until it sat between them. It was built from the same black metal as the gate and fence outside, as the interior of the building beneath the polished white walls and shiny screens.

“Am I gonna regret looking at this?” V asked hesitantly, still glued to his chair, as was Kerry, fingertips digging into the syn-leather.

“I think you have seen worse in your time,” Mr. B smiled, then beckoned him to come over. V rose, slowly, each movement calculated precisely. Step by step, one after the other… his feet barely obeyed him, he had to convince them to move, carry him towards this human-sized pandora’s box.

Kerry remained behind a little while longer but got up as soon as V had reached the platform.

The lid on top of the container was see-through, thick security glass, slightly covered in condensation. The interior was still clearly visible though, illuminated by the same icy light as everything in the building.

V leaned forward, daring a glimpse. He gasped, shuddered at the sight of a body laying inside. Not surprised, he was also not thrilled, but also unable to take his eyes off of it. This was not a random dead person in front of him. It appeared human at first glance, but the longer V looked the more wrong it became. It was hairless, sexless, naked, its facial features weirdly smooth and undefinable, a mannequin made to look human at best… and the worst alternatives would certainly haunt V’s nightmares in the days to come. It appeared sleeping, or dead, arms resting at its sides, its eyelash-less eyes closed. It wasn’t breathing, seemed frozen in place almost, and the container was giving off an icy cold aura.

 “What in the fuck… is that?” V finally managed to ask. Stepping away from the container he bumped into Kerry who had only just reached his side.

“Your means of survival,” Mr. B said as if they were looking at a cartoonishly colorful pill bottle, not a prop from a bad mid-last-century sci-fi horror flick.

“Sorry, but that ain’t quite cutting it as an explanation,” V said, and he was close to reaching the point of slapping the slimy smile out of Mr. B’s face. He kept his cool though, forced himself to breathe slowly.

“Motherfucker, what the hell…” Kerry hissed, now also getting a peek into the futuristic metal-casket, but he quickly withdrew again, “That a fuckin’ corpse or what?”

“What you’re seeing here is a second chance for many people in your situation, V,” Mr. B said, disregarding Kerry’s remark. He placed his hands on the rim of the container’s lid.

“People with a healthy mind that are dying of an incurable disease, whatever it may be. Let down by their own body, all options are exhausted. But they are not yet ready to give up. This is an individual, pain-free solution to live a long, healthy life, in a more natural way than any other modern therapy could offer.”

“Fuck that, nothin’ ‘bout that thing’s natural,” Kerry grumbled, and once more, Mr. B raised a hand to stop him, calm him down. Kerry glared, then he turned to V.

“You’re seeing how fucked up this is, right?”

V’s own heartbeat was so loud, he barely heard Kerry’s voice.

“This is more natural than your body is at this stage, Mr. Eurodyne,” Mr. B said, then paused briefly, “No offense.”

Kerry froze, biting his tongue certainly sharp with an angry retort.

“What exactly is it, even?” V then slowly asked, but still didn’t dare to look back inside the container, “Some kinda… RealSkinn-covered cyborg? A new kinda total body conversion, a clone, or what?”

“Neither, not quite,” Mr. B shook his head. He looked down into the coffin, bright light from within reflected in his eyes, illuminating his pale face. Then he took half a step back again and sought V’s gaze.

“This is the product of years of trial and error, research and optimization, many failures,” he began to explain, “A blank canvas comes closest maybe to what it is exactly. No conversion, but a replacement. A biological body, with slight… enhancements. It needs food, sleep, exercise, grows hair, ages, can get aroused, sick, injured, bleeds, and it will eventually die… everything a ‘natural’ body would do as well. This is not immortality, but life. The body can be pre-equipped with top-tier synthetic organs, an operating system, interface plugs, personal link, and any other cyberware the client wishes for or is used to. With the great benefit that, since the body ‘naturally’ comes with these enhancements, cyberpsychosis is almost no concern anymore, for example. On its own though it cannot survive. It needs to be equipped with a conscience first.”

“Not so ‘natural’ after all then…” Kerry muttered under his breath.

“No offense,” V said, “That’s all nice and well but…”

“You can’t see yet how this would help you in your situation?” Mr. B asked. V grinned.

“That thing’s ugly as fuck,” he said, “Adam Smasher was a beauty pageant winner in comparison.”

Mr. B chuckled, but his eyes remained coldly fixated on him.

“Can I just pick a nice faceplate to slap on, too, together with all the other fancy chrome you can stuff in there?”

“Oh, far from it, V,” Mr. B said, raising his head triumphant, “This body can be yours as much – or even more so – than your current one is.”

He walked to the lower end of the container, tapping onto a small panel there. V was momentarily scared the creepy flesh-mannequin would now wake up and emerge, to secure its spot in the top three of messed up things he’d seen this year. Instead, though, the glass panel atop the container flickered, like a screen being turned on.

“No need to be afraid,” Mr. B smiled.

“I’m not,” V quickly retorted, almost believing himself.

“Come closer, have a look.”

V swallowed, then slowly stepped forward again. When he looked in the container, his heart stopped. He looked at his own face, asleep, dead, frozen in this weird state of stasis.

“What the… a projection?” he realized as he tried to process this visual still.

“To give you an idea of what’s possible,” Mr. B nodded.

And indeed, it was still the same, blank, doll-like body, just with his face and hair projected onto it. Kerry slowly approached again as well, staring into the container speechlessly.

“The body will be yours not only in a biological sense,” Mr. B explained, “We use your DNA’s structure as a basis to shape the genetic aspects. From skin- and hair color down to individual freckles.”

The projection slightly adjusted, beginning to resemble V more and more. Describing the visuals as “bizarre” was not nearly strong enough an emotion to fit V’s thoughts and feelings in this moment.

“But we can also modify every aspect to your liking, create an ‘ideal’ you, far from what modern medicine and modifications could currently achieve in an already existing body.”

V didn’t even have to ask for clarification when the appearance of the body’s chest changed, top surgery scars gone as if they’d never existed… and its genitals definitely were different from what V was used to seeing when he looked down, when he scrutinized himself in the mirror on a bad day. He shuddered, with intrigue, horror, disgust, curiosity alike.

“You’re saying… you’re remaking my body from scratch, and ‘better’, basically…”

He barely managed to get the words out, his throat tight and dry, his stomach unhappy with the mere thought.

“Not better,” Mr. B said, marketing-voice in full action, “However you want it, whatever you wish it to be like.”

Next, V’s neck cyberware appeared on the projection, then his tattoos, in surprising detail. Even Johnny’s stupid love-heart… V didn’t want to ask or even know just how they got all of this down so accurately.

“Okay okay,” V said and stepped back from the container, before the nausea of seeing himself lying in that coffin, kind of dead-looking, got the better of him, “You got a new body for me, alright. But how do you get me in there? And…”

His breath hitched at a grim realization.

“What happens… to this body? My… real body?”

Mr. B blinked slowly, raised his eyebrows, then turned off the projection. Only the blank body base from the beginning remained in the container.

“Your new body will be more real, more you, than this one is at this stage,” he said calmly, gesturing in V’s direction, “It will be healthy, free of old trauma, and equipped with the tech to safely contain your mind and memories without the option of someone – accidentally or willingly – turning the lights off by removing the Relic from your neck slot. I hate to say it, but your current body is your greatest weakness, V, riddled with exploits. You will not need it anymore, as it is only holding you back from using your full potential.”

V's head began to spin wildly, midway through Mr. B’s explanations.

“Vince…” Kerry, who had kept himself in the background for the last couple of minutes, reached out to support him, hand firm on V’s back.

“So… what, I gotta… You’ll run me through Soulkiller again, or what?” V asked, trying to sort his racing thoughts as he spoke.

“In a way, yes,” Mr. B said, but he might as well just have punched V in the gut, “We are currently looking into creating our own version of the algorithm, a more… gentle approach. The problem of engrams created with Arasaka’s Soulkiller has always been, to more or less of a degree of severity, their emotional stuntedness. We would want to avoid a further decrease in authenticity for this transferal.”

“And my body is just… It will die?”

“It is dying this very moment,” Mr. B said, without a hint of sympathy in voice or expression, but a flat matter-of-factness striking V at the very core, “And it will take your mind along with it, if we don’t act soon.”

“Hold up, hold up,” Kerry said, his fingers digging into V’s bruised side, making him flinch, but he leaned into the touch, into Kerry for support, “Didn’t you just say you’re still working on… how to even get him into this new body?”

“Yes, and we are almost ready,” Mr. B nodded, “A few days, at most. And for the time being, we also have the option – just an option, no must – to slow down the decay. A medically induced coma, in laymen’s terms. You go to sleep in this, and wake up in your new body, without noticing anything in-between, ideally.”

“Ideally…” V repeated weakly.

“V?” Kerry said quietly, urgence in his voice. V slowly turned away from the container to look at Kerry. His eyes were wide and worried, he looked him up and down briefly. Beads of cold sweat ran down the small of V’s back, his legs were numb, his hands clammy.

“I think I need some fresh air,” was all he managed to say, trying to hold Kerry’s gaze but failing, grabbing his arm now as his head grew heavier by the minute.

“Of course. It is a lot to take in at once,” Mr. B said. With that and a loud clank the body container started to slowly disappear into the floor again, locked away behind shiny white tiling, like a well-hidden dirty little secret.

“Let me accompany you outside,” Mr. B suggested, and now it was Kerry to raise his hand at him.

“We’ll manage, thanks,” he said, mimicking Blue-Eyes’ overly friendly tone.

“As you wish,” Mr. B nodded, opening the office door for them at least, “As I said, at the latest in a few days we are ready to receive you here, but you can come in any time from now on to get the procedure started. It’s the least we can do to ensure your wellbeing for the future, V. That you even get to see a future… both of you together.”

“Sure, thanks,” V said tersely, Mr. B’s voice muffled and distant as Kerry half-dragged, half-pushed him out of the office, through the endlessly long white hallway with mystery-doors left and right. The open elevator awaited them, miraculously took them to the ground floor without them having to push any buttons or even say a word.

“We’re outta here in a moment, don’t worry. It’s all good,” Kerry said, hands cupping V’s face, but every time their eyes met, V reflexively looked away at the stinging flash of blue.

The elevator doors snapped open, and V and Kerry marched across the huge, empty, echoing entrance hall to the already open exit. The sun had almost set when they stepped outside onto the flawless path ahead, sand and street dust swirling across the courtyard. V stumbled down the steps by the entrance, almost pitched forward, breath shaky, knees trembling. For a moment he thought he’d be able to regain his composure, taking a few deep breaths… but his headache, the nausea that had been riddling him the whole time they’d spent in that building, took over. Right on Mr. B’s doorstep, between neatly trimmed fake bonsai trees, V puked his guts out onto the pristine white marble tiles.

*****************

>> Next Chapter

*****************

Notes:

Last time there was smut, and now here's the promised angst... HHHH I was really really nervous about posting this, cause we're entering straight-up sci-fi territory now and my Cyberpunk lore knowledge is not as deep as I would like it in some regards sometimes XD But yeah... V's problem is, his body's letting him down, is dying... time for a new one right? Simple! Easy!

What would you do in his situation? I'm honestly curious (as I'm unsure how I would even feel like xD)!

I hope you enjoyed reading this, I think this was the longest chapter so far... and the angst will continue for a bit next time but maybe... maybe (I'm really not 100% certain yet, depends really on how V and Kerry are gonna behave XD), we'll have a little cameo of someone coming up soon 👀

Requested Fic Update Tags:

@humberg @r3d-f0x-blog @thatinternetwanderer @localtranspigeon @xtaiyo  @kharonion  @genocidalfetus  @seeker-of-truth 💜

If you’d also like to get tagged when I post a new chapter for this fic, leave a reply on [this post] or send me a DM!

If you do not want to receive further notifications, shoot me a quick DM and I’ll take you off the list again!

[ghostoffuturespast]

🦜🦩 :3?

:> Thank you for the ask! 🧡

[questions here]

Pulled all of these out of published chapters of SIG. Still only have one page of contiguous writing on the chapter I'm currently working on...

🦜 a pretty quote

This PG snippet from the middle of the softest most metaphorical smut I was capable of conjuring at the time:

But she marked her way, found direction as she traced the space between the moles and freckles and scars flecked like constellations across his skin. Links of reflected silver a beacon pointing the way. She reached down to the middle of his chest, lips placing an offering to the luscious subtle scent of damp earth and the lathered brine of sweat before her hands came up to cradle his neck and draw him down into the indulgence of a kiss. River returned the gesture in kind. The touch a nameless poetry she recited with words she’d forgotten how to say.

🦩dealer's choice

My favorite tricycle:

“Could think of some better ways of spending our time together besides watching an empty parking lot.”  V tossed River a knowing glance. Tonguing the inside of his cheek, he turned around to check the back of the cab, considering.  “Not a lot of leg room in here, and not the most scenic of spots, but… my offer to throw you in the truck bed still stands.” “Sounds like a much more pleasurable way to spend the next fifteen minutes.” “Well, unless you object, I was hoping to go a lot longer than that.” “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.  Could you two at least wait?  My night-night sleepytime pills are back at the apartment.”  Johnny’s glare leaked through his aviators. V ignored the rockerboy and was about to make River a counteroffer when she caught the motion of shadows in her periphery.  She pulled her feet off the dash and sat up.  “Tempting, but we might have to take a rain check.  Cars.”

[kharonion]

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ

Warnings: Mentions of grief (specifically, grief dreaming)

“C’mon, V. Want to show you around.”

He recognizes this place from the rockerboy’s memories. Atlantis. Only this time, he’s not in Johnny’s likeness… no, no, he’s here. And Johnny’s chatting with him like they’d been chooms for years. Hell, he even shares a drink with the man. It all feels… so real.

“I want to thank you, V. For everything… but especially for this. For giving me… peace, I guess. Feels fuckin’ weird. But, it’s also pretty fuckin’ good.”

“You deserve it, you know. Much as you want to believe you don’t.”

Johnny laughs, and it’s contagious. “Wanted to. Past tense. You’ve taught me a lot, V… but that’s gotta be the most important one. Wish I could repay you—”

“Oh, shut up, J. You’ve done more than enough. I wouldn’t be here without you—and I mean that.”

“Well, fuck. Cheers to that, you grumpy bastard.”

They sit. They drink. They talk, laugh, joke. 

And then, he wakes up. Drenched in a cold sweat, his head fucking pounding.

He sighs. Sinks his head back into the wall of plush pillows, rubs his face with his hands. The soft snoring beside him is grounding. He’s trying to mend his cracking composure because fuck, every time he wakes from these dreams, the loneliness eats at the fiber of his being.

Vikt trudges to the bathroom, habitually popping open his handful of medication bottles and downing them. The cold water soothes his burning throat, feels good as he washes his face. And there he stays, hands clenching the vanity’s edge, chin tucked to his chest.

Still, he haunts him. 

Still. 

He starts to shake. Fuck.

He misses him. Misses those stupid quips, that irritatingly cheeky smirk… and strangely, the rockerboy’s company, invasive as he could be sometimes. 

Misses the man who quickly became the only family Vikt’s ever had.

A light drip begins hitting the sink, though the faucet has since been turned off. His throat tightens, throbs. Struggling to contain the sobs lodged there, and he can’t swallow them down. They escape. Echo against the linoleum walls. They’re loud, pained, stricken with grief. 

Still, he’s gone. 

And yet, he can’t leave.

“Babe,” a rasping voice, fatigued and concerned, drawls from the doorway. That familiar, warm presence presses right against his back, gentle hands snaking around to rest over his heart—his heart that hurts…

“Do you… still see him sometimes?”

Gently, lips meet the notch between his shoulder blades. “Yeah. Mostly reminiscing on the old days, y’know?” He trails off. The way he always does when his thoughts toe into the shadows, before he quickly recovers his path. “Same dream?”

“Yeah. Same one.” Vikt sighs, tries to wipe the grogginess from his eyes. “Fuck, Ker, it just… always feels so real. He takes me there, and he talks to me like I’m there. It’s like he’s… like he’s not actually gone. He fucking thanks me… and then I always wake up feeling… devastated, almost…”

Kerry hums. He understands. “My guru always told me it was grief dreams. Said they usually happen when your brain hasn’t processed the loss… or somethin’ like that. I had them for a while… after, y’know…”

“They ever go away?”

“No,” Kerry whispers, kissing the spot again, “but it does get easier. I promise, babe.”

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: johnny silverhand x gn V

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: johnny shouldn't love them the way he does

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 553

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, perhaps poor characterization i don't know

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: inspo Can be read as platonic or romantic

Johnny Silverhand, a world of ice.

He had passion, great passion for what he fought for. He had great passion for women, for the groupies and girls who loved to have his arm slung around their shoulders. He had great passion for his music and his guitars, a great passion for his gun. He had a great passion for his hate of corpos, his hate of Arasaka.

A world of ice.

But what he didn't have passion for, he was nothing to, he was icy cold. Kerry, often in his old age, pushing 100, likes to speak about what a cold asshole he is, no compassion for the shit he hated. His only passion was the hate, a sailor's tongue, he had, spitting his insults.

A world of ice.

It's blue. The holo-TV above him jitters with different ads—he'd have to crane his head to look at it. That's good, he would think. He would, because he's not bored like he always is, buried in consciousness of his Samurai.

A world of ice.

He's strumming the chords of a guitar sprouted from his Samurai's memories, or were they his? The line between the two bled nowadays.

A world of ice.

It's a new thing, that he's strumming, wasn't around in the 2020's. An Us Cracks song he might've picked up during the whole Kerry fiasco, something the almost-centenarian would hate him for. And yet he's playing it like he's played it a million times.

A world of ice.

He's not sitting straight, his leg's on the table, and if he could feel his body and the world around him–the projection of him–he'd feel the ache in his back, and the sticky leather of the couch.

A world of ice.

He, him and his Samurai, is bathed in blue light. LED's are behind him, a bright thing. The holo-TV and the coffee table he's got his boot on and the neon arrow sign by the door, all blue, just like ice, with the exception of the circling red of the donut, or life-saver floaty, beside him. That red light shines on his Samurai.

A world of ice.

He's special. Trillions of people in the world, and Johnny's half sure most of them would've gone crazy with the rockerboy in their head, and entirely sure that none of them would've convinced the rockerboy to take a backseat role; none of them except V.

A world of ice.

He should've hated him. Kerry knows he would've. And yet there's this passion—it burns in his chest, just the same way as sickness does, it makes him feel weak.

A world of ice.

It did make him sick, at first. This warmth, what was it, care? Fuck, he hates it.

A world of ice.

It's really hard to admit.

A world in ice age, the sun shines bright, shining down harshly on tousled dirt; the trees have long since lost their leaves, they cannot cast a shadow on the ground anymore, protect the earth from the harshness of sun.

But ice cracks, and snow eventually thaws, and here's his Samurai, standing in front of it all, the only living thing that has survived the passion of Johnny's hate, and he looks like a God.

A world of cracking ice.

He loves his Samurai, he really does.

[the-archangel]

I haven't posted for a while, or even written very much, as I wanted to get through PL and see in which direction it dragged me. I'm still not sure how I feel about THAT call in THAT ending, but I'll try and write my way out of it, or into it, not sure yet!

Anyway, I wrote this BEFORE, but it hints at V's devastation in the new ending. I've decided it's called:

NEW NOISE

V sits on the steps leading to the balcony of his penthouse letting the warm rain wash over him. Usually, he would have taken an AV at this time of night to get home from work, but tonight, for Christ only knows what reason, he’d decided to walk the relatively short distance. That was his first mistake.

His second was staying out here long enough for Kerry to realise he was missing. The Rockerboy had clearly been sleeping and grabbed the nearest clothes he could find, combat shorts and V’s old sparring hoodie, to come out to find his mainline, it’s not usual for V to be sat out here alone at any time, but certainly not in the middle of the night so he approaches him quietly – but not so silently as to startle, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and crouching beside him.

As he looks into V’s face, Kerry does his best to suppress the hiss trying to escape from between his teeth, but V knows he looks like shit with his messed-up face and torn clothes and meets his husband’s gaze with clouded eyes. “Hey Ker,” he says in a tired voice, “what’re you doin up this late?”

“Waiting for you ya gonk,” he replies softly, “come inside, you’re getting soaked.”

“In a minute maybe, just need…” the sentence is left unfinished as tears mingle with the rain on his cheeks. He turns away trying to hide this rare show of weakness, but Kerry is having none of it, holding his chin to turn his face back to look into his downcast eyes.

“Talk to me Vince, what happened?” he asks sitting himself down on the step and running his thumb over one of the many bruises blooming on the other man’s cheek.

Lifting his eyes V takes a deep breath and begins the tale.

-

The Afterlife was quiet, even for a Tuesday, so finishing up his paperwork V puts his laptop in the office, locks the door and makes for home. The moon is bright and a light mist of rain is cooling the city after a scorching hot day, it’s a pleasant enough night for a walk so V sets off down the street, it’s maybe a half-hour walk, he’ll be there in no time. He smiles when he thinks about how happy he’d been this morning, Kerry had made brunch and surprised him with VIP tickets to the Night City festival in a couple of weeks, they’d wanted to go for years but it just never happened for one reason or another, V was just thinking about what he had to look forward to and how much he loved that man of his when a noise from the doorway to his left caught his attention.

“Well looky what we’ve got here, Mr la-di-da Eurodyne ‘King of the Afterlife’. What you doin out on the streets with the dregs?”

V curses inwardly, having been out of the merc life for the last four years his instinct for spotting danger clearly wasn’t what it once was, though he’s pretty sure he still has a few tricks up his sleeves. “Just making my way home chooms, not lookin for trouble.”

“You hear that?” the goon calls to his friends, “he’s not looking for trouble. Well that’s a shame cuz trouble looks like it’s found you.”

There were about six of them, though in the dark and shadow it was hard to tell for sure, it didn’t look to V like they were with any gang particularly, just chancers out to make some trouble and besides, the gangs knew the level of pain they’d be causing themselves if they so much as looked at him the wrong way. These guys though, they’re just thinking they’ve found an easy target with a fat wallet.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” a harsh but feminine voice tells him as a second goon emerges from the shadows, “You’re gonna transfer us a shit-tonne of eddies and in return we might not kill you completely dead.”

“Hmm, not sure I like that deal, what if I say no?”

The first male answers, “Then we’ll beat you till your insides are outside and then go after your faggy slut of an output.”

Up until this point, V could have walked away – well jumped out of harm’s way onto the nearby rooftop he’d scanned and ran away – but that was no longer an option.

For the past couple of years V had considered on and off having his Mantis Blades removed, he didn’t use them anymore and the weight of them made his nearly middle-aged shoulders ache. He’d even made the appointment a couple of times and cancelled at the last minute, now he was pleased he had. Despite years of disuse they slip out cleanly, shredding his shirt and jacket and causing the surrounding goons to take a step back, but not to flee which V is pleased about, they’re going down for what they’ve said.

A glinting knife gets cut away along with the arm holding it, legs are hewn from bodies, one sweep sends two heads into the gutter and a final lurch and thrust hooks under the chin of the first goon and pins him to the wall, “The streets are dangerous enough without dicks like you, and now you’re just gonna make the place look untidy with your ugly fucking corpses.” V watches as the tip of his blade makes its way into the other man’s brain, then shakes him off into the gutter along with the rest of his ill-advised chooms and sheaths his weapons.

V is no longer the youthful, healthy man he once was, the rush from the fight leaves him drained and unsteady and after a couple of lurching steps the hard pavement of Night City rushes up to meet his face providing the bruises that Kerry is now so lovingly tending to.

“I don’t know what happened Ker, the blood, the shouting, it was all too much, everything started swimming and I just checked out for a few minutes.”

“Vince, baby, Vik said that overexertion could lay you out, something about missing receptors or some shit, I dunno, but you need to try to walk away from things that get you over-excited.

Sullenly, V nods in agreement. He’s not sure he gets along with this new normal.

[sanctamater]

" i owe you a drink, handsome. " our lady's smile is a crooked thing - jagged, sharp; far removed from the serene impassivity that stretched across mega screens inside and out of the nusa. not a politician's smile, not a corpo's, either - but real and raw, human. ugly in the same way her laugh is when she snorts. not militech's golden voice, not our lady of mercy - but amelia, whoever that is, whoever she might have been; painted red and blue and purple under the lights of back alley hole that johnny has the nerve to call a bar. she's been in worse places, with far worse people - johnny's practically a saint.

the silver lighter in her hands is smooth - light; a time-worn product of an era long gone. much like her, it doesn't fit. wrong place, wrong time, wrong door. taken from her father's desk before his body had grown cold - from his father, and his father before that. now, it is hers; and its flame paints her face starkly, cigarette in her slender fingers - holding out another for @silverhandj; too. dressed down for the occasion, hair loose, the structured suits and bullet proof ballistic vests gone. whatever is left of her remains, a shadow of who she once was perched next to a rockerboy she barely knows. our lady doesn't know the punchline for this joke. " i never did pay you back for that cigarette you so gallantly offered me. i'm going to start piling up debt at this rate - and how ever will i repay you?"

[timaeusterrored]

‘And I’ll do my duty-I know’

Kerry was normally incharge of putting Ted to sleep. Louise watched, but Kerry was normally the one to handle it. And yeah maybe he shouldn’t be singing songs Johnny wrote about his dead ex girlfriend but.. it was Kerry’s favorite. And he had slowed it down and turned it into a lullaby for Ted.

‘Somehow I’ll find a way’

Kerry never expected to become a father, hell he didn’t know he’d survive this long. He wasn’t the best husband, he knew that, but damn if he didn’t love his son, and he did love Louise, he just didn’t know how he loved her. Especially now with her watching them like they were her everything and Kerry felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

‘But a thing of beauty’

Kerry loved Ted, he loved watching him get excited when Kerry came home, hearing his laughter was the best music he could ever hear. He never had a father that cared about him, he had an older brother sure, but even then it wasn’t a father. And when he looked at Ted, he wanted to give the baby everything.

‘Will never fade away’

Marrying Louise had taken Kerry off guard. He had proposed, but it had slipped out one night after sex. Even she wasn’t sure why Kerry had done it. She was beautiful, the public loved them together, they got along well enough.. so Kerry thought why not. So the next day, he bought a ring and asked her to marry him. She was smiling at them now, watching the Rockerboy away with an infant, their infant, in his nursery.

‘And I’ll do my duty’

“I love you, Teddy..” Kerry whispered, laying the sleeping infant down to rest. Louise came up behind him, rubbing his back as they looked down at the sleeping baby. He looked so much like Kerry, it made the older man scared. He didn’t want Ted to be like him. He wanted him to be happy, free, and not in someone’s shadow. Or stuck in a perpetual state of grief. Kerry wrapped his arms around his wife and kissed her cheek.

‘We’ll never fade away’

[mtreebeardiles]

Starting Fires, pt 9

Another one I had partially written, finally complete

Full chapter over on AO3!

"Can I drive the Aerondight?"

It wasn't what V had expected when he'd answered Johnny's ridiculously early phone call, but if the past few months had taught him anything about the rockerboy's re-acclimation to life on this side of the Blackwall, it was to just roll with things as they came. Getting him to leave the loft had been a challenge in and of itself, and while he was definitely getting better at it the onus still rested with V to get him to do anything outside the comforting walls of the Glen apartment. So if Johnny was taking the initiative, V sure as shit wasn't about to argue. 

Two cups of coffee to wake him up and the city streets were as muted as they could be at such an early hour -- that quiet time between rushes, weak sunlight filtering down through skyscrapers and megabuildings and V found himself thinking it was going to be a nice day, weather-wise. The invigorating kind, or maybe that was just the latent itch that always existed just under his skin, that burning need to move, move, move, picking up speed and forcing its way up and out and he wondered, then, if something similar had bitten Johnny in the ass this morning. Couldn’t remember a time when the other man was voluntarily awake before the clock swung into double digit hours but he'd sounded wide awake on the phone. 

A good sign, V hoped. Maybe Johnny was finally starting to take more of an active interest in the world outside the loft's floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Johnny was waiting downstairs for him when he pulled up, V eyeing him where the other man was leaning back against the wall of the apartment building, shades on, a cloud of smoke easing into the air around him as he exhaled and he seemed… relaxed. Or as relaxed as he could reasonably expect to be, at least in the eyes of those who'd know better. Johnny had always adopted a sense of languid danger, subtle tensions held in his body and a distinct "fuck off" aura that kept most people out of his personal space until he decided otherwise. But V knew how to look past it, to spot the worry areas where they tended to gather, and knew what it looked like when they weren't there. Jaw unclenched, fingers lax, shoulders held at ease, and when V stepped out of the car and walked over the glasses came off and he could see the lack of shadows under his eyes. 

He looked…good. 

And startled. 

V bit back a grin.

"You're blond."

"Your powers of observation never cease to amaze."

"Fuck you," Johnny retorted, shaking his head, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. He slung his glasses into the collar of his tank top and stepped into V's space, running his 'ganic fingers through V's freshly golden locks. "I don't think I've ever seen you with hair that wasn't green or…darker green."

"I've done blue," V pointed out. 

"For like a day, then right back to green."

"Green's the superior color."

"And blond?" 

V shrugged, smiling in spite of himself. "Sometimes I like to venture out of my comfort zone."

"You can tell me if you grabbed Kerry's dye by mistake," Johnny pointed out. "I won't judge."

"Firstly, yes you would, and secondly, fuck off, I did this on purpose." He didn't pull away, easing into this part of Johnny's little rituals. Watched as the other man's eyes tracked to the stubborn streak of white hair, felt it as his fingers gently moved along his scalp until the tips brushed against the scar. Let his gaze drop to the necklace Johnny'd been wearing for weeks now, reaching out to trace his own fingers over the familiar circle with its bullet anchored in the center. 

"Sleeping okay?"

"A little." 

"Wasn't expecting you to be up so bright and early."

"Had a good night last night." Johnny's fingers slipped away and he held his hand out instead. V handed over his key fob and followed him back to his car, sliding into the passenger seat this time while Johnny got comfortable in the driver's. 

It'd taken a while to get Johnny to admit to the nightmares. To the too real, too visceral nature of them, mixtures of muddied memories lending shape and dimension to worries and fears, twisting them into something that made sleep a thing to dread at the best of times. Past mistakes were one thing, more liable to leave Johnny grumpy than anything else. 

It was the dreams about V that hurt the most. 

"It's like I'm you and I'm not, like I'm paralyzed, watching it play out again and again and again and I can't do a fucking thing about it." Remembered agitation and V hadn't needed all the details to know what Johnny was seeing in those dreams, the imprint of those memories as indelible as the ink under his skin. Harsh neon lights lingering in shadows, carpet sticky underfoot, the creak of ancient AC's and it hadn't been any better in that room. Closed in, trapped, thoughts scattered with grief of the bone-deep, heartsick variety and it'd been hard to determine if the blood on his hands was his or Jackie's. 

Then a starburst of pain, a twisting in the gut and tightness in his throat and he'd been too enraged to feel fear even as the gun went off and everything had gone dark. 

Johnny shouldn't have had to see that part; bad enough he could remember them crawling their way out of that landfill, a hazy specter awakening in V's dying mind. 

He didn't need more nightmare fuel when he had plenty demons all his own to contend with. 

"So what kinda adventure awaits us today?" V asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present. He glanced sidelong at Johnny, smiling a little as the rockerboy floored the gas and sent them tearing up the street, chased by a cacophony of shouts and car horns. V didn't tell him to slow down; he didn't even flinch. Wasn't sure if it was something that had bled between them, but Johnny drove like V himself often did, brushing up against the edge of outright reckless tempered by a confidence born from years driving these streets. Speeding was one thing; actively causing accidents was another. 

V wasn't worried about his car with Johnny at the wheel. 

"Little trip down memory lane," was all the answer he got before Johnny cranked up the radio, and V smiled at the opening riff of one of Kerry's songs. Caught the flash of tension in Johnny's hand where it gripped the steering wheel and watched it ease, watched him relax and start tapping out the beat against his thigh with his free hand. 

V contemplated asking him whose memory as Johnny rolled down both their windows, letting the wind whip inside, and ultimately decided against it. 

He liked that Johnny could surprise him these days.

[aetherance]

the one thing i love and also hate about kerry, is his dedication to the craft. music has always been his everything- going from the days he played in little unknown back alley clubs with the hopes to scrounge up enough eddies to get a meal in for the night, to going on a solo tour to perform in front of millions in flashy clothes, cars, and venues.

and from getting a throat augmentation to enhance his voice (since apparently he couldn't hold a tune to save his life) (i have something to say about this too, but i digress), to signing corporate contracts at the risk of being labeled as a sellout in order to further his career and spread his noise- man has been slumming it from the beginning in order to be heard.

being called a sellout always stung, for kerry. being accused of going off on his own solely for money and fame was a shot to the gut because ker's dedication to his music was all he had, especially after the fall of samurai. he even signed away all the writing credits to johnny, meaning kerry rarely if ever saw a single cent for any samurai songs being used or performed. it helped and it hurt kerry when he finally washed his hands of samurai in the later years after finally stopping this on-again off-again relationship with the band.

years of composing and writing many of the songs samurai performed, there presented a theme of corpo-oppression that he'd seen and experienced and wanted to push a message to the masses any way he could. kerry wanted to be heard, and that's what he ever really cared about. and yes, there's plenty to say about how this clashed with johnny's motivations and use for the band that eventually led larger issues between them and the images they held later in life, but it's not ABOUT johnny.

except, silverhand still had a large part in how things turned out- whether it be for the worst, or the best with kerry. johnny was also the biggest reason kerry had to work triple time trying to pull himself from the dark pit that was samurai and silverhand.

"Free to sing until you're blue in the face, nobody hearin' a thing? It's just another kind of cage."

kerry fears irrelevancy. kerry has worked hard for decades to try and pull himself out of the shadows of samurai and of silverhand in order to be known as his own person with his own music and message. he constantly fears of being shoved into a box in order to be palatable for the public, and that he'd only be "another cog in the corpo machine". he deserves the best, he thinks- he deserves to be the best.

in these recent years, he's finally been able to stand on his own two legs with music that lasts. with music that's heard. all this because of the hard decisions and sacrifices he'd made that seemingly went against his code as a rockerboy.

this is why it didn't surprise me at all in the ending where v leaves NC, and kerry doesn't go with them. with everything kerry's built through the years, the legacy he's continued to nurse through his time in the spotlight, there's no way he could afford to leave. mainstream consumerism means staying relevant, because the second you're gone, people forget about you- and there's no coming back from it.

"i've finally got this city by the throat- and i don't intend to let it go".

yes, of course he loved v- but he loves his music more. it may go to say that kerry is inherently selfish. you wouldn't be wrong.

but he's worked so hard over the decades in order to create something that could outlive KERRY EURODYNE. not samurai, and sure as hell not johnny silverhand.

[civilization-illstayrighthere]

THREE YS, a kerry eurodyne / m!V fic ( M for mild smut, 1400 words)

Kerry Eurodyne’s the only person V’s ever known to so perfectly say “Heyyy” aloud— down to the three ys, crooning with his golden cybernetics adjusting the vocal fry until he’s practically purring.

V had to explain that to Johnny, who died with a flip holo in his pocket that took ten pushes of a numpad just to write ‘hey’.

(This wasn’t because they didn’t have real holos back in the 2020s; it was because Johnny broke holos like hymens, firstly, and secondly, he’s a fucking Luddite. “What if you suddenly got a body,” V said, all casual-like, “Would you upgrade your arm? Something real nice instead of that hunk of shit?” Johnny had balked. And it was impossible, besides, Johnny reminded him, because only one of them was getting out of this alive. How Alt ever put up with him, V can’t fucking fathom in the least.)

Hey is for acquaintances; two ys were friendly, three was downright flirtatious. And V likes to think, maybe, that Kerry’s never said it like that except to him, but that’s a stupid thought to have in regards to a worldwide rock sensation, known for his heavily flirtatious bad boy persona.

Still, as V crosses Villa Eurodyne’s threshold, grabs Kerry leaning in the doorway by the back of his neck and crushes their mouths together, it’s a thought he can secretly entertain. A little ember he holds in the palm of his hands, and hides against the chill of wind behind the cradle of his ribs.

They don’t make it to the bedroom. V fucks Kerry slow into the couch, face pressed into a throw pillow; muffled moans, the clap of his thighs slapping Kerry’s ass. Johnny’s dog tags jingle against V’s breastbone, a Little Big Corporats marathon droning on in the background.

He likes fucking Kerry from behind. Doesn’t get overwhelmed by those baby blues, hits his prostate on every stroke, slaps his ass hard enough to leave a reddened handprint that lingers on his skin for days after, even when V’s out somewhere on a gig.

“How’d the last one go?”

“Last what go?”

Kerry combs a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, silver darkened to grey. “Last job, gig, heist, whatever.”

Kerry’s couches are plenty big enough for them to both stretch out on separately, but Kerry doesn’t point that out and V likes being right up next to him, sweaty as they are after. V strokes a hand down Kerry’s thigh; his skin is tacky to the touch, sticks to the plastic-smooth surface of his chrome.

“S’fine. No hiccups.”

“Right.” Kerry smirks, voice light, “Per usual from the best solo in the city.”

V’s never smiled as much in his life as he does when with Kerry. “Far from the best, yet.”

“Fine, then,” It only takes the suggestion of Kerry’s palm on his chest to roll him over, back to the cushions as the rockerboy straddles his waist. “My favorite solo in Night City. Fair?”

Kerry blots out the recessed lighting in the ceiling, shadows V above him. Lights halo him and make him glow, smile beaming, dimples in his cheeks just hidden by the salt and pepper of his stubble.

V swallows. No, not fair.

He reaches up, scratches his chrome through Kerry’s short beard; it feels nice, just sharp enough that he can sort of feel it under the dull touch receptors.

Kerry’s gaze on him lingers. His lips quirk as V’s thumb drags down, traces his cupid’s bow. He detours out exactly where his scar used to be. Exactly the way he remembers.

Kerry’s eyes soften knowingly.

“You get it removed?” V asks.

“Nah,” Kerry murmurs, turns his cheek in V’s hand, presses lips to his palm, “just faded after a while.”

The only trace of it now is a narrow gap in his mustache where the hair doesn’t grow. Practically unnoticeable, if one didn’t know where to look. His eyes are passively avoidant. V trails his chrome hands downward, settles them on Kerry’s hips and gives him a squeeze.

They lazily get half-dressed, shirts and boxer shorts, just enough so they’re not sticking to the upholstery. They watch three episodes twisted around each other on the couch, Kerry’s back to V’s front, before V falls asleep. When he wakes up, the living room is dark, and he is alone.

He pulls up the time on the HUD before his optics, numbers gently sleep-blurred before crystallizing; he’s skipped dinner. But he’s not really hungry, hasn’t been actively in a while. The Relic’s been making him pendulum wildly between nausea and nothing at all. His bouts of exhaustion and insomnia swing the same.

V could just get up, and leave. The Rattler awaits outside, his steadfast lemon of a chariot, ready to drive him back to Westbrook. He could go back to sleep on the couch, pretend he never woke up in the first place.

But V heaves his aching body off the couch. He takes the steps upstairs slow, one at a time, pulling his shirt up and off his head when he reaches the landing.

Kerry’s fast asleep in bed. Sprawled, one arm thrown wide and a leg twisted out and over the covers, the floor-to-ceiling windows throw a cool light over his skin. It’s so much bigger than a Megabuilding standard mattress that V would have plenty of room for himself. If he’s careful, he won’t even accidentally brush up against him, won’t impede on Kerry too much.

Bedside, V hesitates. Kerry’s chest rises and falls; slow, steady.

He steals his way under the covers, trying to be as gentle as he can crawling into the sheets. There is still a part of him that thinks, Kerry will wake up, and Kerry will kick him out. He shouldn’t be here. Coming over to have sex and watch bad reality TV and eat the practical kibble that was Caliente’s burritos was one thing. Sleeping together is intimate, a step beyond the demarcation of friends and fuck buddies. V likes to push, like to needle and prod, but this is something he does not want to test. Rather have Kerry get annoyed that he stayed over, ask for forgiveness over permission in the light of day.

But either Kerry’s a light sleeper, or V’s just too heavy with all of his chrome, making the bed dip and shake so. As soon as he settles into the mattress, Kerry stirs and rolls over.

V goes still. Blinking blearily, Kerry’s eyes fall onto V. His pupils are blown out, the aperture of his optics widening in the dark. In his sleepy haze, he smiles in recognition, moves in closer as his eyes flutter back closed.

It takes Kerry settling in, sleepily nudging his way between V’s immobile arms, before he reacts. V wraps around Kerry, relishes the way his body, even in sleep, softens and seeks him out. He can’t think of the last time anyone’s awoken from a deep sleep, seen V there, and not flinched. Especially can’t think of a time— maybe ever— since someone looked at him and got even closer.

Clumsily, Kerry’s arms loosely find their way around him; je burrows into his embrace, face pressed to his chest.

He’s not holding him tight, but something makes V’s ribs clench, syn-lungs catching shakily on the inhale.

V brushes his fingers over Kerry’s shoulder, traces the repeating, triangular pattern of his dark ink. In the faintly glowing light of the city, Kerry sleeps soundly by his side; his nose whistles gently, breath evening out. Shadows and quickly removed makeup smudges his closed eyes dark and gorgeous. Kerry is gorgeous; here, asleep and stripped down, under the bright lights of the stage, bathed in the warm glow of a billion-eddy yacht fire. V thinks, he’s just that fucking in love, he’d be gorgeous in any way Kerry would allow him the privelage of seeing him.

V hadn’t even realized his eyes had slipped closed, but they open at that thought, startled from his own near slip into sleep—

Yeah, he loves him. Loves Kerry.

He tucks that away, even if his heart’s suddenly going a mile a minute. Forces himself to power down, if only because the weight of Kerry in his arms means he’s not going nowhere fast. Can’t leave now.

He wakes the next morning to blue-gold eyes watching him in faint surprise; the good kind, like when he picks up coffee on his way over to North Oak unprompted. Kerry looks at him like that, like early morning caffeine, like maybe, he might just love him, too.

[system-of-a-feather]

More Practical DID notes from our life, but its really come to our realization that XIV and I basically live a double life that mainly operates in parallel to each other, but just in support of one another. We both have very different aspirations and goals in life and things we are working to achieve, and we have different hobbies that don't translate / don't entirely translate over dissociative barriers. On top of that in "XIV spaces" people don't really know that this entity also has the personality flexibility to be me, and in "Riku spaces" people don't really know there is such a chaotic piece of shit resting in the shadows.

And we didn't INTEND to do this. I think we used to be like this before we really knew about the DID but like, unknowingly and now that we've realized the DID and subsystem stuff, we just reinstated it consciously - but its something that just came from the fact that we would aggressively tear at each other for getting in the way of each others long term goals and the only way we actually stopped trying to murder eachother was to learn to respect and leave space for what the other wanted to do.

And over time we developed a key valuable principle "Do no harm to each other's lives and long term goals and if put in a position where you shouldn't be / where the other is struggling, do your best to support, maintain, and uphold it. If a conflict of interest arises, work together to make both co-exist and if co-existence is not possible, weigh out who it matters more to and if that is equal, make a compromise to get as much as you can from both."

And so XIV doesn't really look over at my long term goals and plans beyond looking over enough to get the idea of what I'm doing and to stay aware and up to date on my game plan. Likewise, I don't really fret the details of his shit beyond making sure that we are still both working in the general same direction and that anything he is adding to his list is not something that has any major and obvious conflicts with mine. We entirely respect and trust each other to lead and guide our individual goals and we support each other in our attempt to seek those goals out to the best of our ability with a strong trust and faith in the agreement to "do no harm" and to have the genuine best intent for the other even above our own goals.

And so this really has created a really positive and interesting living arrangement and way of life because we are simultaneously - to summarize and butcher - living and developing the life of a Anarcho-Communist Rockerboy with a penchant for Violence and Martial Arts while ALSO living and developing the life of "Buddhist" Bird and Animal Loving Reluctant Mangaka Dorky Princely Academia Aesthetic Research Nerd and we actually make it work

But even more so, we look over at each others shit and give constructive criticism at each other over how we are approaching and going about achieving our life goals.

Largely it usually involves me critiquing XIV's approach as reckless and short sighted and in the end not amounting to anything other than the short term brief high and that if he actually wants to instill his values to a larger scale he has to actually BE ALIVE and EATING FOOD to do that and helps redirect his very radical and extreme desires into a more socially functional way

And largely with him looking at me settling for anything because its "not practical" and "not a realistic goal in life" and telling me to stop being a coward pathetic uncreative bitch who just accepts defeat when things get off the beaten road.

Cause continuing with the avian research saga, we contacted 4 prominent professors in the field of Avian behavior and 3/4 said it was unrealistic / very difficult / not possible and the one that said it MIGHT be is the queer, really nice and kind ADHD professor I work directly under so as much as I LOVE him hes the one most likely to be biased and "nice" in a dishonest way that could fuck me over.

And so I was just sighing and was like "alright Ill adjust my goals" and XIV just furrows his brow at me and is like "the fuck? that easy to make you hop off of your goals??? fucking bitch no."

And so the past two days he's been occasionally asking me probing questions to help us know EXACTLY what I want and EXACTLY my priorities in the specific aspects on reaching the dream job of working with parrot rehabilitation and shit to help me brainstorm on the best way to get the closest to what I want in a system that absolutely has firmly stated I am Not Allowed to Do That

And like just now he was like "Nah, fuck them and the system. They're just not creative or dedicated enough to come up with a new way to do shit. That just means you gotta carve your own path to it and hack the system to get what you want anyways. People do it all the time and thats how you make a prescendent for long term change and avenues. They didn't say we couldn't they just said its not CURRENTLY practical. Nothing we do is currently practical. If we listened to people saying shit wasn't practical / easy / precedented, we wouldn't be alive. Okay so your ideal bucket list is working with traumatized / neglected / abused avian species right? Alternative angle, become a god in rehabilitation in animal behavioral research with a focus on sheltered and rehabilitated dogs / cats and then once established have a 'change in interest' with a PhD in animal behavior and suddenly find a passion and interest in parrot behavior easy lol. Play the system then make the system. Worst case scenario, you are doing what you want to do with animals you love just slightly less addressing an issue related but not the same as the one you care for, best case scenario it works, you get what you want, and set a precedent for any other avid bird lovers to still have an avenue to work with birds on a research standards cause thats a flawed system ngl"

And I'm just looking over at him like.... bro you are literally the best co-host the fuck. You literally can't take no for an answer and in this case I am fucking HERE for it cause that IS a viable plan.

Like shit man, I love living my double life over here because this guy over here who is fostering his 'fuck the system' life can very much work in tandem and advise my 'fix the system' life even though he himself doesn't have much of an innate predisposition to emotionally care about fixing a system that he feels needs to burn first XD In turn, I keep him from burning us in an attempt to burn a system that won't burn without MASSIVE loss and cost to ourselves and the majority of people.

And like it REALLY balances out plus we both really get to have STELLAR aesthetics and a wide variety of goals, skills, talents and hobbies in life between the two of us so....

Fuck people who say you can't live a double life. They're just not creative or dedicated enough to come up with a new way to do shit. That just means you gotta carve your own path to it and hack the system to get what you want anyways.

[kharonion]

Some asks for your Vikt. Feel free to combine them; I've pitched them in by Vibes •ᴗ•

4. what tarot card from the major arcana would you associate with them? 16. how would you describe their style? 68. in what outfit do they feel sexiest? how do they dress to impress? 18. share three songs you associate with them. 25. which radio station(s) is their favorite? 59. what is their wildest sexual experience? 53. would your character ever make an explicit braindance?

4. what tarot card from the major arcana would you associate with them?

XIII: Death—endings, harvesting, freeing oneself, moving forward. Vikt's journey can be summed as one in which he must change old patterns, where he's required to shed to make progress growing into something new. He has to allow himself to surrender and release the fear of judgment, to transmute that past pain into a rebirth. Where he has to let go completely for the benefit of himself—finally.

16. how would you describe their style?

In public, Vikt likes to dress sharp... but moderately. Enough to make a sure statement and look professional, but not too much where eyes are on him—with a little bit of 'rockerboy' put in there. Designer shirts, top quality leathers and boots, bold makeup, (relatively) tamed hair.

18. share three songs you associate with them.

• Shadow of Death | SAVAS, TRISEKT • Rite of Passage | P.T. Adamczyk • Glitch | Parkway Drive

25. which radio station(s) is their favorite?

Vikt's standard go-tos are between 95.2 Samizdat Radio and 99.9 Impulse. If he needs something a little more zen, though, he switches to 88.9 Pacific Dreams.

(the more lewd questions are answered under the cut!)

53. would your character ever make an explicit braindance?

Not for any sort of public audience... but he might humor doing it for Kerry's personal use. They've already filmed sex tapes plenty before, so. Same smell.

59. what is their wildest sexual experience?

To this day, it's definitely the yacht. Talk about one hell of a first time, messing around after destroying a fuckwit corp's property only to end up fucking while the vessel is literally going up in flames around them. Nothing has been able to top that—though they have definitely done repeats as anniversary celebrations of sorts.

68. in what outfit do they feel sexiest? how do they dress to impress?

Vikt is always dressing to impress; you can blame the corp world for hammering that into his psyche. However, he lets himself... loosen up a bit both in private and when going out into the nightlife at Kerry's side. Of course, he's anxious about it at first, but he does end up feeling pretty... powerful and sexy when he rocks fishnet and heeled boots.

[ c2077 asks ]