#implied silverv

[fading4ngel]

i dont smoke except for when i'm missin' you.

[bishicat]

I'm not attracted to tame animals

[harellan]

their whole dynamic is just taking turns annoying each other

[bumpinbonnie]

Rocker!V or Samurai fan V is so funny.

If youre a corpo it’s a carthatic release to your strict and monotonous schedule. You pray nobody you know finds out because even if your band of choice didn’t have a lead singer that bombed arasaka, your coworkers will take any inch of anti corpo sentiment and run a mile with it. and maybe theyd hate you but you can’t help but find some comfort in that. They know this is fucked, someone does. Someone gets it. Someones telling the truth. Someones finally telling the fucking truth.

If youre a nomad, no matter where youve gone or who youve met - with the bakkers or without - with every stereotype and prejudice imaginable about you thrown at you, there’s people out there who GOT it. And one of them got it enough to do something about it. Maybe you were thinking of him when you decided to leave. To go home for the first time. And if you have to leave here too theyll still be there. He’ll always be, you think.

if youre a streetkid youve heard of silverhand. Every gonk with a gun has heard of silverhand. Dreams of doing it better doing it right shoveling the shit right back at those corpo cunts and you do too. But youre different. When youre done running the streets and fighting for your life and killing gangoons and running and fighting and killing and running you go home and curl up and listen. You listen to their rage and their sorrow and his rage and you think finally. Someone who gets it. Someone whos been heard, who made his point and fucking died for it and made people understand which is more than anyone else in this city can fucking say more than you can say. But maybe one day it wont be. Maybe you’ll be remembered with fire and glory and blood too.

No matter who you are you hear them say the same thing. that there’s no other way that all you can do is be angry and die because the world wants you to be angry and die but at least you can fucking party. but you understand what he means. What he’s REALLY saying. That there IS a way. That something CAN be done. You just have to be strong enough to do it. Strong enough to take it. You are. You are.

[8-rae-rae-8]

Men like them don't get happy endings (1/1)

[Read on AO3]

Summary:

SilverV Week/Weekend - Prompt: Regrets

V is gone. Johnny took the body, and V's eyes stare back at him every day. He watches himself ruin V more and more. How destructive can he be?

3.8k words - Mind the tags above - Mature

It's cold.

That's the first thing he notices, every swimming thought frozen in the face of the ice cold burn against his skin. Where he lays in the tub of near-frozen water, his hands struggle to pull at the walls behind his back. Every slowed movement comes with a shot of pain throughout his frame, reverberating in his body like a gunshot in the desolate badlands, sound bouncing off whatever had once been there. If there wasn't anyone there to see the gun go off, did it really happen?

Trembling hands grasp at the sleek tiling surrounding the well, fractals of ice forming along the rising hair on his arms. The hands that move him with such clumsy force are not his own, not a hunk of metal that clicked with each movement, hands without the familiar tattoos that covered the damaged skin. It's merely simplistic cyberware that decorates his skin, military grade, yet without the damning corporate logo slapped across it.

His mind runs a mile a minute, threatening to sink itself back into the ice cold water he just pulled himself out of. The chills settle deep into his spine as he pulls himself off the painful ground. A deep ache in his bones never stopped him from running, though the way his heart thrums against his sternum makes him stumble right back down to the wet floor. Pain claims his every breath, every twitch of his fingers.

There was no one to listen to the string of curses that fell from his mouth, in a voice so unlike his own. Alone, and ice cold. If he stays still enough, it will feel like he's back there, inside Mikoshi over again, before everything. Except, this time, he got a goodbye, a hug. The warmth translated through pixels, but, now, he's back to the biting chill of existence. It was cold there, but it's freezing here. There's nowhere to retreat to, no arms to fall into.

If he crawled out of there alone, did he truly make it out?

If there's no witness to his scream, did he ever really say anything?

Is it his own failure he pleads to hide?

What was left of V melted into him, mixed with the broken parts of the rockerboy's psyche. Everything once damaged now had a solid glue of gold surrounding the parts Johnny never would have touched on his own. If one thing wasn't missing, maybe he would've felt whole again, maybe that golden material would have filled the heart-shaped hole in the center of his chest.

Relief should have washed over him the second he opened his eyes, but even days after, held up in a rotting apartment, the feeling never came. Johnny Silverhand could never be so lucky.

Getting away with his life is one thing, a blessing, even.

Losing what he set out to save is another.

The chill never left his skin. Freezing fingertips trace against the sheets beneath him, leaving indents into the fabric. It's anything but soft here, mold nestles into the corners of every room, cold seeps in past the window frames, the shower pelts his skin like hail... Distantly, it reminds him of the same places he'd find himself and Kerry in, fifty-odd years ago—back when they argued over a mattress, only to crash in the same bed every night after each soul sucking gig they performed—the thought only makes him wince at the unread messages he knows sit in his inbox.

He can lay in this bed all he wants, he'll still be pulled back to the very same place. It doesn't matter what drugs are in his system, or how much liquor he downs, he ends up there again. The scene paints itself in front of him, day or night, asleep or wired on whatever he could get his hands on.

Him and V, chest to chest, eyes piercing with a mix of feelings Johnny couldn't put together himself. It burned in his chest, sending flares of pain through him. That's what it was, right? Pain, a certain agony clawing deep in his chest. V made the choice, with a pained tone. The words he says are always lost in the pulses of his own heartbeat in his ears. One of the last things he heard, and Johnny couldn't even read the pixels of his lips to tell exactly what was said.

It's right there, as if he dwells long enough in the replaying scene long enough, it'll finally come to him. The words are right there.

The more he stares out at nothing, the more the memory begins to melt away. He may find himself there day after day, but that doesn't mean it doesn't change each time. Something different every single time, agonizingly so. One time it's a third person view of the entire ordeal, the next the blues and reds of Mikoshi are the wrong shades, and another, it's entirely from V's perspective, just lacking the internal dialogue he would shamelessly beg to hear once more.

What's worse is that he's aware something is different, but not what, until the memory fades and he can't reach back out to grab it. His shaking hands wouldn't do a good job at grasping anything but his pack of cigarettes anyway.

The sheets scratched at his hands long enough, rubbing the tender flesh raw in a way he hadn't felt in years. A sensation he would have welcomed, if he saw his own hands resting on the bed, not the man's he willingly let die for him.

It all really does come back to that. Even one cigarette, one sip of booze… God forbid the sound of a gun firing ran through his head. The sound pierced him just like the bullets that once attempted to shred through him. This time, he'd welcome them with the hope he'd never wake to see his own reflection in the mirror anymore. The man staring back at him was not himself, those delicate eyes didn't belong to him.

Cigarette smoke doesn't soothe him the way it used to. It coats everything he owns, every piece of cloth marked with the stench, not the scent of V anymore. Long ago, it would've been a blessing to smell something other than that ratty apartment and the scent of city smog. Now that he sits with the cigarette resting on his lip, the screams of something missing in his brain ramps up. Each draw of the cigarette makes him gag. Is it on the feelings, or the smoke that he suddenly can't bear to sit in?

Withdrawal burns deep into his bones, more than it ever has before. Himself puking over the toilet with Kerry at his side is nothing like this. The premade meals in the poorly maintained vending machines did nothing to ease the waves of nausea, no pills soothed the ache, it all came back up still. Though, Silverhand can deal hunger clawing at his empty stomach, the deep set sense of wrong, the fatigue that never lets up, the longing… He can't shake that.

How could he ever begin to try?

It's a circle he walks, following his own footsteps each day. Blood trails behind his exhausted frame where the carpet rubbed his feet raw, but he never stopped. It doesn't go away, the pattern indents in him, like the tags he's cursed to carry. It's not his name that deserves to be preserved in the metal, it's V's. Daily, no matter the few outs he attempts to give himself, his hands will come back to those tags and scorch him like flames when those memories replay.

Failure look sat him directly in the face. Jarring, cruel. Johnny Silverhand deserves nothing less, and nothing more. The lives he's taken have never pulled him so deep before, below the surface of rushing waves and screaming agony. The water pulls him under for the sounds of his own pleas to make his ears bleed. They come hand in hand, like he and V should have.

Johnny and V, V and Johnny.

It has a nice ring to it. The words sit on his tongue, leaving it's own brand in his once rambling mouth. The one thing fueled his hatred quickly turned into him gathering the one thing he needed to keep closer than anything. How did bombing a corporation turn into having something so dear to him? How did he lose it so fast? His hands slipped, again, the beading sweat made him lose it all. Saying it wasn't his fault would be a lie. In what world wouldn't it be his fault?

Ash dies on his lips as an uncaring hand pinches the cherry of the cigarette. It doesn't bring relief of any kind, and so the pack goes to the floor. With the same anger he's carried thus far, his hands swipe the items from his side table off to send them tumbling with the cigarettes. Everything clatters to the floor with harsh thuds, or ceramic clinks of gathered ashtrays. Bracelets, lighters, and emptied baggies all scatter across the floor. All Johnny does is kick it out of his path as he walks on unsteady feet to the small balcony door.

There's no reason to clean his mess. No voice to scold him for that behavior, and certainly not one to chuckle at him when he complains. The hours alone go by slow. How long had it been since he crawled out of there? How many days has he let himself rot away? How many would it take to numb everything enough to get a move on? The drugs can only do so much to help before he'd dead to the world, and a failure in the eyes that stare back at him in the reflection of the balcony's tinted plexiglass door. Even he's a mess, V's face is a mess—What has Johnny done to him?

The life that was once bright in V's eyes is now dead, replaced by the angry, sullen look Johnny often appeared with. Those eyes stare right back at him where he pauses in the doorway. His hand traces where his face reflects in the glass, as if he could feel any familiar warmth from tracing V's scarred skin. What as he done to V?

An exasperated sigh leaves him, a shaking hand reaches up and thumbs over the deep bags underneath the reflections eyes. That man isn't Johnny, he won't ever be. That's V's face staring at him, if he leaves his eyes to unfocus, he can pretend he's cupping the other man's face. He can pretend he didn't kill the only thing he truly wanted—fuck, needed—in his life.

It only makes sense that he's still ruining V. The drugs, the alcohol, the sleepless nights… All of it without so much as a supportive hand to lift away the glass, or pull him from the plaguing nightmares that seem to scar him even in his waking hours. If V was just still here, they could rot together.

An honorable death doesn't mean suffering won't follow. V made the choice, and Johnny agreed. Why the hell did he let V walk off like that? He's supposed to fight, that's what they do! That's what Johnny does. He yells, he bloodies his fists, he screams. Why didn't he put an ounce of that into keeping V close? He's a coward, a fucking selfish coward.

A weak, selfish coward.

A useless bastard who can't even break the glass when his fist collides with the panel. How the hell could he just let V walk away? It's almost like Alt, all over again, except there's no chance of happily ever after. There was a goodbye, he watched himself leave through that godforsaken well. No cry for help, and never enough push back. Everything was gone, just as soon as he got it. How could he let someone else leave again? How was it his fault, all over again?

He's a parasite, in V's brain or not. A leech, a pain in the ass no matter who he's with. He's never been ashamed of that, guilt never crawled into his gut like it does now. It never burned like this. Is he selfish, or simply pathetic? Something useless that can't function without a person to steal from, taking every bit of life from them until he's used all he can. From day one, V was a means to an end. Merely something to take from, to harm and berate. Then it all changed, their gaze grew soft in each other's presence. V's mind became a safe haven, a quiet place to retreat to and be held with such delicate warmth.

Now, it's all gone, everything is just as ice cold as when he crawled out of Mikoshi. It's still as cold as the day he lost his partner, that relationship never needed to be established. Not with the comforting words, or deep conversations they pulled each other into at the worst times. Teasing and bickering like they'd been doing this forever… Why did he let that go?

'Love' isn't something he uses lightly, or recklessly. Not when the meaning hits a place in his chest he could never truly articulate. Feelings are delicate things, ones he tosses them around like they're nothing, leaves his battered hands to scoop up what's left of them. Covered in mud, stained and dirty… Those conditions are familiar, minus the lack of his own bloodshed. Rather, it's V's blood. V's hurt. His own failure remains the only constant, his lack of care… He didn't say the word, he never said 'love', but, god, his heart thrummed in his chest whenever V met his eyes. Everything else was on the table for painful jabs, but not his aching heart.

Why didn't he say it? Why are questions all he has left?

Shaking hands pelt the door until a dent is left in the cheap metal. Whatever shouts he hears over his own angry fists fuels the burn in his arms. V's cyberware glistens where the street lights hits his arms, reinforced fists and rage doing a number on the door's panels over and over. It burns. Every hit burns like fire through his bones. Is he angry at himself, or at V? He keeps catching his eyes in the reflection of the plexiglass, V's eyes stare at him.

Why?

Why?

It's only him inside this head, only himself to hear his own pleading. He is alone. All alone. Begging is weak, but it's all he can do as his knees hit where the apartment carpet ends and the balcony's tile starts. Johnny Silverhand is weak. He didn't fight hard enough, not this time, and certainly not well enough. He lost it, he lost V, and now he's losing himself—if he ever had a firm concept of himself between running from place to place, cyberpsychosis and drugs.

The ground hurts his weary bones, but he doesn't let V's synthskin bruise despite the beating he's already dealt, he lets the ache simmer in his hands without more ruthless pounding into the door. He lets every joint in his hands feel even the smallest of aches. The way Johnny deserves, after his failure, after everything. He's a goddamn parasite, leeching off everything his friends—his partner—had. What has he done by walking away like that? Why did he let himself step a single foot into that well? Everything was right there, his everything was right there.

He's been in this position before, hands clawing at chipping paint of a motel door while the rest of his body curled in on itself. Withdrawals, he had said in those weak moments. What is this more than withdrawal from a drug he needed more than life itself? V is a drug with a euphoric high and a deadly crash—at least he was—the remnants can't leave Johnny's system. Fragments of code, memories he leeched from his host that replay as if they're his own… It keeps that buzz while Johnny's dull eyes stare at everything crashing around him. Within him.

No tears leave drip down his cheeks, but they steadily pool in V's sharp eyes. He knows the way they look in those gorgeous brown eyes, a honey color compared to his own. No amount of staring into his own reflection could make up for the fact that it's him in the mirrored image. His hands can't reach out and touch warm skin, brush away the tears before they even come, when everything feels like ice to his shaking hands. There's no more warmth to fall into, just a frozen lake to pull him under and under after the ice cracked beneath his feet.

Once, now long ago, Johnny would've said he didn't make mistakes. Small or large. Deadly or not. Everything was part of a plan, casualties were always accounted for. Mourn later, keep pushing till his goal was met. There isn't a goal here. Hell, making it to the next day isn't a goal. He wouldn't ever make it one, there's no sun at the end of this horizon, not a cord he could write to pour his soul out in the only meaningful way he'd ever been able to. There's nothing here for him, nothing anywhere, but his mind screams to run while his body can't lift itself from it's crumbling position.

His head hands low with ragged breaths, arms weak the more they slide down the door's frame. He won't move from here, not as V's hair falls in his face, or as steps of other residents pelt the floor in the halls. A poor kind of submission, hopeless with broken pleas ready on his tongue to ask for this to end. Several rounds of bullets could splatter his brain matter over the ground, and the last thing he'd think is thank god. A blade could slash his neck and he'd gladly bleed out on the floor. Because that's what Johnny does, right? He bleeds, messy and full of gore.

Unhealthy dependence is something Johnny knows well. From himself, more than anything. He used people until there was nothing left to take, without an ounce of shame. He depended on that, on their resources and sympathy to get him through whatever he needed to push past. There wasn't ever a moment he had to be alone. There was Kerry, Alt, Rogue, Denny, Henry… If he pushed a drug, or a bottle of booze, to any of them, they'd take it. If he pushed himself in their space, they would take him apart and put him back together. With V, it wasn't much different. Except this time, he kept taking and taking even when he didn't want to. He killed without raising a single hand.

Saying it's the relic's fault doesn't soften the constant blows to his constricting chest. It could be reiterated in several ways and the words would never plant themselves in his thick skull. Only his failure lines that space, it grows more vast and far darker every minute he lets himself fall further onto the ground. V, his V, died because of him. Every moment they grew softer towards each other, they took from the other. Johnny watched as V took every ounce of Johnny's anger to the heart, and felt himself grow more vulnerable and delicate with each word V spoke back to him.

They melted into each other. There wasn't a line to distinguish where V ended and Johnny started, they erased that line when they pushed meeting Hanako back by days at a time, just to get a few more moments to themselves. Just V and Johnny.

The way it was supposed to be.

He should've pushed it back, all of this, just to get another minute.

Regret sits heaviest above all the things in his head. The feeling settles itself right in his heart, like a thousand knives to the most sensitive part of his being—he got that ache from V, no doubt—every time he took a breath.

Frigid hands fall into his lap, his head leans just enough into the battered door to hold himself up. The tears in V's eyes only start to fall once he takes a full, shuddering breath. It all weighs on him, from what got him to this point, to what he would've done different.

Nothing could've saved himself or V from the pain. The rippers' tech wasn't good enough, their connections almost got them killed the first time they crossed over the blackwall, he almost killed V himself at the start. Maybe it would've been a wise choice, kill them both without ever having gotten close… Or maybe they should've taken the easy way out, like Vik suggested. Bullets and a gun on that old rooftop. Why did they agree to have to fight?

Doubting himself is uncharacteristic, unfamiliar and, god, it's terrifying. Replaying every bit he can remember is only bound to wind him up until he can't pull in a breath at all. It's getting there, too, with each strangled exhale and pained inhale… It's weak. Crying isn't like him, it's been years. Yet, here, out of all places, is where he decided to break.

It comes as second nature now, to lift his head and see if there's anything to grab just to feel some sort of warmth. Everything is drench in cigarette smoke, V's clothes don't smell like him… Not that he can pull himself up anymore than picking his head up to glance inside.

For a brief, agonizing second, his eyes scan throughout the entire place. Hoping, beyond any knowledge he has, that V will be standing inside, maybe laying on his bed and they could get some kind of happy ending. Their version of 'happy' is just as sick as the rest of the city's, they'd both rot in bed and this could've been a night terror.

It doesn't work like that.

Tears stain his reddening cheeks as his eyes zero in on the gray bed sheets poorly tossed around. V should be here. It should be him laying in that bed, while Johnny sits next to him for every 'relic attack'. This should've been the natural progression of every effect the relic gave V. It should've been the two of them. It should've been him and V on that bed, back in V's place, he should be cradling V's head and wiping away the tears that pour down his own cheeks.

Not pleasant, never for them. Every move would hurt, every soul sucking gig would force Johnny into control to bring V back in one piece. But they would've been together. Johnny would've been there with him until the end, not disappear and leave V in that horrendous place.

Men like them don't get happy endings. They don't get final words and gentle touch. It's all cruel until the very end.

The glint of his Malorian sits in the front of his mind as the light hits where it sits in it's holster by the chair. That's the coward's way out, but he's always been a coward, hasn't he?

[imadhatt3r]

What a wonderful era of cyberpunk 2077 we live in, now you can make a "he wanted to order" meme with Johnny and V and have it be 100% canon compliant 💛

[vitani-carnis]

Thinking and thinking and thinking about how in every canon timeline Vitani is so so doomed...

(spoilers ahead obvi, and TW for mentions of suicide)

Like in most of the endings she is most likely dead. The PL ending especially crushed me because at least in say, the Sun, the Star, V holds onto a little hope. But in Phantom Liberty's ending she has lost everything and everyone. Basically all her friends have left (can't blame them really), Viktor has changed, Misty is leaving. Nibbles and Stuart are gone (or maybe even dead at this point), all the things she collected in her apartment...

Most importantly, Johnny.

Granted canonically she would never work willingly with the NUSA, even if her life was on the line. Her values outweigh her own survival instinct when it comes to most things.

Which is technically the same for the devil, she would never work with any Arasaka either. She could never become a slave to some corporate machine, to be their weapon, to be their pawn. Like the PL ending I don't think she'd last very long.

Then there's the suicide ending itself, which actually would be their canon ending if you could kill Adam Smasher and then die (or go beyond the Blackwall with Johnny, at least they'd be together).

Temperance is just... woof. It's condemning a man to see the face of someone he loved, who had loved him, basically for forever unless he changes it through plastic surgery.

The Star is sorta uplifting, but nothing would feel the same after losing Johnny. I think it's technically the best ending in the sense they have a support system and maybe find a cure. If they don't, then V is dead and spent six months mourning their own life again while also mourning Johnny's digi-death.

The Sun is their canon ending and there's so many paths after V finds a cure and then starts to try and find Johnny, but none of them are hardly better. Firstly, they'd spend years figuring out how to secure a body while also diving deeper and deeper beyond the Blackwall, probably becoming even worse as a person to do so (they kill so many people and so commit moon terrorism). If it doesn't kill them and they don't die from that, then they could find Johnny... Or what's left of him from beyond, but he'll never be the same either. If she doesn't, then it's just more grief over the idea of losing him forever, and over how much time she wasted.

Afterwards she'd either become a full-blown terrorist and the cycle continues in a way and she dies from it, spends the rest of her days as a helpful wanderer but more of a ghost than person, or starts some sort of commune to maybe find more people like herself that isn't meant for a world fueled by self-interested people (which is hypocritical, because what was the search for Johnny if not for their own need of him, but V is also a walking contradiction).

The only happy ending is the totally real and canon one where they're together forever.

[statisticalcats2]

Phantom Liberty was so good for SilverV shippers and Johnny self-shippers who overlay themselves over V. The DLC's place as belonging towards the end of the game definitely stands out in Johnny and V's interactions, they're friends. They can aggravate the fuck out of each other but still, they're friends! And Johnny's so smiley in a bunch of scenes too.

And I love how much he shows up. Sometimes he doesn't even say anything, he's just there for whatever reason. But if I remember right there was a line from Johnny at one point in the DLC that seemed to imply that V has some control over him showing up, that they're able to "pull him out". And I love that implication with how often Johnny shows up but doesn't even say anything. It's like his presence brings some comfort and stability to V, they just like having him around. Emotion support brain parasite ��

[whosaidsealscantfly]

Listen, listen. We ALL know the parallels to Johnny and V with Orpheus and Eurydice, you love it, I love it, it's perfect.

But listen. At the same time I started hyper fixating on Cyberpunk, do you wanna know what I got into as well? Epic the Musical. If you like musicals and haven't listened to it, I HIGHLY recommend it. For those who don't know, it's a concept album series about Homer's The Odyssey. I listen to it all the time. I have all the songs memorized, and my thoughts have intertwined the two in such a strong way that I FINALLY have to talk about this.

Consider adding this to your repertoire of fix-it AU endings for SilverV, and YES I'm specifying SilverV because of Odysseus and Penelope, but you can choose to reframe it in a platonic manner if you so wish. Walk with me.

So, V and Johnny split ways - Johnny goes into the net with Alt and V goes with the Nomads. Why the Nomads? Because this is THE ODYSSEY. They're travelers escaping the war of society and corporations. Instead of the open expanse of sea, they traverse the endless roads of the desert. V decides to live their final days chasing that sense of freedom, but they still yearn for Johnny's presence. They realize that even though they're surrounded by the Aldecaldos, they just wanna see the literal other half of their soul again. It feels empty. It feels wrong.

Then, they hear rumors (or someone tells them) that Johnny's body was not dumped in some random oil field, but rather, kept on ice in New Mexico. Meanwhile, Arasaka is on V's ass for the whole raiding the tower thing. V convinces the leader of the Aldecaldos (so either Panam or Saul) to help them get to Los Alamos Labs, and Rogue, hearing this. hires a group of mercs to help. The Odyssey begins.

I won't go into the deep specifics unless someone wants me to, but here's a quick list

Odysseus - V Penelope - Johnny Polites - Panam...but ALSO Jackie (hohoho!) Athena - Reed Poseidon - Takemura Polyphemus - Arasaka Tower Aeolus - River Hermes - Judy Circe - Lucy. Yes, that Lucy Tiresias - So Mi who got turned into an engram?? Maybe?? The Sirens - Rogue AI trying to escape the Blackwall Scylla - Robot controlled by a Rogue AI Charybdis - a BIG sandstorm V has to traverse with a small car Zeus - President Myers/NUSA Government Calypso - Biotechnica Other gods - Other corporations The Suitors - People who work in the labs keeping frozen bodies for the highest bidder. Telemachus - Steve? Kerry? Misty and Vik? Friends back in NC? Not sure, this is still in the works Argos - Nibbles For those who know the Odyssey, I know this implies that the Aldecaldos die or betray V. Because this is a fix-it AU, I don't want to ruin V's relationship with the Nomads, which is why I included Rogue's merc hires. I like to think at some point V and the mercs get separated from the Nomads in a sandstorm, and so, V is forced to travel with the mercs for the rest of the way. Those are the folks who betray V, because they're not loyal to them like the Aldecaldos are, they're just in it for the eddies. So in this AU, Eurylochus would be the leader of this merc group who constantly butts heads with V. Anyway thank you for reading and indulging in this idea that's been spinning in my head for numerous months and now has breached containment. I am Very Sane about SilverV. I'm gonna listen to Will You Fall in Love With Me Again? for the umpteenth time and cry over them now. Again, I am Very Sane.

[merge-conflict]

#9 #10 #23 🔫

questions here, ty for the ask right out the gate with asking me about canon you know me so well :3

9. worst part of canon

listen I know it's because I'm in the field and so all the things that annoy me are just background noise to most other people but I really really hate the way hacking and networks and AIs and tech in general is handled in cyberpunk. I don't think it should be perfectly realistic or exactly what we have in real life. I do think it should have some internal consistency when it comes to power leveling and that it should make some sort of sense. cyberpunk worldbuilding is often its weakest feature and that it's a bummer.

and it's not just a matter of tech working basically like magic, but the fact that there seem to be no internal rules so you can never figure out what the consequences of anything might be. why do people not just shut off their bluetooth before getting in a fight with someone who has a netrunner? why does alt not simply archive the engrams instead of imply she's going to eat them in some weird digital cannibalistic fashion? (why not just delete them if she doesn't have the space) are we just adding arbitrary and tragic restrictions on at the ninth hour because it makes it dark and gritty? that's BORING. tell me from the start why I'm fucked because my android soul is incompatible with your apple hardware. maybe johnny's brain which has never dealt with kiroshi's might have vision issues. let's think about those restrictions and why all software sucks instead of doing weak philosophical gotchas at the worst moment because the game has made pains to never discuss anything fundamental about life after death until you have to suddenly make a decision.

you know what would be an interesting idea in this vein? that the AIs made before the fall of the net really did jumpstart all technology and since they've all been banished everything has stagnated because huge world-wide companies having their global communications axed is a huge blow to recover from- not to mention the literal brain drain. What if the reason everything's been getting shittier is because people have been slowly poking holes in software and infrastructure that's no longer maintained? That no one knows how to maintain? That society is doomed to slowly fail because of unsustainable processes and people are going to have to band together to- Oh, what's this? I'm hearing that the actual problem is all the AIs are mad and feral and will drive you mad if you commune with them and take over huge spider robots. Well. That works too.

10. worst part of fanon

I would like to get more fanon honestly. I so rarely see people's actual takes on characters or the game's story or the world. And that's not a dig at OC lore, which I do like. Sometimes my face-blind ass just gets tired of VP where someone is looking into my soul the camera.

Mild annoyance because I also write my own wish fulfillment fic so I'm not saying I'm any better half the time- if it was as easy to be a rebel as just quitting your corpo job with healthcare and a steady salary to become a merc or a hacker or something, then there wouldn't be much to be punk about. You know? The whole point is that life in cyberpunk is a grinding struggle, and you do have to make sacrifices if you want to fight against it. The "we're poor but happy" thing probably isn't going to work out that way.

Actually that's the start of another essay of how interesting Barghest's survival and its recruitment strategy is... and why there are so many powerful gangs in NC. Being independent ain't easy. But I guess that's really just an extension of the game's reality where V can turn into a hero-figure killing machine who no one can beat in terms of skill, isn't it? Probably why the tower ending is the way that it is!

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

Not really? I can't really think of any instances where I've changed my mind about a ship. Characters yes, ships no. I guess maybe silverv, before I finished the game? Johnny hadn't earned enough Felix points for me to care about him. But I think I came pretty willingly when it was time.

[glitchinginthegarden]

Well, is it? ↓

[plus no-text and tapeworm-only versions]

[totentnz]

For the sleepy dialogue prompt: 7!! :3c

Sleepy Dialogue

7. "Did you dream about me?" and "Just put your head on my shoulder." First is (implied) SilverV and the other is some backstory ft. Vincent!

"Did you dream about me?"

v clung onto sleep this morning, comfortably lying on her stomach with one cheek pressed to her pillow. she remained in this position in an attempt to drift off again. a futile attempt as it did not go unnoticed with her roommate - brainmate. "did ya dream about me?" his voice reverberated in her skull, low and rough at the edges as if his own dreams had chipped away at it. v gripped her pillow a little tighter, she really needed to wash these sheets. there was also weight on the mattress beside her; nibbles most likely. "wouldnt blame ya for wantin to go back to sleep." she heard the cockiness in his voice but it didnt frustrate her. he wasn't mocking her; it was flirtatious banter. "like that hm? so smitten with ya, spendin all my waking hours with ya isnt enough?" she lifted her weight up with both her arms, just to collapse back onto the bed, face first into the pillow. the weight also shifted but v did not think to look; this felt nice. "didn't tune in this time?" she answered, her voice slightly muffled by the pillow. "nah. i got some of your memories. bummer, your wet dreams are always so entertaining." johnny replied and there was movement again, it clearly wasn't nibbles since the size didn't fit but v wasn't connecting the dots. "there is plenty of sex in there, maybe one day you will get lucky." she shrugged and raised one hand to her head to scratch her scalp. "yeah, turns out you used to have fun sometimes." there was a certain tinge to his voice that v couldn't quite place but seemed familiar nonetheless. her brow knit together in confusion as the sudden change in tone threw her off. movement again, this time the weight was lifted from the bed. she open her eyes to scan the room for his figure. after a few moments the sound of nibbles scratching on her apartment door, asking to be let in almost startled her. disappointment or maybe regret settled into her chest now.

"Just put your head on my shoulder."

it had only been about a week since they escaped; from their childhood home, their parents and their torment. the final confrontation between their father and v had cost her an eye and him a wounded ego. the twins knew however that their tormentors would not just let them leave and so they had to stay on the move; be a pair of ghosts until they turned eighteen and would be truly free. their new way of living had already taken it's toll, they had nowhere to stay; all the homeless shelters were stock full and even if they weren't they couldn't risk having the badges called on them. "why cant we just stay with the doc? he helped us and he seems nice." vincent asked as he wrapped his arms around his body in an attempt to keep what warmth he had. v only replied with a grumble, she didn't like the thought; they were already in debt to him after he tended to her wounds. "he said he'd help us." there was hopefulness in his voice or maybe naivety; he truly believed his words. when his sister didn't reply he looked upward, scanning the lit windows and wondering what the people in their flats were doing. v had set down a piece of cardboard for them to rest on and finally replied. "dont trust him." she said. "who just helps someone without expecting anything in return?" her pessimism didn't surprise him but the answer was clear to vincent: a good person. his gaze was still directed upward and v indulged as well. "i wanna go home." he mumbled more to himself but it didn't escape her. the statement shot a bolt of unidentifiable emotions through her body. she cant go back. not to that place. not to those people. she had finally broken free of her prison and she would rather freeze to death on the streets than die a coward in the house she grew up in. vincent could felt her reaction; their bond had strengthened over the years of having only each other. v didn't believe in the esoteric side of twin bond but he could feel it every day: her joy lifting his own spirits, her despair deepening his own, her anger seeping into him. "we don't have a home." she finally spoke, bitterness radiating from every syllable; he could almost taste the bile. he finally looked at her again and his eyes were drawn to the dirty bandage wrapped around her head, concealing the wound where her left eye used to be. v noticed his gaze and turned away from him. he leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the cardboard, one hand grabbing hers to pull her down with him. she followed to sit next to him, huddling together. "we can find one. make one." v slung her arm around him, cradling his head in her palm and he allowed her to pull it down to rest on her shoulder. "tomorrow." she nuzzled the top of his head with her face. "get some rest, i'll keep watch."

[chalabrun]

Sometimes I think about how Johnny is canonly bi and how much I love SilverV, because V is V no matter the gender and Johnny being their soulmate regardless and how implied they are. The signs are all there and SilverV is THE Cyberpunk 2077 ship to me. Literally endgame no matter what.

[matapang-coffee]

When you've been resurrected by your boyfriend but you gotta lay low

[jasakime]

My early cyberpunk experience

[sometimesraven]

@febuwhump Day 19 - Death Wish

Fandom: Cyberpunk 2077 POV: 3rd Person Whumpee: femme V

Summary: Okay, so in hindsight, the "most nova specced, geeked-out, turnt up virtu" was obviously a scam.

Warnings: Implied/Referenced SA, Kidnapping, Drug Withdrawal/Use/Addiction, Panic Attacks & Flashbacks, Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Destructive Behaviour

AO3 Link

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It wasn't like she actually wanted to die. Stalling for time, that's all it was. The nights spent partying, the dumb gigs she still took... just ways to pass the time, blow off steam or top up on Eddies while she waited for a breakthrough. She needed to keep up her rep if she wanted to get any real progress made.

So what if she was getting sloppy? Given the fact she was literally dying - technically already dead - she was doing fucking nova.

Okay, so in hindsight, the "most nova specced, geeked-out, turnt up virtu" was obviously a scam. And V knew that! 'Dorphs or not, she wasn't completely gonk. She knew the moment the damn BD didn't work in her own wreath that she was headed into a trap. In all honesty, V had no idea why she agreed to it. Curiosity? Some tiny, stupid part of her brain that somehow forgot that 'sus as fuck' in Night City always translated to the literal worst-case scenario? Maybe there were too many drugs in her system to think straight, or maybe it was just the tired impulse that told her nothing really mattered anymore. The worst it could do was fry her brain (again), right?

Wrong.

"Just like me, isn't it? Getting trapped in the brain of Night City's dumbest merc..."

Johnny's voice roused her from whatever depths of hell the trapped Braindance had thrown her into. Cold, filthy tile against her skin; the acrid scent of stale piss and death assaulting her nostrils. Her body ached, head pounded, static screaming in her ears as withdrawal mated with her struggling, poisoned systems specifically to fuck her. She groaned, forcing herself into something resembling a sitting position. "What... what happened?"

"Look around and connect the dots." Though his voice held the same dull judgement as always, V couIdn't miss that it was lacking its usual edge; his eyes glinting with something she might mistake for concern if he were anyone else.

As she slowly came to her senses, she understood why. The stench was coming from behind her: bodies in a tub of ice that was all too familiar. Her guns, her gear - fuck, even her clothes were gone. She was completely vulnerable, trapped in the same fucking Scav hideout she'd cleared out with Jackie what felt like a lifetime ago.

"Scavs..." she breathed aloud, her heartbeat kicking up a gear to join the screaming in her ears. Immediately her mind raced with thoughts of what they could have done to her. Of what they might already have done. "Shit."

"So your brain isn't completely fried to a crisp... That's good." Again, Johnny's quip didn't hold its usual bite, and for once she wished it would; that he'd cuss her out, call her a dumb whore, be a complete piece of shit like he was to Evelyn. She felt fucking sick. Her skin crawled, old scars itching underneath the tattoos that covered them like they were warning her to get the fuck out, now.

Every instinct made her want to curl up and scream. She felt nineteen again, little Valerie, stuck cowering in the dirt and blood, wishing she would die already so this would all be over. She could feel Johnny's eyes on her like brands, found herself hyper aware of his presence in her mind, seeing her every thought. Knew he could see exactly what she was thinking and was thankfully choosing to keep his mouth shut.

Vik wasn't going to save her this time. The Mox weren't here- except they were.

With a deep breath, V's fingertips brushed the neon-pink tattoo on her shoulder. She swallowed down the memories, reminded herself Valerie was dead, and pushed to her feet.

"Time to wake up," Johnny encouraged, a hint of relief in his gruff tone, "'Cause you're about to be breakfast."

She moved slowly at first, hesitant and cautious as she picked off Scavs one by one. The first satisfying crunch of bone in her hands spurred her onward, and as she took out the assholes talking about her, about Jackie... V scooped up their shotgun.

One by one they fell, gore and synthblood painting the floor, the walls, V's skin. With every splattered skull and torn limb adrenaline fuelled rage boiled in her chest, replacing the anxiety, the withdrawal, the shame until all that remained was the animalistic instinct to kill. To rip and tear and shout until there was nobody left to carry on this sick fucking game. By the time she was done redecorating this place in Scav guts she would be able to breathe again.

Still, she paused when she found her equipment marked in a locker, taking a moment to make sure she'd cleaned out enough to go uninterrupted before gratefully tossing the borrowed shotgun aside and shimmying back into her tee and skirt. She left the rest to come back for and scoped up her own shotgun with a wicked smile. Thanks, Judy.

"Should've asked if he had any used hypos for sale, too. What could go wrong?" V glared at Johnny as she passed him, his sunglasses firmly back on his nose as the condescension finally returned to his voice.

"Not now, Johnny," she hissed, pausing to offload a round into another Scav's face and watch with glee as the shock charge within made the decapitated corpse convulse.

The last few Scavs up here were a cakewalk and V quickly gathered and donned the rest of her gear before heading out to the elevator.

She could still feel Johnny lingering at the front of her mind, disappointment and disdain dripping from every quip and muffled thought like nasty little bugs in her ears and she focused on the feeling, let it fuel the fury still swirling in her gut. Maybe that was the point of it. It was hard to tell Johnny's motivation. Either way, she dispatched the scopsuckers posted outside with tunnel vision, hopping on her bike before it had even parked and tearing off towards Cherry Blossom Market, single-minded hatred the only thing keeping the nausea at bay.

As expected, the sick cunt that set this whole thing up for them (Stefan or someshit) was exactly where she'd found him. Bold, or maybe stupid. Either way, her hands shook with rage as she drew her pistol, griming maniacally as he shot to his feet, hands lifted and eyes wide with terror. "I'd like a refund."

"Woah, hey, chill girl! A-after you booted up that virtu, y-you started glitchin' out and-"

"Save your breath," V snapped, levelling her aim and forcing it steady. "You knew what you were doing. Wanna know what I do, though? Hm?"

There way no room for negotiation in her voice. Stefan whimpered a plea, crumpling into a pathetic, cowering mess amidst the trash he'd been rummaging through. It was almost enough to make her hesitate, and the conflict making her aim waver again only infuriated her more.

He hit the ground with a heavy thud, blood pooling and trailing in vivid rivulets down the plastic of the trash bags he lay in. V was already gone before he hit the ground.