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[forsuretaxiinpune]

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[chetantravel]

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[tejastravels]

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[lwayonlime]

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[sgstories123]

Good Boy Zed

John looked at his watch. It was already past 2 am. The event was supposed to end at 11 pm but these corporate events sometimes can go on longer than expected. As general manager of the hotel, in such a scenario, he would have to get the client to end the event without getting them upset. It was a delicate task especially when most of the people would be drunk and irrational at this late stage of the event. But if he did not do this, the hotel would have to foot the additional cost including paying for all the temp workers who are waiting for the event to clean up.

It was not too bad today, he thought to himself. The person in charge was still sober and apologetic. He managed to end the event and obtained some additional compensation for the hotel. He looked around at the group of temporary workers who were now clearing up the room. All five of them looked young. They were most probably tertiary students working part-time during the vacation break. He recognised one of them, Zed, a young man studying hospitality in one of the private schools. He had chatted with him a couple of times as he had worked for the hotel as a part-timer for quite some time. He had expressed an interest to work in the hotel when he graduated.

But he was more interested in the girl next to him. She was petite, maybe about 1.5 metres tall. She had a innocent and cute face, with large eyes framed by thick, black lashes. She looked like a Japanese school girl. At that moment, the girl giggled at something that Zed was sharing. Zed parted her hair lovingly and the girl looked down in embarrassment. Gosh, John thought to himself. How nice to be young again.

At 50, John knew what it was to grow old. His paunch has been growing every year and he finds it more and more difficult to climb the flight of steps to his second-floor office in the hotel. He had also been taking Viagra for a couple of years as he could no longer perform.

The other three workers, two boys and a girl, seemed to be friendly with Zed as well. While they were working, they were talking and laughing with each other. John was pleased. He did not like it when the temp workers complain about the longer hours. He wanted to reward them for their hard work and positive attitude, knowing that at this time of the night, the additional compensation will not be sufficient for their cab fare home.

“Mr John, Sir! We are almost done. Can I get the keys from you to lock up the stores?” Zed asked.

“Sure.” John responded. “By the way, Zed. Are all of them your friends?”

“Yeah. We are in the same school. I introduced them to your hotel as temp workers.” Zed replied.

“Is that pretty girl your girlfriend? I saw you too behaving quite intimately.” John asked.

“Not really. I thought Nicole was quite chio so we talk a little bit more lor.” Zed laughed.

John was pleased to hear that. “Do you live far from here? Tell you what. I can get you a room for all of you and you can sleep there till morning. There is some wine left over from the event which the client did not want to take back. You can have it as well if you want.”

“Oh my God! Really! Thanks, Mr John, Sir! I will tell the rest.” Zed was clearly thrilled. John was happy that he managed to do something nice.

A short while later, John had led the five of them into a quad room with two queen-sized beds. They also brought up with them several bottles of wine and a small plate of sandwiches also leftovers from the event. John joined them as the group of them joked and ate a late supper. But John was not paying attention to the jokes. He was looking at Nicole at every opportunity. Now out other hotel uniform, Nicole looked even more like a school girl. She had on a white t-shirt and a short denim skirt with a cute, yellow flower at the side. Something a small girl will wear. John could feel his cock stirring.

By the time the food and wine was gone, the two girls were already too tired and were already resting on the beds.

“Looks like they are really tired. I will go back to my office so that you boys can take a rest too.” John said as he got up to leave the room.

Zed opened the door for him. At the door, Zed smiled at John. “Mr John. We actually planned to have an orgy after the event at one of the budget hotels tonight. But because you offered us such a nice hotel room plus free food and wine, it had turned out to be much better than what we plan. We have all agreed that you can join us. Do you want to?

“Erm…No lah…You enjoy yourself.” John was shocked.

“You sure, Mr John? I know you are interested in Nicole.” Zed said with a twinkle in the eye. “I won’t lie to you. You know I want to work for your hotel, right. So I asked her if she is okay with sleeping with you. I did cajole her a little and she finally agreed.”

John was more shocked than ever. “Let me think about it.”

“Alright, Mr John. You can join us if you change your mind.”

In his office, John was still thinking about Zed’s conversation interspersed with images of Nicole. Unable to focus any more on his work, he opened his drawer where he kept his Viagra and popped one into his mouth. He walked to the mini-bar in his office and washed the little blue pill with a good amount of whisky. He left the room quickly, hoping that the blue pill will work in time, his heart beating fast with expectation.

“Oh! Hi, Mr John! Joining us? You are just in time. We are just getting started.” Zed gushed as he opened the door for John. He saw that Zed was naked with a hard, erect cock. As he entered the room, he saw that the others were also naked. The two boys were lying side by side with the other girl, sucking on her breasts and taking turns fingering her. She was moaning softly. Zed was right. They must have just started.

Nicole was sitting up on the other bed. Zed must have been with her before he went to open the door. Seeing John, she blushed and pulled the blanket up to cover her breasts in a bid for modesty. That’s so cute, thought John. But he knew that he needed some time for the pill to work. He could feel his cock stirring but it was not hard yet.

“Come, Mr John. Nicole is waiting for you.” Zed was trying very hard to get into John’s good books.

“You go ahead first. Let me take a shower before joining you.” John demurred, as he slowly removed his clothes.

Zed did not need a second invitation. He climbed onto the bed and started kissing and hugging Nicole. He pulled her down, covering half her body with his own body as his fingers started exploring her love hole. Sighs of pleasure was emitting from Nicole.

John went into the bathroom and took a quick shower. He walked out of the bathroom, his cock still flaccid, the medication still not kicking in. As he watched the the group of young people engaging in sex, he started to stroke his cock, willing it to grow hard.

By now, the two guys were already fucking the other girl. One of them was behind fucking her doggy style while the other was at the front, receiving a blowjob.

John could feel his cock hardening. He turned to Nicole and saw that Zed has now lifted Nicole’s legs and licking her cunt. She seemed to be close to cumming as her moans were getting louder and her body was jerking upwards uncontrollably. Her hands were grabbing Zed’s hair as she tried to ride out her pleasure. John walked over and started sucking on her small, breasts. Nicole moaned loudly in pleasure as John’s tongue touched her sensitive nipples. With an upwards thrust and a scream, she squirted all over Zed.

“Mr John. I got Nicole all wet for you. No one has fucked her yet. I made sure you get the first fuck.” Zed was one hell of a bootlicker, thought John. He must get that boy a job.

John took over Zed’s place, spreading Nicole’s legs to enjoy the view. Nicole had shaved her pussy. It was so smooth, just like a school girl’s. He parted the lips, now wet with her juice before sliding his hard cock in. John just only managed to get the head of his cock in when Nicole screamed in pain, digging her nails into John’s arms as she grabbed him.

“Mr John. Go slow. Nicole told me she don’t have much experience with sex. She only had sex a few times with her boyfriend. You are the second guy she is having sex with.” Zed whispered urgently.

Almost a virgin. Almost too good to be true. John thought to himself. He pushed in slowly, letting Nicole adjust to his penis. It was so tight. Nicole must be telling the truth. After a while, he managed to get his while length in while Nicole was grimacing in pain. Zed must be encouraging her as John could see him whispering something to her and playing with her nipples to get her to continue. With Nicole seemingly adjusting to him, John started fucking her slowly. He removed his cock slowly before plunging in again. He went for longer strokes, slowly increasing his pace. Nicole was starting to moan in pleasure. He lifted her legs to his shoulders as he pumped deeper and deeper. Nicole responded by moaning louder and louder. Zed continued to play a supporting role, kissing Nicole and playing with her tits, to make her even more aroused.

“Let’s change position, Zed.” John commanded. He laid down on his back. “Get Nicole up on my cock in cowgirl position.” Zed obeyed and slowly helped the inexperienced Nicole to straddle John while guiding his cock into her. As she sat down onto John’s cock, she shivered in pleasure as the cock went straight up into her. John pulled her down and kissed her, hugging the small, petite body closely against his fat belly.

“Zed. You are a good boy. Your reward is to fuck Nicole from behind.” John commanded.

“Thanks Mr John.” Zed responded gaily. He took up a position before slowly pushing his cock into Nicole’s vagina, rubbing against John’s cock.

Nicole screamed in pain as she took in 2 cocks for the very first time. But it was soon smothered as one of the boys came over and shoved his cock into Nicole’s mouth. It took a while but Zed finally managed to get his whole length into Nicole. As he fucked Nicole, he rubbed against John’s cock. He was happy that he managed to get such an intimate connection with John.

The group continued with their orgy session until the sun rose and lit up the room. John had fucked Nicole several times with the other 3 boys each taking turns accompanying and supporting him. He did not manage to fuck the other girl although she did come over and gave him a kiss. As the session came to an end, the group got dressed and started to leave the room. John gave Nicole a final peck on the cheek before she left the room. Zed was the last to leave the room.

“Mr John, Sir. Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Zed asked.

“Yes, Zed. You are a good boy. I will make sure that you get a job with the hotel. You don’t have to worry.” John replied, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“Can we fuck next time without Nicole?” Zed looked at John in the eye. John did not know what to say.

[choccy-zefirka]

Six of Swords

Hello, I was possessed to write some V/Takemura this afternoon! Note that I am playing the game for the first time, mostly blind, so the fic is based on the events that have happened to my V so far (she just met Panam and is in the middle of investigating Evelyn's employers), and was an outpouring of my love for the ship that I had to get out of my system before I properly finished the game. Hence, it may not be quite accurate/in-character!

I also planned to continue the story further, to the point where V and Takemura have their adult choom-choom time, and then their pillow talk involves 1. The talents they would have pursued in another, more peaceful life (cooking for Takemura and art for V); and 2. What Anders Hellman revealed to V regarding her condition. However, given that I have immersed myself in pretty harrowing irl news tonight, that extinguished my inspiration spark for the time being, so I kindly ask you to enjoy the story for what it is!

As usual, my writing contains certain undesirable traits (repetitions, tangents, purple prose etc.) but I had fun with it, and so might you!

Also, this is the V in this story! Idc what CD Projekt says, her full name is Vita XD She belongs to the same character archetype as Una Cadash, Naali Adaar and Cinder the Tav.

"Greetings, V. I do not intend to offend, but it appears that you are forming a behavioral pattern."

The dulcet robotic voice — so familiar — sends ripples across the sea of hissing, crackling, acidic turquoise stripes and squares that have been biting at V's eyes, until she felt like her burning, veins eyeballs were dripping blood.

She blinks, once, twice. The blood turns out to have been tears. Just tears. Once a beast she thought she'd conquered triumphantly at the age of twelve; and now, a more annoying recurring guest than a celebrity on Stan's show.

She wipes them off, in a swift, almost violent motion. Gotta destroy those fuckers.

The ringing in her ears subsides, and the floating turquoise shapes shift and condense into a face. A very distinct, plasticky white face, speaking to her from an overhanging monitor. Her tear-damp fingers twitch, and she spreads them out, still half-blind, feeling the creaky leather. She is on the back seat of a taxi. The taxi, she should say.

"Hey, Del..." she croaks weakly. "How... How did you get here?"

Seriously, though. How?

Her thoughts and memories set in like a broken nose. The last thing she can recollect is the muted orange blur of the desert highway, beyond the Sunset Motel, and a biting-sharp stench as she slumped over the upper-floor railing, heaving her guts out.

"Mr. Takemura hailed me with instructions to take you home," Delamain explains, courteous as ever. "I made certain to send out a reliable cab, whose AI is completely in line with the Delamain Corporation standards."

Through the last dregs of her wooziness, V cannot help but snort (a mistake, as it makes her inhale the lingering aftertaste of her own vomit). Yeah, reliable cab. Unlike those rogue ones. Ugh, she still has to finish chasing them down.

"You were in poor condition — though thankfully, not as poor as when I previously did this for you. Still, this was already happened twice. Hence my remark about the pattern."

"Mhm. If you had an eddie for each time, you'd have two eddies, which is not much, yada yada..."

V sighs.

"Man. Sorry, Del, I... I had a shitty couple of days."

The words scarcely leave her flaky, terribly dry lips — which she just barely saved from splitting into bloody cracks by taking a huge swig from a branded water bottle, graciously provided in the cup holder by her seat — when all of these days' shittiness hits her. At once. Hard, fast. Like crashing your motorbike into a septic tank.

She's seen so much. Way too much for one lifetime,even if hers is supposed to be jam packed into a few weeks.

The dark green mire of the snuff film brain dances, contrasted against the explosion of the searing thermal orange — that fucking ripperdoc chair where some unlucky gonk was melted into a sticky, none-beef-all-soot carcass, for sickos to get off to his final agony.

Evelyn's limp body against her chest, so small, so bare, all that glitz and sass and mystique gone, like she was a little girl V was tucking lovingly into bed. And dark, dark smears everywhere: blood in the bath, smudged makeup on Judy's ashen, hardened face.

Then, the desert, just today. Blood-red through the lens of a drone, no signs of life among the dust and brittle grass. Just the scattered bodies of the nomads — Panam's people, good people, who had nothing to do with this mess, who only wanted to help, to rescue survivors from a downed AMV. The AMV *she* was hunting; the AMV *she* roped Panam into helping her with.

V presses her hand against her eyes. Johnny is quiet for now; she must have taken the Omega blockers back there, at the motel, without knowing. One small blessing, at least. His voice chiming in with her own is the last thing she needs right now.

Shit, shit, shit! She's supposed to be better than this. She was always the tough, competent one. The one to pull her chooms back from the brink, whether it's a younger street kid, years ago, wanting to swim in a canal supposedly infested with brain-eating amoeba (so this is what it feels like), or Judy staring into nothing, with a cigarette weeping ash in her shaking hand, or Panam clutching her wound, screaming the name of the man who offered her to run away together. She — V — was supposed to hold them, to tell them it's gonna be okay. We did preem, fellas, we lived to see another sunrise. Look sharp, look ahead, look at V.

...Who would look at her now and be inspired to push on?

When she lifts her hand again, her face is wet. A-fucking-gain.

And deep inside her — a quivering cable line pulled taut from her gut to the back of her throat — there is a strong, overpowering longing for... For something terribly stupid. And right now, with her legs still numb and sick still drying up on the front of her shirt, she is too weak to stop and make sense of it, much less resist. So she just goes with it, and says what it wants her to say.

"Del... Can you call Takemura for me?"

Delamain obliges,  blue lips sculpted into an impeccably professional smile. The glowing white monitor turns bright orange, and another face emerges from the static. Making the sensation within V cut into her insides even deeper.

"V! I was just finished with Hellman."

V exhales a short laugh. She is still drenched in all that metaphorical shit, but there is no better distraction from it than her favorite pastime. Testing the limits of this old man's stoicism.

"Did not kill him, did you? Or is he still walking around like in those ancient samurai movies — you know, where a guy slices another guy up and he feels just fine, and then suddenly falls apart into neat chunks of meat?"

Takemura holds her gaze, very unimpressed. But she has come to recognize that little tug at the corners of his mouth. She won't go as far as to say that this is also his favorite pastime... But he is not *not* enjoying this.

"You certainly flatter my technique, but... No. Hellman is still alive. I simply obtained all the information I needed from him."

He pauses, and suddenly, his face softens even further. By about 0.01℅, but still.

"I am glad you are awake, V. I heard you screaming in pain on the balcony of that so-called... motel," his lips curl, and he spits the word out like moldy food. "But I could not attend to you for long. You understand."

"The interrogation, yeah."

The conversation lulls, and in the silence, the longing takes over once more.

"Listen, Goro..."

She catches a moment to savor the feel of his first name in her mouth. Since she's started doing stupid things, might as well go all in.

"Can we meet? I'll ask Del here to redirect the car to the marina. It should be deserted at this time of night; I wanna talk in person."

Takemura nods. Somehow, his lack of hesitation sends heat rushing up her windpipe.

"Once, I would have wondered if you were going to waste my time, but now I know better. No meeting with you is ever a waste of time, V."

"Even if we are just eating horrible street food?"

She can swear she's never seen the corners of his lips tilt up this much.

"Even then. Is that why you wish to seek me out on the marina?"

"No, not exactly..." for a fraction of a second, V feels rather sheepish, sobering up from the longing. But Takemura himself does not allow her to backpedal.

"Very well. I will see you there," he says — and disconnects.

By the time Delamain glides onto the marina — smooth as a drifting cloud compared to the mad race across unpaved rocky hillocks and through dingy Raffer tunnels with Panam — it starts to rain. Or, well, drizzle. The wet mist hangs in the air, scented with something fresh for once, and the city lights color it with a peculiar mix of emerald and purple. The palm trees sway quietly, slender silhouettes against the almost trippy watercolor swirls. Deep down, at the same hidden core of her heart that's being pierced by her stupid longing, V wishes she had her drawing tablet with her.

Useless gonk, that. Such a pointless thing to have bought with the eddies from one of her very first gigs. Only really good for designing bike decals for your chooms, and even those would probably have come off just fine if you'd asked one of Del's artist cousins to generate them for you. But sometimes, V cannot help but notice how blue the sky looks when the smog clears, or how vivid orange the rocks by the dam are when the sun hits them, or right now, how those palms look.

And hey, some drawing tutorials on the net are free, and you can't spend every single evening between heists knocking down shots or diddling joy toys. Sometimes you just wanna... meditate.

Jackie had his dumbbells, Misty has her crystals and shit, and V has her silly little tablet. Not enough to turn her into anything more than a Heywood thug, not enough to make her stand out here or in Atlanta... But just right to capture the little splashes of color she spots here and there, so that they leave her head and stop fucking bothering her.

"V. You have no umbrella."

She's been so lost in thought, staring up at the dancing palms, that Takemura's voice makes her jump. Yeah, she has no umbrella — she has no shirt underneath her trusty leather jacket either. Left it crumpled up in the back seat of the taxi, next to the empty bottle she'd gargled to clean her mouth. Kind of felt awkward wearing that vomit-soiled mess to meet Takemura. Especially with what she's about to do.

She freezes in front of him, filling her lungs with the damp seaside air, and filling her mind with the sight of him — a solid, dignified figure amid the rainy blur, worthy of an artwork of its very own... And next, without warning, she takes off: dashes forward and wraps herself around him in the tightest embrace she can muster.

This is the closest she's been to him since he hauled her unconscious mess of limbs to Vik's... Aside from a few brushes of her hand against his: over the condiment bottles on a stained diner table, arranged to represent whatever shit they were making plans about; over shared binoculars at a stakeout; or over a slice of quickly cooling pizza that she playfully shoved at him and he rejected, in utter disdain. All brief, all fleeting, all signifying nothing — as each of them insisted inside their own mind, even as she slanted her eyes covertly to watch him watching her, when they both were supposed to get the lay of the land.

Fuck, he smells so good. He has no right to smell so good for a man on the run, slumming it among cockroaches in some hidden basement. She thinks she can hear a crisp, starchy crunch when she presses against his shirt. Last time she felt something like this was when she and Jackie got dressed up in corpo fits for that fucking mess of a heist.

That reminder adds another droplet to the overpouring tank of shit, and she instinctively clings to Takemura even tighter, a noiseless sob, her third in what, an hour, racking through her.

Of course, it is at this moment that Johnny decides to blink into existence again.

"The fuck?!" he calls out, parting the streams of rain like a bead curtain as he struts up to her. "Did you shut me up so you could get high without me?"

Takemura, ironically, echoes the sentiment.

"V? What is this? Are you still delirious... or perhaps intoxicated? Once more?"

He is not aggressive when he pries her away from him; but still firm. V staggers back, wincing at this painful reminder of their very first rendezvous. She stumbled off to meet Takemura straight from Jackie's ofrenda, who knows how many shots in, head swimming with far too many feelings all at once, and straight up called him "heeey gorgeous". Which he was. Which he *is*. But like... Time and place.

"I am sorry," she blurts out. "I should have asked if you were okay with me getting into your space like that. No, I am sober, it's just... Goro. Listen."

She clenches her fists, chipped-up nails cutting deep into her callused palms. Here it comes. The talk she wanted to have with him.

"I'm no stranger to losing people. Comes with the territory. But ever since that chip mess, it's been happening at a breakneck speed. I meet someone, we choom up, I get them to see that I'm someone they can trust, depend on — that's my whole thing, always has been — and the next time they call me, someone has died. Brutally. Even by Night City standards. It just keeps piling up and up, till I can barely take it... But the one constant in all of this, has been you."

"No fucking way you are saying this to a Saka goon!" Johnny throws his arms up in anguish. "What did I tell you: he's not your friend! He can't be your friend! I don't think the word is in his fucking vocabulary!"

V knits her eyebrows as tightly as she can, as if that will keep him under lock and key, and forces her focus back onto Takemura. He, too, is frowning... But not in anger, she doesn't think. He is giving her his full attention.

"Whenever I call you, I trust that you will answer. Alive. Annoyed with me, but alive. Your texts, your weird parables, even that one time you like... confused the messenger with the search bar and sent me all that WHERE TO FIND GOOD RAMEN stuff in all caps... It's a wonderful pick-me-up when I'm wading through... whatever sludge the city dumps of me. I just wanted to.. I guess... Thank you for that. And to let you know that I'm... I'm still thinking about everything we said to each other on that roof. It meant a lot. You were right; we may butt heads, and argue our different philosophies, but... It makes each of us a bit less lonely."

"It does," Takemura says softly. His voice has dropped a few octaves, and flows more... freely, in a way? As he goes on speaking, the sentences sound less measured, less pre-calculated... It takes a couple of confused blinks for V to realize that what she still perceiving in her head as English is actually Japanese. He has switched to his native language, and her translator implant has kicked into gear.

She mentioned having that implant to him once, even back before Judy had updated it with the Haitian Creole language pack.

"You can speak to me in Japanese if you'd like," she said.

That offended him, as he assumed his English was not good enough for the ignorant American merc. And to be fair, compared to his near-fluency in a second language, and how knows, maybe a third and fourth, all she can boast parroting without a translator are a few curses in Spanish.

But what she meant — and what she hurried to explain to him — was, "You say sometimes that you are homesick. I figured... Using Japanese might ease that feeling."

At the time, he acknowledged her intentions with a polite nod, but insisted on English — perhaps as a sign of respect. And now, here he is. Stepping forward to close the gap that had formed between them. And also, stepping over the language barrier.

"At first, you were an asset to me. A thief that could be of use in avenging Arasaka-sama merely because she was at the right place and at the right time. But then you asked me, again and again, how I felt. Whether I was well. I told you before it was a question I am not accustomed to in my line of work; but it was far from unwelcome. This city is like a stone box filled from within with heavy black smoke, yet with your simple, genuine question, you gave me a lamp. And it lit up brighter and brighter with every new text message, every new call, even with every outrageous joke. You actually coaxed confessions about my childhood, my foolish visions of another life, out of me. These are secrets I grant to very few people. No-one in the past decade. Yet you..."

Slowly, rather clumsily, as if he were replicating the motion after observing other people do it — a silent guardian, a soldier of steel, not allowed such expressions of tenderness himself — he reaches forward and cups the side of V's face with his hand.

"You gave me an all new reason to be grateful that you did not die."

"Oh shit, are you gonna — " Johnny chokes somewhere out there, in the damp haze.

V is not sure if she intended to; she's been too lost in taking in Takemura's quietly sincere expression... But now, of course, she has to.

She tugs at the front of that pristine shirt to make him bend down slightly. She is pretty confident that this low cut collar is precisely where the cybernetics end and the soft, warm, human skin begins. His lips, too, are soft and warm when she meets them with her own. It almost feels too much, too far, tasting him like this — Arasaka's most fearsome enforcer, who is *supposed* to work with her on a very professional, very dangerous mission... But he is the first to slip in his tongue, and the moan that he makes sounds like a sigh of relief.

Now he is the one pulling her in, merging their personal spaces into a single whole. The hand that was resting on her cheek drops to her waist to keep her close. His fingers — a delicate masterwork, whether implants or not, so mesmerizingly beautiful compared to her clumsy, always bloody-knuckled mitts — travel over her jacket... and then pause, when he realizes that this is her only outer wear.

She breaks the kiss and opens her eyes just in time to spot the exact moment when his astonishment gives way to a wicked smirk. Much like the face of the fox from all his parables. He peels the jacket back a little, revealing the muscles and the scars on her abdomen...

"Oh, this corpo fucker thinks he can treat my host — my host! — like a fucking Jig Jig doll!"

If Johnny were corporeal, V would surely have felt angry spittle flying into her face.

"Stop it!" she hisses... Out loud.

Takemura's features instantly set into the mask he wore so beautifully when he was trying to detect the intruders inside his master's walls.

"Of course," he says, returning to English. "We should know our limits. Our partnership has already become all that more complicated."

"No!" V gasps, desperate to outrace the broken-elevator plummet of her own heart. "It's the engram acting up again! I... I can handle this kind of complicated. I *want* this kind of complicated."

The mask begins to crack.

"You are very open about what you want," Takemura muses, eyebrows half-raised. "I am not certain if I can... relate to that, as my wants are the wants of the Arasaka lineage, but it is oddly admirable. Still — "

His hand is on her waist again, but this time it's to steer her to the taxi.

"If you are unwell, it is best that you return home. I will remember this, V. Most warmly."

"Wait!"

She weaves their fingers together, the refined elegance of Tokyo and the rough edges of Heywood becoming one.

"Come with me. We still have so much time to while away before the parade. I have to meet this guy for deets on the Voodoo Boys, but that's not until the day after tomorrow. And at least I have running water at my place. And no cockroaches. That I know of."

He shakes his head, but does not let go of her hand.

"You know I am a marked man, V. Losing ourselves in crowds together is one thing, but..."

"Come on!"

She beams at him, and the wider the grin, the clearer the realization: her pain and guilt have subsided. For the time being.

"This is a Delamain cab. And I have, well, inherited the Excelsior package from Dex. Top notch security, isn't that right, Del?"

She pokes her head through the car door to ask the question, and the AI responds affirmatively.

"Indeed. Delamain guests are guaranteed full privacy aboard this premium vehicle. No security specialists, even those as formidable as the employees of Arasaka Corporation, will be able to breach inside throughout the entire route from here to your garage."

"And the building itself?" Takemura persists — even as the tip of his thumb begins to unconsciously run over V's cracked knuckles. She thinks he finds the motion soothing.

"The elevator cameras?"

She beams again.

"I have these neat little optics that turn my face into a blur in any security footage. I believe..."

She plants another kiss at the corner of his mouth, inciting a blissful little sigh.

"If our faces are pressed close enough, the effect might extend to you."

With that, she yanks at his arm, ever so slightly, teasing as always.

He follows readily, finally convinced.

They unlock their hands and duck through their respective passenger doors. V finds the back seat thoroughly cleaned of the dirty shirt and the water bottle. She would not be surprised if Delamain had a whole recycling station somewhere underneath. Great for corpse disposal too — no, better not think of it now.

Takemura leans back, rolling his tired shoulders.

"This thing is quite nice to ride in when you are not bleeding to death, isn't it?" V chuckles, and Takemura hums contentedly in agreement.

"Thank you for the feedback," says Delamain. "I shall now turn my attention strictly to traffic, to allow my guests the promised privacy."

"Much appreciated, choom."

The upholstered back of the front car seat carves itself into luridly textured blocks before V's eyes. Next thing she knows, Johnny is lounging next the non-existent driver — not buckled in, obviously.

"Don't do this," he warns her through his teeth. "You are getting your perspective skewed. And turning yourself into a loose end that this fucker and his big mommy Hanako will cut just like that..." He is crammed between seats now, right in front of her, snapping his fingers. "The moment you are no longer useful."

V remembers to keep her voice inside her skull, this time around.

"I am not taking relationship advice from a dead guy who keeps calling one of his closest associates a cold bitch every five seconds."

"You don't know fuck about my relationships!" Johnny seethes, but V is no longer humoring him. Takemura has pulled her into his lap and is kissing her again. And again. And again. On her lips, her jaw, along the side of her neck.

Now, there is a deep, ravenous force brewing behind every stroke of his tongue, every half-bite of his teeth. He locked eyes with her briefly when she straddled his leg, asking for permission ("Like the loyal dog that he is," Johnny would have sneered, but honestly, fuck Johnny). And when she granted that permission with a gleeful nod, the force was fully unleashed. How long has this been building up? How long ago did he let himself go last, if ever?

He answers at least one of her unsaid questions the next time he surfaces for air.

"I have a confession," he murmurs in Japanese, gazing at her half-lidded through a silky veil of salt and pepper.

V has, once or twice, seen his hair in a "shamefully disheveled" state (which is Takemura-speak for one strand being slightly loose because he had no time for a full morning routine in his hideout). Now, though, it is almost completely undone, a messy dark frame for his fine-cut face. V laces her fingers through it, nigh reverently, and it is with the same reverence that he kisses the inside of her wrist, before continuing.

"Do you remember how I asked you to hack a camera for me, and as you sneaked towards it, you forced a back door open with your bare hands?"

Just as it mysteriously vanished, V's shirt has been mysteriously returned by Delamain. It lies neatly folded next to her on the back seat, but she couldn't be further from trying to put it on. On the contrary, her leather jacket has now slid down her shoulders, and her torso is on full display, every marking, every groove of embedded cybernetics, every bump and curve of her musculature.

She is no Jackie, of course. She will never be Jackie, for all her attempts to clumsily rest her hand on top of Mama Welles' and do her duty of comfort and protection... No, not now, please not now!

She is no Jackie — but she could easily do pull-ups hanging off a metal beam at an abandoned construction site, twenty feet off the ground and with badges swarming underneath, sirens blaring. In fact, she just might. Especially if Takemura were watching.

"Suppose I do."

"You were in a short tank top; I could see your back move, your arms strain. Your strength was brute and raw, untrained... But so beautiful. At that moment, I wanted you so much that I almost forgot myself. A..."

His chest heaves. Through the loosened hair cascade, V watches the glaze of desire clear from his eyes. If it were not for the state of his hair, the flush on his face, the nanometers separating him from her, and the fact that she could slide her hand down his pants at any moment to check if he had an extra gun or... If it were not for all of that, he could almost have been the ruthless, efficient, unshakable Goro Takemura she first started working for.

"A lapse in sanity that I am repeating now."

Fuck. Forget the extra gun then.

She has not realized, until now, how cold it is without her jacket, despite Delamain best attempt at the most agreeable climate control. How the air prickles at her exposed skin.

"When you thought I was telling you to stop, it really was just the engram..." she says, her voice deliberately, carefully slow. "But if you are done now, then no problem."

"Thank fuck!" Johnny cheers, his voice muffled but full of what V believes is called schadenfreude.

"It would have been a good decision, but..." Takemura shakes his head. "But I still want you. I never stopped wanting you, from that moment since. Despite my obligations, despite the burdens we both carry. I just..."

"You are not used to having wants of your own. Outside of Arasaka."

V whispers her guess with a gentleness that almost makes her shudder — to herself, she sounds too much, *way* too much like that fucking doll in the Clouds.

"It's all right. I won't tell anyone. Honor among thieves, remember?"

She rests her forehead against his and smiles to mirror his own smile — which is quivering and uncertain; but still there. Still back on his lips.

"I am sure Hanako-sama will be too busy thanking you for bringing her brother's crimes to light, to notice that you've been going around getting horny for random mercs. Now come here. We're almost at my place."

Her next kiss is more of a breath, a fleeting promise than an actual touching of the lips. But Takemura's eyes darken again. Heavy. Ravenous.

She feels a bump against her thigh that is certainly not acting the way extra guns do.

"Anything for you, V."

[hellcab]

TATTERDEMALION

Just a long dabble about Roth and The Yellow King. It gives some hints to Roth's upcoming event and another "God".

Black, near-acidic rain came pouring down from the smog choked skies above. It was always worse in the morning. Then again, the hours blend. Roth swallowed several caffeine pills with his morning coffee. There was vodka for punch in the brew.

Rubbing his eyes, he stared out ahead towards the busy street. The morning rush was in full swing. The desperate hoard sleepwalking off towards work. Vendors opening, despite the horrid weather. A traffic accident took center stage with bickering sinners. Violence. Desperation. Sadness. Rage.

He could feel it all like static in the air.

Roth slouched into his car seat and crossed his arms. Wrapping his chest tightly, he pretended he was somewhere else. Perhaps, somewhere better.  Growing hazy, his mind wanted sleep. Sure, the pills were in his system but that rarely helped.

He couldn’t sleep. He wanted to sleep. The times he tried became troubled with nightmares and terrible visions. Old ghosts strangled his neck from beyond the grave. Failures that gnawed on his spine.  Dead friends and lost lovers. The fear of the future weighing on his soul.

When he could sleep. When he could sleep without the nightmares. He can never, ever rest.

There was never any rest.

A gently tapping at the window got his attention. Roth sees his first customer outside the window. A yuppie, sporting an expensive look that screamed corporate decadence. They stood outside, sheltered by their umbrella as they tapped once more.

Roth could do worse with anyone else, but this customer actually had money. So why not. Signaling them, The Yuppie went to the back and entered. He collapsed his umbrella as he entered the cab. Overall, they seemed unbothered by the rotting interior. Then again, it beats walking in the black rain. Their clothes were impeccable.

“Where you’re heading?” Roth inquired as he twists around to look at his first customer. The Yuppie fixed his hair, which was coal black. “EvilSoft, at Mammon Business Plaza. No rush, I’m heading in early.”

“How surprising. That’s two-fifty for the ride and three very mile.” The Yuppie offered money for the fair and Roth accepted. Starting the cab, the Brimstone engine roared to life with ferocity. It was a mean machine of unstoppable power.

Roth joined traffic as they drove on through the storm. The world outside was muted. The mist and smog made things strained on the eyes. Roth could see blurs that eventually became shapes he could understand. The world was a hazy dream.

There was silence at first. Then, The Yuppie started talking. Roth normally could care less when talking to his customers. Sometimes, he preferred the silence. Most times, he preferred the radio. But, somehow, he rather liked his passenger today. Sure, they were a yuppie fuck. Roth’s own envious mind itched with frenzy scorn on that.

But . . . who really cares down here? Besides, the radio hasn’t been working that well lately.

Slowly, Roth opened up to the other as they talked sports. They talked about music. They talked about celebrities. The Yuppie spoke of his love of Verosika Mayday.

“That’s what I’m saying, her music is vibrant with that cynical bite. There’s more than sex and dirty talking. Just uh, message about the dating scene and one-night stands. You know.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean. I read the lyrics, and I get it. Sometimes, sometimes I can.”

Roth was closer to downtown now, nearing Mammon Plaza and ready to collect his full fair this morning. Honestly, not a bad start to the day’s tribulations. Best of all, his passenger wasn’t that half bad. For a Yuppie, which is.

“Say Roth, do you like the arts just as much as anyone with good taste? I sense that, you’re an artist.”

Roth gave a laugh, but he decided to humor this little question.

“Yeah, I suppose so. I . . . sometimes I write stuff. Poems, y’know.”

Roth came to a red light, stopping along with other cars. It was busy down here, with never-ending road work being done. Imps and Hellhounds, working for a slave’s wage in terrible conditions. Roth watched as sparks came up from a Hellhound cutting rebar.

The light turned green, and Roth proceeded onwards.

The Yuppie spoke again, grinning ear to ear as he laughing. The laughter strangely unnerved Roth in some strange, animalistic way. As if there was something wrong to the laughter only his deepest, primal senses can hear.

“Y’know, I’ve been to plays. Theater. Opera. I wanna ask you something Roth. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, what?”

There was silence. Just silence in that cab along with the droning of the rain. The engine and the muted sounds of the city outside.

“Have you seen The Yellow Sign?”

Roth’s heart was strangled with blind panic. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t even react. Eyes stared ahead as the world turned wrong all around him. Everything was Dark. The city, the road and the rain were gone within the blink of an eye. Replaced with the howling void of nothing. Roth’s courage was made void as he stared into the dark void of nothing.

Roth prayed he was dreaming. Roth prayed this was a nightmare.

The Gehenna Cab was trapped in this strange nothing. Roth wasn’t even sure if they were moving still. That was not his greatest concern.

He knew someone was back there. It wasn’t The Yuppie; it was someone else. Someone he had hope he would never come face to face again with. He knew he was there. The air changes and the pressure grow on Roth to turn around. He was compelled to turn around. To see him. To look upon him with his eyes.

He’s a king, whom emperors have served. The Hebrews called him Kiawan. He is The Unspeakable God of mad artists and entropic loners. The Tatterdemalion King.

Roth looked as knew who it was.

Hastur. The Yellow King.

The tattered robes of yellow concealed the night underneath. The pallid mask hides the face of godly madness. This was what Roth witnessed when he first summoned him so many years ago.

Roth prayed to him during his bout of insanity. He kept Roth alive. He gave Roth purpose beyond the asylum. He was his savior. His benefactor.

He owned his soul.

“Kruger . . . . .”

The voice of Hastur made Roth’s skin crawl with despair and anxiety. Roth was panicking and wanting to escape. But here he was, trapped with The Yellow King. What did it want from him? What did it need from him? Roth went so many years without having to summon it.

It owned Roth soul and that was just about the end of it. One soul for power, one soul for the chance to survive Hell. Roth’s powers came from The Yello King, by his royal blessing.

Through him, Roth drove his enemies to madness. With him, Roth could be so more powerful but yet, he dared not to. The Yellow King was a virus unlike anything. Roth knew the risk of being overexposed to his maddening presence.

He did not want to become subsumed by him. He did not desire to become trapped in Carcosa.

And yet . . . there was something inside him that wanted to.

He wanted to escape to that place of twin suns. Black stars and the shores of Hali. He wanted to drown in the debauchery of Carcosa. To succumb to the yellowing madness of the city.

It scared Roth to want these things.

Before Roth could speak, The Yellow King vanished in blinding light to the front seat. Now closer, mow looming with alien apathy towards Roth.

“Escape . . .  you are going to leave?”

It was pain to be this close to oblivion. Roth looked away in fear, knowing The Yellow King sees all.  Roth bowed his head, his eyes closed as he knew he could not escape.

“Yes.”

The Yellow King’s face turned towards the void. He could not be read. Or understood. He was alien a foreign, strange in every way beyond what was expected of Gods. Roth was in the hands of this entity. One false move, one moment of wavering loyalty, would end his entire struggle.

“There will be pain. Truth. Revelation. The beginning of the end of things. The strings on humanity.”

Roth looked with anxious curiosity on his eyes towards Hastur. What did he mean by that? What did he mean by Revelation? Is he speaking of the end times? What of truth? What was this about the strings on humanity?

“It will burn you. You will gain knowledge. You will see what lies beyond the door. You see will see. You will see.”

“See what?”

“The lion. The snake. The mockery of Gods.”

Roth wasn’t sure what that meant. He does not know what that means yet but . . . hopes he never will.

“You will suffer. You will be dragged and quartered by this place. Humiliated and cast aside. You cannot bear that . . .”

“I’ve suffered too much already.” “Ignorant still?”

The mockery of his answer scared Roth into silence as he stared ahead. The Yellow King stared ahead as well.

“You can leave. You will leave. Only, in the end, you will return to this place. Without friends. Without love. Without me.”

Roth stared up and looked puzzled and fear. He didn’t want to believe any of that. There was a part that clings to the idea of freedom from Hell. To escape, this place and never return. But The Yellow King sees all and knows all. He would not lie, but Roth wanted to believe he was lying.

He lied to himself to believe it.

“Look at me.”

Roth was breathing hard as he stared ahead. He does not want to look. He knows what he will see and yet, knows nothing of what he will see. He knows whatever lies beyond the mask is the bane of sanity.

“Look At Me.”

Still, he does not want to turn his head. Every atom screams with fear as Roth resisted.

“LOOK. AT. ME.”

Finally, Roth turned his head and looked. There was blinding light as Roth was returned back to normal. He hears The Yuppie screaming in panic, as Roth realized he was driving into traffic. Though dazed, Roth quickly diverted and narrowly missed wrecking his cab. Slamming on the breaks, Roth stopped the cab as his passenger screamed every obscenity at him.

Roth was too drained to even respond. He slouched in his seat as The Yuppie screamed at him.

Roth looked ahead.

He cannot see past the rain.

[sgmaxicablimo]

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[abigail-pent]

ok so I'm in Frankfurt on a long layover and public transit is all fucked up, and my cab couldn't get me to the hotel because all the streets in the city center were blocked off. so I had to get out and walk 20 min with my massively heavy backpack, which I didn't think I'd need to do. and just now I went to look up what event this was, and JP MORGAN CHASE SHUT DOWN THE ENTIRE GODDAMN CITY OF FRANKFURT TO HOLD A "CORPORATE RUNNING CHALLENGE"

one corporation is allowed to shut down an ENTIRE CITY CENTER, ALL THE STREETS, TO MAKE ITS EMPLOYEES DO RUNNING??? AND THE PUBLIC TRANSIT GOT ALL OUT OF WHACK FOR THIS TOO?????

I am outraged! why are the people here not rioting!

[troblsomtwins829]

I Want to Write This.

I'm posting about this because this entity has been with me for a very long time. It won't let me go, and I'm desperately hoping that talking about it will help rekindle the flame for this story.

I had a weird dream a few years back, I had moved out of my parents house, was living with roommates I would very soon discover were total slobs, and I was working in the Garden Center with my cat and my writing at home.

As with all my very weird and vivid dreams, I noted a few important details and jotted down a 'title' of sorts with a few key words to help me remember what happened if I ever wanted to think about it again. A few of my favourite examples are "Long Distance Ping Pong Corporation," "Murder Town," and "Ghetto Warrior Cats."

This was among the weird ones that left a profound effect on me.

I titled it "Everyone Dreams of Euphoria"

The dream starts with the blinding white light of an overcast winter sky framed by jagged stone and rebar. I'd lived in this place for a while, but not long enough to get the hole fixed.

I'm what's called a "runner." I do odd jobs around the city to earn food and materials to make my living space my own. Our word is our worth, our tasks our mission. I'm not the only runner and not everyone runs. There are bakers and farmers and miners and scrappers and people who make and mould and produce things for others. Traded by barter.

The city is old. It's built upon a once greater city, but now only a few of the great sky towers remain.

And in the center of the city, above all the people and houses and jobs, sits a church that glows that same blinding white.

The church is called "Euphoria"

Once a year, the acolytes of the church descend into the city and randomly select citizens to join and work for the church. They dress in white comfortable looking clothes and are always always smiling. This year, I'm selected. I'm invited into a cab, where I meet a wonderful older gentleman that talks the entire way about his family and his daughters and the lives of everyone he loves. He is clearly very happy.

Everyone in Euphoria is happy. Not a single frown is found among them.

The leader of the church welcomes myself and a few others that were selected in the city. His name is Father Brown. He invites us to partake in the various tasks around the church from textile to calligraphy (transcribing texts) and to partake in a taste of the euphoria the rest of them feel. I'm hesitant to remain in the church. I had plans and jobs and people down in the city I didn't want to leave behind.

Father Brown says it's fine that I want to leave. He asks that we give the church two weeks to see if what they have to offer will be a life we want to live, and if by the end of that time we still want to go home, he'll let us; but for the first night, we're bathed and fed and clothed and comfortable. I remember the bed was warm and plush and soft. An acolyte helped me find a robe small enough to fit without dragging on the ground.

The first meal I remember having a hearty soup. Thick, light, flavourful broth with vegetables. A pill is placed next to my water cup and I'm invited to take it. I don't, because you don't take strange pills. These pills are also called 'Euphoria' and it's the reason that everyone in the church is so happy and content doing their day to day routine and jobs.

There's only ONE person that doesn't seem happy, though. And that's the Chaplain. I don't know why he's unhappy. He's never smiling and Father Brown is always encouraging him to.

The two weeks are kind of a blur. I don't remember a whole lot other than a few random events in the halls or while embroidering (i was surprisingly invested in that, cause I don't embroider irl) and I remember I talked with Cabbie a LOT, he was such a wonderful father figure and I envied not knowing him sooner in my life. At the end of it, though, I approach Father Brown and tell him that, as nice as the church has been, I don't think it's the right place for me, and I wanted to go home.

He smiles like he expected me to say that.

And he lets me go.

Father brown sends me off with a wave to the waiting cabbie.

I'm skipping a few details in favour of brevity, but I remember waking up back in the real world feeling very...off. Like something took a piece of my heart and cast it in an unknown metal. Like there was something I hadn't seen that I should have. Something I had seen that I shouldn't. It felt like I had very much been in someone else's body for a long, long while, and was now in a different one.

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I still see that church. Bright and white and gently glowing atop the skyline.

And I wonder...

[prvtocol]

@badtrigger ( Vaas + Santiago in the driver’s seat ) : ❝ try anything and you’ll lose limbs. ❞ // vaas for bri, first week | wednesday starters ( accepting )

“T-try anything?” Breathy voice trembles like her hands which don’t know whether to keep lifted in surrender or fall and fold on her lap. The latter would be preferable, but even she knows not to make any sudden movements. Attempt to open the door whilst apologizing to strangers for hopping into the wrong cab was quickly diverted with the cold blade of a knife pressed under her chin, lifting and turning it with it. This heist is no mistake, nor is the scrambling of her comm by some external netrunner. Kidnapping a corporate representative, kidnapping her; is this really happening? Mind fears thinking of anything worse but there certainly is worse.

“I’m not even...armed for that and even if I was, I mean,” narrow shoulders give a pathetic scrunch in a half-lived shrug, a self-deprecating smile in tow. Sleeveless black evening gown leaves bare her skinny arms and décolletage (sans the diamond statement necklace), presenting no cyberware in sight. And even if she packed a weapon under the trim of her dress’s long skirt, she’d hardly be one to know how to use it. No, her only protection was a member of her security team who never made it into the car. Where is the event’s extra security? “I think you well and truly have the upper hand here.” Accented voice fumbles out, the positive spin attempted is strained, but at least she’s managing to form words.

Fright-widened eyes can’t help but shift back and forth from the larger man in front (who is not her driver) to the one giving orders with the blade. He stares her down with eyes glowing red like some sort of street demon. Sans those orbs, the car is dark; evening in a parking garage makes it even darker. Not until the car starts to move, overhead lights shifting, does she get a better glimpse of the mohawk, the leather jacket, the grunge; definitely not a competitor corps’ agents.

“Whoever sent you to do whatever you intend to do, I can pay much much more for you not to do it. Any price, you name it. Much better than entangle yourselves unnecessarily with Arasaka.”

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