#if it is all just him being too corpo himself

[cultofthepigeon]

dc really had the like 90 year old gay dude saying the collective "queer" while also patting themselves on the back for that midnighter/apollo re-wedding despite having been the ones chosing to break them up during new 52

god DAMN corporate pride is so fucking annoying

[zevrra]

—cyberpunk 2077

synopsis: just some random headcanons i have for the cyberpunk men! :3

tags: 18(+) only, suggestive content, mention of explicit content, cyberpunk 2077, the reader is ‘v’, includes hc’s for vik, river, goro, & johnny.

viktor vektor—

a man who loves with his entire heart

he gets soooo excited when he talks about boxing

def accidentally falls asleep during movies

cares more about you than he does himself

is so so obedient

the second you ask for something he immediately says yes ma’am/sir

is 100% a fan of cute nicknames

the type to question why you would ever like an old man like him, especially when the two of you are intimate

is far stronger than you would’ve expected from an “old man”

noisy asf when it comes down to it

could care less about his own pleasure, he focuses everything on making you feel good

would let you ride his face for hours

switches between being a service top to a power bottom depending on the day

river ward—

leaves you a sweet/heartfelt message every morning for you to wake up too

his love language is soooo physical touch

but also buys you flowers every few weeks to replace the old ones

would hug/cuddle with you 24/7 if he could

you fell first, he fell harder

wants to have a giant family one day

loves cooking for you

is stressed constantly from work but the moment he’s with you it all melts away

100% has a breeding kink

constantly praises you for taking him so well

also a very, very talkative man

he talks you through every second of it

a soft dom

goro takemura—

hopeless romantic

wants to live a life of freedom but knows he will always be chained to his corpo master

doesn’t stop him from trying to live his life to the fullest and it’s all because of you

will never admit it but he loves getting gifts from you

keeps every gift you’ve ever given him

dislikes PDA as he has a very traditional outlook on life

would 100% save himself for marriage

is vanilla as vanilla can get

wouldn’t say no to trying new things inside of the bedroom, as long as they’re not too extreme, but almost always defaults right back to mr. vanilla

“i read a book on it once”

johnny silverhand—

quality time is his love language

wants to teach you how to play guitar but explains the cords like “so you do this with this finger and flip it over here and yeah for this you do that”

finally has you in his grasp and he’s never letting go

loves teasing you every chance he gets

would never say it out loud but you are his soulmate

gets a matching “johnny x v” tattoo

knows kerry is the better songwriter between the two of them so he asked him once to write some lyrics for a song for you

def sang it to you on your bday or anniversary

oh he so wanted to fuck you the second he returned to his body

a top without a doubt

loves watching you ride his thigh when you’re really needy

shotguns smoke into your mouth when you make out

[sacredcyber]

I Think I Like When It Rains

A soft smutty SilverV oneshot, 3k words. A/n: fem V from a corpo background, nsfw.

The long trek towards her northside apartment was unusually silent and painfully dull. Normally Johnny's comments would be firing at a rapid pace. When can they start looking for Alt? Let him take control just for an evening, take a smoke break. Instead she found herself walking through night city alone, in the rain, shooting off random questions hoping it’d rouse him from whatever recess of her mind he’d hidden himself in. Nothing. No answers at all, not even a huff of frustration.

‘It’s fine.’ She thinks to herself. ‘It’ll be like that when he’s gone.’ And that thought brings out a burn in her throat. Something pained and sharp has burrowed itself in her chest and made itself home. V stops short at the corner about a block away, she leans against a light post and sighs.

‘You’re being weird again.’

It’s her voice but it’s not. The sudden realization dawns on her that Johnny could read her thoughts. It makes her feel exposed. She quickly runs the block home in the downpour, the rain soaking through her too big tank top and leather pants.

After fidgeting with the broken card reader, V stumbles inside her small apartment. The pink neon lighting and blue beaded curtains make it feel so homey, so lived in. She remembered the day she bought it, Johnny berated her about her lack of taste. V wanted to tell him about her luxury condo she had to give up when she got sacked, but a sudden wave of shame had washed over her and she simply answered with a small hum in agreement. Arasaka seems like a lifetime ago. Another life, another person, another V. Her Watson home was too painful to stay in after Jackie died, the memories of the both of them shooting the shit, Misty coming by after her shift with tacos and yakitori were all things of the past. The northside apartment had become like a sanctuary, she could be at peace here in this small shoebox of a room.

Just her, Nibbles and her tapeworm.

As she crosses the threshold, a friendly meow greets her. Nibbles jumps off the arcade cabinet and rolls on her back exposing her equally bald tummy. V chuckles and closes the door behind her, as she bends down to bless the feline with a generous scratch behind her ears, she can hear the familiar sound of Johnny’s static reappearing.

He groans and makes his way over towards the armory. V pretends not to notice him, not to be excited he’s left whatever shell he was in earlier. Instead she fishes out a pack of cat food for nibbles and walks over towards a small porcelain bowl.

Johnny immediately moves away and heads over to the bed, she watches him out of the corner of her eye. He’s a bit tense, wound up. As if he could sense her questioning gaze he simply lights up a cigarette. “I’m tired.”

“You’re tired?” V asks incredulously. Johnny’s static form stutters a bit as he shifts himself onto her small bed. “Well actually you’re tired. I’m just feeling it too.” He mumbles. V makes a face, this fucking guy. “I thought engrams don’t need to sleep?” She stands and walks over towards him, his legs planted firmly on the linoleum floor. A heavy sigh escapes his lips. “You really gonna fight me over this? Fuck V...” The bite he normally has in his voice is mostly gone, Johnny sounds exhausted, miserable. She sighs, the day's events hadn’t been easy on them, the sudden rainstorm plus the non working fast travel pods around the city only added to her frustration. If only her car wasn’t in the shop, she could have just driven home.

Nope, it was just her trudging through the rain. Now she’s home, dripping wet and muscles aching. V sighs, there’s no fight in her, hell she’s not even hungry. All she wants is a hot shower and sleep. “You can sleep with me tonight.” She mumbles. Johnny looks up as V begins to turn away, “ I know you don’t need to but…”

“But what?” He asks, ready to tease her. “Someone’s eager to get me into bed.” He observes her as she slips her boots off.

“You seem…I don’t know…off? Quiet maybe.” She says before disappearing into the bathroom. Johnny scoffs, before he knows it he’s in the bathroom ready to argue.

“As if I-“ he begins before he stops himself. V stands topless in front of the shower, her wet samurai top already on the ground, her hands on her pants zipper. She raises an eyebrow. “What? Never seen tits before?” She turns around and begins to remove her pants, Johnny knows he should fuck off right now, give her some kind of privacy. But something’s compelling him to stay, see what happens, V doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Wasn’t expecting to see yours.” He chuckles. “Didn’t know my little corpo rat was an exhibitionist is all.” V turns the shower on trying not to focus on the “my little corpo rat” comment, he notices the way her breasts jiggle a bit, they’re bigger than he’s used to, Johnnys always had a penchant for petite women, V’s musculature had been a bit of a turn off for him, recently he’s been rethinking that.

She turns to face him and something in Johnny’s chest tightens. She’s bare, with nothing but his tags on. Something about that does it for him, maybe it’s her lack of aggression or just how intimate it feels. “Not gonna take those off too?” He lifts his cybernetic hand and places his fingertip onto the tag, V can feel slight pressure there. She cocks her head a bit, “I’ve never taken them off.” She says following his wandering hand as it travels from the tags to her navel. She can feel him and she doesn’t know how or why, but she doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t want to ruin it.

V makes a motion with her hand, “You coming in?” Johnny is a bit stunned, he’s not used to V being so nonchalant about contact. Normally she’s very cagey about him being near her. He doesn’t blame her, especially since their meeting was terrible. He’s conflicted, but the need for touch is overwhelming. “You want me to?” He asks, hesitation sprinkles his words. V nods. ‘Yes’ she thinks and so he follows.

V stands under the hot shower, the steam feels so comforting, like a warm blanket hugging her. As she stretches she can feel her back bump into something solid. As she reaches back Johnny catches her hand, his ganic hand gently caresses hers. She hesitates but turns to face him, he’s there naked as the day he was born, only with the addition of that familiar blue static. She studies him, he’s definitely handsome, not that she wanted to admit that but something about his little grin tells her he already knows that. Her eyes wander from his dark brown eyes to his sloped nose down to his happy trail, she lifts her head to face him, not wanting to focus on the obvious.

“You look like you got questions.” He murmurs. V looks for her shampoo. “Can you feel the water?” He nods. “Yeah, feels nice, I guess it feels nice to you.” He moves to stand under the shower head, it merely goes through him but V supposes it adds to the experience.

She grabs the coconut shampoo and begins to work up a lather. Her back is towards him, “Where did you go?” She asked. Johnny notices a slight hitch in her voice, he watches as she scrubs her scalp. He steps in and replaces her hands with his, lightly massaging the product into her hair. “Can’t exactly go anywhere…” he avoids the question. V steps under the shower head, her back pressed against Johnny's chest. He watches as the shampoo runs over her breasts down her toned stomach. His hands move from her scalp to the sides of her waist, before he grabs her and presses her firmly against him, his mouth pressed against her ear.

V presses harder against him, he feels so real, so solid against her skin. The only difference is the lingering fuzziness he gives off, maybe it’s the static. “You…didn’t answer my question.” She manages to mumble out, Johnny simply hums “I’m here now.” His metal hand traces down from her collarbone in between her breasts. V wants to prod him, demand he tell her why he left her alone with her thoughts but his touches are so reverent, so gentle.

“I was angry.”

She turns to face him, Johnny’s brown eyes scan her face, he looks vulnerable, soft, uncomfortable. She grabs his ganic hand and presses her face against it, his thumb strokes her cheek. “Did I do something?” He simply shakes his head, everything pisses Johnny off to some extent. The shitty weather, his PTSD, the way Fuckin’ Takemura and River give her those looks when she’s not paying attention. V used to piss him off too, her selflessness, the way she’d always get involved in shit that didn’t concern her, her kindness. Her ability to just give parts of herself to anyone in need.

Now he’s before her, a starved man seeking it out for himself. He hesitates and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. V slowly allows herself to be soft, to be open for him. Love isn’t something you come across in Night City, it’s something you buy for an hour or two. But this isn’t that, this is something else, something that’s needed by both of them.

His kisses are rough, they’re desperate for dominance, to lay a claim on her. She can feel how needy he is, the way his hands press into her bruised back, how his fingers find those sore spots and rub into them. V lets out small pained cries, as she opens her mouth Johnny simply probes deeper. He wants all her sounds and cries, all of them. The good and the bad.

“V…” he whispers, her bitten lips skimming over his down to his neck, she bites into him like forbidden fruit and such as original sin she knows she’s crossed over into temptation. That pained thing that burrowed into her earlier is now growing between her ribs and it flutters so gently she can barely breathe.

How strange.

Johnny grabs V’s face and pulls it to meet his gaze. He wants to see her, needs to see her face when he’s worshiping her. Her eyes are hazed over, glazed in want and desperate for release. He plants more swollen kisses on her lips. “Let’s go to bed.” He whispers hungrily. V turns off the shower and grabs a towel. “Let’s go to bed?” She begins to towel herself off. Johnny simply grins and reappears sitting on the bed, he can see her though the beaded curtains and even though he’s mapped out her curves and scars with his fingers it’s still exciting to see only bits of her behind the blue plastic beads. Like a private show meant only for him, something no one else can have.

Because how could they? No one knows her like he does, no one ever could.

V emerges from the bathroom, her hips sway a bit as she closes in on Johnny’s personal space. “Sit on the bed.” He whispers in that whiskey’d tone. She does as instructed and immediately he appears on the floor in front of her, kneeling. Johnny’s not used to being subservient, but it feels so natural with V, so easy. Like he doesn’t have to be that “rowdy asshole rockerboy” everyone wanted. He’s simply Johnny, touch starved, pent up, needy Johnny.

He slowly trails his fingers over V’s thighs, it makes her shiver under his touch. “Know how frustrating it is watching you play nice with a pig and a corpo dog?” His tone is dangerous with a veneer of playfulness. V raises herself up on her elbows, she watches as Johnny kneads her inner thighs.

“Has Johnny Silverhand always been the jealous type?”

He chuckles, “Possessive might be the better word.” He spreads her legs out further and places a wet kiss on her clit. Her hips buck into his face a bit. “Fuck…” she gasps out. Johnny chuckles “Not yet, I wanna have some fun first.”

His ganic fingers circle her entrance, she’s already wet and dewy but he’s never been one to half ass eating someone out. He doesn’t want to rush anything. “Thinkin’ real hard down there, silverhand?” V’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. Her half lidded stare and the way she runs her fingers through his tangled hair makes him feel alive again.

“I need you to ride my face.” Before V can protest or tease, Johnny’s already teleported under her. He’s taken the liberty to spread her legs as she precariously balances over his face. She holds on to the wall in front of her. “I-I’ve never done thi-“ Johnny licks a swipe over her clit and she shudders.

“Just relax.” He says as plants a tender kiss on her entrance. “Don’t think, just do.” He presses her wet cunt onto his lips as he moves her hips in rhythm. V holds onto the wall in front of her trying to set a pace for herself, worried she might hurt him.

‘You won’t, trust me. Ride my fuckin face like a cowgirl.’

Before she can even ask what the hell that means, his tongue makes its way inside her. “Oh fuck yes…” she moans as her hips move against him, her clit brushing up against his nose and moustache. Johnny holds her down even tighter against his face, sucking and tongue fucking his way through his host. He wants to make her see stars, to become so undone by his mouth alone that even after death, she’s ruined by him.

“Johnny…john- I’m gonna…” her hips swivel in that familiar way, her pussy tightens around his tongue, she’s looking for it, searching for release. He removes his tongue and replaces it with his fingers relentlessly pounding into her. “Come on V just let it go baby…” he holds her hips and presses his lips onto her stomach as she fucks herself above him. “Goddamn…fuck yes yessss…” she sighs as her climax washes over her.

V wobbles a bit as her legs give out on her. Thankfully Johnny teleports and reappears to help steady herself. She’s on the precipice of sleep, yet it doesn’t stop her from trying to crawl into his lap. He laughs a bit “what are you doin’?” V presses up against him, his cock nestled between her puffy lips.

“I wanna sleep on you like this.” She moves her hips and positions his cock at her entrance. Johnny watches as V slides herself on his thick cock, his girth makes it sting so deliciously. Johnny grins and lays back in bed with V content and filled on his chest. He spreads her legs out over him and slowly fucks into her. He throbs with each stroke.

“This how you want me inside you every night?” He asks, his lips hovering over her ear as he caresses her sore lower back with his metal hand. “Get home from running around this city? Fixing everyone’s fuckin’ problems…” He whispers in her ear as he continues to slowly pump himself inside her. Agonizingly slow.

“That’s what you want right? You want someone to take care of you too.” He grips her hips and plunges himself deep into her core. V calls out for him, begging him to go faster but he relents. “Nah, I wanna savor this, wanna make sure it only fits me from now on.” He bites her harshly and with intent. Savoring the wet sounds they share between them.

“How do you think people would feel? Knowin’ Night City’s golden girl is getting dicked down by the dirty old man living in her head?” He punctuates his question with another harsh thrust. V mewls against him and sobs “t-they wouldn’t….get it!” His pace begins to pick up as he holds her down and fucks into her used hole.

“That’s right, they wouldn’t…but we get it, right baby?” His forehead touches hers as he continues to fuck into her.

“Y-yeah…”

“Yeah? Because we belong to each other. From the day I met you, you’ve been mine, all fuckin’ mine…” he grips her throat with his metal hand and keeps a brutal pace. It’s a strange feeling, the agony and ecstasy of relishing in unhinged coitus, of bearing your ugliness out on the same table you fuck your lover on. It’s liberating because he knows what she’s thinking. There’s no guessing games, he doesn’t feel any fear, no hesitation, just complete and utter synchronicity.

Johnny knows he’s needs it and fuck if V also needs this as well. So he fucks her hard into completion, into submission, into a promise. A silent accord, for as long as they have each other. To have and to hold, to fuck and to kill, however the hell people pledge themselves to each other in this day and age. His very soul belongs to her.

The silence between them is comforting, only the sounds of rain drizzling outside and nibbles playing with the beaded curtains next to the minibar. V slides over to lay on his ganic arm, his heartbeat, his warmth, feels real. She shuts her eyes tight and holds onto him for dear life, as if he’d disappear if she let him go.

A whisper floats through her mind, “I’m not going anywhere.” He promises. He can feel her smile and press herself closer to him, less out of fear and more out of need. He lays and watches the ceiling fade from view, letting sleep take him for the first time in over 50 years.

[themeraldee]

Ok but what about homelander who gets bored one day and decides to go searching through adult vids on the internet, scrolling past videos upon videos centered around him or the seven (HOMELANDER AND MAEVE CUAGHT FUCKING IN THE AIR?!?!? NOT CLICKBAIT) but nothing catches his eye. That is until he comes across you. Ur not doing any crazy shit just wearing pair of his brand of panties and nothing else. But it’s the way you look up at the camera all innocent like your not fitting a monstrous dildo down ur throat that makes him click on ur channel

And then he becomes obsessed with you, ur number one fan 🤧🤧🤧

Oh mate the 'HOMELANDER AND MAEVE CUAGHT FUCKING IN THE AIR?!?!? NOT CLICKBAIT' bit made me think of all the weird candid moments and stories people would be sharing on reddit/tumblr/twitter and I low-key want more of that in the show 😂 where are the conspiracy theory boards!!! where are the creep shots!!! Anyway that was off topic. Sorry about that 😂

Oooh hoho hoo how the tables turn. Who's the fan now?

It would take a little while for him to slowly descend into madness. I see this as a desperate attempt for him to soothe his ego. So like he comes back from a meeting where he got talked back to or he got scolded by his corpo parents so he's thinking about how there are millions of people who love him, revere him. He should look at that, not the people in his life that make him frustrated.

He's trying to jerk off, make himself feel good but he's too much in his head, his own voice coming back to him and scolding him too for caring so much about their opinions all while Edgar or Madelyn's voices keep coming back to him.

So instead he seeks out fans that could get his mind off the repetitive and distracting thoughts. Might as well indulge in how much people love him. Fuck Edgar. Fuck Madelyn. He's a superhero for fucks sakes, what do they have on him??

He skips all the stupid ones where people dress up as him and Maeve. He doesn't need to watch someone try to be him. He wants someone to worship him.

So there you are with your soaked little Homelander panties sucking on the silicone of the Homelander's Star Spangled Banger looking up at the camera with those doe eyes as if you were not pretending to be sucking his cock.

That image more than does the job, and he doesn't even get to the part where you fuck yourself with it before he blows his load.

At first that'd be enough for him. Satisfied, no longer thinking about what happened. Until time goes on and he keeps thinking back to that look you most definitely meant for him. If you weren't looking for his attention you wouldn't have presented yourself so perfectly right?

He watches the rest of your content in one night, really pushing the limits of his stamina as he blows load after load to the sight of you getting yourself off to his name in multiple ways and positions.

After the obsession fully sets in I see him having a little bit of a crisis between deciding whether he should be the only one who gets to see you like that. It's literally made for him after all. OR if he secretly likes how much other people drool over you while they couldn't stand a chance with you.

He ends up finding who you are and where you live and he watches through the walls of your home as you record yourself. He gets the front row seat and all the parts that come before and after. All the little insights in your life that others don't see. So he makes the move to meet you... aaaand the rest is history...

ALSOO being the attention whore he is I see him even wanting to record one with you. Where all you see in the frame is his naked thighs and cock so no one can actually tell that it's him while he has you sucking him off. Knowing that nobody else will get you like this and that all your fans are watching you finally blow him like you've been clearly wanting to for so long just blows up his ego to insane proportions.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

Found an Self-Insert Cyberpunk fanfic.

Except it's not the usual type. It's the type where it's told entirely from the perspective of people other than the SI, which makes it more interesting.

Problem 1: Current events.

Almost all the references people make are ones you'd expect from someone today, like Batman or other pieces of pop culture.

Cyberpunk 2077 often references fictional in-universe media. Like the dead rock star stuck in V's head. In a world where everything and everyone is disposable and temporary, why would people usually reference 80 year old media?

At one point, a character explicitly compares another character's clothing to Danny DeVito in Matilda.

Okay, the CP timeline divergences mainly started in the 90s. So it's possible that the movie was still made, but it's still odd. Especially when the same characters don't recognize that the story's lead is heavily based on Walter White. Shaved head and everything.

Except he's using his chemistry potential for good, not evil.

And it's not just media. It's also Current Year memes, like V describing certain people as a "corpo bros who watched too much American Psycho", or himself as a "disaster bisexual".

Oh look, a segue.

Problem 2: Rainbow connection.

The story puts a lot of emphasis on LGBT characters.

There's Judy Alvarez, obviously. But also, V's in with Meredith Stout is Stout's explicitly non-binary ex who, you guessed it, is they/them.

Adds nothing to the story. The SI provides that info, and Meredith tries to trip V up, but he sees through it.

Since Meredith is a Militech Corpo, and V is an Arasaka ex-Corpo (who still isn't over it), why doesn't V…just use that connection, somehow? Militech and Arasaka are rivals. There could be some friction there. Or V could sympathize with how Stout would do anything to keep her job.

Why are non-binary characters always just they/them? Why not he/she/they? He/She? Xi/xir? or Lunagender? Or using regular He or She interchangably while IDing as enby? Why is it always the basic, simple, "normal" version? Got a Rochester's Wife situation going on?*

Also, in fanfics, things like this often suggest even more awkward left-wing political insertions, down the line.

Problem 3: even more awkward left-wing political insertions.

Well, just one.

Panam Palmer just didn't fit. This wasn't rare in Night City. Lots of people who didn't fit in, were awkward, had no social groups, didn't choose to be loners. She expected to be alone in the city and no one cared. But it was personal hate. Her skin color, nomad markings, speech, just being a woman. The list went on and every day there was some new jerk who needed to find out, because they messed around.

Panam is canonically native American, according to the devs, but she looks like a random white biker lady wth a tan. Wouldn't be the first white-passing Native woman I've seen.

Also, she lives and works around Night City. Which is extremely diverse.

Judy Alvarez and Jackie (both Hispanic) were both POV characters, and race wasn't really mentioned. You'd think ex-Arasaka V or someone would mention Arasaka's racism, but nope. River Ward was a viewpoint character, and he's much more visibly non-white, down to his necklace and dreamcatcher (if romanced).

He only brings it up in the fic when Misty asks him if he ever had his fortune told. Apparently his granny did a "spirit walk" when him and his sister were born.**

I've seen playthroughs of the game, and I don't remember sexism really being a thing. Why would skin color matter much when anyone can change that and other ethnic features at will?

Why did race only come up as a significant thing now?

I'd expect Panam to get the most stick for being a Nomad, not brown, or a woman. Especially in a city where any woman could sprout mantis blades and go Cyberpsycho at the drop of a hat.

This feels…reductive. Like the writer wanted to give Panam challeges to overcome so she could be a Tough Woman™, and just…piled too much on, like a Chicago hot dog.

I would've gone with something more subtle. "Her back itches without her Nomad tribe behind her, and she's uncomfortable in a city instead of a desert, or a road. Even the echoes sound wrong."

So, yeah, this was the last straw.

Also, I checked the writer's profile, and, very stereotypically, she's from Portland.

*Also, you might recall that there was a nontroversy over an soda ad in the game featuring a lady with, ahem, a rather substantial bulge. Based on an actual trans woman. Somehow, portraying a (possible) trans woman in the same sexually objectified way as ads featuring non-trans people is transphobic.

I never worked out that logic.

My best guess is that some people were uncomfy with it, and it's about a trans person, so it's must be *phobic somehow.

Wouldn't it be ironic if the ad was just Photoshop in universe? Or the in-universe model was a non-trans woman who strapped on the junk just for the ad?

(Though depending on who you ask, that still counts as being a trans woman, somehow.)

**Come to think, that kind of feels like it's stereotyping. I can't find evidence Pomo Native Americans do spirit walks, but maybe my Google-fu is just weak.

[elvenbeard]

A Day in the Life (like any other) - 2076 edition

Time for some big VP projects again :3 This one was so much fun to set up, edit, and assemble into a post (several, really, I took so many pics). I'll share some more details on all scenes below the cut but yes. I really wanted to give a glimpse into how I picture Vince's life to look like when he still worked for Arasaka - and how, specifically during late 2076, the days began to bleed into each other, he got trapped in an endless cycle, and, in hindsight, was lucky that Jackie helped break him out of it all.

Days for Arasaka employees start early and are long - on a relatively calm and normal day, he probably would have to get up and get ready between 6-7 am. At that time he needed lots of meds, boosters, drugs to get out of bed in the morning and make it through the day somehow, keep up his performance the way it always used to be prior to some traumatic event TM that happened in early/mid 2076.

He lived close to Corpo Plaza though at least, so walking to work was feasible, and a means to get some semi-fresh air and actual movement in during a day otherwise spent mostly in front of the computer.

Occasionally I think Jenkins would call for a morning meeting (and few people would like those), where he'd discuss important measures, plans, and so on. Some more impressions from this, because I love setting up big group scenes:

Most of Vince's day would probably have consisted of data analysis, overseeing and planning strikes against enemy corporations on big and small scales, and maintaining Arasaka's own security and secrets. I love the many little glimpses into the dark and twisted corpo workday we get through what NPCs say and the Corpo dialogues, but I'd love to know even more!

For his lunch he'd actually leave the office, and if no coworker invited him elsewhere, Vince would always be drawn to the Plaza. Find a nice spot to sit or just walk around the Plaza a couple of times to clear his head and sort his thoughts for the rest of the day. In 2077 it's still one of his favourite places in all of NC, and watching the holographic fishes swim their circles has something calming and meditative about it. Spoiler alert, in that spot he's sitting here in these pics he ends up after Mikoshi, stumbling out of Arasaka Tower. He just sits down and passes out watching the fish ;_;

But now, back to 2076:

I figure, with the kinds of high stakes missions Counterintel probably carries out, a lot of planning has to go into them. And preparation as close to real-life condition as possible. So I think the agents probably play through their missions in cyberspace prior to carrying them out in the real world, in a safe environment, recording everything, and analyizing it the next day during the morning meeting.

As a very traditional Japanese corporation it's probably customary at Arasaka to not really be allowed to leave your workplace before your boss hasn't. So It often gets late, everyone is tired and frustrated, and not rarely the same groups of people would end up in the same bars. Vince doesn't and didn't drink back then, but being in and around Japantown certainly was an opportunity to stock up on drugs or otherwise numb himself from what his life had become at that point.

He was never very close to any of his coworkers besides Harry, who I always pictured as some kind of guiding figure for him. He was there long before Vince started at Arasaka, and he'll probably remain there in his little cubicle for as long as he still cares to keep to himself and a low profile, just doing his thing well with little ambitions to make it big. The latter is what usually breaks corpos their neck, but I think for every V, Jenkins, Abernathy, there are at least a dozen Harrys who are content with being a tiny, insignificant cogwheel in the huge corporate machinery.

Vince's days would often end way too late and at that time he's incapable of sleeping without pills and the like, so it begins how it ends: self-medicating in the hopes it will somehow make this never-ending cycle easier to bear.

[tired-biscuit]

this is like maybe a little specific and really just me rambling

but FIRST of all im obsessed with your portrayal of kiba. he's like always been my fav but his content is so limited so its been away since my imagination flew but phew these last few days reading your blog has been a journey.

but back to the ramble ive been thinking a lot of the brother's bsf trope for him. at first i was riding naru bc bros but then i thought about sasu and the whole prideful uchiha vibe. even in the modern version, then just being like these corporate giants alongside the hyugas and the other ‘noble’ clans. and like maybe kiba isn’t really bsfs with sasu but like the whole ‘genin’ growing up around each other thing. probably all just went through the same school system.

ANYWAY rambles

i imagine like the uchiha ‘princess’, the only daughter and youngest sibling to sasu and ita. and like she’s just really grown up with that whole corpo royalty vibe, getting everything she wants, always supervised low key suppressed LIKE NOTHING NEW HERE low-key maybe even loosely in talks of being engaged to one of the ally corps like hyugas or something the point is its SCREAMING corruption for kiba. like the forbidden fruit. subtle classism, like kiba’s family isn’t what the uchihas would envision for her but like I just imagine her sneaking out with her brother to a uni party or something (like maybe sasu got to go to a public uni and she got the private treatment) and just like bumping into kiba in all his alpha buff man-ness and just like that first spark of lust just like overwhelms her like doesn’t even know whats going on but OH BOY KIbA does and he’s just like ‘yeah I got what you need bbygirl’ and yeah. Asdfsjhkgrhgo I have a lot of thoughts sorry for all the words 🐣

i don’t see kiba and sasuke being friends because kiba is too big of a hater, BUT i think that would even add more to the appeal because, like… he can act like a real proper shithead towards the people he doesn’t particularly like, so scoring sasuke’s little sister? yeah, he’d definitely try it just to get a sense of some kind of victory from it.

and i think it’d be the initial motive at first — the whole ‘haha, i fucked your sister, whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?’ — but then one thing leads to another and suddenly he’s caught… feelings. feelings that he doesn’t really know how to comprehend yet, and it’s weird because you’re like his exact opposite; so fancy and with your nose upturned whenever he winds up in your presence, pushing your whole princess agenda forward. and he knows that he should find it annoying because you’re acting just like your equally as annoying brother, but instead he’s catching himself thinking about you more and more and he’s almost finding it entertaining. pestering you is almost fun to him.

i think he’d wonder what you’d look like without the make up and the pretty skirt. what you’d look like with messy hair instead of it being in that almosy eerie state where each strand is sitting perfectly in place. he wants to see actual sweat coating your face instead of that matt powder he’s seen you reapply once or twice before because you hate the shine on your forehead. he wants to fuck you nasty and ruin that idea of you being a perfect girl in every single situation just so that he can see what you’re really like underneath.

besides that, i also imagine him initially pursuing you because he hates, hates, hates the whole idea behind noble clans, as well as the set of strict, mostly unfair rules that they’ve got going on, because of what they did to hinata. so if you’re his ticket to fuck with them a little bit, hey, why not?

you would find him appealing because he just simply does not give a shit what anybody thinks. he might get pissed off if someone insults him, sure, but he still ends up doing whatever it is that he wants in that moment and he doesn’t apologize for it. plus, his clan is more like one big family instead of a picture on the wall where everyone is smiling their most perfect grin despite the fact that their eyes still end up looking cold.

he’s warm, you know? carefree and dumb and not uptight at all. he finds joy in the little things and instead of spending money on fancy dinners, he buys things cheap because he’s saving up for a roadtrip that he’s planning to go on this summer with his shitty truck. he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty and he loves his dog more than most people.

…and he’s also the first man who actually looks you in the eyes and tells you you’re full of shit when you start acting bratty and deserve to be called out for it. he treats you like a person instead of delicate glass.

[ruvviks]

// five songs, three outfits.

tagged by; @strafethesesinners, @rindemption, @hibernationsuit and @reaperkiller, thank you so much!! tagging; @dickytwister, @vvanessaives, @devilbrakers, @shellibisshe, @adelaidedrubman, @katsigian, @noirapocalypto, @velocitic and YOU!

rules: post 5 songs associated with your oc, followed by 3 outfits they would wear

nosebleed - sophie powers

this song is very relevant for vitali in his college years, where he's stuck in this eternal loop of going to school, studying, going out, partying, making one billion mistakes, and then do it all over again the next day. trying to keep himself standing in a city so big with no support system, fake friends, addictions, and barely any money is not going too great for him but he's managing even if it's just barely

vices - mothica

this song also applies to college vitali but is more focused on the deepest lows he experiences during those years. he spends a significant amount of time in clubs getting lured in by, well, vices, whether it's substance abuse or trying to make a quick buck with some guy in a private room or in the back of a car. it's another cycle he finds himself in where he keeps telling himself it's out of necessity- he needs the money, and he's right to call it a necessity- but at the same time he's learned that he can no longer live without it, and every weekend he finds himself making the same mistakes over and over again which he then regrets, and to forget about those regrets he does it all over again

own me - bülow

this song applies more to vitali at arasaka, bridging the gap between his college years and his current life as a fixer. he's still running on the adrenaline from the previous years and despite being more comfortable in his living situation and financial situation, he's haunted by nightmares and resurfacing memories of worse times to the point he still finds himself doing things he used to do as a defense mechanism- sleeping with coworkers left and right to make more money, and drinking it all away. though at the same time he's a lot more professional now and tries to focus on the future, seeing his "side job" as a way to keep himself independent from arasaka, which reflects in the song- and as much as that may be true there's still that sting from his past, that part of him that simply just can't live without the thrill of it all anymore

playground - bea miller

this song is more relevant for vitali as an established fixer, with a reputation to uphold; though many still only see what's on the surface and read him more as a fighter than anything else, and his corpo background leaves a bad aftertaste in the mouths of many. at the same time it's put him in the perfect position to get gigs from rich and influential corpos, which allows him to strategically cause chaos within corporations without getting involved himself; this song has a vibe that reflects how seemingly effortlessly vitali handles business with clients and mercenaries alike, and it radiates his composure and controlled attitude

circus minimus - jvzel, neon haze

this song is a fun one, as it has a similar vibe to the previous one but brings back more of the first few songs which is exactly where vitali is at in his life right now. he's grown into his role as a fixer well enough over the years to get a little bit more comfortable, no longer as static and composed as he first was when he was still trying to make a name for himself out in the city; he's more relaxed now, and more free, running a nightclub called dysnomia in the basement of his fixer office which mirrors his past experiences with clubs but in a positive light now that he is in control of it all. he's a professional, both as a fixer and a merc, passionate about what he does, and he still has that sharp edge from his youth and he's allowing his wilder side to take over a little bit more now that he's more comfortable in his skin and not constantly trying to make himself look better for others

vitali can most often be found wearing suits because he spends entirely too much time at the office, but especially after meeting vincent he starts wearing more than just plain black and/or red suits! either a splash of color or a lot of accessories or both, and he doesn't shy away from getting a little slutty with it

[misc-obeyme]

I loveloveLOVE the idea of a FarmSim! AU! Like yourself, I assume a lot of us weren’t raised as farmer’s children, and more or less grew up on Story of Seasons/Harvest Moon. (Altho I do know a bit about living in Indiana, land of the Corn and home of the Indy500, if that counts towards anything lmao). In any case, I hope you like mytake on the Sides!

In terms of Farm Sim tropes, I’d be willing to say that The Royals (Dia, Barb, and ‘Phisto) are a part of some sort of local govt. bc I cannot see them as knees-in-the-mud farmer types lol. Maybe the farm is the “ROYAL FARM OF DIAVOLO” or something to try and convince Dia’s (not-in-a-self-induced-slumber) Mega-Corp father that farms are important, and corpo factories are bad. Diavolo has no idea how farming works but he likes to watch and play with the baby animals. Barb does not appreciate the farm visits bc Dia gets super excited and cannot be told “NO” if he wants to walk across a muddy field and up to a bull like “You are a fine specimen! A complete winner!” Luckily he is blessed with “Animals Love Me” kind of luck. Barb makes sure to get the Young Master dressed appropriately for next time. You need to talk to Barbatos about ordering tools, supplies, and contractors to build/repair things like stables, wells, and greenhouses. Mephistopheles takes care of the buying and selling of animals, and you gotta “prove to him” that you can be responsible enough to handle a horse (he does inspections of the farm and makes EVERYONE take riding/horse care tests).

The angels run the local cafe/store where you can get food and seeds, among other things. They buy your products and sometimes make presents (like sweaters made from your sheep's wool). Simeon and Luke run the Cafe side of things, while Raphael runs the store. Since Luke is a bit young to be running a business, he’s more like an assistant baker and he runs the morning collection at your farm. When he has time, he’ll sing to some of the animals.

Thirteen would probably the the Farm Sim Mine Spelunking Monster Trapper or smth like that? She’ll toss some coin your way if you bring her monster parts or rare ore, and maybe she’ll give you some “recipes” to make mining tools/weapons/traps.

And like... How funny would it be if Solomon just... didn’t change? Like at all? He already fits the “supernatural element” of other farming sims. An interesting and mysterious figure that lives just on the edge of the village. If you come to him with the monster parts/ore instead of Thirteen, he could help artifice some of your farming equipment with special traits, or craft potions that help you talk to animals or w/e.

IDK what do you think?

PLEASE I AM LOVING IT.

Okay okay so I totally agree about Diavolo, everything about that is spot on. He's fascinated by farm life, but knows nothing about it just like he is with humans in the game. Totally gets himself dirty because he just wants to experience things! Come on, Barbatos it'll be fun!!

And the corporation dad, that is perfection, too. Of course Dia's trying to convince his dad that farms are good!

Barb is forever suffering lol. While he does have a garden, I can't see Barbatos doing any kind of hard farm work either. He's definitely more suited to getting permits and such, but I could see him frequenting the angels' bakery because he likes to cook. They swap recipes a lot. Maybe he hosts the cooking competition, mostly because I think that'd be so funny.

Mephisto as the animal guy is perfect, you better believe he's gonna make sure your horse area is up to par before he'll even consider letting you have one.

Love the angels running a cafe and store, that's something I could easily see them doing. And oh my heart Luke singing to the animals!! My precious baby son. I kinda see him also being partial to flowers in general, since that's the only thing he's grown in the actual game lol. Maybe he starts making bouquets or perfumes...

Oh man Thirteen as the miner/monster hunter type! She's got a forge and spends untold amounts of time wandering the woods.

Solomon is such a menace and honestly I can't see him doing anything other than being the supernatural being. I keep thinking of Witchie from Story of Seasons/Harvest Moon. Like it'd be funny if he was more like Dessie and lived in a pond, but let's be real, he's definitely the one making weird potions and magic tools and such.

And of course all the characters are also marriage candidates, so if you marry Solomon, he's gonna come live with you on your farm. Spends all day in his wizard tower on the edge of town, but at night he comes home to his lil farmer spouse lsadlkjdfjkfdkjl.

Wow my worlds are colliding so hard right now I can't even deal with it. What I wouldn't give to have all these characters in a game where I could deliberately pursue and marry one of them!

Anyway, I totally love this and your ideas! I'm pretty sure I would do some unspeakable acts to have an Obey Me farm sim game like this.

[thranduilsperkybutt]

requirements.txt=unsatisfied

Pic source: 1

Pairings: Johnny Silverhand/V!Reader; Exceedingly minor Goro Takemura/V!Reader alluded to Warnings: Endgame spoilers; Arasaka!ending; I take liberties with the ending (everyone lives AU); yearning; fighting; nsfw banter (no actual explicit behaviors); angst with a happy ending; mentions of canon-typical drug use and violence Word Count: 9,936 words Reader Gender: Female Author: Meg Summary: Johnny always wants a lot of things--- a smoke, a good fuck, for you to turn the radio to 107.3 instead of that new age crap you like. In a perfect world, he'd like to have his own body back, too, but this isn't a perfect world. This is Night City, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to forgive you for going and doing this. Turns out that being in love requires being unsatisfied. A/N: Look. I finally finished playing the game as corpo!V and I will not live with these endings, alright? I'm gonna make my own.

“Think they make shitty motels like this just for screw-ups like us?”

You make a point to continue staring at the ceiling of the ‘shitty motel’ room, deep breathing the mildew and age-old cigarettes. He isn’t wrong, but you don’t want to hear it right now. He always has a way with words. Wiping your hands down your face, you do your best to ignore him, but Johnny wasn’t the most dismissible parasite you’ve ever had.

“’Parasite’s’ talkin’ to you, fuck-up,” he flicks his cigarette butt at you in retaliation for the thoughts in your head and it glitches through your thigh with a fuzzy tickle in your neurons. “Do ya’ really think Arasaka is gonna’ just let you waltz away after grabbin’ that stuck-up bitch princess of theirs? You’re fucked.”

“Was fucked before that, Johnny--- royally, if you’ll remember,” you groan, and turn away from him. He appears on the other side of the bed, leaning over it to glare at you. “Got you to show for it, after all.”

“Why are you so chill about this? Takemura fucked you both by deciding to take a life-sized souvenir from your trip to Cherry Town---"

“Cherry Blossom Market---” he barely acknowledges your interruption; you doubt he cares about the situation past hearing himself talk either way.

“--- and you’re just gonna’ do what? Sit here like a ditched date, waitin’ by the phone for that ‘Saka scum to call?”

“Johnny,” you push yourself up into a sitting position, headache threatening a presence at the back of your skull. The edges of his shoulders have that glitchy quality you’ve come to know follows his movements at times when he crosses his arms, but his glare is clear as ever.

“What? Don’t like me callin’ him that?” he rolls his eyes as he certainly feels your annoyance spike, “Jeez, didn’t think you could ride ‘Saka’s dick any harder, but if you literally want to---”

“What crawled up your holographic ass and died tonight?” you bark back, and the glint behind his eyes tells you that this is what he wanted all along. A fight, interaction, anything other than you just melting into the stained mattress of this motel room while the fan drones overhead in excruciating monotony. Johnny’s at his worst when he’s bored or cornered, you’ve found.

“I don’t know, V, maybe the fact that while I’m livin’ in your head, I’ve gotta’ listen to all your disgusting little thoughts about that Grade-A asshole? I’ve never had a dry spell that’d make me wanna’ sleep with a corpo drone, but maybe old habits die hard for you, huh?” You try to ignore his jab at your corporate background, but you know he just can’t help himself, “At this rate, alert a joytoy pronto, because I think I’ll throw up if I gotta’ watch you eyefuck your ronin anym---"

“You’re so fucking annoying sometimes, Johnny, you know that?” you rub your temples, trying to bite back the heat in your cheeks. No telling if it was from embarrassment at his inevitable acknowledgement of your major-league crush on Goro, or an oncoming stroke. At this point you are wishing for the stroke.

“You say that, but you’re not havin’ to watch how pathetic you look waitin’ on Takemura to call. Shit, even that cop you turned down would be better than this guy.”

Rising to your knees, you point a finger directly against his chest, feeling the fuzzy presence of your fried synapses mistaking him for something real at your fingertips, “Know what? Maybe I will fuck Goro the next time I see him, just to screw with you. Maybe I’ll finally get some peace and quiet when you slink back to God-knows-where to hide in my head while I lay back and take it from the big, bad, ‘Saka scum.’”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growls down at you, the fire in his eyes flickering from your own to your lips and back again. “If you wanted me gone, you’d’ve taken those omega blockers by now.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’d take a half-dose of pseudoendotrizine just so I could kick your ass, if it wouldn’t mean kicking mine, too.”

“Now, there’s a thought,” he reaches out, pushing you back by a phantom grip on your shoulder. Your body flings itself onto the mattress without a thought, “But I don’t need a pill to kick your ass, remember?”

“Asshole,” you grumble defeatedly, but his anger seems to dissipate, if only a little.

“Bitch,” he chuckles, and it’s a short sound of disbelief. “Don’t pout like a damn kid.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of mean, Silverhand?” you look down to where he still stood beside--- no, knelt onto, now--- the bed. His lips are quirked into a slight smile, one brow raised like he doesn’t quite understand just why all your annoyance has seemed to sink away into the dingy carpet and rotting walls of this place. Maybe it’s the exhaustion settling into your bones?

Or perhaps it’s the uneasy feeling in your gut when he looks at you. Despite the mountain of resentment your soul screams that you have every right to have at him for stealing your life away from you with every waking second, you can’t seem to bring yourself to hate him.

He clicks his teeth thoughtfully, dipping his weight onto the knee he has on the bed, but it doesn’t creak under his weight or acknowledge his presence, “It may have come up, once or twice.”

He isn’t really here, the soft static framing his hard edges reminds you.

“Why, then?” Why does he keep falling into the same pattern? Why does he treat you like this? Why does he look at you like that afterwards?

You don’t ask any of those questions, but you don’t have to. He’s in your head, after all--- but you think he’d be able to figure them out even if he didn’t have a front-row seat to your every thought. You still aren’t sure how much of your consciousness he is privy to, but you know it’s enough for him to know more about you than any other person ever has.

At this point, he might know your mind better than you do.

You wish you could read his half as well.

“Maybe I just don’t like watchin’ you run head-first into what’s bound to be another shit-show’s all, choom,” he deflects, but his eyes don’t turn from your gaze. There’s something guarded in them, sure, but they soften all the same.

You sit on his bullshit explanation for a few seconds, tasting the thought on your tongue, “Is that what we are, Johnny? Chooms?” It’s an unsatisfactory descriptor, but you don’t know if there’s a word in the English language that can accurately describe what you are to each other.

“I don’t know, V. Are we?”

Before you can even think of an answer, the sound of your holo ringing breaks through your ears and Goro’s image appears in your optics.

Johnny huffs and just like that, any softness in his gaze disintegrates with a roll of his eyes, “Go on--- know you’re giddy as a schoolgirl to answer that.”

“Fuck you, Johnny,” you grumble, before picking up the line and watching him straighten up off the bed before disappearing from your gaze in a static glitch. “Goro---”

“V, meet me, quickly as you can. I’m sending the coordinates.”

---

Your fingers run over the markings of Johnny’s initials you’d just carved against the metal. It’s jagged, raw, and as good a headstone as he was ever going to get, given you’d probably never find where his body had been truly laid to rest. In a city like Night City, after so many years? He’s lucky enough that Arasaka had dumped his body at all, instead of incinerating it like most folks these days.

“There, how’s that for a marker?”

Johnny leans back from where he’d been moping and gestures to your makeshift headstone, “Say this was my real grave, what would you write? ‘Here lies Johnny Silverhand…’”

The words roll around your head in tandem with the pit of dread in your stomach. It didn’t feel right talking to him like he was dead, even though the rational part of your mind knew it was true. The real Johnny Silverhand died more than fifty years ago, and you were left talking to a ghost--- a copy that seemed close enough to the real deal, but you never would be able to know if he was a good one. More recently, though, he’s started to seem just as real as the ground you walk on and, while you know that’s something to be deeply worried about, you can’t help but have come to enjoy his company.

When he’s not being an asshole, that is.

For better or worse, he was, “The guy who saved my life.” You’d been through so much--- everything--- together. It hadn’t been intentional on his part; he’s only a piece of broken prototype tech going haywire in your head, but it was still true. He’s saved you in more ways than one, lately.

The words sink into him, dragging his shoulders down like the same ache you feel in your soul. His eyes meet yours beneath his sunglasses, holding you in a regret so deep that you think it will swallow you both with the knowledge that he’ll be the death of you.

Johnny reaches up, metal fingertips clicking on his shades in a way that’s so honest in your ears that it’s difficult to remember it’s just another one of your disconnected mind’s lies anymore, “You don’t know how much I want that to be true.” He pulls the barrier from his face to dangle between his knees as his free hand wipes at the perpetual dirt on his skin, “Listen, I realize I’ve fucked up a lot of things. Either let down or used every last person who gave me their trust--- blind, selfish bastard that I was--- but I’ve managed one thing, for now. Not to fuck this up. What we have.”

Johnny’s always wanted a lot of things--- a smoke, a good fuck, for you to turn the radio to 107.3 instead of that new age crap you like. He's rather demanding, day in, day out.

You've been privy to his every request as it flits through your shared head for long enough that he’s come to annoy you nearly as much as he's grown on you. He’s like moss overtaking a stone, so slow that you don’t realize it until he’s covered all of you. He’s changing you into something neither of you can quite recognize anymore, and as the days pass, you worry you’ll never be able to wash him away and return to the person you were before him.

Worse, you don’t know if you will want to.

“What do we have, Johnny?” you sigh, looking up at the light-polluted sky. You weren’t far enough out of town to see stars, just the dim void and flickering city lights reflected on the clouds above. Maybe if you were at camp with the Aldecados, you’d spot a star among the dusky sky. Maybe life would seem simpler, easier, “I don’t know what you want from me.” All you know for sure is that you were growing so tired of the fight. There’s this hurt in your chest; you can’t tell if it’s yours or his. Maybe it’s something you share. Maybe this is what he means.

Or something close to it, “Most of who I thought were my friends, well, it turns out they couldn’t hardly stand to be in the same room with me. But you?”  You hear him pause, but you don’t dare to look at him. There’s a stammer in your chest, and you’re terrified at what it means, “You’re forced to be right fuckin’ here, twenty-four-seven, and you don’t seem to hate my living guts.”

This silence is something you can only achieve on the outskirts of the city, but you know it would be worse if you were further away. It’s almost excruciating, being alone with your thoughts--- being alone with his.

“There a point in there?” your heart aches for him, and you know he can feel it. It’s more than pity, more than friendship, but you try your hardest not to think of what it could possibly mean--- let alone, say it.

He knows, though. Of course he does. He has to.

“Just that… I think you’re my first real choom, even though you’re a real bitch sometimes.”

Your head lulls forward, and it takes all your strength to muster a glare at the pained smile dancing at his lips. There’s more to it than that, you both know it, but you’re grateful that he’s feeling somewhat merciful tonight--- it was something you didn’t know he had in him.

Maybe it’s only something he has in him when it comes to you.

“Chooms, huh?” tilting your head, you pretend to mull it over like it’s a proposition of eddies from a fixer. Playing it off with a shrug, you concede, “I could get used to being Johnny Silverhand’s choom, I guess, even though he was a total dick at first.”

“As if you didn’t deserve it,” Johnny smirks.

“Uh, remind me again, who’s been whining about missing his smokes since day one?” it’s a half-hearted blow, and his widening grin shows it. “Better yet, beggin’ me to get my rocks off?”

“My own personal hell is being stuck inside a non-smoker, and it doesn’t help that you’re practically a nun,” you toss a rock at him for that, and it goes straight through his chest like he isn’t even there. He isn’t, but he grins at you anyways, “Still… who’d’ve thought we’d make it this far?”

You sit there for a beat, feeling your own smile turn at your lips, before sighing, “You know, if you really want a marker, we could get you one at the columbarium.”

“For what, an empty box?” shaking his head, he puts his shades back on to perch atop his nose.

“Please, I have more of your stuff than even your most devoted fanboys. I don’t need it all. We could, I don’t know, ‘retire’ something of yours there. You know, as a symbol,” his gaze weighs heavy on you, and you can’t for the life of you understand what’s going through his mind. It frustrates you nearly as much as his stare seems to, and you shift your gaze back to the sky in your attempt to escape his holographic scrutiny.

“Let me guess, you’ll bring me flowers every day?” it surprises you that his tone isn’t mocking, but rather curious. “Would you visit his grave?” he seems to ask.

Trying to lighten the mood, you tease, “You know me, too busy trying not to die for all that.” You look back to him with a wink, “Plus, preem flowers are expensive these days, choom. ‘Fraid you’ll have to settle for the synth ones. Besides, you seem like a cheap date to me.”

“Bitch.”

“Just say, ‘Thank you.’”

It’s as close as either of you will come to what you really want to say.

---

From the roof of Misty’s building, it’s almost as if the troubles of the city no longer exist. You think you understand why Jackie found his choice up here. It seems as good a place as any to choose between life and death.

You would have to come to yours, too, soon. Maybe you already have, and you just don’t want to admit it.

The thought dwells in your head, and it feels like the only choice that makes sense.

“You’re not considering that. Please, tell me you’re not seriously considering going to those bastards again for help,” Johnny’s voice tears you from your dreadful stare over the neon Night City advertisements staring back at you. Promising everything from NiCola to the market version of the prototype Relic crammed in your head. “You’re trying to make sense of something that makes zero damn sense!”

You think he might wind up hating you forever, for this.

“Takemura said---” you begin, but he cuts you off as he stands from his spot on the ledge overlooking the city and takes up pacing.

“Fuck that guy!” Johnny rounds on you, fiery as ever--- but there’s something more terrible in his eyes; a grief that only comes from knowing he won’t be able to change your mind. “You’re just takin’ the easy way out! Those ‘Saka bastards won’t stay true to their word, you know. All they do is lie, and they’ll keep lying to you so long as it gets them what they want from you. You can’t really believe they’ll help you or me!”

The truth is, you’re too tired and you don’t know what’s worse: the taste of blood on your tongue, or the look of disappointment in his eyes.

You should be at least used to the blood by now.

“I’m dying, Johnny. Hanako is the only person who can maybe help us. Name someone else. Anyone! They made this tech---”

“They’re only gonna’ hurt you. We can do this a different way,” he stops pacing to stand so close that you can swear his boots touch yours. It’s as if you could feel the heat radiating off him, but that may just be the fever settling deathly into your skin, “Hell, give me the keys and I’ll get us to Mikoshi. I’ll burn this whole fuckin’ city to the ground to get you there and I’ll throw the pieces of you back together myself! I’ll gladly die trying---”

“But I don’t want you to die, either,” you fight back the tears at the thought of it, and he huffs down at you in utter exasperation, “can’t you get that?”

“Think they’ll do any better by me at Arasaka?” his chuckle is humorless, coming strained from the back of his throat. “You don’t believe that.”

“I can cut us a deal…” you look down, away from him, blinking out beyond where he stands towards the city lights. You don’t want to fight with him right now. You don’t think you can.

“With what leverage? Deals are only good so long as you have the upper hand, V,” he kneels into your eyeline, reaching out to grasp your chin in two silver fingers and turning you to face him fully. It’s gotten to the point that his hands on your skin feel akin to something real, dulled synapses firing with every spark of his hands on your skin. It’s how you know you’re close to the end. “Who is gonna’ be in your corner after they get everything they want?”

“Goro’s a man of his word.”

“You’re so fuckin’ naïve. Just as dumb as you were when you took that bullet to the brain from Dex, and I had to save your ass then, too,” Johnny growls your name like he hates you for it, but who knew how much you would come to welcome the end? Because when he frustratedly drags you forward by a harsh grip at the back of your head to eclipse his lips over yours, you can feel it. Him. In the burnt neurons of your addled mind, he is there against you--- kissing you with death on the edges of his lips, in all the heavy grief and anger that your choice has brought forth in him. It’s a terrible knowledge that pours from you into him of how much you’ve come to love him, and how desperately you know he’ll hate you for this, because maybe he’s right; maybe you really are naïve for wanting to believe in some way out of this.

He gasps against your lips like it wrecks him to the core; voice hoarse with the emotion as he curses, “Damn, you’re one stubborn bitch.”

“Inherited only your best traits, Johnny,” it’s just as dry on your tongue, and you lift your hand that has been clutching the omega blockers to your lips. You want to say it--- tell him in words how much you care for him. Instead, you murmur against his lips, “Please, don’t be mad,” and swallow the pills.

“I got a feeling you’re gonna’ regret this, choom, and I won’t be there to help you,” he leans away, and you feel the drugs start to kick in when his voice becomes more distant. “Don’t do this. Miracles like the one you’re hopin’ for don’t happen for screw-ups like us, you know.”

“Trust me.”

“I wish I didn’t trust you at all,” he sounds just as tired as you do when he says your name one last time before you blink and he’s gone. The bitter aftertaste of the pills tastes like betrayal on your tongue, and you already know Johnny will haunt you for the rest of your days.

You’re quickly reminded of why you’ve always hated taking the omega blockers.

It takes everything you have left not to sob at the feeling, like you’ve lost a limb--- gone numb and tingling painfully with the ghost of where he was. It’s as if everything is muted, including the deepest parts of yourself. You’re in a bad way, and you know you don’t have much longer now.

So, you find yourself committing to the desperate choice you’ve made, but you don’t call Hanako.

Instead, you call the only corpo you trust besides yourself, and hope it isn’t stupid to do so.

Takemura.

---

He is dressed in all white when he comes to find you at Misty’s Esoterica, looking like a harbinger of death in every sense of the word, “You… look like shit.”

“Don’t look half bad yourself, Goro,” you chuckle, but it turns into a wracking cough that leaves you with a more urgent taste of blood at your lips.

“Are you in any shape to negotiate?” he wonders, but it’s not threatening--- more of a genuine concern displayed with the arch of his brow. Johnny may disagree with you, but you still dare to think him a good man.

“Not in much shape to do anything, anymore, but I know exactly what I’m useful for. My eddies are on Hanako knowing this, too,” you lean on the arm he offers when you stumble on your way to the car. “After all, she sent you. Smart woman.”

“I would have come even had she not,” Goro confesses, pausing with his metal-laced fingertips on the back door. When you shoot him a questioning look, he offers you only a simple, “We have done much work to not see this through to the end, yes?”

“Who’d’ve thought we’d make it this far?”

Goro nods in agreement, before you’re sliding into the car behind Anders Hellman and hoping the Swede knows half of what he thinks he does about your condition, “Agreed.”

---

There’s something to be said for dying. It’s not always as bad as people make it out to be.

Some people would consider you dead. You always find yourself wondering what Johnny would think, these days.

You absentmindedly turn the Rubik’s cube in your hand with no real aim at solving it, letting your mind drift in the overly sterile room Arasaka’s finest clinicians have sequestered you to.

“Barbaric,” Goro called it once, but that didn’t stop them from putting you right back here again. The news plays softly on the screen you’ve been allowed to have after they determined it wouldn’t exacerbate your oversensitivity, but not even the privilege of phoning what few friends you have left can eat away at the boredom that’s settled into your bones in this space station. What was there to say, anyway?

Hi, it’s your favorite lab rat again! How’s it going in the real world? I’m going insane up here!

You can’t help but dwell on the thought that maybe Johnny was right about it all. Maybe it isn’t worth living if life is going to be like this.

Arasaka made no guarantees past what you had signed for on the dotted line the day Hanako had again sent Goro solely to break the news that your body was dying even after Johnny’s Relic had been extracted from your mind. It would seem the soft spot you’d held for Goro was well known by the Arasaka heiress. The woman is nothing if not strategic.

Hell, you’d gotten yourself a worse deal that day than you’d gotten for Johnny at the start of this. After all, you’d had nothing left to bargain with by then.

You were technically a construct, now. A lab experiment dreamed up by Arasaka’s best bioengineers and a team of physicians lead by Anders Hellman. Your current body was a multi-billion eurodollar joint Arasaka-Biotechnica venture that had only been put at the top of Hanako’s list when implanting her father’s construct into Yorinobu had gone awry. You’re convinced she would have been content to let you rot on a biochip in Mikoshi for the rest of your existence otherwise. After all, your contract never said when they had to provide you with a body, only that they were obligated to when the technology existed to allow it.

Turns out, rewriting someone else’s psyche does more damage to the physical body than anyone in Arasaka thought it would. You don’t know why it was such a surprise to them all when Yorinobu’s body couldn’t handle it, considering what it did to you. Maybe they just didn’t care, with how desperate they’d been to get any semblance of leadership back.

All you know is that Johnny Silverhand probably rolled over laughing in his grave, wherever it is, when Saburo Arasaka died a second, painful death.

They were using you as a top-secret prototype for Saburo 2.0, as you’ve come to call what will inevitably be the body they attempt to stick him in next. Sure, Arasaka as a company is facing charges in the New United States on Yorinobu’s death--- something about human testing that everyone knows will never stick--- but that will be swept under the rug much like any bad press Arasaka has gotten over this past year, with either cash or bullets dispensed.

“Shit,” you curse as you grow frustrated with the cube, tossing it onto the thin hospital mattress they kept on your bed. Rubbing your eyes as you try to refocus, it still feels strange to not feel the metal embedded in your skin. Worse still, you had to get used to what a fully ‘ganic body felt like again.

“You even human anymore, with all that chrome?” you can almost hear Johnny’s words to you when you got a new set of mantis blades from Vik’s clinic right before heading out for the oncoming fight at Clouds with the Tiger Claws. It was so long ago, now, but it doesn’t feel like it. That’s what Mikoshi does to a person, you figure. It’s hard to fully comprehend that so much time has passed.

Sometimes, you think you do hear him in more than just a memory. Like he’s still there, in your head. The doctors say it will pass with time, but they’ve been wrong before. Safe to say, Johnny literally changed your brain chemistry.

At least some part of you hopes they’re wrong, because you don’t know how you’ll make it in this world without him if Arasaka doesn’t stay true to their word.

It’s like you’ve lost a part of yourself, and you regret it more every day that you’re forced to live in this white box of a test tube that they’ve put you in. You should have died with him at Mikoshi. Gone out in a fiery blaze of glory and torn it all down with you, if only it would’ve made you feel a little better right before the end.

His last words to you had been as you went under the knife, right before they carefully excised him from your brain like a tumor.

“If this plan doesn’t work, Johnny--- If you wind up being right about Arasaka---” you had called to him through the code, as it weaved and curled around his form. It created and destroyed him all at the same time, but Johnny’s frown was still clear as day to you.

“I’m right about Arasaka,” he sounded nearly as exhausted as you had been on that roof the last time you’d talked. Defeated was something you’d never expected to see on him, “See? You haven’t changed at all. Still think you can outsmart the whole world, when you’re really just out of your depth.”

You didn’t want to think of this as a betrayal, but that’s what it was starting to feel like as you marinate in his sadness, “Look… I just want us to part as friends, for now. Just in case I don’t get to see you again after this, I wanted to tell you goodbye as proper friends.”

“Not sure that’s possible, anymore,” cut you to your core.

You wanted to reach for him, through the flickering code, but you didn’t dare. Heartbreak tastes a lot like blood on your tongue, even here.

“That’s what we are, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, V. I just… don’t know.”

It was all you could remember of the interaction, though you’re certain there had to be more than that. Sometimes, when you dream instead of sleep, bits and pieces of it come back to you. That’s what you think it is, at least.

It’s far too real to be any normal nightmare.

It sounded too familiar when he said things like, “I just wish you’d stayed loyal to yourself,” or, “Those ‘Saka docs are cutting out a piece of us. Something we’ll never get back. It’ll leave a hole,” in those horrible dreams where memory emerges from the subconscious.

Perhaps this is just what you deserve. Your penance. The price you’ve got to pay for your choices, and the deal you made with the devil.

After all, nothing in Night City is ever free.

Multiple lifetimes of suffering, of being forced to go on without him? It’s almost poetic, in a Shakespearean tragedy sort of way. If this body fails, Arasaka will just test your construct in a new one until they get it right.

You’re company property and the Biotechnica cloning program is only in its infancy. Anders Hellman had told you as much himself when you’d asked.

“You’re one of the first successful cases, so far,” was, specifically, what he’d told you. It wasn’t much; Arasaka clearly wanted you in the dark.

You’d already proved too much trouble when left to your own devices, historically.

Have they brought you back before? How many bodies did you live and die in before this one? They could’ve wiped your memory of it, or maybe cut your engram into a million different pieces until something fit. You would never know the truth of what’s been done to you, most likely.

The door to your room slides open with a whirring noise, breaking you from your thoughts when the same scientist who you’ve come to understand is one of your daily handlers walks in, “It’s time for your daily tests.”

You try to not let the sarcasm drip from your tongue, but you’ve been failing at a lot of things these days.

“Always a pleasure to see you, too, Suki.”

You are dead, and this is just purgatory.

---

They eventually shipped you back to earth, “in accordance with the great progress you’ve displayed over these past few months,” as Anders had told it.

Earth was exhausting. Even though the Arasaka lab they had put you in had all the comforts of home, save for the overly-clinical aesthetics, it still took weeks for your body to become accustomed to its own weight. It was only then that you realized the space station’s simulated gravity was slightly less than that on earth, to allow for less pressure on your new joints and bones as your mind settled in. It’s perhaps why you had been able to relearn walking in the first place, because on earth you were much clumsier than you remember ever having been before.

There were bruises on your legs from the amount of times you’d tripped down or stumbled into something. You’re surprised they hadn’t yet put you in a padded room, but you must’ve been making progress, because eventually they sent a familiar face to see you again.

“おはようございます,” without translators installed into your body’s cyberware, the words that fall from Goro’s lips as he offers a slight bow take a moment for you to mentally decipher.

You don’t rightly care, because you’ve not seen a familiar face other than Anders since waking up in this body. Let alone, anything close to a friend.

He stiffens and freezes when you step forward to drag him into your arms, holding him in a tight embrace that almost has you melting against him with how much of a relief it felt to feel another person. It’s too forward, and you’d never have done it under normal circumstances---

But you’re so relieved to see him.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you,” you murmur as you release him, catching the slight tinge of a flush at his cheeks. He straightens his shirt, donned in black from head to toe. His hair isn’t pulled back, for once; it’s a little longer than when you had seen him last, “You look great, Goro.”

He seems to relax slightly at the familiar words, as if he hadn’t been quite sure what to expect of you at first. You watch as he takes you in, optics dilating as his settings switch with the distance you put between you again. It makes you slightly self-conscious under his scrutiny.

You know you look different. Sure, the core basics of yourself are the same, but you’re slimmer than you were before in this cloned body. Your cyberware is gone, as are the scars from a lifetime of mercenary work. Any tattoos you had were no longer etched into your skin, including Johnny’s. Then, there’s that new Arasaka logo brandished behind your ear that matched his own. The only good thing about your new appearance was that your hair had finally grown long enough to cover the logo when you left it down.

“You look like shit,” he cracks a smile after a second, “but it is good to see you, too.”

“What are you doing here?” you wonder as he walks further into your designated quarters, hands clasped behind his back, “Don’t tell me you get to tell a girl she’s dying twice.” He observes the room not unlike he did when he’d visited you on the space station, though seems less displeased with your living situation this time.

He doesn’t say, “barbaric,” at least.

It’s your words that earn his chastising side-eye, this time, “You should not joke. I do not want to do that again.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” the prodding does nothing to urge an explanation from him as he moves towards the desk on the other side of the room. The metal on his fingertips glints with sunlight as he moves the papers lying there--- some of the most recent status reports you’ve been given on your performance in Arasaka’s testing. A lot of it was redacted, but you were given just enough to know you weren’t dying currently.

That, they seemed to be taking as a win.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as his optics dart back and forth on the papers, reading them quickly. Surely, he’s had a briefing before he’d been sent to see you. Maybe he just doesn’t trust it was a full picture, or he wants to know what parts of it you know.

Settling into the couch, you reach for the tin of mints you’ve been hoarding recently. Popping one into your mouth, you turn it around as the fresh flavor bursts through your skin, scent sparking in your nostrils.

“Playing doctor now, Goro?” that gets him to look up from the papers to shoot you an unamused look that said just answer the question. You sigh, nail tapping the tin as you take a moment to get his answer, “Well, I’m tired and sore all the time from the physical therapy, and hypersensitive to almost fuck all. Oh, and they still won’t let me get any chrome installed--- even the minor stuff like optics.” You sigh, and the minty feeling tingles on your tongue, “Do you know how much deliberating it took for the white-coats to finally decide I was ready for an operating system update?”

“And the nightmares?” Goro turns away from the desk to instead lean on it, crossing his arms as he looks towards you. So, he had a more thorough briefing on your status than you expected.

You avert your eyes. It was bad enough having to talk to the mandated shrink about them. You really didn’t want to get into what plagued your mind with Goro.

“They’re nothing. It’s the physical symptoms that Arasaka cares about. That’s what’ll get Saburo a new body or not, right?”

He doesn’t let you off the hook that easily, “Arasaka has underestimated the impact of the mind on the body once already, at great cost. I do not think your mental state is considered ‘minor’ to your doctors and scientists, V.” After a moment’s pause, he confirms what you are thinking, “It is not considered something to be ignored by Arasaka’s board, either.”

“Is that what you’re here for?” you can’t help the irritation that seeps into your tone, “To give a first-hand report back to Hanako Arasaka and the board on my progress? Came to see the test subject for yourself instead of just reading the memo?”

“V…” his brow furrows, frown settling onto his lips as you turn your body away from him on the couch.

“Well, you’ve seen me! I trust you’ve gotten all the spicy details you need for your report on my mental status.”

“くそ,” he swears under his breath, as if exasperated with your antics. There is a stillness that comes with the silence between you after that, and you don’t dare turn to him. Instead, you focus on the tin in your hands and the mint in your mouth. Anything other than the pit in your stomach at the remembrance of the nightmares that plague you more nights than most.

There’s a shuffling of clothing and the sound of footsteps approaching as Goro comes to stand beside you, “You are… hypersensitive to words as well, it seems. Look at me, V.” You refuse to do it, and he sighs. In your peripheral, you can see him move to sit beside you on the couch, “Hanako-sama does expect me to relay your progress upon my return, but that is not the sole purpose for my visit.”

“Why’re you here, then?” it may be childish to still refuse to look at him, but you can’t bring yourself to. You feel as if nothing will be as it was before--- like even though you’ve fought terribly to return to normal, there would never be a moment when you felt like yourself again.

“You are being released.”

Your head snaps up to look at him when he says that, utter shock undoubtedly on your face. His own expression remains level, rock steady as he always seemed to be. You can see the truth of his words in his eyes; he has no reason to lie to you. You doubt Hanako would put him in a position to knowingly do so anyway.

“Released?” you breathe the word. You can’t quite believe the truth in his eyes.

“Hellman’s team has decided you have progressed as much as can be expected in a clinical setting. They think you are ready to return to a more ‘normal’ routine. I am here to tell Hanako-sama if I believe they are correct, based on what I know of you… who you were, already,” Goro holds up a hand, quelling the excitement he undoubtedly sees blossoming in your eyes. “This does not mean a return to what your routine was before. You cannot return to mercenary work.”

“So… I’m to live as a civilian, then?” you shift your whole body to face him, legs folded beneath you.

“In a sense… you will still be under Arasaka’s supervision, expected to meet every scheduled appointment and test. If you miss even one, you will be collected and returned here. There are other requirements, but I will leave those to be explained by your care team,” Goro watches as the news sinks in. He looks away, admitting, “I am maybe not the best to answer any questions you have about this.”

“Will I be staying in Tokyo?” is all you can think to ask, mind racing at the prospect of even a little freedom from this quarantine.

“At first, but I believe the goal is to reintroduce you to Night City should you continue to progress---” his words are choked off when you quickly grasp hold of his shoulders, pulling him into another hug. Just like before, he freezes, though this time he recovers enough to loosely hug you back.

“Thank you, Goro, for everything.”

---

The Corpo Plaza apartment didn’t feel like home, but it was closest to Arasaka tower and the Biotechnica building--- both of which you have to visit frequently. Well, at least it was less frequently than when you’d first been sent back to Night City, but it still wasn’t worth the constant drive from a different district.

Your fingers trace along the metal outlining your face as you glance at yourself in the mirror, having just finished a shower. The cyberware embedded in your cheeks is similar to what you had originally, though slightly different. You like it all the same, even if it had to be approved by Arasaka first. Every day you felt more like yourself, but you doubt you’ll ever be 100% you again. Too much has changed for this sense of newness to ever leave.

Even when you had reconnected with Victor, he looked at you like something uncanny. A dead woman walking. Misty could barely manage to look at you at all. Panam and the Aldecaldos had migrated; you were still waiting for her to return your call to figure out what they were up to these days. Judy was long gone, but getting out of Night City was maybe the best thing she could’ve done after everything.

Only Johnny’s old contacts seemed to remind you of who you were, and perhaps that’s because they’d never truly gotten to know you too well. Then, there was the feeling of loss that still gripped your soul. The ghost of Johnny Silverhand haunting your every thought and plaguing your dreams at night. You doubt you’ll ever be free of him. You hope he never fully fades from your psyche.

As much as it hurts, you still love him.

In hindsight, that’s probably the real reason why it would never work out between you and Goro. You’re still holding a torch for a dead man, and you’ll never be truly satisfied with anyone else.

In the end, Johnny has truly ruined you. Maybe it’s his last laugh: your complete inability to move on.

Your deal with Arasaka at the beginning had been for them to save him. To put him away into Mikoshi for the rainy day that the technology existed for a body suited for him to be a reality. The contract required them to release him into Night City after he had been deemed healthy, but you knew as well as anyone that contracts like these had loopholes even with the best lawyers pouring over them. Arasaka could truly do whatever they wanted with him once he was out of your head, other than destroying his engram.

When you had asked them the status on them holding up that end of your bargain, you had been met with cryptic answers. Hanako refused to meet with you, and you were in no shape without your combat cyberware to hunt her down yourself.

You’re terrified, honestly, at the idea of never seeing him again, nearly as much as you fear facing him.

Sighing, you step away from the mirror to move towards your bedroom while you towel-dry your hair as best you can. Tomorrow you were to report to Arasaka for your end-of-the-year testing and physical. Hellman would probably personally chastise you for the pizza you’ve ordered tonight. It was far from the approved meal plan, but it wasn’t as easy to find food that fit the diet and still tasted good outside of Japan. Finally, you understood Takemura’s issue with Night City’s synthfood.

Still, if one slice of pizza was going to kill you, you figure it’s a good enough way to go. Anything beats being an Arasaka pencil-pusher for the rest of your days.

“Night City Legend, Felled by PieZ,” the headlines would read, and it wouldn’t even mention the billions you’d cost Arasaka if you died.

Water drips down your jaw and you wipe it away with the towel before tossing it into the hamper. Scooping up an oversized sweatshirt that screamed support for the debut album of SAMURAI, it soaks up the few water droplets you’ve missed when drying and effectively covers the dog tags against your chest. Looking down at the hamper, you wish that Arasaka would sign off on you having a pet finally. Nibbles was doing fine at Victor’s, but you missed that furless cat.

The sound of your holo ringing is accompanied by Goro’s face flashing in your caller ID, and you pick up after a few moments, “Yo?”

“こんばんは,” Goro appears with his hair pulled up into a bun, and you could’ve been fooled that it was the old days if not for the few extra gray hairs he seemed to have now. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“What? You worried I’ll disappoint?” you roll your eyes at his pointed look. “You know I’m doing great now, practically would be back to my old self if they’d ever let me get my combat cyberwear.”

“And you know that Arasaka has invested too much in you for you to involve yourself in a Night City street fight. Do not think they will approve all your requests tomorrow, V, regardless of your progress,” he speaks reasonably, and maybe that’s what grinds your gears the most. You know good and well that Arasaka has everything riding on you. If you successfully keep from pushing daisies they’ll move forward with Saburo’s resurrection. Hell, maybe they already were. For their one and only living test subject, you’ve been doing relatively well, if not a little hypersensitive at times still.

“Not every fight in Night City is one you pick. What if I need to defend myself, huh?”

“Do you feel in danger? Has something happened?” Goro’s voice has an edge to it, concern, and you shake your head.

“I’m just making a point. Most folks who die in this city are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. My combat chrome would give me an edge again. Call it an investment in keeping me alive,” you snort, and Goro’s lips quirk upwards at your dry humor.

“You can plead that to the panel tomorrow after you pass all their tests. I think you should… what is the phrase? Not get your hopes up?”

“Did you call me just to bum me out, Goro?” you sigh, moving through your kitchen to rummage through your fridge and find a NiCola.

“Only to discuss reality.”

“I think you’re just scared I’ll kick your ass with all my chrome one of these days for how sassy you are,” the sarcasm drips from your tongue, and this time Takemura does sound thoroughly amused.

“I would like to watch your attempt at that, but I think you will need to remove the pizza from your diet first, V,” then, he hangs up. Never one for drawn-out goodbyes. You think you prefer it that way.

“I could’ve kicked your ass while on an only-pizza diet, once,” you grumble to the apartment around you, taking a swig of the NiCola. The ring of the doorbell breaks you from the thoughts of just how you can get back at Goro for that comment, “Speaking of pizza…”

Barefoot, you stroll towards the door, hoping the delivery guy followed your instructions to leave your food at the door. You don’t want to deal with awkward small talk with another human right now. Not bothering to check the cams to see if your instructions have been followed, you let the door slide open with a swipe of your hand against the key screen.

The door is barely halfway open when a hand catches your throat and forces you back into the apartment, a body forcing you up against the entryway wall as you choke out a startled noise under a firm grip. Terror claws at your skin as you grab at the arm attached to the hand before you manage to get a good look at him when he stills against you, breathing hard. It takes a moment for wide eyes to take in enough of his features to recognize the dark eyes staring back at you.

“J---”

“You couldn’t help yourself from being corpo scum again, could you? Selfish, that’s what this whole thing was--- what you are,” his voice--- oh, fuck, his voice, it rings in your ears in a way it never has before. Deep, familiar, and real. Strained with anger and choked with a breathless fury, but something else breaks against the fire swirling in his eyes--- some relief that settles nearly as devastatingly in your bones as his skin lays heavy and warm against yours.

You can’t believe it. You must be hallucinating. You’ve finally cracked and lost it. Something was malfunctioning in your head, certainly, because there’s no way he’s here.

Your fingertips shake as they reach out, away from the firm grip he still has on your throat, to ghost against the slope of his jaw. The scruff of a beard still remained there, but was shorter than how he had lived in your head. The scars on his face were gone, along with the tattoos on what skin of his you can see beneath the leather jacket he wears. His left hand was at your throat, and it was made of flesh and bone, not metal.

He swats at your hand when you finally touch him, a hurt in his voice that was so real that you couldn’t trick yourself into believing he was just a hallucination, “Did you ever think about what I wanted, huh, when you chose this?”

But you still can’t get past the sight of him, finally managing, “Is… it really you?”

“Fuck yes, it’s me. What’s wrong with you?”

“Johnny,” you gasp his name, nails digging into his pristine forearm, tears nearly blinding you as they well in your eyes at the overwhelming emotion that surges from your chest. You can’t hold it together, trembling against him, and only then does his grip soften at your throat.

His voice sounds devastatingly mournful as he growls in the quiet of your apartment, “You sold us both to fuckin’ Arasaka, V. Look what they did to you. You’re their property. Doesn’t it make you sick? Some things are worse than death, and I doubt ‘Saka will ever leave us to it, now.”

You hear what he’s saying. It sounds just like him, and your heart breaks at the sound. At the warmth of him, and the way his dark hair ghosts around his cheeks slightly shorter than you remember it being before. He’s really here, and he hates you.

His voice cracks, “Why are you crying?”

“I-I missed you,” you confess between the sobs, trying to swallow up the emotion. Damning yourself for not holding it together better than this at the sight of him, but it was such a shock, and only one thing could run through your mind as dreadful regret sank into your soul, “a-and now you’re going to hate me forever.”

He looks at you like he’s stunned by the words coming from your mouth, or maybe he’s shocked it’s all you’re capable of saying when you’ve betrayed him as thoroughly as he perceives.

“Shit, V,” he murmurs, reaching up to drag his thumb against your cheek and wiping away the messy tears that trailed there. He looks down at you like he’s almost annoyed at you for crying, but there’s a strange look in his eyes that you can’t fully place. “I wish it was something as easy as hating you, but I just can’t seem to catch a fuckin’ break.”

The confusion at his words nearly stuns your tears into small hiccups as you breathe, “What?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hate you,” it sounds like dread on his tongue, like fear and grief for the situation you’ve both found yourselves in. It sounds like a confession, from his lips, “I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive you for what you’ve done to me, either. I haven’t felt right without you since I woke up in this damn useless body. Feels like I should still be in yours.”

A breathless huff escapes you, almost akin to a laugh, as you realize what he’s trying to say, “You missed me, too, huh, rockerboy?”

“You’re the only thing about this damned city I missed,” he crowds you in, pressing you fully into the wall with his own body. “Not drugs, not alcohol, not music--- I came back here for you. Bein’ clean and having to put up with those ‘Saka corpo-drones has been the worst time of my life, by the way, but I did it because they said you were alive.” He looks at you, a hint of incredulousness in his eye, when he asks, “What the hell kind of a deal did you make with them?”

You’re terrified to tell him, but you can’t lie to him. Not after everything.

“I’m the reason Saburo Arasaka will live.”

Johnny curses, fury twisting his face, but the defeat is worse, “I should hate you. Fuck, why can’t I hate you?”

“I’m sorry---”

“Don’t lie to me,” he cuts you off, biting, “you’re not sorry. You don’t care if Saburo Arasaka lives or dies so long as we get to live.”

“Fine, you’re right,” anger flares in your own gut, exhausted annoyance lacing your tone, “but is that such a crime? I want to be okay again, Johnny! I want you to be okay, too!”

“And you’ll sell our souls for it?!”

“God, you’re such a dramatic asshole!” you nearly scream, slamming your eyes shut in your distress, “Go ahead and blame me for falling in love with a dead man, too, then! I should’ve known it would kill us both, but I couldn’t stop myself from loving you, Johnny! I wouldn’t have been able to go on knowing I’d left you to die, okay? That’s why I did this! Call me a selfish bitch if you want to; maybe you’re right---”

“Yeah? Well, I guess maybe I’m to blame for falling in love with a selfish bitch,” he growls, so close that his nose touches yours, and your eyes snap open just as he leans in to crash his lips against yours. It’s not wholly unlike the last kiss you shared with him, when he was just sparks on your neurons, and yet it’s entirely different.

There’s a taste to him now, but it’s not the cigarettes you had expected, but more akin to nicotine gum. Has he stopped smoking? He smells like leather and some sort of amber-scented cologne that has you weak in the knees.

But the way he kisses you is what nearly scrambles all coherent thought. He’s so warm and firm against you, the reality of his touch, tongue, and lips against yours desecrates the memory of the slight stimulation your neurons had simulated when he’d been in your head. Johnny seems to be in no better a state at the feeling of you against him, gasping into your mouth when your hands find his hair to drag him closer, and all the while all you can think is how happy you are that he is alive here and now.

It barely feels like it should be real.

He parts from you, catching his breath and staring at you with a look that sends heat rippling down your spine, flushing your skin in its wake.

You blink at him, head lulled back, and whisper through the feeling of having him back, like some piece of your soul coming home, “Fuck, I missed you, Johnny, so much.”

“You’re probably the only one, choom.”

“That’s not true. There’s Rogue, and Kerry---”

“They got their closure when I was hitchhiking in your skull. How can I just waltz back into their lives now?”

You tilt your head at him, “It can’t be that the Johnny Silverhand who was never afraid to die, is actually scared to live?”

He scoffs, leaning away from you with a roll of his eyes, “Is that the kinda’ psychobabble your ‘Saka shrink has been feeding you?”

“Could be,” you shrug, and a glint of the light at the metal around your neck catches his eye, “don’t mean it isn’t true.”

“What’s this?” he invades your space again, dragging a fingertip to loop at the chain at your neck, leading beneath your sweatshirt, and tugging it until the necklace drags into view. Dogtags clink in his hand and his eyes snap back up to yours in shock, “These--- you still have ‘em?”

Your cheeks heat with the find, and you don’t know why it’s so embarrassing even after you’ve told him that you’re in love with him. Of course you would’ve kept his dog tags. It only makes sense, but you want to defend it. The words crawl up your throat, and it takes all you have to swallow them down.

Instead, you reach up to begin to remove them, “You should probably have them back, now.”

Johnny’s hand catches yours, stilling it, “I… don’t know if I’m ready to step back into ‘em right now. ‘Sides, maybe I like the look of ‘em on you.”

You search his gaze, but he seems sure enough about the decision, “Alright. I’ll keep them, for now.”

“Good… It suits you,” a ring of the apartment door breaks you from whatever scrutiny weighed heavy in Johnny’s eyes. “The fuck is that?”

“My pizza this time, I hope,” you huff, pushing him back just enough to escape from between him and the wall. “I don’t know if I can take two of you showing up at my door tonight.”

Johnny trails after you, watching you open the door and pluck the pizza box from the ground where the delivery guy had left it as instructed, “Good news, there’s only one Johnny Silverhand.”

Turning towards him, you smirk, “Luckily.”

“Screw you.”

“You wish.”

[tboyandor]

andor rewatch one-shots: episode 1.01 kassa

so I'm rewatching Andor for the fourth time, and I've decided I'm going to try and write one-shot per episode, set during the episode!

this one is set during episode 1, right after Cassian gets back from Morlana One.

--

The first thing Cassian did after landing the ship in Ferrix’s yard was collapse onto the ship’s cot. All the adrenaline that had been coursing through him during his encounter with the corpos, and the aftermath, running through the rain-soaked streets of Morlana One, flying the ship up and out of there, getting back to Ferrix in one piece, had left his body as soon as he landed. The only thing he felt in his body now was a profound, bone-deep weariness.

He truly hadn't wanted any surprises. All he wanted that night was something that could get him one step closer to finding his sister.

Cassian sat down, and swung his legs up onto the cot, pulling a thin, green blanket haphazardly across his legs. He lay on his back and stared up at the battered ceiling of the ship. His body was tired, exhausted, even, but his mind still circled one thought over and over again: 

Kerri.

Had he gotten any closer to finding her? Yes and no. It was possible she had worked on Morlana One, but if she had, she was gone now, and the trail had gone cold. He had no other leads to follow.

Despair threatened to overwhelm Cassian at that thought, but he held it off, redirecting his thoughts down another channel.

He thought about the corpos who had ended up at the wrong end of his blaster earlier that night, and it dawned on him that if Kerri had worked in that place, people like them would have been her customers. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach, and he shivered, whether out of rage or discomfort he couldn't tell. 

Cassian curled onto his side, facing the metal wall of the ship.

She would be an adult, now, just like him, he reminded himself. She could make her own choices, and if she'd survived this long she could probably take care of herself.

That thought didn't help to untie the knot in Cassian’s stomach, however.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember her as she had been the last time he saw her.

She was so small. Her big, brown eyes looked into his with an unreadable expression. As if she knew, somehow, that he would never come back. Had he known?

Of course he hadn't, nor could she have, but he remembered the feeling of something tugging at his heart, even as he turned and walked away, excited to go off somewhere with the big kids for once.

I never should have left that day, Cassian thought, and turned over onto his back, breathing hard through the pain in his chest.

He remembered what she felt like tucked against his side, or curled up with him at night, how they were always together, rarely out of each other's sight, usually walking around hand-in-hand.

He just wanted to hold her hand again, to give her a hug. He wanted her to be safe, and he wanted to help keep her safe.

Where are you? He thought, and he felt his throat closing up and tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Cassian pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids, suddenly afraid of falling apart under the weight of his grief and being unable to pick up the pieces again.

What if he never found her? What if he died without ever seeing her again?

The most terrible possibility of all flashed through his mind before he could stop it:

What if my sister is dead?

The words he'd heard again and again over the years which had always been too horrible to accept surfaced in his mind once more:

There were no survivors on Kenari.

Cassian made a sound he hardly recognized as coming from himself, then: somewhere between a high-pitched whine and a heaving sob. He felt the grief and despair he'd been trying to fight off all night consume him all at once. 

Tears ran down his cheeks from behind his hands, and he turned back onto his side, tucking his head slightly under his blanket in an attempt to muffle the sounds he was making, in case anyone he knew was wandering the shipyard at night.

He sobbed till he was out of breath, and fell asleep soon after.

That night, Cassian dreamed of his last day on Kenari. He dreamt that he woke up to the sight of Kerri's face peering at him, and her voice calling his name.

Then he actually woke up.

It was Bee who had been calling his name.

“C-C-Cassian!”

He woke up with a jolt, and looked over to see Bee’s face inches from his own, and their stuttering voice loud in his ear.

“Bee,” Cassian murmured, his voice hoarse.

His eyes felt raw from crying so much the night before; he rubbed them with one hand while he stretched the other out to rest on Bee’s head.

Bee lifted his head into Cassian’s touch, and whirred at him quizzically.

“You’ve been c-c-crying,” the droid observed after a moment.

“Yeah,” Cassian said, turning to look at Bee, unsure what else to say.

“Why?”

“My sister,” Cassian replied, swallowing thickly.

“Oh,” Bee responded, understanding in their voice. “I'm s-s-sorry, Cassian.”

Cassian's chest hurt, but at this moment, it was due not just to his grief, but also to his love and appreciation for his odd little friend of so many years.

“Thanks, Bee,” he said, and sat up, swinging his legs down in front of the droid.

He looked into Bee’s eye for a moment, and Bee looked back at him the same way they always did. Cassian felt the beginnings of a smile on his face. He leaned his head down to rest his forehead against the battered top of Bee’s head, and wrapped his arms around the sides of his little, metal body.

Bee whirred happily. As a child, Cassian used to fall asleep hugging them like this.

“I love you, Bee,” he said softly.

“I love you t-t-too,” Bee responded immediately.

Cassian pulled away after another moment, and stretched a little, running his hands through his hair and then wincing at the pain in his bruised and broken knuckles.

“You are h-h-hurt.”

“I'm okay.”

Bee made a sound that indicated he was unconvinced.

“Physically, I mean,” Cassian corrected himself.

Bee made the sound again.

Cassian sighed heavily, and looked down at his hands, realizing he probably should fix them up.

“Okay, you win,” he said to Bee with a small smile, and then turned his attention to his hands, and started asking Bee about the current state of things on Ferrix.

Kerri still stood, alone, as he had left her all those years ago, somewhere in Cassian's mind, but it would be quite a while before he could bear to look at her again.

[swearingcactus]

OC INTERVIEW : Lil V :)

thanks for the tag @v-eats-bugs (and @elvenbeard's post that reminded me that I have yet to do this even though I was tagged!) get ready for your local little guy answering some of your q's (this pic was supposed to just be a cover but it does make him look like he's answering these before bed in his jammies, which could fit too)

🔸Name?🔸 "Contrary to popular belief, it's not a pasta brand, but I would neither confirm or deny any guesses."

There's been wild rumors that he's changed his name to Vitoli or Viagra (Jackie's fault for that one) but nope, his name's still Vincent. His last name's Woodman or some other boring generated name hospitals print out for babies with no parents claiming them, so he never went by it. Great decision on his end, cus "Vincent Woodman-or-similarly-boring-sounding-last-name" sounds more like an accountant than a cool merc.

🔸Nickname?🔸 "Just V."

Before Atlanta, some 'friends' burned him and used him as scapegoat for a gig and he landed in prison because of it. His efforts to erase the records and leave much earlier than his sentence bankrupted him; but he got out and decided to wipe his slate clean. What better way to start a new life than with a new (technically just chopped down) name?

🔸Gender?🔸 "🤨📸"

Cis male. But he thinks it's weird if people gotta ask that.

🔸Star sign?🔸 "Aw fuck, I gotta ask Misty for that, I keep forgetting which one I am. Hang on."

This is totally not a cop-out cus i haven't played phantom liberty and therefore am still unsure when is his canon birthday. Either way he doesn't care about it that much.

🔸Height?🔸 "5'8 which I've heard is 173cm."

173cm is NOT 5'8, he's lying or simply getting it wrong, and frankly for night city denizens, that's more amusing to ponder than his height.

🔸Orientation?🔸 "Oh ;) I'm not picky! ;) heheh wait i mean 🤨📸"

Sometimes his excitement at the prospect of getting laid by hot men and women makes him forget to act cool and nonchalant about being bi.

🔸Nationality/Ethnicity?🔸 "I mean I'm pretty sure I gotta be somewhat white, but never knew the detes. Not gonna pay a corpo for them to tell me about it either, cus what do they know?"

He has a paler complexion, but sometimes his features on the right lighting kinda play tricks on you. With him being from Heywood and no parents to speak of, he has no idea if he could actually be part Hispanic or Asian or any other ethnicity. Obviously, he could pay to get some 2077 "hyper-accurate" version of 23andMe but he thinks that's bull and way too easy to fake. Totally just that and not cus he gave up on the idea of biological families anyways, nope.

🔸Fave fruit?🔸 "I dunno, never really had anything 'ganic 'cept some grapes and they were really sour, so probably not those. Pears are okay, I guess."

🔸Fave season?🔸 "Winter. Atlanta sucked but they had better winters."

Atlanta's winter was colder than Night City's, so the idea of spending the holidays just cold and broke with crippling loneliness sounded too horrible. He attempted to avoid this by treating himself to a 'real' white christmas experience, tried ice skating and making snow bunnies when it did snow and got hot chocolate and even bought himself some overpriced present and all that. Atlanta didn't work out, but he did like winter coming out of it, and he gets nostalgic of it when the holiday season come around.

🔸Fave flower?🔸 "Sunflowers. Oh, but cherry blossoms are really pretty too, even when they're just holos."

He doesn't tell this story much, but when he got out of prison, the field next to the road was riddled with dying sunflowers. Nothing welcomed him out of the gutter but those shriveled plants right next to ones that were done blooming couple weeks ago. If he had been able to get out earlier, he could've seen at least some of them in bloom. It should be a bitter thought and memory, but he found walking next to them very comforting. He has a soft spot in his heart for them ever since.

🔸Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?🔸 "Well not coffee, and not tea, so I guess hot chocolate it is. Actually, you have that iced?"

He used to think he's a coffee guy but dating Kerry made him realize the canned coffee he drinks are just sugar with a hint of caffeine flavor. (he hated the black ganic stuff Kerry drinks but powered through that One Time) In general though, he likes cold drinks more than hot ones.

🔸Average hours of sleep🔸 "I'd like to say 8 but I know that'd be lying. Probably closer to 5 or 6."

Don't get him wrong, he gets on the bed. He just scrolls his phone for hours after and doesn't sleep immediately when he gets on it is the problem. He falls asleep closer to 2-3AM, then wakes up at 8 or 9. This is a real issue if he stays the night over with Panam at camp, since the Aldecaldos are mostly early birds.

🔸Dog or Cat person?🔸 "Oh cat, definitely. Have you seen my cat Nibbles?" *queues up 100+ picture slides of her directly to your holo*

🔸Dream trip?🔸 "Antarctica, maybe? Heard it's kinda peaceful over there, and it'd be even colder than Atlanta so hell yeah, could get all cozy, bundled up and waddle around there for a bit."

🔸Fave Fictional Character🔸

to reiterate this post , he found a copy of Toy Story 4 and made fun of how Duke Caboom sounded like a chipper, Canadian version of Johnny. Then the whole 'guy who failed a stunt and got thrown in the trash because of it, is actually deeply terrified about the entire experience but still continues to be a happy dude' hit too close to home.

🔸Number of blankets they sleep with🔸 "??? People sleep with multiple blankets??"

Just one. He gets too cold even with it when he gets even sicker from the relic, so he sleeps with fuzzy socks too now. The idea of two blankets for one person never occurred to him.

🔸Random fact🔸 "Okay, I'm only gonna tell you this 'cus I'm back in Night City, and enough time has passed that no way anyone can actually get anything to stick to me... but back in Atlanta, I used to crash weddings. Not even for gigs, was just trying to avoid spending eddies on meals. It's really easy to just sneak in, especially if you wear some black cardigan, or flash a digital lanyard, or just walk really fast and with purpose. They just assume I'm part of the event organizer or one of the catering team, and let me in. Then you just act like you've been invited, grab a plate and mingle with some guests who don't look important. Was better entertainment than BDs too, hearing all the stuff about the bride and groom from different tables. Sometimes I just let slip some gossip I heard from another group to the current one I'm mingling with, and shit would hit the fan real quick, which means I get to delta nice and quiet. I wish I could stay for more of 'em, Atlanta weddings end a lot more in fist-fights than Night City ones, that's for sure."

Yeah so he might not know or realize this detail, but he most definitely was the reason those fist-fights happen and was part of the reason for the spike in divorce rate in Atlanta for a bit.

phew that was a lot of words. no pressure tagging @mail-me-a-snail @glitchinginthegarden and anyone else who'd like to join but haven't been tagged! :)

[silverhandj]

>... Johnny Silverhand is less a moniker taken from the man who gave his life to protect him in the war and more an ensemble of dressings from constructs that had at one point been a point of reliance for him and all his mistakes, and all his accomplishments. Robert Linder isn't dead but he has lost its usefulness for him the minute he deserted and took to the guitar. Mind you, this transformation, happened within a month in a room he never left but instead buried himself in with his only company being books on philosophy, and tucking away Robert John Linder in the grates of the motel. The asceticism of killing Robert off, and taking his saviours name is only the tipping point of Johnny Silverhand and from it, a sense of peace in knowing he's continuing on because of Johnny. Even now, Robert Linder is no longer a point of contention for Johnny. Why go back, when the path is set passionately hurtling towards The Edge, again. All the very best of him must live on through Johnny, the self sacrifice of a of both Johnny and Robert prove to exemplify this grace.

>... Going deeper, Robert Linder was the first to have the hand. A state of the art upgrade given by Arasaka at no charge to its contractors to fight and test in an undocumented attack within the fourth corporate war. This is not without its own consequences; Evidence of DNA tampering and blood testing have made Robert a hardened veteran on the battlefield. Stay too long out there, and anyone's bound to snap. Especially when the attack starts to fail, when masses of your brothers in war start to drop dead in multitudes. Robert, mentally, shut down. The one driving his body wasn't him, it was the hand.

>... The corporate name that had built and installed the arm into would soon be scratched off, and anyone who's anyone can understand that the arm he has on him is one of a kind - issued to soldiers deployed from Arasaka in a test attack. Even with the testing, even with the radiation in his body, none of that stalls the cyber psychosis that starts and ends with the hand.

>... Johnny's parasitic nature hasn't always been because he had turned into a digital psyche, an engram in a world trying to survive. It started before that, when he was alive and well and had donned the name of his saviour. It's easy to fall into the mess that is Night City where vices and bad habits are sold to at a cheap price that funnels back into the megacorps that supply it all. It is the eco-system of Night City after all. And no one seems to understand that the game is rigged, no matter the scales, no matter the morality.

>... The hand becomes both a metaphor and an idealization for Johnny, it becomes something he can disconnect a part of himself from the part that's organic. It will not hesitate to act on his basest desires and it's easy to pull the trigger when you aren't there. Not really. Johnny has cut pieces of himself off, and has reattached different pieces of himself in ways that justify the end. The body remembers, even when the mind starts to alter memories to protect oneself.

[ Johnny stands on the stage, in his hand is his fully loaded Malorian Arms 3516 pistol. It's after the first few sets that the hand raises the gun, and shoots the crowd. A fan dies, a few scream, but mostly, they want more of Johnny Silverhand.

"Christ Johnny, what's next, you do a live execution of a corpo on stage?" Yells Kerry, backstage. ]

This isn't what Johnny shows V in their head, but it's hinted at. In V's memories, the show goes on where no one dies and no one gets angry. In his hand is his guitar, and not a gun.

>... Johnny's metallic hand, unlike how he relates to it, is very much apart of him. It is the base of his emotions, and it is as real to him just as much as his organic self is. Except, he shifts the blame of self onto the very thing he hates but has come to rely upon over the years, as a source of strength and ideals.

>... Transitioning into V's body is like swapping the hand for an even bigger upgrade, where he's apart, just as he is without.

[chevvy-yates]

Busted for attempt to steal private property (a car).

"This car deserves a new owner who is more caring about that beauty seeing nothin' but dust!" — Jaysen

—

[NC_RES]_00003027 racers_sarto_steyr_mugshots.file ///core:_baby_drivers.file\\\

—

Please do not repost any of my art. Enzo Sarto belongs to @gloryride. <3 mugshot poses & plate by Zink (amm discord). bomber jacket (Arizona) by @pinkyjulien

Since Glory came up with that Barbie and Ken meme to me — I had to do this mugshot theme a well. Both of us do have OCs who are (street) racers and what can I say? Pretty Enzolino here once lost his beautiful orange McLaren F1 and had to hand it over to Jay. Enzo without a good racing car? Impossible.

So despite of not liking Jay, he proceeds to ask him to lend Baby (the F1) for winning himself another car. Jay is all in ofc. ;P They actually liked their good teamwork on ripping Sampson his car off and thought it would be a good idea to give some other cars owned by various rich corpos a new owner as well. Too bad they got caught on their first try (team work needs to be learend still). No matter how bad it actually looks, Jaysen will know a way out. Being a highly skilled netrunner and a former NCPD officer might come in handy, so Enzolino has nothing to fear. ;P They will be out in no time!

I did a lot of post processing with these. Made the height table myself (quickly done via InDesign), also the text on the plates each of them is holding. I decided against placing their names and took my usual description onto them for ID. I added the date they got caught – looked up what usually is on such plates and majority had dates, so yeah, why not? Fun fact: I placed QR codes on them as well. xD If you would scan those you'll simply be lead to the tags with the ocs. That said they are scanable, but I think they won't be on tblr, since opening them in a new browser tab does show them in a smaller resolution than when I open them on my iMac. And ofc viewing with your phone gives not the option to scan either. I just wanted to do something different is all xD

And because I love close ups, have one of Jay and Enzo, too as a bonus:

[strigital]

just a small bunch of Alek because he is the babiest of girls 😔

think it's about time i explained who tf he is and why i'm always sad about him so here are a few fun facts about the boi!:

saw his parents get brutaly unalived by Arasaka aged 16 and had to delta the fuck outta there with a toddler sister in his arms

got stranded in the desert outside Night City with nothing to his name but dad's old jacket, enough eddies to buy like one burger and a hungry child to care for

came across some Nomads (the Bakkers) and for a year or two Selita Bakker took the babes under her wing (then she fucken died and he had to leave again)

was forced into a life of crime just to make sure his sis didn't starve

he'd disappear for days or weeks doing gig after gig while Jaxine stayed with Mama Welles, Padre, Dr. Vik or Mama Fabienne (a kind-hearted haitian proprietress of The Birdhouse, an orphanage set up in the ruins of a small theatre tucked away somewhere between Dogtown and GIM) more about her sometime later

because of that Jax basically raised herself and Alek forever hated himself for not being there for her when she needed him most

he called her Jacket all the time and only used her name when she done fucked up and needed an ass woopin' (she was a hooligan who'd get locked up on possession charges aged 14...)

the nickname came from the fact that after they became orphans Jax would only ever shut up and stop crying while swaddled into her dad's giant jacket; she'd even wobble around like a penguin wearing it like a giant ass cape. and so it stuck. Jacket (sometimes it was JJ when Alek was in a hurry)

back in the world of edgerunning he was known as Vulture or V for short. his selling pitch was "got a bone to pick with somebody? Vulture's your man!"

as a side job he also ran an indie rock group "The Vultures". music helped him cope with day-to-day traumatic shit he had to endure. it's through the showbiz that he met Kerry Eurodyne and developed a hopeless crush on the celeb. feelings were mutual AF but both gonks were too shy to say anything. Kerry would only find out about it some years later from his sis when she became a walking floppy disk for Johnny_Silverhand.exe

at some point he utterly peaked in the merc world. every dog at the Afterlife knew his face and everybody wanted to work with him. even Rogue at some point advertised him to her clients as "the" man to do the job

at the pinnacle of his career Alek chipped in some mean mantis blades, top of the line Kiroshis, a Militech-made Sandevistan and a gazillion more enhancements that made him a fucken beast to be reckoned with. he also trained relentlessly and folks even mistook him for an ex-military, even though everything he knew was self-taught. he never stopped improving his body and mind and because of this (or maybe inspite of this?) he started showing the first symptoms of cyberpsychosis sometime around 2070. despite that, he'd keep his illness under control up until his death in 2074

it was also around this time that he klepped a pristine Type-66 Avenger off some corpo rat. he took the beaut to the Nomads to have it juiced up and after some work the wheels came out black as midnight, equipped with CrystalDome tech, guns upon guns, meanest freaking engine and tyres that could cling to walls if need be. don't ask how many people died staring down that bumper approaching them head-on at supersonic speeds, cause the answer is too many. Jax always felt like he loved that damned car more than her sometimes... and whenever she asked to take the beastie for a spin he'd always reply "over my dead body". who knew fucker meant it literally?!

Alek lied to Jaxine her whole life in a desperate bid to protect her from literally the entire world. the story of how they became orphans, what he did as a job, where he went off to for days on end... girl grew up knowing nothing about real Alek. only years later when with the help of a mutual friend she discovers his secret pad in the Glen that she'd start to piece together who he really was

Alek was afraid of his illness taking away his memory, so he scrolled damn near everything. birthday parties, hangouts at the shooting range, hikes into the badlands... every more or less important moment with Jaxie got recorded onto a BD shard and tucked away like a precious little slice of life that he was losing alongside his self-destructing neural links. later, Jaxie would spend hours rolling them over and over again, reliving the life that Arasaka took from them

throughout his career Alek's sole purpose in life (besides keeping his lil' sis alive) was revenge on Arasaka. specifically, he wanted to end Saburo himself with his own hands. any gig that involved messing with 'Saka or allowed him to gather crucial info was an automatic green light for him

he knew his dad didn't die in the assault and suspected he was Soulkilled like many other enemies of the corp (old man did in fact manage a anti-corpo group of vigilantes for like a decade before getting ratted out by somebody). at some point while on a gig to steal some 'Saka intel he got a hold of his dad's engram's copy. not like the Relic which would delete your personality, but the old gen - one that you plug in and talk to like your average hologram. of course, Alek never told Jax that he had their dead father on a shard slotted into his head at all times... and old man Bryce didn't want to traumatize his junior kid even further, either

dad wholeheartedly supported his son's mission to topple Arasaka, which was probably a bad idea... because history tends to repeat itself and eventually 'Saka discovered Alek's true identity and connected numerous crimes against them back to him. Adam Smasher was on his way to smash Alek...

too late did Alek realize that he done fucked up. he got all the crucial info locked away in his pad, the keys from it he left in his wheels and send that mf off into the sunset with a trusted fella. he recorded a sordid confession for Jaxie with a shitton of i'm-sorry's and i-love-you's and sent her away by... lying, again. he told her some drug dealers where coming to collect their due and he wanted her out of danger while he dealt with them. but the metal man Smasher showed up and the epic fight ensued. Alek knew he had no chance but he wasn't gonna make it easy for the dickwipe that zeroed his fam. the least he could do is hurt the bitch. and so as Jaxie was speeding away on Alek's bike - explosion. both Alek and his digitized dad were gone for good. Jaxie was left to fend for herself, not knowing that 'Saka now knew that they didn't wipe all of the Bryces and were looking for the one that got away

eventually she'd learn the whole tragic ass truth. and despite Alek's last wish for Jaxine to leave 'Saka be and just live her life, she made it her life goal to avenge her family. somehow, someway. one Johnny Silverhand would later come in extremely handy in this quest of hers

even though his life was hard and short, he did try to live to the fullest. he put his heart and soul into his music, he tried his damned best to show Jaxine that he loved her, and he looked out for his friends. Rogue would describe him as "the good villain" - a guy who despite having bloodied hands that never dried, always tried to do well by others. there was a short time when he was considered the deadliest motherfucker in town the mention of whose name sent shivers down gangoons' spines. and then he, like many before him and after, died

so if ya wanna honor the legendary Vulture whose flight was cut short, come down to the Afterlife and ask Claire for a shot of The Vulture: Armagnac Massy on the rocks with a splash of Cirrus Cola and a mint garnish. expensive, you say? if you knew him, you'd know he was worth every ennie

[gemini-twinz]

Legend Two: Cicada Theory

Hiya chooms! This Chapter is also available on AO3 now! HERE!

All I wanna say is that I highly recommend you listen to this song while reading! It really has the vibe and soundscape I was going for for this story! The song is titled "A quick one before the eternal worm devours Appalachia" ------------🚹💖--------------- The fiery dry summers of Night City are always deadly for those that can not afford to stay cool. Around this time of year, Shizuo had always seen blow flies swarming the mummified dried corpse of some poor soul with only a box for a home and a garbage bag for a blanket, or children crying as their chrome nearly cooked the ends where metal meets flesh. How the hell can the bugs survive this heat? No matter how the heat escalates every year, he hears the humming of the cicadas. Agonizingly loud, as if they’re screaming from being cooked alive in their own shells.

Sitting at the monorail stop, sweat pools on the cyborg’s brow. His breath heavy as he bounces his leg in his seat. What skin he has left under his trench coat suffers as the heat from his cybernetics distorts the air with a constant rising wave that only adds to the burn of the afternoon sun. The vents hum as intricate parts inside his mechanisms consume solar energy, pumping his heart alive and filling his lungs with air. The process is silent to most passing by, but in the canals of Shizuo’s ear, the vibrations are a constant humbuzz; reminiscent of the fluorescent hum of a corpo office, however not as temperature controlled.

“Hot as fuckin’ hell..” He mumbles under his breath, teeth grinding the cigarette between them. A cicada on the torrid metal awning above him screams as a baby cries in its mother’s arms. The advertisements are blaring, almost fading into one another with not a moment of silence to process them. Even the breeze from the wind is hot and dry, no escape from the other irritants overwhelming Shizuo’s senses.

His leg bounces faster. The clicking of the joints makes noise. The creak of the bench as he begins to gently rock; trying anything to find solace from the building irritation, but falling short. Finding a grip on the bench beside him, the cyborg’s hand crushes the metal like dough in his fist. Before he can lift it from its bolts, the monorail finally arrives. An oasis in the desert of noise, come to take him home.

It’s honestly not much quieter there. White noise pours from his only fan in the sweltering night. It only circulates the heat as Shizuo lies sprawled over the mattress in his studio apartment. Cicadas on his window panels rattle and scream as they molt their carapace, emerging soft and pliable. He stares at the carcases through the skylight as exhaustion begins to take him, only for his eyes to peel open once again hearing the humming from his insides; ever present and inescapable. The only thing left is to curl into himself and pray for sleep to cut through the constant whirr. It always does eventually, giving way to visions of the subconscious.

_+-=_

The cicadas whirred on light poles on a hot and dry summer day. Shizuo and his younger brother Kasuka found themselves playing in some junk yard after wandering a bit too far into Pacifica. Kasuka kicked the ball just a little too far around the corner of a heap of tires, and the large metal feet of a cyberpsycho halted the ball in it’s tracks and crushed it flat. A multitude of shining red eyes froze Kasuka in place as Shizuo turned the corner just in time for the barrels of a gatling gun to rise to his brother’s head. In the flap of a cicada’s wing, their lives changed. A push to save a life. A hail of bullets, tearing white hot through flesh, soldering it on contact. An arm displaced, blood spattering the dusty blacktop.

Kasuka watched it all as his brother’s body was blown away, though all he could hear were the screams of cicadas.

Shizuo only saw the world in blurry flashes, felt the tubes and wires in his neck as he briefly awoke in the hospital feeling nothing from the shoulders down. When he came back to consciousness, horror overtook him as he saw his body in the mirror. Sleek black and gray steel and carbon fiber replaced all flesh and most of his bone from the bust down. A body he didn’t ask for, that he was forced to have. He would have rather died protecting Kasuka, but he was forced to live. Forced to shed his human skin for a walking life support system.

_+-=_

It’s another hot morning in Night City as Ziggy Q’s voice greets all its residents through the radio. It jars Shizuo awake in the very same position he fell asleep, sweat soaking his pillow. A cold shower and a cigarette is all he needs before going out for a walk to his fixer for work.

Running low on cash again, guess I’ll get Tom on the hollo.. As he walks and negotiates on the phone, he passes a sun dried corpse and takes a glance. He sees every individual he passes clearly in the crowd, flesh mixing with multi-colored metal, style over substance. They were flesh once, born like he was, and changed. Shedding skin to replace with chrome.

Everyone sheds their flesh in Night City, molting like cicadas.