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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Text

Nice to Meet You

For @boxboysandotherwhump - Theo chose soft!Jameson, so here he is! @wildfaewhump gave me the three-word prompt “Space, shell, fair” for Jameson.

CW: Recovering pet whumpees, referenced past torture, scars, referenced dubcon/noncon, briefly referenced past dehumanization, consensual angst, fluff

When he opens the closet door, intending to press himself into his safe spot with his back to the corner, blocked by the boxes, he discovers Allyn is already there.

For a moment, his mind goes blank.

They look up at him and wince as the light cuts into the warm, velvet dark they were hiding in. Their long wavy hair hangs over their eyes, impossibly long legs bent until their knees are under their chin in the oversized sweatpants, gray eyes looking up at him, startled.

They’re more afraid of you than you are of them, whispers Nanda’s voice in his mind, soft and sweet as custard, the first owner, the one who took him on hunting trips where he had him sleep with the dogs and cut a line into the back of his thigh for every animal he slaughtered. All his memories of Nanda are grays tinged in blood - the gray of the sky, of Nanda’s eyes, the red of the bloodhounds, the drips that followed him across the floor.

Nanda also taught him about bears, while they moved through the woods. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them, boy. Vanilla custard, but held on the edge of a sharp knife, metallic under pillowy cloying sweetness. Nanda’s words always felt like blood in his mouth, spoonfed.

Allyn isn’t a bear - but they are definitely afraid.

“Why-” His voice cracks, shock of earthquake through ice on his tongue, and he considers simply closing the door and walking away. Allyn is his roommate, not his friend. He doesn’t have friends, none of them have real friends. Just other people also suffering nearby. Finally, though, he opens the door just a little wider. “Why are you in here?”

Allyn shakes their head, and it’s only then Jameson realizes their hair is uncombed, hanging lank and limp and lifeless, which Allyn’s hair never does. Their lips tremble, no perfect fucking party smile in place like usual, as they cringe back from him. No pretty blouse, no pretty anything. Just pale and shadowed, freckles standing out like someone stuck them on. “I-I’m sorry, I just… just needed-... a, a minute t-to breathe, I’m sorry-”

“This is my fucking space, Allyn. Yours is under the bed, so… go be under the bed.” His voice isn’t as rough and mean as he wants it to be, but it’s maybe mean enough - they sniff, and he sees their eyes glitter with tears.

His anger melts under something he tells himself isn’t guilt, and he exhales, slowly, before he moves to a crouch. He doesn’t like being loomed over, so they probably hate it, too, right? He’s had too many motherfuckers stare down at him in his cages. He stays that way in silence, right at their eye level, cocking his head as they breathe, wondering what color their eyes really are.

“I’m sorry,” They whisper, and he can see the shift of their oversized sweatshirt, three days past needing a wash. This isn’t like Allyn at all. Have they been like this for days, and he didn’t notice?

Well, why he fuck should he notice, they’re not friends, and Allyn is in his space, the only space in his entire life that’s all his and isn’t ringed in bars to put him on display-

No.

It’s not their fault, they’re upset, and the darkness of the closet is safer than anywhere else. You can hide in closets, he understands why they’re here. He forces down his irritation, and takes in the miserable worry in their eyes.

“Shit. Allyn, it’s... I don’t mean to be an ass, I just-... uh, what made you… need a minute? Exactly?” He should call for the big guy who runs this place, it’s his whole job to handle moments like this, but he can’t quite make it happen. Instead, he finds the voice he wants to be sharp is softer, his words feel like the heat of a kiss he actually wants, taste sweeter than any kiss he’s ever actually had.

They’re more scared of you than you are of them.

“Um, I-I was-... I was thinking… about… him.” The poison in the love in their voice is all in Jameson’s head, but he feels it seep into all his scars anyway. Acid, that him. Too much pineapple burning his tongue. They’re lucky to have had an owner they could love. Luckier still, to have one who loved them back.

Luckiest of all, to have an owner who wanted them to be happy.

Unluckiest, though, to get chucked out with the fucking garbage when the asshole died and they weren’t in his will. It’s not fair, but it’s fucking life, isn’t it? And in the end, which one of them is luckier? Him, for knowing it was suffering the whole time - or them, for having the chance to believe it was anything else?

“You miss him.” Flat, crash of knives on the ground, the clink and rattle and smack of their handles. Allyn only hears the words. He is starting to realize words feel inside him differently than they do to others.

Allyn nods, and the glitter of tears spills finally out.

He wants to touch their face - he doesn’t.

“I-I do,” They whisper. “I know I sh-sh-shouldn’t, but I… I do. I’m sorry, I know that you don’t-... that you weren’t-”

“Yeah, well.” He waves a hand, dismissive. The scars on his back and legs feel stretched, when he crouches like this, balances on the balls of his feet. He can feel the skin pull at itself, numbed but still here. Couldn’t kill me, motherfuckers, how about that? I’m still here, and three of you are gone. You’re just fucking corpses and your little blow-up doll with a heartbeat is still here. “You’re hurting worse than I am now, so I guess we’re sort of even.”

“I just… I can’t-...” Allyn’s voice buckles under the weight of their emotions, it shatters. Jameson tastes blood from the glass and watches Allyn lift their hands to hide behind them. Long fingers, delicate and graceful, even in this. Nails filed to perfect roundness. His own fingers are nothing special, two of them on his right hand broken until they don’t bend quite right anymore. He didn’t have to have perfect hands. He barely escaped Robert getting to keep his hands at all, and that was only because he was pretty fucking good at using them.

“I can’t live without him,” Allyn whimpers, muffled and thick. “I feel like… like I was made empty for him to fill up, and h-he’s gone, I can’t-... live without him, I can’t-”

He swallows the glass of their grief, buries it inside him. Wonders if he’ll ever know how it feels to give a shit what happened to the assholes who hurt him. What would it be like, to actually feel bad about the deaths?

“You can,” He says, low-voiced, and shifts forward into the closet, settling himself down and closing the door until only the thinnest crack of light can break up their safer darkness. Barely the width of a wire, the light illuminates nothing, only reminds them it’s there. He listens to the soft inhale, slower exhale, of the person beside him. Their presence is a weight, in his safest places, and his nerves are alight with how fragile it is, to have anywhere at all, how easily ruined by someone intruding. He clears his throat, uncertain, unused to being one to give comfort. More used to ignoring its existence. “You, um. You can live without them, I fucking swear it, Allyn. I lived without all of mine, for a while, ‘fore the next one caught me, or bought me.”

He hears rustling, and tilts his head just slightly to see them looking at him. They’re pale, but he is, too, a duller washed-out color from lack of sunlight for so long. Their freckles look like constellations, the stars he would stare at through Robert’s window in the dark. He notes, absently, that they damn near have a Little Dipper along their left cheekbone. “But-... but you didn’t love them… did you?”

He decides he sort of likes their voice. It slips into his mind, subtle sweetness, maple syrup but thinner. Weaker, but maybe it could be strong.

With time.

He swallows, speaking gruffly to cover up the strange twist of emotion. “No, I-... no. I didn’t love ‘em, but… but you keep going, you know? You’ll do it, too. I’m not… fuck, I’m not good for this. I wasn’t ever supposed to talk, so I’m not… super good at it now. Being, um. Like, helping… with words.” His voice is thick tar on his tongue, colored by his embarrassment.

But he tries.

There’s a silence, and he leans over, until his shoulder just touches theirs. Allyn tenses and then relaxes, and they sit like that for a while, listening to each other breathe.

Allyn’s head comes to rest on his shoulder, and he finds he doesn’t mind the weight.

“I’m so tired of being sad,” They whisper.

“Yeah, I’m-... sorta tired of being pissed off, myself.” He huffs a laugh. Then he feels Allyn’s hand - cold, slender, long-fingered - find his own, warmer and scarred. “Feels like we’re just empty seashells that get filled up with whatever the water brings, huh?”

“That… that sounds really pretty,” Allyn says softly. “Do you think pretty things a lot?”

“No. Most of my thoughts are really fucking ugly.” He manages another humorless laugh. “I guess I can surprise you, huh.”

“In more ways than one.”

“What?”

“I saw what you wrote on the wall,” Allyn murmurs, and they shift their head, breath warm on the side of his neck, where his collar is. Or isn’t. For a second, he can’t remember if he’s wearing it or not. He takes his off, sometimes. When he can. More and more often, as the days turns into weeks here.

“You did?” He closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference. They don’t let go of his hand. There is movement, out in the hall, in the rest of the house, but for the second, he and Allyn are alone.

“Mmhmm. You can read and write? Did your owner let you?”

It’s a secret he’s kept inside him for so long. It’s so hard to give it away, now. “I… no, none of them knew I could. When they took it from me, it… didn’t work. I never lost it.”

“Oh.” They’re silent for a moment. Their breath is warm, and despite himself, he feels a nervous flip of his stomach, his hair standing on end. It’s something trapped between fear and want, and it’s unlike any fear or want he’s ever felt before. “What did you write, on the wall?”

He could tell them anything. He could lie.

He tells the truth. “I wrote out our names. All of us. Um. The, Jake, and… his people. Eli, Nova, Sarita, um, Allyn…”

“Did you write yours?”

He lets his head gently fall back to rest against the wall. His heart might break out of him, bleed all over the floor. A different kind of bleeding, a kind that he sort of wants, even though he doesn’t. “Um. Yeah, I… yeah.”

“What is it?” They don’t move their head, they don’t let go of his hand. “What’s your name?”

He shouldn’t tell them.

It’s been his secret for so, so long. But… fuck, he’s so tired of secrets.

“Jameson,” He says, and it’s the taste of air just before rain, a chill breeze on a blistering day. His name, the one he gave himself. “I’m-... my name is Jameson.”

They’re quiet for a second, and then say, softly, “Nice to meet you, Jameson.”

It sounds better, in Allyn’s voice.

Everything does.

---

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @astrobly @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump

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isuspectyouhavefantheories · 4 years ago

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The Crossroads to the Sun 🌞

Takemura/Female V

Rated: M for mature themes and explicit content NSFW 18s only

Trigger Warnings: Themes of death, suicide, gallows humour

Part 1 of ???? “The Sun Series”

Link to part two :

https://isuspectyouhavefantheories.tumblr.com/post/641314624666468353/search-for-the-sun

Will eventually be posted on my AO3 account when I get this beta’d. 🤟

———

She had decided she wanted to be away from night city when she pulled the plug. If anything, she wanted it to end under the blanket of the starry skies, part of her hoping they would guide her into the next world safely. Driving through the neon jungle felt like a technicolor funeral procession. Or perhaps a walk to the gallows? She was thankful she still had most of her senses as she pulled herself from her morbid reverie just in time to avoid a badly placed bollard on a sharp turn straight down the road heading towards the city limits. She swore under her breath but continued. The pain was dull, but festering in her mind, less so than before, but enough to keep reminding her of the internal ticking clock that was getting louder with each passing hour as it neared to zero. She breathed deeply though her nose and steeled herself. But more doubts began to drift through her, like a slick fog encircling her mind she thought of all the people she would be leaving behind and hoped they wouldn’t hate her after tonight.

Goro’s name flashed up on her biomon and it took her a minute to register. She nearly rear ended a truck at a traffic light before finally answering.

“Yes?”

“Where are you?” His voice was gruff, demanding and her eyebrow crinkled in irritation.

“What’s it to you?”

“Let me help you V. Just take the deal with Hanako, we make this right and you get back your life. If I were you, I would not waste the chance.”

“You mean you get back your life.” She spat, Takemura went quiet on the other end for a moment, his eyes flinching at her tone. “Don’t try and pretend this is concern for my well-being and as far as making this right goes... You really still think you and Arasaka can fix this? Goro I know when I’m beat. Nobody can fix this. I’m done for and it’s time I just fucking faced facts and made my peace. I’m done. I’m calling it.” She hadn’t realised how hard she was gripping the steering wheel until she felt the alloy begin to crunch lightly under her guerrilla cybernetics.

There was a long pause and she thought for a moment he had hung up until she heard the shuffling of erratic, hurried movement on the other end.

“Where are you V?” He demanded, his voice was direct, to the point, no room for nonsense, no room for anything but answers.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve left a data chip with Misty. It contains all the relevant evidence, via brain dance, you need to get the vindication you so desperately require.”

“V, tell me where you are right now. ” It was sharp this time.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help more. Goodbye, Goro. It was a pleasure to have known you.” She hung up and looked down at her phone, closing her eyes a moment only to be jolted by Takemura calling again. She took a deep breath before turning it off and throwing it in the passenger seat and popping into third gear as she trolled though the gates past the city limits to security. She was quickly flagged through with little bother from security. They seemed more interested in what was coming into the city that what was going out.

It took her an hour to get to where she needed to go. The edge of the badlands. The final touch stone before she headed further in, back to all she ever knew. Just another busted down prewar gas station covered in sand, nature already claiming back its land. She parked her car outside and managed to pry open the front door after digging some accumulated sand from the way.

—————

She woke to the whistling of the desert storm on the shutters, the dilapidated old outpost rocked shakily. She almost felt as if she was in the belly of a ship at sea being pulverised, to and fro, by an onslaught or roaring waves.

She sat up, listening to them a while, until eventually the weather died down to a gentle lulling breeze. She stepped outside for a moment and thanked whatever powers that were out there that the sky was clear enough to see the moon and a dim scattering of stars. She climbed from her make shift cot and stepped outside.

“Still think you made the right call? Those Saka assholes might have fixed you up all nice.” Johnny flashed back into her peripheral vision, sitting on a bench under a busted canopy with his guitar slung across his lap.

“I dunno. I guess we’ll see.”

“Val.”

She looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

“They were just going to extract you and dump me the moment it suited them. What, you think I was just gonna put my head in a hungry lions mouth and just hope everything would just sort itself out? For all I know they would have just cut me open the minute they got me up there. I’d rather die out here, on some dusty ass terra firma in the wastes than lose my mind up in some space prison.” She flipped out Evelyn’s cigarette case, only three left in place making her sigh before pulling out one and lighting it up.

Johnny groaned at the sensation of the nicotine flooding her system from her first drag. It had been a while since she’d allowed herself such little pleasures, but for the first time in months she wasn’t on deaths door, bringing death so someone else’s door or trying to kidnap an heiress, so exceptions can be made.

“Weather out here huh? Never notice it in the city but, fuck. Mother nature sure is a feisty broad.”

“You have no idea.” She chuckled.

“Pretty good we got here before the worst of of the storm hit earlier. I would not want to be the sorry sack of shit that had to drive through that.” Johnny chuckled.

—————————

It was about 5am, sun already shining and blistering the ground, she had scavenged a few things from the outpost to keep her and Johnny going long enough to get to the Aldecaldos

Or just long enough. The thought of kicking it just before saying goodbye to Panam and Saul and the others churned uncomfortably down into the pit of her stomach but she attempted to occupy her mind, busying herself with prep work and repairs on her gear. She was going to try at least.

Before she could think of the next task, Johnny materialised again, already on edge.

“Someone’s coming.”

“Raffen? Cops? Arasaka?”

“Can’t be sure. I’d get ready if I were you.” He was gone again, and all she could think to do was get back to the gas station and ready herself for the visitors.

A Herra Outlaw that looked as if the chemical desert had taken a shit on it, genuinely one of the most out of place thing she had ever seen in the badlands and that was saying something, pulled up with a soft screech as the brakes engaged and the engine shuttered off. The pop of the car door made her grip her baseball bat tighter as she edged closer to the door, so as to be on the hidden side when it opened.

The door flung open, nearly ramming her in the face had she not hugged the wall so closely, she held her breath as a darkened figure entered the room, but the rasping baritone that filled the air made her freeze.

“V?” Takemura’s voice cut through her and all she could do was stare in disbelief.

“What the fuck?”

He whipped around like lightening, his wild searching gaze landed on her and his eyebrows all but flew up into his hairline and his eyes widened in disbelief but seemed to relax after a moment, a wave of relief washing over his features as of up until this moment he had been in a panic.

It was all a blur, he pulled the rusted metal door closed, nearly wrenching the door off its screeching hinges before his arms suddenly reached for her. He pulled her forcefully into his chest into an embrace that should have shattered her spine with the implants this man had. The newly back online ones, she noted.

She scrunched her eyebrows incredulously at him when he pulled away, his fingers tracing down the length of her arms until they still rested on her shoulders as he continued to look at her as if he was afraid the moment he took his eyes off her she would disappear into thin air.

“What are you doing here?” She breathed, still struggling for air after the uncharacteristic ribsplitting hug.

He looked down now, almost sheepish in his manner but he did not waiver when he returned his gaze to her.

“Stopping you from making a foolish choice.”

She sighed deeply.

“And since when do you have any right to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

“I do not. But I can try at least to make you see reason.” He wasn’t budging, she wasn’t budging.

“Goro...” she pinched the bridge of her nose and temple in an attempt to quell the newly forming tension migraine.

“You could have your life back. You would be good as new, Arasaka would ensure it if you testify at the board meeting. Arasaka always rewards loyalty.”

“I know that’s some rhetoric you’ve been spoonfed your whole life but unfortunately I have a very different opinion on the subject of ‘who Arasaka serves’ and it most certainly isn’t people who have a history of stealing from them.” She dead panned, making Goro groan.

“If you would just listen to me you would know that is not the case. Hanako-sama has extended this life like to you V do not waste it.”

“I’ve been listening. And watching. From the very start. I’ve seen them from an angle you have yet to even comprehend and part of me fears even then you wouldn’t see the truth.”

“They are-.”

“Only in this for themselves. I won’t argue with you about this, there is nothing you can say that will change my mind. I’m not selling my souls to the fucking devil, man, I’m sorry but that’s how this situation feels to me. I know there is nothing anyone can do for me, not you, not Arasaka, not Hellman, not even Alt fucking Cunningham’s AI ghost from beyond the Blackwall knows how to undo this so fuck this. I refuse to spend the last days of my life scrambling for answers only to whither away to nothin and die anyway. I’m leaving this hellhole on my own fucking terms. So just let it go. Just forget about me and go back to your cushty little life as Arasaka’s cheerleader or body guard or whatever the fuck it is you do.”

She couldn’t remember how, but during the course of their verbal spat, he had pushed her against the adjacent wall from the door and upon hearing her retorts he snarled in frustration and slammed his hand into the wall beside her head, denting the already disintegrating plaster, sending a cloud of dust in the air around them. The pluming cloud fluttered and caught the small rays of morning light seeping through the crags and cracks in the windows and walls of the abandoned gas station. She managed to push him off with a forceful shove only to have him lunge back to her. His martial arts clashed with her own brand of badlands fist fighting. She was flexible, contorting her body out of his reach before rounding on him with a left hook followed by a hasty jab aimed for his face. Unfortunately, he had reach, countering her wild strikes with a wave of his arm and tugging her to him. She lifted her knee between them to vault herself from his grasp but lost her footing at the end and it took only a single low sweeping kick to her other leg that sent her off kilter, but Goro followed her to the ground where he pinned again, this time on the floor with both her hands above her in each of his. She struggled against his vice grip, twisting and squirming beneath him to roll him off but he refused to be moved barely even flinching as she thrashed beneath him, awaiting her to finally stop. She roared in frustration but refused to give up. If she couldn’t knock him with her strength then she could knock him with her words.

“Hanako knew!” She spat at him, the intensity of her glare ripping though him.

“Knew what?” He asked with narrowed eyes.

“She knew it was Yorinobu who murdered her father. She knew you were telling the truth, that you were being framed and she still let you go down. Then guess what the kicker here is?” She laughed bitterly. “Saburo’s not even dead. He’s being kept as an engram, he’s been planning something with Hanako this whole time and they were going to let you go down regardless!! They were going to discard you, who served them faithfully your whole life, for their own fucking agenda. So tell me, why you think for one fucking second that they will actually help me?” Takemura was quiet, his hold on her waining enough for her to flip them, her hands balled into his shirt begging him to look at her but it was as if something had been shattered in him. They both were panting from their verbal and martial exchange, but they were far from done.

He suddenly reached up, his hand cupping her cheek gently, tracing the cybernetics of her face with the tips of his fingers before pulling her down to him without warning, his lips finally met hers in a heated kiss.

She gasped into his mouth, giving him the chance to shove his tongue in to explore her. He didn’t know when he would get the chance, if he ever would again after this. But she had yet to bite his face off so he took that as a good sign. In fact she had nearly gone limp from the shock of his sudden advance. He pulled away slowly, his face still inches from hers but his eyes bored into hers with a renewed intensity.

She pulled her hand from his now loosened grip and reached down gently and placed a delicate hand on his cheek, only for him to lean into it with closed eyes. He pressed his own hand over hers and took a deep calming breath.

“Goro, look at me.”

His eyes opened again, staring down at her with so much hope yet one word from her could shatter him into a thousand shards. And fate was a cruel mistress.

“I’m going home.” He looked down at that, his brow tugged in an unreadable expression but she chased after his gaze and held his chin so he had no choice but to stare wordlessly at her.

“I’m going home. To the people I love. To say goodbye. And maybe... maybe, for once in my life just try to do some good in this world, not for eddies or cred or some fucking illusion of grandeur, but just to do something worthwhile. I want have something real. Before I... before I can’t anymore.” She stroked his cheekbone with the back of her knuckle. “I don’t expect you to understand. But it isn’t up for debate.” Not what he had wanted to hear, but the finality in her words left him no room to argue. And so he was then left to stare down the inevitable horribleness of a world with no V.

He rested his face in the crook of her neck, her soft sun kissed skin, slick with sweat from the desert heat.

“Then let me have this at least.” He whispered against her, causing her to shiver under the weight of his words.

He returned his lips to hers, an even more energised passion driving his need and to his surprise she returned it, hands cupping his face gently. She then pushed him back down on his back and dove back to his lips. He began unbuttoning and loosening her clothes as fast as his hands could allow him. He pulled off her tank top and stopped a moment to admire her perky little breasts before pulling her back to him and lavishing her chest adoringly with bites and kisses that made her mewl against him.

“You have been taunting me since the day we met. Not wearing anything but that tight blue netrunner suit.” He growled against her chest, biting at the underside of her breast, his eyes primal and burning hers with an unspoken need to be closer.

“I’m a net runner you gonk, ah-!” He bit a little harsher around her nipple at the comment but lapped at it gently afterwards. “I-it was for practicality’s sake.” She shivered against him.

“It was to torture me.” He chuckled.

He lifted them suddenly, his hands under her thighs again as he deposited her on a near by countertop, her legs wrapping around his hips as he ground himself desperately into her while trailing his lips from her ear lobe to her jugular and back before biting then tugging sharply causing her to yelp softly.

“Maybe a little.” She gasped, casting him a delighted grin which elicited a growl from deep within his chest. He leisurely ran his hands along the hem of her jeans, tugging at them slightly before slipping his hand down underneath to grab a handful of her ass, squeezing it appreciatively before moaning at how soft and pliant her skin was under the extra sensitive touch of his cybernetic hands. He allowed himself to become lost in her for a moment. Mapping her every contour in his mind, committing each breathless sound that fell from her lips to memory, savouring her sweet breath on his tongue and wondering if he would ever again taste something so perfect as her. He felt her pull away lightly, a few centimetres from his face to gasp for a breath and still his lips chased hers. It was as if she could read his mind sometimes, she was looking at him with those confounding purple eyes, her smile faltering as if she could see how banefully torn he was.

“This won’t change anything.” She whispered sadly against his lips .

His brow creased under the weight of his anguish, another growl, not so carnal as before but instead a roar of frustration and he attacked her body with a new found, punishing fervour. He pulled her up effortlessly once again and threw her into the cot, her body’s weight caused the springs to groan and he had managed to discard his shirt fully, then turned to her. She was now only in her underwear, her golden skin glistened in the low orange morning haze. Her body was lithe yet athletic, her skin tantalisingly smooth to the touch yet disturbed by stray scars scattered about her person. Her years of fighting for her survival in this hellscape had shaped her and moulded her into this picturesque model of strength and beauty. He kneeled before her, nipping his way down her navel to the hem of her panties that he then quickly slid off in one fluid motion. He dove between her legs, basking in the sweet gasps she made as he drove her wild with his tongue. Her hands twisted and twined themselves into his ebony and silver locks, pulling his bun loose to let his hair cascade down his shoulders, grazing her nails over his scalp delicately. He introduced a single finger to her and pumped deeply inside her yet at a controlled pace, eliciting another quivering gasp that made him smile against her.

“Goro...” the way her breathless lips formed around his name drove something in him. She was able to bring out the strangest and most wonderful of feelings in him.

He was sure from her cries she was nearing her climax and before she could taste the sweet precipice of her release, he rose up to kiss her. Her taste on his lips had a lewd yet arousing effect on her, but her climax, once so tantalisingly close was now receding and the heat biting and curling in her abdomen made her squirm against him. She pulled away after a moment and gasped a quick breath.

“You ass.” He pressed his face into her neck again and she felt the rumble of his chuckling. He continued to kiss her neck and his hands pinched and rolled her nipples in a torturously teasing manner. She writhed under him, a mewling mess.

“Stop teasing me.” She pleaded, her own hands cupping either side of his face to pull him from his ministrations on her neck that she was almost certain would be bruised to absolute fuck in the morning.

He nudged her legs to open and she obliged eagarly.

He teased her entrance lightly running his tip up and down coating himself in her essence before sliding steadily inside of her. He had to stop half way and swallowed a guttural moan. She was so tight. Like a warm vice pulling him further inside her and dragging him impossibly closer to her. Her legs had wrapped around his hips, her thighs quivering around his girth. He took another moment to make some experimental, shallow thrusts and groaned once more at how deliciously slick she was.

“Oh... V...” his forehead pressed against hers and his grip around her hips tightened.

“Don’t.... stop...” she was barely above a whisper, which made Goro want nothing more than for her to be louder.

He took this as his moment to flip her onto her stomach against the cot.

His right hand held both her arms behind her back, folded and solidly trapped there. His left hand was holding her hip, dragging down to guide her over his girth once again. He rather enjoyed the view of her at this angle, he was so lost in the way she bounced against him, the feeling of her walls rubbing so exquisitely against his length, that he was sure he wouldn’t last long. The thought of having their tryst cut so short however did not appeal to him, the feeling of being fully encased by her was so unequivocally amazing he never wanted it to stop, so he forced himself to slow down to a languid yet laborious pace, favouring drawn out leisurely strokes.

“Jesus Christ...” she gasped, arching her back in a way that made him want to go back to pounding her within an inch of her life but he was controlled, no foolish young man driven by a cardinal need, but a mature and tentative lover who wanted to make his partner see the stars before this was over.

He reached around, dragging his hands from the underside of her bellybutton to glide along her ribs, up and over her breast, giving it an appreciative squeeze before cradling her throat gently and turning her head to look back at him as much as she could in the position which granted wasn’t much. He leaned forward, still thrusting inside her at a restrained pace, and ravaged her neck, suckling the flesh at the junction of her shoulder and neck before trailing his bites to the underside of her jaw, then to her ear where he nibbled her lobe gently.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathed against her, the lewd sound of their bodies meeting in their primal dance and the soft gushes of wind rattling the shutters were all she could hear above their own crescendo of panting and haggard moans.

“Don’t... be a dick...” she gasped, earning her a sharp smack on her ass cheek.

“Tell me.” He thrust inside her, harder but not hard enough to satisfy her fully, leaving her trembling for more.

“Ah... fuck! Please...” she breathed, trying to shove her own hips back into his for more friction but his hand migrated back to her hips, a solid anchor, preventing her from getting her way.

“That’s not what I asked you.” She could hear the underlying cockiness in his tone and it pissed her off almost immediately.

How could this man illicit such polarising reactions from her, she thought. One moment she wanted him to bend her over a desk, the next she wanted to snap him in two. But the sentiment remained, she wanted him.

“Please... Goro... fuck me... harder...” he hummed in satisfaction and released her arms from his vice grip.

“Then I suggest you hold onto something.” He had leaned forward his lips against her ear, the vibrations of his bassy timbre tickled her in an irresistibly tantalising way.

But her inward musings came to a hault when he began his unforgiving pace, she could feel him hitting her cervix with every thrust and she cried out, hands barely holding on to the edge of the cot as her body rocked against the force of his hips.

His hand came down to tease her slit, circling her sensitive nub in a maddeningly delicious way that caused more mewls to erupt from her lips.

Goro stared down at her, enraptured by every twist and twitch she made. Her arching back defining her musculature and he’d be lying if he was doing any better than her right now. He was holding on for dear life, dragging this out for as long as he possibly could. But eventually, the warmth and curling in his abdomen could not be ignored and he quickened his circling around her clit to drive her to her end. She screamed softly into her hand as her release rolled over her in wave after wave, his continuing thrusts helping her ride out her climax to its fullest. He followed her soon after, nearly collapsing on her, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades as he struggled to regain his breathing. She recovered before Goro and pulled him further onto the cot where they crumbled into it. He curled around her, his arms pulling her flush against him as he savoured the feeling of her skin on his. He pressed his nose and lips to the top of her head, inhaling her scent deeply, attempting to sear these details into his mind for a later date. He tried his best to keep his eyes open, but she began to stroke his chest in a soothing circle, and before he knew it he was out like a light.

——————

He woke with a jolt, the room now completely darkened by the night and a sudden anxiety disquieted his mind. He reached for where V had been but his hand grabbed nothing but empty space.

“V?” He called, sitting up and listening for anything, then scanning the area. He could see from his thermal scan she had been gone from his side for nearly two hours.

He pulled himself up, dressing quickly and wrenching the front door open to see that her Thorton was gone, whatever tracks that were left had been swallowed by the desert wind and he stood in silence.

“This isn’t going to change anything.” Her words echoed in his mind and he clenched his hands into fists, a slight shake evident from his barely controlled emotions on the cusp of breaking through to the surface.

“They were going to discard you, who served them faithfully your whole life, for their own fucking agenda.”

He tried to quell his anger, his hurt, his inescapable feeling of betrayal. He fought to keep his composure but the memory of her touch was seared into his mind and body yet it did nothing but only make him ache to have her back in his arms. He would never feel that again, never experience that intense, intrinsic connection to another human being. The thought did nothing to disquiet his mind. Eventually he broke and turned to punch his hand nearly completely though the wall of the garage as he breathed in ragged and strangled chokes. Unshed tears burned in his eyes and he wrenched his arm back to completely break through the wall altogether with the force of his strike. He didn’t stop. He pummelled the wall until his cybernetics were scuffed and cracked. Warning signs flashed in his peripheral vision but he ignored them, slumping to the ground he cradled his head in his hands and roared in futility. He stayed there a moment, still, quiet and thoughtful. He raised his head with a thud against the nearly dilapidated wall and he looked off into the distance. On one path, the further reaches of the badlands, down another was the fluorescent and blinding lights of Night City, beaconing him back with a curled finger.

And not just night city, but the ominous red looming glow of Arasaka Headquarters illuminating the night and further banishing the stars. The only life he had ever known was within Arasaka’s ranks. All he had ever been was a vassal, a loyal one at that. Traded his life and limbs for them. Let them carve him into an instrument of their empire from the moment they had deigned to elevate him from the slums, only after he had skinned his fingers to the near bone scrubbing his clothes in the chemical sickened canals. He had given Arasaka his life.

Yet Hanako knew he was innocent. Not only her but Saburo, his lord tono, his idol. He had known. It stung him to his nucleus, like nothing ever had. He was stilled, inaction gripping him to his core. He found his gaze always defecting back to the badlands. To her lands. He didn’t make a choice so much as follow an instinct.

He rose from his seated position and opened the door to his car, looking back at Night City one last time, not saying goodbye to the city, but farewell to all the possibilities it held. They were not meant for him. A defiant grin stretched over his lips before a determination set in his eyes, looking back to the badlands. He dove into the front seat and revved the engine before backing out to the edge of the main road and quickly pivoting into position then tearing out onto the dusty highway, sending a plume of dust in his wake as he made for the badlands, his spirit lightened and rejuvenated. He undid his top shirt buttons, ripping off the front Arasaka logo to his cybernetic neck plates and throwing it with a quick flick out the car window, then looking down at the Arasaka patch logo on his arm which he also tore from his jacket then sent it too flying out the window. With each metre he put between him and the city, the younger he felt.

“I’m coming V.” He whispered under his breath as he pressed harder on the gas.

#goro takemura #cyberpunk 2077 #takemura x v

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swampgallows · 4 years ago

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sorry im just ranting because this is seeping into me and starting to mildew

this is the most immature uncritical underdeveloped way to look at literature or media of any kind. do you all really need shit spoonfed to you in order to get something out of a story? when you’re watching a film, the director decides what you get to see. this is part of the storytelling. if the director shows you two paths and turns toward one, obscuring the other path and leaving it unexplored, that’s a deliberate decision. and, if you’re suspending your sense of disbelief and immersing yourself in the story, you’ll be able to understand why a specific path is chosen. if the story is successful, it wont leave you wanting to go down the other paths. you trust in the story and the media to take you down the most fulfilling path. that doesn’t mean it’s a happy ending, or that all the questions are answered, or that no stone was left unturned. it means that the story they wanted to tell was told properly, and that its conclusion was satisfying enough that all of the other paths are fun conjecture but ultimately don’t detract from the wholeness of the story.

if you read a third person story, which is most of them, are you really fully incapable of empathizing with a character just because they aren’t you? seeing what paths they took and understanding why, and why it makes sense for them? do you never put yourself in their shoes, with their thoughts and their feelings and their abilities, and imagine what it would be like to be them? or do you only use third person stories as a means of grounding and defining your own self-image, unable to relate to characters and figure out why it is they do what they do without internalizing any of it as a personal affront?

reading a second person story shouldn’t be any different. you’re putting yourself in the place of a character, into a specific situation and world that has been created for the purpose of the storytelling. and while yes you are at the mercy of the events of the story, why should that be any different than being at the mercy of the director in a film? that a director literally directs you to where the viewer is intended to go. if you can watch/read it and say “I wouldn’t do that,” can you understand instead the situation in which you might? if the story is told properly, these limitations will be in place. even in interactive media, like D&D or choose-your-own-adventure or video games, there are always limitations in place. do you bitch that the dungeon master is nudging you toward the story they want to tell instead of constantly doing whatever the fuck you want, or are you capable of entertaining the idea that, perhaps, they are intending to entertain you by including you in their damn story? somebody sat down and conjured up an entire world to share with you, and you really can’t even try to enjoy it unless it’s tailor-made for you specifically?

these are the same people who think that musicians are singing about their literal lives when they sing in first person. like i JUST saw a post on here about people questioning poets and writers and musicians about their personal lives, asking if their songs and poems and stories are “true”. do they have to be? is it not believable if they aren’t? are you not willing to let the storyteller tell you a story? are you not capable of letting the storyteller show you what they want to show you, and make you go where they want to take you?

“I wouldn’t do that.” but what if you did?

#blathering

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perspective-series · 5 years ago

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Injured Perspective (9/12)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Unwanted medication

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

————————————————————————————-

“Logan, I’m back. And I have dinner.” He said gently as he entered the room. He ended up heating up the soup from earlier, not wanting it to go to waste. He set it down on the desk and gave Logan a smile as he peeked into the box.

Logan didn’t bother acknowledging the human, staring resolutely at a corner of the box.

Patton sighed. This silent treatment was becoming a regular occurrence. “Please, don’t be like that Logan…”

Logan shifted further, turning his back to the human.

Patton sighed but went ahead and scooped the little guy into his hands. “Will you at least tell me how you’re feeling?”

Logan shivered, unnerved by the sudden contact as well as the chill evening air. Still he kept his lips sealed.

Patton sighed. Guess he would be having to do it the hard way again. He gently pressed his thumb on Logan’s forehead, feeling to see how warm it was. It had actually gotten much cooler, which Patton smiled at. “Looks like your fever is almost all the way down.”

“Don’t touch me.” Logan muttered half-heartedly, not bothering to lean back. He knew what would happen, Patton would just touch him anyways.

“Aww, kiddo, it’s alright.” Patton said with a soft smile but he sighed. Why couldn’t Logan see that he was just trying to help him?

Gently, Patton scooped Logan up so he was sitting in his cupped palm. “Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” He grabbed the spoon and started to scoop some soup into it.

“Don’t.” Logan shook his head softly, squeezing his eyes shut.

Patton brought the spoon up to Logan’s face. “Open wide.”

Logan shook his head further, leaning away.

Patton sighed, pushing the spoon a little closer. “Logan, please.” The little guy needed to eat something.

No. Logan wanted to protest aloud, but he worried that if he did the spoon would just get shoved in his mouth.

It was so...unfair. Logan could not do anything to stop Patton’s advances. He was helpless to the human’s ‘care’. Logan was already weak from his illness and now he felt more disadvantaged than ever before. The borrower was able to do nothing to direct his own life.

Logan’s eyes began to leak, the frustration of everything beginning to surface.

Patton noticed the tears starting to run down Logan’s cheeks and his eyes went wide, he put down the spoon and held Logan a little closer. “No, no, hey, please don’t cry. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Patton asked, concern clear in his voice and eyes.

“I do not cry.” Logan quickly wiped at his eyes, knowing it certainly would not help him if the human pitied him more. “And of course I am not alright! I am being held captive by a human who is treating me like an incompetent child.”

Patton’s eyes widened. “I-I’m just trying to take care of you because you’re sick!” He exclaimed. “I-I just want to help you get better.”

“I do not need assistance!” Logan insisted. “And I certainly don’t need to be coddled and spoonfed and pitied.”

“W-Well it sure looked like you needed help when I found you the other night. Practically delirious on my kitchen counter.” Patton said, biting his lip. “You can’t tell me you were in the right state to go back to wherever you lived.”

“I was plenty capable of returning home.” Logan glared. “And Virgil was back there to help me.”

Patton hummed. “Where...do you live?” Patton asked.

“....nearby.” Logan knew to be cryptic, for surely Patton would go after his home if given that knowledge.

“Well, I figured that...I did find you on my counter after all…”Patton sighed. “Look, there has to be something I can do to make this better for you. Because I do still think this is for the best.”

“Exactly. That is what you think.” Logan pointed out. “You keep speaking as though you want what is most suitable for my needs yet you refuse to listen to my own ideals.”

“Because I do. And all you’ve been saying is to let you go but you’re getting better aren’t you? My way is working.” Patton tried.

“No, my internal processes are working.” Logan argued. “My body is healing on its own with no assistance from you. Quite the opposite, in fact. This constant stress is not helping.”

Patton deflated a little. “That...That can’t be true. What about the cool towel and the soup? That’s been working great on you, right? And I was going to get you some medicine here soon too.” Patton revealed.

“I do not require any of your human devices.” Logan countered. “Anything you supplied I could have supplied myself.”

“Well, not with how sick you were.” Patton said, remembering how Logan had been.

“Then I would have asked Virgil for help.” Logan huffed. “Regardless, I would manage.”

“But...how would I know if you really are okay?” Patton asked. He cared about Logan, he didn’t just want to up and forget him. He would worry too much to just forget.

“I would be fine, but regardless that is none of your business.” Logan narrowed his gaze.

“Maybe it wasn’t before but it is now.” Patton frowned sadly. “I can’t just let you go not knowing if you really were okay or not.”

“It is only your business because you have made it your business to be in my business.” Logan spat.

“...I was just trying to help.” Patton mumbled. “I couldn’t just leave you like that.”

“You can help by releasing me.” Logan countered.

“I really don’t think that would be very helpful…” Patton said, looking away from Logan.

“Why not?” Logan pressed. “Give me one good reason, a truly logical one past your preconceived notion of knowing what is ‘best’,” Logan threw up air quotes around the word ‘best’, “and...I will agree to stay.”

“Okay, well um…” Patton racked his brain. “You need medicine. Regularly. I know your fever is going down and that’s great but it’s been about the same for a while and the only way it will get any better is with regular doses of medicine. But...you don’t have access to medicine. And if you do, you don’t know which kind you should take or how much you should give yourself. But I can. If you stay, you’ll get better quicker just with the medicine I can provide alone.” Patton explained.

“A borrower does not require medicine.” Logan argued. “None of us have ever required it in the past.” Of course, it would have been useful, but Logan was not willing to admit that point right now.

“Well...have you ever been this sick before?” Patton asked.

“...no.” Logan admitted. Truly, he had never been sick for this long. It was beginning to worry him, but he had much larger concerns at the moment. Concerns of a human nature, to be specific.

“See! You didn’t need medicine before because those were minor illnesses. I’m sorry to say but this seems a lot worse and it won’t just get better with rest and soup. I only waited so long to give you some to make sure you were a bit better and wouldn’t throw it up.” Patton continued to explain. He needed Logan to see that staying with him was for the better.

“Fine, I will take your medicine.” Logan conceded, hoping it would not be poisonous. “And when it does nothing to improve my state, will you release me to heal in my own manner?’

“Deal but if it does, and I know it will, you have to stay.” Patton said back, grinning wide.

“I will stay long enough to obtain this medicine.” Logan corrected.

“And get all the way better.” Patton added.

“...and then what?” Logan asked, now curious. “What do you plan to do with me then?”

“Oh, well, we can...we can cross that bridge when we come to it! We really should be focusing on getting you better first, though. Let me go get some medicine for you!” He placed Logan back in the box and ran to the kitchen to grab said medicine.

Logan did not find Patton’s answer reassuring. Quite the contrary, in fact. Of course that was also to be expected. Logan was a fool for even considering the possibility of a human who would let him go willingly, no matter what Virgil claimed.

It took a little while for Patton to crush the pill and figure out how much to give to Logan but he needed to take the precaution or else it could hurt the borrower. He was confident about the end product though and so he took the small bit of crushed pill and a cap full of water and took it to Logan.

“Alright Lo, I’m gonna need you to take this with some water.” He held out a spoon with the dot of crushed pill on it as he set the cap of water down next to Logan.

“Why do I consume it with water?” Logan asked, hesitantly grabbing the substance in his hand.

“It helps it to go down better. And since I crushed it up, it’ll taste pretty powdery, so some water to get the taste out of your mouth as well.” Patton explained.

Logan followed the strange instructions, gagging a bit on the strange substance as he quickly took a gulp of water. The mixture washed down his throat.

“There we go! Now it should take a half hour, to an hour to kick in. Don’t be scared if you feel sleepy or a bit loopy either. That’s just one of the affects.” Patton explained, taking the spoon and cap back once Logan was done with them.

“Medicine has side effects?” Logan repeated, feeling his heart rate pick up at this added tidbit of information. “How is a substance that will render me incapable useful in any way? You were just attempting to sedate me!”

“Huh? N-No!” Patton raised his hands in surrender. “The side effects aren’t...always good but it means that the medicine is in you and working to get rid of your sickness.” Patton explained. “And the sleep affect it has is actually there to help you rest in order to get better even sooner.”

“So it is a sedative.” Logan frowned. “But...a sedative with purpose.”

“Exactly!” Patton said with a grin.

“How...how long did you say it took to…?” Logan twirled his fingers around his head. He was beginning to feel a bit...fuzzy. Similar to when his fever was at its peak.

Patton frowned. “Are you already feeling it? That’s weird...maybe it’s because you’re smaller it kicks in faster?”

“I feel funny.” Logan mumbled, slowly sitting down. “The medicine is in my brain.”

“I mean, I guess that’s...half true?” Patton said after thinking about it for a moment. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You just need to lay down and rest. Let it go through your system.”

“I’m feeling tired.” Logan gave a large yawn, stretching his arms up as far as they could reach. “It’s the seda...sementa...sedadaditive.” Logan mumbled the last bit, trying to get his tongue to cooperate and say actual words.

“Aww,” Patton couldn’t help but coo. “Shh, just get some sleep, okay?” Patton said, reaching down and gently petting Logan’s head.

“I can’t sleep.” Logan spoke stubbornly, a pout on his face. For once he did not try to dodge away from Patton’s touch. “I gotta stay guarded.”

“I’ll protect you, you’ll be perfectly safe.” Patton promised, continuing to pet Logan head.

“I don’t trust you.” Logan softly admitted.

Patton felt his heart break at that. “I...I know.” He said with a sigh. “But I will keep you safe. I just want to see you get better, Logan.”

“I know.” Logan subconsciously leaned into the touch, looking up at Patton. Perhaps it was the medicine, but Logan truly believed Patton would not harm him. The human had done nothing to indicate otherwise, strangely enough.

“But you also want to keep me.” Logan shook his head sadly. “And I don’t want to be kept.”

Patton’s eyes widened. “O-Oh…” He bit his lip. “Logan, I…” He trailed off, sighing. Now was not the time to try and convince Logan he could have a better life here with him. He’d wait until he was better and less...loopy. “Get some rest, bud.”

“I am not bud.” Logan frowned. “I am Logan.”

Patton chuckled. “Sorry. Get some rest, Logan.” He repeated.

“I’m going to get some rest now.” Logan declared, seeming to not have heard Patton’s statement. He laid down on the blanket, out within moments.

Patton finally took his hand back and looked at Logan softly. He sighed before going to get ready for bed himself.

---------------------------------------------

“I think it’s late enough.” Virgil said, seeing the sun set through the window. “Patton should be asleep soon.”

“Hmm?” Roman glanced out the window, almost forgetting why they were waiting around. “...oh. Right.”

“Yeah, so…” Virgil shifted on his feet. “I guess this is...goodbye?”

“I guess so.” Roman took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh before sticking his hand out. “Goodbye, Virgil. I hope this isn’t the last time we see each other.”

Virgil reached out and shook one of Roman’s fingers. “...Yeah.” Honestly, he was kind of hoping the same thing, even though he knew it couldn’t happen.

“Bye, Roman.” And with that he climbed down the nightstand and ran back into the walls.

Roman laid back in his bed, staring out the window as the sky slowly faded between colors. He wondered if Virgil would be making another appearance tonight, or if he truly would succeed in rescuing Logan.

Virgil made it to Patton’s bedroom about two hours later. He scanned the room, seeing that Patton was in bed and asleep. Grinning, Virgil got started on the hard climb up the desk without his hook. He managed though, and was able to pull himself up.

After another quick glance at Patton, Virgil was glad to see his hook still sitting on the desk. He grabbed it and did as before. Swinging it into the box and climbing inside. He saw Logan there, asleep. He went over and gently shook him. “Logan? Wake up.” He said quietly, hoping the human wouldn’t hear him.

“Wha-?” Logan let out a groan, blinking blearily. “Virgil!” Logan threw his arms around Virgil, exclaiming joyously. “You came!”

“Shh!” Virgil hissed. “Yeah, of course I did. Now come on, before Patton wakes up.” He helped Logan to a stand.

“Oh, right.” Logan put a finger to his lips, leaning on Virgil heavily. “I apologize Virgil. I have been medicated.”

Virgil paused. “Wait, what?” He held Logan’s weight, realizing he was acting way different than normal.

“I am getting better by getting worse.” Logan explained. “I have been given medicine, it makes me very sleepy and sedimantieated.”

Virgil blinked. “Medicine did this to you?” Roman hadn’t said anything about this happening. “Okay, well, just hang in there. We gotta get going.” He led Logan over to the hook. “Can you climb?”

“I don’t- I think-” Logan paused, his face scrunching up. A moment later he released a large sneeze, the majority of which ended up in Virgil’s face.

“Agh, gross!” Virgil wiped his face off with his sleeve but then froze when he heard the bed creak. Nothing happened for a moment and Virgil thought they were in the clear.

But then the light turned on.

“Logan?” A tired voice spoke. “You okay?” Patton looked into the box, eyes going wide when he saw, for the third time, Virgil.

“...Crap.” Virgil muttered.

“Apologies for sneezing on you.” Logan muttered, wiping at his nose before hugging Virgil tighter like a child.

Patton sighed and gently reached down, tearing Virgil away from Logan. “Hey! Let me go!” Patton shushed him gently and then nudged Logan back to his little nest to sleep.

“Go back to sleep Logan, it’s okay.” Patton spoke softly.

“No, I want Virgil back.” Logan pouted, reaching up his arms. “I miss him. We can be safe together.”

“I know but you’re sick. And you don’t want to get Virgil sick, right?” Patton asked. Virgil shifted in the grip, not believing he was caught a third time, what the heck!?

“He can have medicine as well.” Logan argued. “He will not get sick.”

“I can’t give him medicine unless he’s already sick or he could get sick.” Patton explained. “Just get some rest, Lo. I’ll be right back.” He started to leave the room with Virgil but paused. “Actually….hold on.”

Patton searched through his closest and Virgil was wondering what he was doing. He just wanted to go back to Roman already, when Patton pulled out another box. “Here we go!” Before Virgil knew it, he was placed inside the box. “Now you won’t be able to escape anymore.”

Virgil grit his teeth but bit his tongue. It was useless fighting with Patton about this. He could just wait for Roman to take him out.

Carrying the box, Patton made his way back up to Roman’s place and into his room. He gently opened the door, seeing that Roman was sound asleep. Not wanting to wake him, Patton set the box on the nightstand. “Goodnight, kiddo.” He said, before leaving.

Virgil huffed. He waited until he heard the front door close before cupping his hands. “Roman!”

There was a loud shifting of blankets, but rather than waking up Roman began to snore.

Virgil blinked. “Roman!” He said shouted again.

Once again, nothing but snores.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Virgil said before collapsing onto his back. So Roman was asleep and not waking up anytime soon. Perfect. Looks like Virgil was trapped in this box until morning. And still, Patton had Logan. And had given some sort of weird medicine. What if it hurt Logan? Or kept him like that forever? Virgil bit his lip in worry. He’d have to ask Roman tomorrow and if the answer was what he feared he might very well need Roman’s help.

He let out a small sigh and closed his eyes. But then his nose got itchy and he sneezed. Wait...oh no.No, no, please tell him he wasn’t getting sick. He was answered by another sneeze. It seems like Patton was right about one thing.

Maybe if he slept it would go away. He closed his eyes again but sleep wasn’t coming. Only another sneeze. He groaned. It was going to be a long night.

#injured perspective #perspective series #borrower!logan #borrower!virgil #human!patton #human!Roman #part 9

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ladylilibet · 5 years ago

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Tainted Love|Chapter 1.

I/II/III/IV/V

Tainted Love -- How can you tell a lady no? The White Wolf claimed he needed no one, but his collection of misfits started with Lady Helena of Oxenfurt... and ended with her, too.

Chapter One: 𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖂𝖍𝖔 𝕮𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕯𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗

Helena pricked her finger on her embroidery needle yet again. With a curse, she threw her hoop down in frustration. Her governess shot her a glare but said nothing as she worked on her own stitching. The girl mouthed an apology and picked up her book.

Being the daughter and the only heir of a duke had its perks. Besides having the best education on the continent her fingertips, she had the wealth and splendor to go with it. And yet here she sat, still feeling empty. She wanted to live like the characters in her books. To fight with a sword, sleep under the stars, travel. She felt trapped.

'I bet that the heroes in these narratives didn't have to wear a corset that was too tight.' She thought as she fidgeted in her chair. Now she would be allowed to walk along the main road in town and do her daily window shopping. But her mother recently set a curfew, forbidding her to even leave the villa at sundown.

Lately, those who partake in too much drink and wander the streets during the night have been found dead and drained of their blood. Witnesses can only recall large shadows moving at quick speeds. The beast, with its penchant for only partaking in drunkard's blood, has been aptly named The Oxenfurt Drunk.

She only ever seen monsters in her books -- just mere illustrations lazily drawn. Curiosity ached in her bones, but she knew she couldn't dare sneak out to get a glimpse at the bloodsucker. The Drunk defied the knowledge of the local academy's scholars as well as the swords of my father's commanders. Because of this, King Radovid V ordered her father to post a contract for an experienced monster hunter to slay the beast. The reward: 200 crowns and dinner at the Duke and Duchess of Oxenfurt's villa.

"Helena!" The Duchess called for her down the corridor. She knew it was best to not shout back, so she tucked a ribbon in her book, marking her place. As she stood, he smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and gave a quick goodbye to the older woman before leaving the study.

As she walked down the hall, she was greeted by my parents and a stranger. In addition to standing a head taller than my father, he had long white hair and bright golden eyes. He was beautiful in a way she'd never describe most of the men around here. He looked like a knight straight out of her books and she was aware of how plain others looked in contrast to him.

"Aah, there she is! Geralt of Rivia, meet my little daughter, Lady Helena." Her father gleamed as he gave Geralt a hearty smack on the back, "The White Wolf has slain the Oxenfurt Drunk! Can ya believe it? A Witcher in my home!"

A Witcher? That explains his looks. He's a mutant. And yet... She would never want to use that word to describe him.

She curtsied after my father introduced her and held out a hand for him to kiss. But rather than bring her hand to his lips, he gave the girl a firm handshake. She furrowed her brow at this response but ignored it. She heard that Witchers cannot feel nor understand human emotion and assumed this applied to manners as well .

"Thank you, kind sir, for slaying the beast. I am very fortunate to be able to walk the streets once more and do so safely ." Helena repeated the words she could see her mother mouthing. She clapped happily once she finished.

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for coin."

She huffed but her father interrupted her before she could say anything smart to the man.

"And for a hot meal," He told him as he gestured for them to follow him to the dining room. "I hope you like suckling pig, Witcher. Little Lena over here saved the piglet when it wouldn't latch on to its mam's tit. Spoonfed it and all, thinkin' she would be savin' it from death. Turns out she was savin' it for our dinner." Her father's boisterous laugh made her stomach turn.

Dinner went about as well as expected. Her mother and father tried to masque their bragging as hospitality. But Helena could see through their guise.

'Look, Witcher! Look what we have that you don't. Take a look at your dirty reflection on our shiny, silver spoons.' I could imagine them saying.

Geralt was hard to read but he at least had a realness about him. With him, a grunt meant 'yes,' and a 'hmm' meant 'no.'

"Witcher, can I call ya Witcher?"

A grunt.

"Ya got a little lady back home?"

A 'hmm.'

"Would you like to stay in our guest chambers?"

Another 'hmm.'

"Would you like a hot bath before you take your leave?"

A pause, a ponder, then a grunt.

A servant escorted him to the bathroom, leaving them to sit in silence.

Helena waited for Geralt to be out of earshot before breaking the silence and mimicking him with a grunt.

She received a glare from my father and her mother stood and leaned across the table. With no hesitation, she delivered a smack onto the girl's cheek.

"Don't continue to embarrass us, girl."

"Once he's finished, go get washed up." Her mother commanded, "You're to have Poppy escort you to Samson's mother and father's home. We're to celebrate both the killing of the beast and your engagement, so be prompt."

She waited to hear my parents' carriage pull away before standing and stomping up to the second story. She waited in front of the bathroom's door before taking a deep breath, covering her eyes, and barging in. Water splashed as Geralt was surprised by the sudden intrusion but she kept her hand placed over her eyes .

"Oh nooo. I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were in here!"

"So you enter all empty rooms with eyes covered?" She peaked out behind my hands to see his amused smirk, "Or did Little Lena wish to join my bath?"

She turned beet red and threw her hands to her side in protest with a scoff. Despite the temptation to look down, she locked eyes with him.

"I need you to help me escape." His smirk faded and he now donned a glare.

She waited for him to give her a response, but when none came, she proceeded with her monologue, "I hate it here. Oxenfurt may seem progressive, but I'm not granted the same liberties... My elder sister, she got pregnant out of wedlock. Died during childbirth along with her baby. They say it's a curse, punishment, I say it's just bad luck. But that didn't stop them from tightening the reins."

"And you think you're the first girl to beckon me that I rescue you?" He asks as he lounges back, "You're well-fed, well-dressed, and live in a great city. Why leave?"

"I'm not happy. I want to live a life worth living. Not to be some man's wife, seen merely as a womb."

Geralt slowly stood and she clasped a hand over my eyes once more, eliciting a chuckle from him as he grabbed his towel . Once she knew he was covered , I looked to him once more.

"They'll say I kidnapped you."

"They already say you're a monster. What's wrong with conforming to their narrative?"

"I don't need some girl to slow me down, to get in the way."

"I can learn to fight. I've studied some nursing and can take care of you... Plus, the two hundred crowns you received from my father, well... I have broaches you can pawn off that's worth double.

Geralt stared hard at her, seeming to challenge her, but she didn't back down. After silence, he huffed, "Go. Pack a bag and meet me at the stables. I leave in twenty, with or without you."

She turned on my heel with bouncing excitement as I rushed to the door. As Helena left, she heard Geralt grunt and utter one phrase:

"Fuck."

#witcher oc #geraltxoc #witcher fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic

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diredigression · 5 years ago

Text

Abernathy Farm

The next installment in Sole’s post-frozen-dinner adventures!

You may notice I’ve changed tense and also some other dialectical details to better match the voice in Sole’s head. I'm also attempting to write Sole with PTSD, but I don't have actual experience with it so CC welcome!

CW: some violence, some PTSD

————————————————

The next day, all sign of the barely-sentient body that she had spoonfed for days is gone. Mr.. Garvey is once again the confident, in-charge Minuteman she met in Concord. “Sturges, great job on the construction! This place is practically draft-proof. And you’ve even got gardens and a water supply? Always knew I could count on you.”

Mr. Sturges hides a slight blush under a wide grin. “This place is really coming together, huh? I can’t take all the credit, though. Sole and Codsworth have really put the interior and garden together, not to mention taking over all the cooking duties!”

Mr. Garvey turns to her. “Thank you, Sole. I can’t say how lucky we are to have you with us.”

She smiles and bows her head delicately at the acknowledgment. “Just doing my part, Mr. Garvey. But, if I may, why did you call me Sole?”

He laughs, a belly-deep sound of delight. She recognizes this, logically, though her brain doesn’t connect with an echoing joy. “No need for ‘Mister Garvey’ here. Hell, you just saved us from a deathclaw and fed me for days. I think that puts us on first-name basis.” His tone suddenly switches to somber and hesitant. “He called you ‘Sole’ because that’s all you gave us instead of a name…You just said ‘I’m the sole survivor.’ What is your name? …Do you know it?”

I’m the sole survivor. She distantly feels a pressure in her chest, like the unease of far-off thunder. Name. She has a name, right? She fights to bring her mind back to the present question, racking her memories, but all she can reliably bring up is the past few days of work. And flashes of scenes, more feeling than picture. The desolation of her first view of the waste, from the top of the vault. The clinical unfamiliarity of the vault suit she still wears.

The vault of death.

Invisible chains suddenly bind her chest and she finds herself collapsing to the ground. Both men rush to her side, but her arm flails to swat them away as she buries her face in her knees and curls around herself as tightly as she can. She freezes there, unaware of the men watching or the passage of time, until the panic finally begins to ease its grip.

She raises her head, muscles still tense, and finds herself looking into the two men’s concerned faces.

“Sole? You okay?”

Her eyes drop. She breathes. Out, in. Out, in. Until she knows her panic is locked away again.

Then she plasters a carefree smile on her face and begins struggling to push herself upright. Mr. Garvey offers a hand, which she accepts.

“I’m so sorry about that, I’m perfectly alright. Just a little lightheaded. Yes, please, just call me Sole. I’m afraid I’ll need to rest for some time, but I’ll see you gentlemen for dinner, yes?”

The concern stiffens on Mr. Sturges’ face and deepens on Mr. Garvey’s. The two men look at each other.

“Very well,” says Mr. Garvey. “Sleep well, Sole.

———

After breakfast the next morning, Mr. Garvey begins filling a pair of packs. Mr. Sturges raises an eyebrow.

“Where we headed?”

Mr. Garvey frowns at the small pile of goods in front of him. “I think I heard of a settlement just west of us. We’ve made a really good start here, but we’re running out of supplies. I figure we go see if they have anything they can spare.”

Mr. Sturges nods. “I could use some materials for crafting too.”

Sole listens to their conversation from the kitchen, where she washes breakfast dishes in a bucket of water. More survivors nearby?

“Hey Sole, you met the neighbors yet?”

She starts. “Nossir, I haven’t.”

“Wanna join the welcome party?”

“I’ll come along if you’d like.”

“It’s a party then!”

Sole helps pack some food for the trip. Pretty soon they’re ready to go. As they pull on their packs, a round silver robot floats into the room.

“Mum? May I have a moment?”

“Of course, Codsworth. What is it?”

The robot lifts two of his long, jointed arms towards her. In the end clamps is held a silver softball bat. It’s clean and shiny, but scratched, and the Red Rockettes logo is still faintly visible. The handle is wrapped in athletic tape that has greyed and lost its stickiness, beginning to unravel.

“Oh, Codsworth! My bat, you kept it ready for me!”

“Of course, mum, I know how important your softball is to you. I’d hoped you’d have a chance to use it again.”

She takes the bat and automatically shifts into a casual batting stance. The weight of the aluminum is familiar in her hands, and a smile appears on her face as she takes a careful practice swing.

“Nice swatter you’ve got!” says Mr. Garvey. “That’ll be a good weapon for you, since you didn’t seem too comfortable with guns.”

Her joy turns to disgust and she clutches the bat to her chest, forgetting her manners. “What?! No, this is for softball! This isn’t a weapon!”

“Haha, what? I don’t know what vault you came from, but no one’s played softball or baseball in two hundred years. Surprised they didn’t mention it. Weapon’s all it’s good for now. I bet Sturges could mod it for you to make it more effective.”

There’s a lot to unpack in his statement, but Sole chooses to focus on the simplest part. The rest gets locked away. The rest, for now, doesn’t exist. “No, Mr. Sturges is not touching my bat. Codsworth, thank you, now please take this back and keep it safe for me for now.”

“Yes, mum.”

Mr. Garvey frowns. The bat safely out of harm’s reach again, Sole has lost her bravery and feels a familiar fear and shame begin to knot in her stomach at the sight. Dammit, she’s spoken out too bluntly. She’s hesitant and worried now. “What is it, Mr. Garvey?”

“…It’s just Preston, and I just want you to have a weapon. You need to be able to defend yourself. You know that, right?”

She does not, and she doesn’t know how to respond either. She folds her hands together in front of her and looks at the floor.

“Okay…do you know how to fight with a knife?” A head shake no. “A 10 mil?” No. “…knuckles? Can you punch?” No.

He sighs. “Even Diamond City residents are better prepared than this. Okay. Do you think you could swing a crowbar?”

She has nothing else to do, so she nods.

“Good. Sturges should have one lying around, and I’ve got some spare armor we can at least put you in. I’m not letting you go around unprotected.”

She allows herself to be dressed in the bulky leather armor. Soon she’s following Mr. Garvey out of Sanctuary, the heavy crowbar hanging awkwardly from her hand.

—————

Sole is harvesting melons, young miss Lucy Abernathy’s request in exchange for a few stims and some other supplies Mr. Garvey had requested, when she overhears him and the family patriarch talking in low tones.

“Most of them died. They gave their lives to protect the Commonwealth. It’s just me now.”

“That’s a damn shame. Those were brave men and women. If y’all had been here when those raiders hit, my daughter Mary might still be alive. Then again…feels like we’ve been on our own for a long time anyway.”

“Damn…I’m sorry to hear that. I wish we could’ve helped. You have my condolences. Is there anything we could do to help now?”

Mr. Abernathy had been despondent, hanging in the air as if the only thing keeping him upright was an invisible string at the nape of his neck. At first he just shrugs, head drooping and swaying gently. Then he pauses, then straightens slightly.

“I don’t have much to offer, but…Those raiders that killed Mary, they took her locket, too. It’s been in Connie’s family for generations. If you could get it back…it’d mean a lot to us.”

Mr. Garvey straightens his hat proudly. “I’d be honored to. You have my word as a Minuteman, I will do everything in my power to return that locket to you and Connie.”

Mr. Abernathy nods, a specter of a smile finally appearing on his face. You might be the one to make me believe the word of a Minuteman again. Thank you, Garvey.”

They shake hands and part. Sole gathers up the melons and heads towards the ramshackle house.

—————

They crouch behind a barbed-wire fence, watching the forested, still remains of USAF Satellite Station Olivia. Mr. Garvey watches the station from her left, while Codsworth hovers at her right, his thruster humming in the quiet. She’s not sure why she’s here or still armored or why Mr. Garvey is suddenly so cautious. He had just assumed she would join, so she did. They had stopped briefly at Sanctuary to reorganize their new supplies, talked briefly with Mr. Sturges, who had chosen to stay behind, and also talked with Codsworth, who had insisted on coming with Sole. Mr. Garvey’s laser musket is in his hands, while Codsworth’s three eyestalks scan the surroundings fretfully. Sole grips her crowbar tighter as their tension fills her.

Mr. Garvey turns to her. “The place looks empty, maybe they’re out somewhere else, but we can’t be sure,” he whispers. “We’re gonna try to just get in, find the locket, and get out. No heroics, no unnecessary risk. Stay well behind Codsworth and me and try to stay out of trouble. Got it?”

She’s not sure she gets much of anything. She nods anyway.

“Alright. Stay here for the moment until Codsworth and I give the all-clear.” He looks at the robot, who bobs an agreement. The two cross the fence and stalk towards the structures.

They’ve made it halfway when the ground erupts beneath them. A pack of malformed, dog-sized animals surrounds them, attacking. Sole screams, forgetting their attempts at subtlety. Mr. Garvey roars too, and the area lights up with his laser bolts and Codsworth’s flamethrower. The creatures’ screams are added to the din.

Then Mr. Garvey pauses and gestures wildly past the robot. “It’s mined!”

A massive explosion erupts. Sole is knocked backwards, and she scrambles to get her head under her hands. She huddles there where she’s landed, hiding under her hands, waiting for the next attack.

There’s only silence.

After several moments of frantic heartbeats, she summons the courage to turn and crawl back to the fence. The area in front of the station is now a dark blast zone, animal carcasses scattered around. She doesn’t look too closely at them. She releases a breath as she finds Mr. Garvey and Codsworth, singed but alive, picking themselves off the ground. Mr. Garvey rubs his ears, shakes his head vigorously, retrieves his musket, then looks towards her and gestures Come here. She crosses the fence and hesitantly picks her way forward, scanning for more of the creatures.

“Don’t worry, I think we got them all. You okay?”

“What on earth just happened? Are you okay? Codsworth?”

“These idiots apparently decided that strapping mines to a molerat was a good defense mechanism. It’s amazing they didn’t blow themselves up. We’ll have to keep an eye out for more traps inside.”

“Molerats? No. They don’t get that big. No. They must be…uh…”

Mr. Garvey frowns as she flounders, but Codsworth floats up and pats her shoulder with a claw, awkward and a little overly aggressive. “No worries, mum, they’re gone now. You don’t have to bother with them anymore.”

She stares at him, searching for confidence in the large glass eyes and finding enough to ease her panic slightly. “Alright. Um. I left the crowbar…” She runs back to grab it from where it dropped and returns. Mr. Garvey looks to the station door, breathes deeply, and opens it.

———————

The station is quiet. They make it to the bottom with no problems. They separate and begin searching the scattered toolboxes and desks for the locket.

“Hey, I found a key!” Mr. Garvey calls. “Think it opens that security door?”

It does, and he murmurs a small “Yes!” at the sight of the room and the supplies it contains. He quickly loops it, throwing the assorted weaponry into his pack. One item—is that a mini nuke?!—he cradles gently and wraps in a cloth before carefully stowing.

Then Codsworth’s aggressive shout from where he’d been stationed on guard in the hallway. “Hello! Fancy a bit of fist-a-cuffs, do we?”

Mr. Garvey whips around to Sole—”Stay here!”—grabs his musket and charges into the hallway. Sole freezes in a corner of the room. Yells come from the hallway.

A man charges into the room where Sole cowers. She notices the remarkably straight mohawk on his otherwise-bald head. She notices the cloth strips wrapping his arms and the armor pads on his legs and chest. She notices the knife in his hand. She notices the gaps in his teeth as he grins rabidly at her and shouts, “Come on, little girl! Let’s do this!”

Sole is frozen. The man dodges towards her, almost like a herding dog expecting a sheep to flee, but then realizes she’s not moving. His wild grin widens. “Too fuckin easy.” He moves closer.

The sound from the hallway fades as Sole’s world spirals down to the filthy face approaching her. Her breathing is rapid; his is heavy and gasping. He approaches until his face is right in hers. He raises the knife to her face. She can smell his rank breath and, separately, his rank body. He looms over her, and she manages to move just enough to stumble back, away from him, into a corner. He follows, never letting the distance increase. The sharp tip of the knife gently scrapes down her face. His eyes follow, and descend lower down her body, the grin never fading. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing.”

She can feel the crowbar in her hand, but she can’t manage to use it, even in the face of certain danger. His eyes return to her face. As he meets her eyes, she realizes that his are a startling light blue. They would be handsome, if he weren’t currently pressing a knife against her face. She realizes that he’s very young. Certainly much younger than she is. Just a boy, really. What is he doing here? What is he doing with a knife?

“Sorry, girly. It was fun while it lasted.” The boy’s grin turns to a snarl as he retracts the knife and then shoves it into her side.

————————

“Sole! Sole!”

“Mum!”

Her consciousness slowly returns to her body. Her arms are still flailing, and she stills them. Mr. Garvey rushes towards her and grabs her shoulders, pulling the crowbar from her limp hands.

“I’m so sorry we let him get through! There was a minigun…ah hell, you’re bleeding! Where are you hurt? Here, sit down…maybe not here…come over here…” He leads her to a chair, catching her when she takes a step and nearly falls. The stumble pulls her side, and she realizes it hurts. Mr. Garvey pulls off her armor and Codsworth digs through a pack. A blinding pain in her side; then, slowly, the pain is replaced by the itch of flesh stitching back together, beginning from deep under her ribcage.

Her eyes begin to clear. She watches Mr. Garvey replace the top on a bottle of alcohol. She glances over his shoulder.

The man—the boy—is there. He’s on the floor. His head has been replaced by a bloody pulp.

She leans over and vomits.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout oc #dire's sole #fallout sole survivor #sole survivor #fallout preston #preston garvey #fallout sturges #sturges #fallout codsworth #codsworth #abernathy farm #fanfic #fallout fanfic

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