“Thing about having driven one of these things, used to bein’ connected to someone else like this. Tryin’ to figure out where you end and the other person begins.”
A ghost of a memory passes through the system, something not hers, and she catches a glimpse of a face—Scorpion’s—but it’s gone before she can latch onto it, leaving only a bittersweet aftertaste of feelings that she can’t tease apart.
“Know how much of this feeling belongs to me,” he says, looking down at their hands, and she looks down at their hands, too. “Means I got an idea of the feelings that aren’t mine.”
A lighting bolt shoots through her nervous system and she squeezes his hand reflexively. He squeezes back and something soft like contentment bubbles up through the system while his thumb continues to idle along the back of her hand.
“Hey, V,” he says as he leans in closer, and she watches his approach through his eyes while hers remain fixed on their hands. “Can I kiss you?”
No One's Gonna Love You, Chapter One
Nothing too crazy: Mitch and Scorp using the same pose (Mitch's Basilisk pose via AMM), a couple of lights, a glitch effect spawned with World Builder, and some Photoshopping.
V blinks rapidly as her OS restarts and the HUD reappears. She clenches her fists then wiggles her fingers, then she looks around. It’s daylight and she’s in Panam’s truck parked on the edge of the Aldecaldos camp, but the driver’s seat is empty. Movement from the other direction catches her attention and she finds Mitch leaning into the open window, smiling but the affection doesn’t reach his gaze. Instead he watches with concern. He opens his mouth to speak but there’s no sound. Suddenly she realizes there isn’t any sound, not the regular camp noises, or even the buzz from the chip.
Did the latest crash take out her hearing? Or even the entire language module, as the visual translator doesn’t seem functional either. Vik had warned her about cascading system failures; what’s next, her vision?
Chest tightening, her breath comes faster but she can’t seem to get any air in her lungs. She grips the dashboard, lungs aching as they collapse on themselves, eyes darting around until she settles on Mitch. His mouth is still moving, still talking, but now he’s reaching into the truck with his silicone arm and prying her fingers from the dash then sliding his ‘ganic hand beneath hers, and covers them both with his synthetic, squeezing gently.
A text message flickers into her field of view.
She’s trying to, she’s trying, she’s gasping, she can’t breathe.
The trio of hands rests on the open window and she studies the scratched silicone of the back of his hand, and she squeezes his flesh hand reflexively. He squeezes back and she focuses on the feel of his rough, calloused fingers against hers while his strokes the back of her hand with his silicone thumb. She follows the movements with her eyes.
After a moment she looks up to find he’s talking again, though there’s no audience, just her. When he notices that he has her attention, he gives a soft lopsided smile before resuming his conversation. She watches his mouth and a blanket of warmth covers her as she realizes he’s talking to her as if she can hear him, as if maybe to comfort her.
She’s always enjoyed his company, even if she felt that niggling of guilt in the back of her mind at being the cause of Scorpion’s death, but he never seemed to hold it against her. He always greeted her with a genuine smile.
POP!
Like a guitar being plugged into a live amp, sound comes rushing back with a violent explosion as the world is unmuted. The roar settles into a high-pitched whine that eventually fades into the background, leaving only Mitch’s voice.
“…and there we are, ten miles from camp, free and clear, when Panam decides she’s hungry and wants to stop for a burrito—”
“Hey, Mitch,” she says, her voice dry as the desert, and she coughs. Mitch claps her on the back with his silicone hand.
“Hey, kid,” he says quietly. He squeezes her hand once more then withdraws to the window. She’s surprised to find she misses the contact and the comfort.
She’s not positive she can stand yet, and he doesn’t rush her. He asks about her ‘condition’ and shows real concern when she answers, not that she tells him the full truth. Only Panam knows the full story, and she doesn’t know why she believed her insane story anyway.
Secret Arasaka tech and Johnny Silverhand in her brain? Stuff of shitty braindances.
“Panam and Saul are working on a plan to save you. Ready to see what they’ve worked out?”
No One's Gonna Love You, Chapter One
text gradient & cyberpunk text message generator by @luvwich
tagged by no one but am too excited because I finally got to rework one of my favorite bits from the original nogly and it's even better now 😭
tagging @ialpiriel to share bc I know you've got some good shit you're working on
She looks over her shoulder, back to the panzer and Mitch. Panam follows her gaze and says, “Nervous about tomorrow? Mitch will have her ready, don’t worry.”
Nervous about tomorrow.
Nervous about tomorrow is an understatement, but it’s not what’s occupying her thoughts, and she’s not sure she's ready to share these thoughts with Panam. But then, she has known Mitch longer than anyone else. She takes a deep breath.
“Yeah, but not that. Need your advice.”
“Of course!” Panam takes the bottle of whisky while waiting for V to speak.
After another deep breath, she says, “So you’ve got this good friend—great friend, actually—" she gives him the upgrade because he deserves it— "and this friend is always there for you, always got your back, no questions, day or night.”
“Wait…” Panam says, holding up her hand, but V presses on.
“And this friend, one day you notice they have nice eyes, and that you like the way they smile at you, and how you feel when they smile at you, then before you know it you’re flirting with them and—”
“V, listen,” Panam interrupts, insistent this time as she grabs her knee. “You’re my best friend, I love you, you know that, right? I know you’re really worried but that’s just—”
“And then you go out in the panzer and before you know it you’re getting fingered—”
“Not who I am—what? What did—what did you say?” The hand on her knee clenches, ratcheting along with the volume of her voice. “You got fingered in the panzer? Just now? Who? You have to tell me.”
“Jesus Christ, Panam, can you keep it down? Don’t need to tell the whole fucking camp—”
Her eyes narrow. “Mitch, it’s Mitch, isn’t it, he promised you a ride earlier, didn’t he.”
I've been in the hibernation part of the creativity cycle for a few months, but now I'm waking up and it's spring and everything is beautiful!
Tagged over my hibernation by @streetkid-named-desire @nananarc @merge-conflict (twice!) @ghostoffuturespast @arasaka-android @fiannans and @luvwich. In turn, I tag all of you back and also tag in @olath124 @blackrevelldlc @sweetmage @writing-for-soup @postcardsfromnightcity @theviridianbunny @sailorskunk and YOU! Yes, you who are working on something and want to be tagged but are shy! Please share something you're working on, any medium, any fandom, and tag me! (Usual no pressure disclaimers apply.)
My WIP count is out of control, including two new ones I started in the last week -- a new PWP smut oneshot based on the handles on V's jacket, and the rewrite of my long fic No One's Gonna Love You (aka NOGLY).
I've been wanting to rewrite NOGLY for ages. I didn't know Val when I started writing, I just knew I needed to write about her and Mitch. I hadn't really dug into her grief surrounding Jackie and Scorpion and everything else that happened along the way.
I'm not changing much with the opening scene as it's one of my faves I've ever written, just giving it a light dusting and sprucing it up a little. Putting it under the cut since this is getting long.
V blinks rapidly as her OS restarts and the HUD reappears. She clenches her fists then wiggles her fingers, then she looks around. It’s daylight and she’s in Panam’s truck parked on the edge of the Aldecaldos camp, but the driver’s seat is empty. Movement from the other direction catches her attention and she finds Mitch leaning into the open window, smiling but the affection doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead he watches with concern. He opens his mouth to speak but there’s no sound. Suddenly she realizes there isn’t any sound, not the regular camp noises, or even the buzz from the chip.
Did the latest crash take out her hearing? Or even the entire language module as the visual translator isn’t functioning either. Vik had warned her about cascading system failures; what’s next? Her vision?
Chest tightening, her breath comes faster but she can’t seem to get any air in her lungs. She grips the dashboard, lungs aching, eyes darting around until she settles on Mitch. His mouth is still moving, still talking, but he’s reaching into the truck with his silicone arm and prying her fingers from the dash then sliding his ‘ganic hand beneath hers, and covers them both with his synthetic, squeezing gently.
A text message flickers into her field of view; at least that’s still working.
You’re gonna be okay, just breathe
[ Mitch Anderson | 09:22 ]
She’s trying to, she’s trying, she’s gasping, she can’t breathe.
I’m not going anywhere, focus on my hand
[ Mitch Anderson | 09:22 ]
The trio of hands rests on the open window and she studies the scratched silicone of the back of his hand and she squeezes his flesh hand reflexively. He squeezes back and she focuses on the feel of his rough, calloused fingers against hers while his strokes the back of her hand with his silicone thumb. She follows the movements with her eyes.
After a moment she looks up to find he’s talking again, though there’s no audience, just her. When he notices that he has her attention, he gives a soft lopsided smile before resuming his conversation. She watches his mouth and a blanket of warmth covers her as she realizes he’s talking to her as if she can hear him, as if to comfort her.
She’s always enjoyed his company, even if she felt that niggling of guilt in the back of her mind at being the cause of Scorpion’s death, but Mitch never seemed to hold it against her. He always greeted her with a genuine smile.
POP!
Like a guitar being plugged into a live amp, sound comes rushing back with a violent explosion as the world is unmuted. The roar settles into a high-pitched whine that eventually fades into the background, leaving only Mitch’s voice.
“…and there we are, ten miles from camp, free and clear, when Panam decides she’s hungry and wants to stop for a burrito—”
“Hey, Mitch,” she says, her voice dry as the desert, and she coughs. Mitch claps her on the back with his silicone hand.
“Hey, kid,” he says quietly. He squeezes her hand once more then withdraws to the window, and she misses the contact.
Tagged by @aceghosts, thanks choom! Tagging @merge-conflict @luvwich @streetkid-named-desire @clockworkvenus @theviridianbunny and whoever else wants to jump in, sorry my brain is running out of juice tonight.😭
Been trucking along on the rewrite of No One's Gonna Love You, so have some new and improved panzer time. (It's PG, don't worry.)
Context: set during The Star ending, V has been made a member of the Aldecaldo family and they are celebrating the night before the raid on Mikoshi. Mitch promised her a ride in the upgraded panzer earlier in the afternoon, and she's convinced herself it will be fine because everything was fine when she rode with Panam, and she *really* liked Panam.
“Yeah, beautiful,” he says, affection coloring the feedback system as he grins. “I’ll have to check before tomorrow if her guts are tight and firm. Something just don’t sound right to my ear.”
The panzer comes to a standstill as the comment about “tight and firm” guts catches her off-guard and she inhales sharply, the sound morphing into a hacking cough as heat pools low in her belly and she squeezes her eyes shut, willing the feelings to stay buried deep inside—
“Hey, you alright?”
A wave of concern flows through the system, a cool breath against the warmth that’s threatening to boil over inside her, and she knows he’s looking at her because she can see herself, slumped over, hands in face, hot shame and embarrassment pushing back against the concern. She grits her teeth and tries to shove the feelings away and she drops her hands to her lap and now that she looks at him and he looks at her and she looks at him and the visual feedback threatens to overwhelm her and she forces her focus back to the panzer before she accidentally triggers a real chip malfunction.
“‘S okay,” she says, her voice tight. “Just the chip.”
He doesn’t believe her, she can feel his disbelief coupled with something else she can’t name. She hopes he’ll let it slide like he has every other time today when he’s asked her if she’s okay and she dodged the question, or even outright lied, but tonight as they’re connected through the panzer, she knows he knows that she’s not okay.
She turns back to the CrystalDome and the flaming hunks of metal outside, trying to clear her mind of the emotions that tumble and fight for her attention, but Mitch’s eyes stay fixed on her and she knows this time he’s not going to let her deception stand.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
His tone is gentle, the same he used earlier this morning when she came out of the worst Relic attack. She looks over too quickly and a wave of dizziness reverberates through the system. He takes her hand with his silicone, and she feels it and she feels a duller, mirrored version of hand-in-hand from his synthetic arm.
“Just close your eyes for a second,” he says, and his thumb is stroking the back of her hand and he’s watching his hand reach through the window and he’s taking her hand and stroking the back of her hand with his silicone thumb and something vibrates in her chest—or is it his chest—filling the cavity with a warmth that flows through her veins, consuming her, exploding through her like a supernova.
In the panzer, Mitch squeezes her hand and the supernova fades back to the usual feeling of the interface, the buzz of another set of thoughts and feelings interlaced with the incomprehensible buzz of her own. She squeezes his hand, then takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.
“Well?” he asks again, softer this time. When she looks at him, he can feel the tremble in her stomach, the way her breath catches. “Thing about having driven one of these, used to bein’ connected to someone else like this. Tryin’ to figure out where you end and the other person begins.”
A ghost of a memory passes through the system, something not hers, and she catches a glimpse of a face—Scorpion’s—but it’s gone before she can latch onto it, leaving only a bittersweet aftertaste of feelings that she can't tease apart.
“Know how much of this feeling belongs to me,” he says, looking down at their hands, and she looks down at their hands, too. “Means I got an idea of the feelings that aren’t mine.”
A lighting bolt shoots through her nervous system and, she squeezes his hand reflexively, he squeezes back and something like contentment bubbles up through the system while his thumb continues to idle along the back of her hand.
“Hey, V,” he says as he leans in closer, and she watches his approach through his eyes while hers remain fixed on their hands. “Can I kiss you?”
