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sluckythewizard · 11 days

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BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

#NO TAGS ON THIS ONE BC WELL. IM SHY. IM TAKING A BIG LEAP JUST BY ALLOWING U TO REBLOG THIS. IF IT BREAKS CONTAINMENT THATS UR FAULT.#i unfortunately suffer from the disease of 'i hate everything i write the day after i write it' BUT IM GETTING TREATED #I WILL NOT BE HAUNTED BY THIS WEAKNESS FOREVER. AND HEY LOOK THIS IS THE FIRST ACTUAL FIC BIT IVE EVER FINISHED..#ITS SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF!! AND BY JOBE I WILL BE PROUD EVEN IF I HATE IT.#i dont always need to be the one who likes my art bc i know Someone out there will always enjoy it.#and to that someone i say: omg thankyou i LOOOOVEE YOUUUUUU!!!!!#JUST DELETED A WHOLE RAMBLE I JUST HAD ABT NERVOUS DISCLAIMERS FOR MY ART BUT I DONT NEED EM!!#GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT. ANYWAY. so emizel and soda huh #THEYRE SO CUTE TOGEEHTERRRR TEEHEHEHEHEEEE they are the homies that kiss eachother goodnight like CMON #but uhh so hey your bestest friend in da world just got turned into a freaky creature thing that eats ppl #ieah yknowthe guy that u care about alot that u had to watch get bled out by another freaky creature thing in an alleyway #yeaaah and you were super hurt and weak and stupid and u couldnt do jack nor shit to help him #what was i talking about again. RIGHT so hes even cooler now bc he cant die n hes super strong n his arms can be knives. sometimes.#but also he can eat people now. and sometimes he cant stop himself from eating people. and thats kinda scary. but in a cool way.#but also in a disturbing way. but also in an interesting way?but also in a freaky way.the feelings ARE MIXED!!!ATLEAST I THINK THEY WOULD B #okay again i havnt listened to the suckening ina bit. so its been a minute since i absorbed their personalities. i could be misreading or #misremembering or misconstruing or mischaracterizing or WHATEVER. i think the confusion carries its intended effect #LOSING MY TRAIN O THOUGHT. anyway i love soda n emizel i hope they get locked in a saw trap together or somethign. for enrichment.#TALOS GRANT ME THE STRENGHT TO POST MY CREATIONS ON LINE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGHHH!!!!!!!

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aceghosts · 4 months

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All I Know is a Place Where I Haunted

Summary: After saving President Rosalind Myers and delivering her to Reed, Rooney tries to deal with everything they've seen. But it's all too much to bear. Title comes from Spiritbox's Jaded. Rating: Mature Warnings: References to unnamed character deaths. Survivor's Guilt. Also, references to injuries (mainly cuts and bruises). Lastly, I wanna give a warning that Rooney is not in a good mental space, like 'I clearly don't care whether I live or die' kind of mental space, and thus, may be triggering for readers. Please use discretion. As always, if I need to tag for anything else, please let me know. Words: 4,438 words. Author's Note: This is an AU for what I consider Rooney's canon as I normally don't consider it canon for them to have the Relic in their head. But I had this idea for them and it wouldn't stop bothering me. So, now this fic exists. Also, if you have not played Phantom Liberty, this does contain spoilers for the beginning! Taglist (opt in/out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @voidika, @strangefable, @captmactavish, @carlosoliveiraa, @theelderhazelnut, @nightbloodbix, @fourlittleseedlings, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @clicheantagonist

AO3

Black Dog in my head, guiding me until the end…

Samurai blares over their radio as Rooney leaves Dogtown in the dust. Their hands grip the handle-bars tightly, knuckles white. Every inch of them hurts. Each movement-no matter how gentle or careful, sends a jolt of pain radiating through their body. Their head aches, a painful stab behind their right eye. Above all, Rooney is tired, so very, very tired. They feel sluggish, their limbs feeling like heavy weights are attached.

Even worse, they haven’t slept in over 24 hours. Last night as they hid in the Kress building with Myers, Rooney couldn’t sleep, no matter how much they wanted to. Every sound, every movement, every sight, no matter how real or imagined, sent adrenaline coursing through their veins. Their heartbeat would race, their body acting on finely tuned instincts to assess and fight. Every time, they would close their eyes, memories would haunt them. The crashing of Space Force One. Dead presidential staffers and Secret Service everywhere. The Chimera, the telltale glow of the red static from an AI beyond the Blackwall, staring Rooney and Myers down. It screams, a cursed, awful sound. Rooney’s throat tightens, a choked sob escaping from them.

The black motorcycle wobbles beneath them, Rooney swearing. They slow down, pulling over to the side of the road. Climbing off the bike, Rooney nearly falls to the ground, catching themself by their hands. Bits of gravel scrape at their palms. They ignore the pain, scrambling onto the sidewalk. Reaching the guard rail of the bridge, Rooney slides down until they’re in a sitting position, back against the rail. Behind them, the setting sun is a burning orange, stark against the faded sky. Sighing deeply, Rooney places their head in their hands. How much longer can they keep doing this? Keep moving along as the end goal is dragged further away? When will they be allowed to rest? Not be haunted by every terrible and awful thing they’ve seen?

Rooney closes their eyes, the Chimera there in their memories. The cable breaks, sliding out of their grasp as they hurtle towards the ground. Slamming on the ground on their back, Rooney gasps as the Chimera refocuses, raising a large paw to squish them like a bug. Rooney rolls out of the way, the Chimera narrowly missing them. Above them both, the chandelier falls, sparking as it hits the ground. The Chimera and Rooney fall, knocking against each other as they descend into the blackness. They feel weightless, almost like they’re falling with the Chimera again. Rooney’s heart starts to pound loudly in their ears, mouth dry. Their limbs feel numb, adrenaline kicking their senses into overdrive. They’re falling, they’re falling they’refalling!

“ROONEY!” Gasping, their eyes open wide as they jump slightly. Johnny kneels in front of them, sunglasses in hand as he watches them, concerned. Taking a panicked breath, Rooney’s eyes scan for any threats, for the Chimera. A few seconds later, they realize they’re in Night City with Johnny, and the adrenaline fades, leaving them with a bone-aching weariness. Tears burn in the corner of their eyes as Johnny speaks, “Shepard, you alright? Scared me there for a minute.”

“Yeah,” They force the words out, their throat tight, “Just remembering.”

Johnny softens, knowing a thing or two about reliving awful memories. “We should get you to that Ripperdoc friend of yours.”

Vik. They should; So Mi’s hacking of the Relic could have messed with their implants, especially the experimental Arasaka ones. Rooney’s holo rings, a familiar icon in the upper left corner. “Don’t fucking answer that,” Johnny commands.

Rooney answers it anyway. They’re not going to ignore his call, and Rooney needs to get it together. No more of this pity party. Reed, So Mi, Dogtown, Night City, Myers, NUSA, and everyone else are counting on them. Roone will rest when they are dead. Wiping the corner of their eyes, Rooney composes themself as they answer, “What’s the situation?”

“Rooney!” Yorinobu’s eyes widen as he takes in their face with a concerned look on his face. “I could not reach you, and I worried you might be injured. Where are you? I will send someone to-.”

“I’m fine.” Rooney needs to be better than fine; they have to be. But fine is an acceptable state of being for now. “What do you need me to do?” They push themself to their feet, stifling a painful groan as their body protests. Johnny shakes his head, exasperated by their stubbornness. A frequent occurrence.

Yorinobu is silent, his gaze scrutinizing them. “Meet me at Konpeki Plaza as soon as possible.”

“Don’t. Get your ass to Vik’s,” Johnny says, flipping a finger toward Yorinobu.

“Understood. I’ll head there now.” Swinging their leg over the motorcycle, it roars to life beneath them.

Johnny shakes his head. “Fucking pathetic. ‘Saka Jr. says fucking jump, and you say how fucking high.” He glitches out of existence, saving Rooney the dignity of having to answer him.

“Rooney,” Yorinobu pauses, still watching them, “Be careful.”

“I will.” It’s a lie; Rooney has never been careful with their own life.

—

The elevator dings, opening up to the Tavernier Suite. The penthouse is gorgeous, offering one of the best views in Night City. Stepping into the suite, Rooney squares their shoulders, pretending they’re anything but exhausted. As they found the corner into the main area, Smasher and Yorinobu stop talking, looking away from the holopad between them. Smasher laughs, grating on Rooney’s nerves as he catches sight of them. Yorinobu’s brow furrows, looking more concerned than he did on the phone. “Fuck, Shepard. You look worse than fucking roadkill,” Smasher teases.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Rooney replies sarcastically, glaring at Smasher.

Smasher rolls his eyes while Yorinobu simply states, “You are limping.”

“I’m not.” Embarrassment floods Rooney as they realize Yorinobu is right. Trying to even out their gait, Rooney places weight on their left leg, pain shooting up from their hip as they stiffen. They bite down on their lip, trying not to whimper in pain. Rooney continues slowly towards Smasher and Yorinobu, purposely not limping. Well, at least, trying not to.

Yorinobu and Smasher exchange glances before Smasher sighs in annoyance. “I’ll get the fucking Doctor,” he grumbles, his loud stomping sending waves of anxiety through them, too reminiscent of the Chimera. As he passes Rooney, the two lock eyes, and Smasher scoffs, clearly thinking them pathetic. And the worst part? He’s right.

Making their way over, Rooney leans against the expensive dining table. “So, what’s happening? What can I-?”

“Where were you? I could not reach your holo.”

They suspected So Mi probably jammed their holo, making it difficult for Hansen and the Barghest to find them. It also probably made it harder for anyone else trying to contact them. “Had a missing person’s case in Dogtown. Needed to go dark for a while.” Not an unbelievable excuse. Rooney occasionally had to go dark on cases, not wanting to alert anyone who might be involved.

“Did Kurt Hansen do this to you?” Yorinobu cuts straight to it, fear and anger in his eyes. He looks like he’s about ready to punch Hansen.

“No.” Even though Hansen sent the Barghest after Rooney and Myers, he hadn’t set the Chimera on them. Wasn’t So Mi’s fault either. Whatever had been in the Chimera was something else, something from beyond the Blackwall. A shudder runs up their spine at the thought of it. “The thing that did this to me is dead.”

His shoulders drop, relaxing slightly as he motions for them to sit in the already pulled-out chair. Rooney sits, trying not to wince as pain radiates through them. “I do not doubt that anyone who intends to harm you would not leave with their life, Rooney. But-,” He emphasizes the word, “I do not think you are telling me the full story.”

Johnny finally makes his presence known again, glitching into a pulled-out chair on the other side of the table. Kicking his legs up onto the table and drumming his fingers, Johnny warns, “You can’t fucking tell, ‘Saka Jr., Shepard. What the fuck do you think ‘Saka is gonna do when they find out about Songbird?”

He has a point. Rooney trusts Yorinobu, baring the vulnerable parts of themself to him that no one else would be allowed to see. But they can’t trust the rest of Arasaka. And even if Rooney wanted to tell him, which they did, anything they say about Myers and So Mi could put Yorinobu in danger. And they won’t put Yorinobu in harm’s way. “Not much to tell. Just your standard missing person’s case that got a little rough. But I ended up finding the person alive and well. A happy ending.” Might have been a happy ending in Myers’ case. But for everyone else, it was a failure. So Mi was missing and most of the civilian passengers on Space Force One ended up dead. They should have been able to do more.

Yorinobu reaches out, his right hand cupping their face. His thumb lightly traces their cheek as Rooney leans into his hand, nuzzling his palm. In the reflection of his glasses, Rooney notices how awful they look. Their bottom lip is busted, a deep cut running through it. Another long cut runs through their eyebrow, red and inflamed. Dark circles sit underneath their eyes, making Rooney look like they’ve been punched in both eyes. And they look pale, paler than normal, which is a feat in itself. No wonder Yorinobu seemed troubled. “What is the name of your missing person?”

Out of the corner of their eye, Johnny shakes his head, and Rooney wonders if Yorinobu already knows. There is no way Arasaka Intelligence wouldn’t have heard about Space Force One, of all things, crashing into Dogtown under mysterious circumstances. And Yorinobu knows Rooney is drawn to trouble, always willing to put themself in harm’s way. But they’re still not willing to put him in the middle of this. “Just a local-.”

The elevator opens, cutting Rooney off as Smasher enters first. They wince at his loud footsteps, aggravating their headache. Dr. Katō, one of the few Arasaka employees that Rooney is somewhat friendly with, follows behind Smasher. “Shepard!” Dr. Katō calls, a knowing look on his face. “Found trouble again, I-,” He stops, catching sight of Yorinobu’s dark expression, “Arasaka-sama, I-.”

“Examine them now.” Yorinobu releases their face, stepping back to allow Dr. Katō to do his work.

“Yes.” Dr. Katō bows, now slightly nervous as he approaches Rooney. He starts his examination, his cyberware scanning for any broken bones or internal wounds. Rooney assumes there isn’t anything too serious. Otherwise, they might already be dead. As he finishes scanning, Dr. Katō suggests, “I would suggest that you have one of my colleagues run diagnostics on your implants for issues. I also wish you would allow me to run medical diagnostics on you.��

“No!” Rooney and Johnny both say at the same time, the same panicked look on both faces. The last thing Rooney needs to happen today is for Arasaka to find out they have the Relic in their head. And they really don’t want to have that conversation with Yorinobu. Rooney swallows as Yorinobu looks at them suspiciously. “You know how I feel about Arasaka doctors. No offense, Dr. Katō. I’ll have my local ripper check them later.”

Yorinobu sighs, shaking his head. “Would you like to give us the number of-?”

“No.” No way in hell they’re giving Vik’s number to Yorinobu. Rooney is pretty sure Vik would have an aneurysm if a bunch of Arasaka Corpos showed up on the front doorstep of his clinic. Plus, Rooney doesn’t want to burden him with any more than they already have. He’s done so much for them. “My implants are okay. I have not noticed anything off about them.”

“I still highly recommend you have one of my colleagues examine you, but I’ll respect your decision,” Dr. Katō states as he begins to work on the cut on their eyebrow, “Any specific places bothering you, Shepard?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Yorinobu and Smasher both answer. Yorinobu clarifies, “Rooney is favoring their left side; they were limping when they arrived.”

Dr. Katō nods. “I’ll take a look after I finish with their face.” He tends to the other cut on their lip, silence permeating the room. Rooney glances toward Johnny, nervous energy radiating off him like a trapped wild animal. He’s never liked it here, and he especially doesn’t like it when Yorinobu or Smasher is around. Johnny’s learned to deal with Yorinobu, but Smasher still brings up a swirl of complicated feelings. Fear. Anger. Pain. All of it flows through them, leaving a nervous pit in Rooney’s stomach. “Do you mind taking off your shirt, Shepard? I’d like to take a look,” glancing nervously between Smasher and Yorinobu, Dr Katō gently suggests, “Perhaps you two should leave-.”

“I’m going,” Smasher grumbles, while Yorinobu stays. As soon as Smasher is gone, Dr. Katō looks toward Rooney.

“Yorinobu can stay.” They’re okay with Yorinobu here; Rooney doubts he would leave anyway.

Dr. Katō nods, gently helping Rooney out of their black and blue trenchcoat. He helps them pull off the turtleneck next as Rooney tries not to wince in pain. Yorinobu gasps, and Rooney looks down. A large, nasty, purplish-blue bruise covers the left side of their torso disappearing below the waist of their pants and farther down. Several other bruises cover them, leaving Rooney’s freckled skin a splatter painting of bruises. “How did this happen?” Dr. Katō asks as Yorinobu crosses his arms, looking even more troubled.

“I fell.”

“Fell? How far did you fall, Shepard?”

They shrug, ignoring the pain that jolts through them. “Not sure. Might have been a few flights.”

Dr. Katō pales as Yorinobu shakes his head. “You’re very lucky to have escaped with no major injuries.” Rooney knows how lucky they are. Most would have died in their position. Most would have died going through some of the shit they went through. Rooney even already died once. But death was a luxury they would not be afforded. They had already been snatched from Death’s jaws once by Arasaka. What would stop it from happening again? “I am recommending bed rest, Shepard. At least, for a few days. I’ll also have some pain medication delivered to you.”

“No.” Dr. Katō looks shocked at their cold tone while Yorinobu narrows his eyes. “I’ll take the pain pills, but I need to be back on my feet.”

“Shepard,” Dr. Katō starts very gently, placing a hand on their shoulder, “You need to rest. Your body needs to rest. Otherwise, you risk injuring yourself further.”

Johnny shakes his head in the corner of their eye. “Can’t believe I’m ‘bout to agree with a fucking ‘Saka employee, but he’s right, Shepard. You look like you’re almost fucking dead.”

Even Yorinobu gets in on it. “Rooney, Dr. Katō is correct. You must rest. You are welcome to stay here, or I can drive you back to your apart-.”

“STOP!” Frustration overwhelms them. Why won’t anyone listen? So Mi and Reed are counting on Rooney; so many people are counting on Rooney. Rest is a luxury afforded to others, but never to Rooney. They need to keep moving; They have to keep moving. Shrugging off Dr. Katō’s hand, Rooney stands, biting back a groan as they get up, unsteady on their feet. “I don’t need to rest; I’ll be fine.”

“Fine? Fine?!” Yorinobu exclaims in disbelief, Rooney clenching their fist. “You can barely stand! If you were ‘fine’, you would not limp. You need to rest, please.”

“The limp will go away in a little bit. It’s not that big-.”

“Do not finish your sentence.” He softens a little, allowing Rooney to glimpse how exhausted and fearful he was for them. “Take this seriously. Please.”

“I am,” Rooney insists, knowing they are taking this deeply seriously. Why can’t everyone else see that?

“Are you?” Rooney’s armor starts to crack a little as they stare into Yorinobu’s eyes. Weariness comes over them, and Rooney pushes it away, trying to stay focused. “If you are, listen to Dr. Katō.”

“I am, I promise,” Rooney feels their throat tighten like they’re about to cry, “But I can’t rest. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t tell him a fucking thing, Shepard,” Johnny cuts in again. “Just get the fuck out of here and get to Vik.”

“I-,” Rooney struggles for a second, trying not to make sure they don’t reveal too much, “People depend on me, Yorinobu. I cannot let them down. If I stop, I fail them. And if I fail them, then what use am I to anyone?” Rooney has already failed people before, the ghosts of the past holding onto them, dragging Rooney down. They won’t fail anyone, not again. “I’ll rest when this is all over.”

Yorinobu takes their face in his hands, wiping away the tears from their eyes, the ones they didn’t know were already starting to fall. “Rooney, you will not fail anyone, especially if you rest for a few days. And your value is not determined on how useful you are to others.”

Fuck, they’re gonna cry. Swallowing down the lump in their throat, Rooney takes a deep breath. “You can’t know that.”

“I do.” He sounds so sure, his arrogance bleeding over.

“And how would you know that?” Anger tinges their voice as they answer sharply.

“I would not think that of you. And anyone who does, simply would have never think you succeeded in the first place.” Rooney’s walls break. The tears start slipping out faster, as they shake, taking in a weepy breath. Yorinobu lets go of their face, pulling Rooney into his arms as they let out a small whimper. They bury their face in the expensive silk fabric of his shirt, unable to compose themself any longer. Rooney sobs into his chest, fingers gripping the back of his shirt tightly. Yorinobu rubs comforting circles on their back, holding Rooney up as they cry. God, they’re tired. Just so exhausted.

After a while, their sobbing starts to soften, their grip less tight on Yorinobu. “Come. You should rest.” Rooney nods, allowing Yorinobu to shepherd them to the bedroom. As they walk towards his bed, they realize Johnny and Dr. Katō are gone. Johnny probably left because it was getting too emotionally intense for him. But at the thought of Dr. Katō, shame washes over them. Rooney should have been more com-. “He does not think less of you,” Yorinobu comforts, already knowing where their thoughts are headed, “Dr. Katō is worried about you as we all are.”

“Thank you.”

“No need,” Yorinobu shakes his head, bringing them to the bedroom, “Do you need help changing into something more comfortable?” Rooney nods, too tired to even pick out clothes for themself. He pulls out a pair of pajama pants and one of his t-shirts for them. He is so gentle with them, nearly sending them into tears again. Rooney feels so loved yet unworthy. Yorinobu shouldn’t have to do this for them. Rooney should be capable of something as simple as this.

Drawing the covers back, Yorinobu ushers Rooney into bed. They climb into bed, heading over to the other side. A part of Rooney wants to ask him to stay, to hold them as they fall asleep. But that would be selfish, and he’s already done so much for them. Instead, they turn away, trying not to want more than they are given. Like they always have. The bed dips on the other side, Yorinobu sitting on it. They hear him take off his shoes before getting underneath the covers with them. He pulls Rooney close to him, his chest against their back as he wraps an arm around their waist. He feels so warm and comforting pressed against Rooney as they allow themself to relax. Placing a kiss on the bare skin of their shoulder where his t-shirt has slipped away, he softly speaks, “Sleep, Rooney. Please rest.”

“I love you.” The words slip out of their mouth. Rooney does, they really fucking do. If Yorinobu asked the world of them, Rooney would gladly give it to him. Again and again.

He places another kiss on their shoulder, replying, “I love you too.” Those words ring in Rooney’s head as they fall asleep, Yorinobu nuzzling into their neck.

—

When Rooney awakes, they are alone in bed, muscles and joints aching. Even blinking feels like a herculean effort as they push the sleep out of their eyes. The dying rays of sunlight stream into the bedroom, infusing it with a golden glow. It makes the room look heavenly; it already feels heavenly. Grunting, Rooney pushes themself up, ignoring the protest from their muscles. By the time they’re sitting up, Rooney is out of breath, panting from the exertion. “Did you sleep well?” They look over, finding Yorinobu leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Rooney hadn’t heard him come in.

“Yeah,” their voice sounds rough from sleep, “How long was I out?”

“Over 24 hours,” Yorinobu answers, pushing himself off the wall and taking his hands out of his pockets. He walks over to the bed, sitting down beside Rooney. Yorinobu brushes a stray strand of dark red hair from their face, his fingers featherlight on their skin. “You needed it. You still need more.”

Rooney blanches, pulling up their holo. No missed calls or texts from Reed, but that doesn’t mean Rooney can stay in bed any longer. Reed could call at any moment. "I have to-.” As they try to get out of bed, Yorinobu places a hand on their shoulder, pulling them back gently. Rooney doesn’t fight back, too exhausted. Every movement feels like they’re making a trek up Mount Everest. “I have a case to work on.”

“Would that have anything to do with Space Force One?” Their eyes widen, swallowing nervously. Yorinobu looks triumphant. “I knew it.”

“How?”

“It is all over the news, and you were very…,” He pauses for a moment, perhaps trying to find better wording than ‘fucking stubborn’, “persistent about this case.” Fair enough. This one had more stakes, more chances for other people to get caught in the middle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rooney shakes their head. “I can’t discuss this one with you. Trust me, the more you know puts you in danger.”

“And it is acceptable for you to put yourself in danger?”

“I’ve fought the NUSA and worked with them after the Unification War. I know what they’re capable of.” They let out a sigh. “Thanks for the sleep, but-.”

“No,” Yorinobu shakes his head, his hand gripping their shoulder firmly, “If you plan to put yourself in danger on our behalf, promise me you will rest for one more night.”

“Yorinobu, I-,” Rooney falters, the genuinely concerned look on his face getting to them, “One more night, but tomorrow, I’m up and back at it.”

“I would never expect anything less,” Releasing their shoulder, he takes their hand in his, “Do you really think you have let anyone down?”

Rooney looks down at their hand tightly intertwined in his. “I do. I let everyone down who didn’t make it off Space Force One. I refuse to let anyone else get hurt. Not as long as I breathe.”

“You worry me when you say that, Rooney.” They know they do. Even if Yorinobu doesn’t say it, Rooney knows that there is always the possibility that the next case might be their last, and they think it scares Yorinobu that he might be powerless to stop it. Rooney looks up at him as Yorinobu reaches out, gently tracing the edge of their face. “You did not fail anyone, Rooney. The person who shot down Space Force One is responsible, not you.”

“I know, but if I was faster, I might have-.”

“Rooney, you cannot blame yourself. You cannot save everyone.” They know. Rooney knows they can’t save everyone, but they have to try. They can’t just give up. Sighing, Yorinobu decides to let the matter go. “Would you like a cup of tea? I even have your favorite.”

“That sounds nice,” They say, thinking a cup of tea sounds wonderful, “Maybe a shower afterwards too. I feel a little gross.”

“Good, I can even help you with the shower too,” He teases as Rooney rolls their eyes, before placing a soft kiss on their lips, “I will make your cup now.”

As Yorinobu leaves the bedroom, a familiar figure glitches onto the edge of the bed to their right. “Ask ‘Saka Jr for some vodka instead. I need to block out the mental image of you two eying each other like a bunch of horny teenagers.”

Oh Johnny, truly a wordsmith. They shake their head, a faint smile on their lips. ‘Glad to see you too, Silverhand’, Rooney thinks. A moment later and perhaps a touch more fondly, they add, ‘I mean it. I really thought I might have lost you, and it terrified me’.

Johnny sighs, but he looks away, clearly touched by their words. “Stop being so sentimental,” He grumbles, with no real bark or bite. He adds a moment later. “Missed you too, Shepard.”

‘We’re going to get So Mi back. I promise.’

“You think she’s telling the truth?”

‘No,’ Rooney thinks, and Johnny looks a little surprised, ‘I know when people are hiding things from me, Johnny, and she is hiding something. But I really think she needs our help. Besides, I have a feeling Myers is up to something worse, and we’ll stop her.’

He gives them a real grin. “Now, you’re speaking my language, Shepard. Just wish you had some of that when it came to ‘Saka Jr.”

They roll their eyes as Johnny lets out a laugh. For now, they were here safe with Yorinobu and Johnny, but tomorrow, the real challenge would begin.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cp2077 fanfic #yorinobu arasaka x original character #commander rooney shepard #I won't let fear compromise who I am #OTP: It always comes right back to you #v: cyberpunk 2077 #kate writes #the rooney fic tag #very funny of me to start this fic off with a Samurai song #and then not title it after it #lol #anyway I hope this one turned out okay #it's a real heavy angst/hurt fic with some good comfort at the end #and like Rooney needs help #but they also really need to be hugged

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smile-files · 3 days

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i think the main issue in arguing with zionists is that, well, they believe in zionism! if israel did deserve to exist, then the genocide and injustice in palestine could be argued for (not like it should be, but it certainly could) -- and zionists believe israel deserves to exist.

i, unfortunately, have a large amount of experience interacting (personally) with zionism and zionists. most of those i've talked to feel for the palestinians, and the violence they are facing, but they fail to realize (or they staunchly deny) the very, very active part israel and the IDF have had in that -- and how it's representative of what the nation has always done.

at the same time, they focus more on israeli hostages than palestinian ones -- and i know, of course, that these zionist jews i've interacted with are either israeli or have loved ones in israel, and so have a very personal stake in the safety of israeli hostages (which may very well be friends or family members), but i find it strange how much emphasis they put on hamas' cruelty in taking hostages while the IDF is doing the same thing (in essence; the exact details of who's doing it worse are important to note, but not relevant right now, because folks should realize that their side is being at least as cruel as the enemy's).

recently i was drawn into an argument with an israeli zionist (who, unfortunately, is very close to the action and tragedy by being israeli), and she was incredibly offended by my anti-zionism and my opposition to israel's abject cruelty to palestinian citizens, as it seemed (to her) like i was bypassing the cruelty hamas has enacted on israeli citizens -- which is very telling. i've noticed that we as jews have the tendency, whatever the situation may be, of focusing more on our pain than the pain of others, even if we are the ones hurting them. that person has every reason to be scared and hurt, and i'd be lying if i said her response wasn't at least somewhat sympathetic, but her pain in this horrible, violent conflict does not invalidate the pain on the other side. jews, throughout this recent crisis, have consistently not talked in depth about the constant losses in palestine -- am i suddenly being callous by focusing on those losses, and not our own? (YOUR PAIN AND THEIRS AREN'T MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE, YOU DOLT! sorry...)

because it all comes down to believing in israel! my mom has always told me about how beautiful it is there, about her time living on a kibbutz... and sure, it might be nice. i can't argue with that. but why is it that our nationalism for israel is so strong, so virulent? i have not seen patriots as loyal for any other country. and when you criticize israel, israelis feel like you're criticizing their entire existence -- and many non-israeli jews do, as well. because zionism has been built so deep into the modern religion! it's made to be a necessary piece! belief in it is the default!

and, from the inside looking in, i can't be surprised that many jews take anti-zionism as being antisemitic -- because, to them, israel and zionism stand as the pinnacle of safety and support for the jewish people. it is impossible to argue with them about anything above that base layer, as the base layer itself serves as a foundation: so long as a jew thinks that israel is right, deserved, and necessary, no proof will sway them into hating israel. it's just impossible, and that's very frustrating.

for me in particular, i find it very frustrating, as this single idea has turned so many people i know to support a genocidal entity. they believe in and support israel, so they stand with it now -- even if they condemn its current actions, they neglect how those actions are just an extension of its inherent existence -- whether they think israel's doing the right thing or wrong thing right now, they don't really care at the end of the day, because israel, to them, is necessary in keeping the jewish people alive. they stand with it, thinking that jews can only stand at all if they do.

but a genocidal crutch is no crutch at all: it only breaks us more. zionist jews make me so mad, and the worst part is that i could never express that to them in a way they'll understand.

#melonposting #anti-zionism #israel #i am so madddd and frustrated and stressed #with the whole camp thing going on my parents will inevitably find out (and soon!) that i'm anti-zionist #and given their age and proximity -- they're so deeply entrenched in zionism that i can't even hope to sway them #it's so sad and scary (i don't want them to be mad at me -- even though that really isn't the important thing here)#but it's also philosophically bizarre... like these people have good principles!#it's just this one tiny stupid thing (believing in israel) that's effectively turned them into bad people!#<- it's weird saying something like that. because i don't think they're bad people. but they're zionist.#part of it is that they're my parents and i love them but also... they're so good otherwise. a single thing went wrong.#(okay well not a single thing but it's generally minute things y'know?)#i don't wanna hate my parents. and i don't want them to hate me. can they please for the love of god stop #(takes every jew i know by the shoulders and shakes them back and forth) PLEAAAASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOPPPPPPP #anyway it's very hard for me to do work because i have this on my mind.#how do i break it to my parents that 1. i won't be working at camp this summer and 2. it's because i hate zionism?#i'm not cut out for situations like these ughhhhh why did i have to post that stupid anti-zionist instagram story in march #i could've just chosen not to take the job on my own accord and have enough time to come up with an excuse for my parents #whatever. too late for that. i dug my grave and now must lie in it #i guess it's character-building?? :')

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