“So, how was it?” he asks, nuzzling his cheek into her shoulder before pressing a kiss into the bloody teeth marks he'd left behind. The answering grind of her hips is tempting, but neither of them are in a hurry. “Everything you dreamed it would be?”
She lets out a little choked laugh. “Better, even. Until it was over.”
He runs his hands over her thighs and she grumbles, adjusting slightly to extend her left leg. V still won't tell him much of anything about her second stint at Arasaka, but that glint in her eye means she wants to tell him about this. And he knows it makes him as bad as any pathetic superfan but he wants to hear it.
“What’d you let him do to you?” Johnny asks, fingers skating over the tender and inflamed scar on her left thigh. She squirms at the touch but he can feel her getting excited– whether from thinking about Takemura or from being interrogated he’s not sure. Both, probably. She’s an incorrigible horndog. “Besides nearly choke you to death.”
“Pin me against a wall,” V answers, the little indicator for her typing slowly pulsing in the corner of his eye. “I think he wanted an excuse. He was very eager. And jealous of you, of all things.”
Johnny tries to picture eager. With V it usually means handsy. Jealous, though, now that's worth considering. One of those nights he'd been out with V on Jig-Jig, the old man had come out of nowhere. Thrown his weight around judging her for having a little fun, like he hadn't been out on the prowl himself. Like he hadn't turned her down twice and still expected her to come when he called. He'd been awfully motivated to get his hands on Johnny, even when he thought he was just some doll V was playing with.
“He was pretty steamed that one night, wasn’t he? Kind of territorial considering all the times he turned you down.”
V sighs, although he knows she’s secretly pleased. “He brought that up.”
“Course he did. Then what? He choked you a little? Fucked you up against that wall?” Johnny grinds his hips and V responds in kind, before moving one of his hands down to her cunt. She’s truly slick now, and he slips in two fingers, nice and slow. They're finally starting to get somewhere.
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content warning: dysphoria, reference to structural transphobia, drug use
With Goro Takemura in her bed, V finally has everything she wanted. But she's not so sure who she is anymore, and this isn't what she wanted at all.
>> Read on AO3 <<
She inhales sharply, lungs shuddering. Goro smells like home. Home is a painful feeling, a twinned feeling– the memory of a cold white room, being curled in a tangle of blankets she wanted to be a body. Any body, but especially his.
Home is also the adrenaline rush of sleek neomilitaristic hallways, the tangle of politics, the webs of information illuminating and concealing and expanding in endless fractals. Home is a love for the tower that’s consumed her, that had died and been reborn like she had died and been remade.
She’s hundreds of miles from home. She’s never left. She's fragmented and there's nothing she'll ever be able to do to make herself whole. She'd told him not to let them take her, told them both not to risk it, to just let Johnny eat her, she'd told them-
She leans in and sinks her teeth into Goro’s shoulder, hard enough that the fabric of his shirt creaks from the strain. It’s a test of will between ivory and armored synthetic muscle. Her jaw will break before his skin, but he makes a low, hurt sound deep in his chest and she lets him go. She lets him go and does not react when the cacophony of grief rips its way through her nerves, down to the tips of her toes and the pads of her fingers and back– even though it makes her want to rip something apart, down to its pieces, down to its guts not for understanding but for contempt, or maybe disgust.
an alternate path for thread-safe, where instead of successfully retrieving valentine, goro gets caught up by her allies, none of which are happy to see him. (unfinished, but I kind of like it and it's my blog so whatever) 2.5k under the cut so don't say I didn't warn ya.
Goro can’t see or hear, but he knows he’s been propped up in a chair, most likely tied down although he’s been drugged so heavily it’s hard to tell. The steady cool stream of air over his skin means he’s inside somewhere, and while he’s lost a bit of time, it’s not enough for them to have taken him out of the city. There’s nothing else he can do now but wait, which leaves him with the uncomfortable prospect of being alone with his thoughts. He holds an image of V in his mind, of her sitting on the chair in front of the window, leaning on her elbows, her wrecked voice repeating It would be kinder just to kill me. The grief keeps him conscious, in a torturous haze which is far less than he deserves.
Yet the uncomfortable pop of his hearing returning snaps him out of a light doze, and he instinctively tries to pull his arms free and fails, all his still limbs heavy and clumsy. Whatever they’ve given him is starting to wear off, and his face aches terribly. His vision comes back all at once, albeit with his HUD disabled and his left eyelid stubbornly gummed shut, probably by blood.
“Can you hear me?” Rogue asks, appraising him as he raises his head to look up at her.
“Yes,” he answers. His tongue feels thick, the inside of his mouth furry. “I can hear you.”
“Good. I have a few questions for you.”
“I cannot promise answers.”
There’s a sharp exhale of breath to his left, and he turns his head to see V leaning against a dresser with her teeth bared. She’s not looking at him but her shoulders hunch under the weight of his gaze. There’s a section of the wood under her left hand where she’s worn away the finish with her fidgeting thumb, and he wonders how long the two of them have been here. They have him in some well-furnished bedroom, and the pile of clothes on the floor by V’s foot tells him it’s hers.
It’s sloppy work, but then there’s no reason for them to worry about him knowing where they are. He is simply easier to control when he is blind, and deaf. Having broken through his defenses, Alt may simply puppet him however she pleases. Arasaka already knows where they are.
“You came here alone?” Rogue asks, regaining his attention.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To bring back V.”
“Alone?” She repeats, dubious. Inviting him to reconsider. “No backup? No extraction team?”
“It would have worked,” V hisses, in a voiceless whisper it takes him some time to understand. She is speaking more carefully than usual, enunciating her consonants sharply to make up for her lack of volume. For the damage he's done to her, written in red angry prints around her neck. “If he hadn’t told me what happened.”
Rogue frowns at her, but her annoyance is muted. They both look as tired as he feels, although far more clear-headed. Perhaps more alert than clear-headed, given V’s state of agitation. “I’m not asking you.”
“Interrogating him is pointless,” V insists. “He’s not going to give you anything more than what we already know.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” Rogue replies, a sharp edge appearing in her voice that makes V flinch and huddle into herself. “You can be quiet or you can leave.”
Rogue resumes her interrogation, this time without interruption. He plays his part, answering her simple questions and avoiding her probes, settling into the familiar rhythm. She’s frustrated, if not surprised by his endurance, but it becomes clear there will be no escalation– no threats, no pain, no sweating and screaming, no sputtering gasping burning for air. Just V, silent and stone-faced, running her fingers over every inch of her chrome hand and forearm, like she’s testing the sensitivity. There’s a purpose to it, a repetitive, predictable soothing.
The exercise is pointless, because of her presence. Because he doubts that Rogue is sparing him out of her own principles, or any respect for his well being. In fact, it tells him about V’s level of influence here. Far more than he expected, which also explains much about her decision to come to him alone. It should be comforting, given the alternative, but instead it makes him feel ill. He stops answering Rogue’s questions, closing his eyes and letting his chin fall to his chest.
He doesn’t look up again until he hears another sharp exhale from V– frustration and anger. She moves to the side of the door and waits until Silverhand has burst through it to grab him, one arm wrapped around his neck as she drags him away from his intended path. Her technique is clumsy at best, but as soon as she manages to wrench one of his arms behind him there’s nothing he can do to break free, though he puts a hole through one of the walls in an attempt. Rogue stands warily out of their way. Silverhand continues to struggle and swear until V sinks her bared teeth into his shoulder and he falls abruptly quiet, both of them breathing heavily as they sway against each other.
“Are you done?” Rogue asks them both.
“Are you?” Silverhand snaps back. It’s uncanny, recognizing his snarl on Hellman’s features, and seeing the changes he’s made to his stolen body: the chin-length dyed hair, the tanktop revealing new muscle and the unfinished lines of a tattoo designed to cover his entire left arm. A transformation still in progress. “V’s right– he’s not going to tell us a damned thing. Might as well put this sorry sack of shit out of his fucking misery.”
“You do that,” V replies, voice fading sharply in and out in her anger, “and you’ll be next.”
“Would it not be kinder just to kill me?” Goro asks.
She looks him straight in the eye, unflinching. “I guess we’ll never find out.”
“You’re so desperate to suck his cock again, why don’t you do it now?” Silverhand tests her hold, which is starting to slip with her attention. “That’s all you’ll ever get out of him. Isn’t that how it works? Fuck him once and he’ll tell you how they stole your soul, fuck him again maybe he’ll tell you how sorry he is about it.”
V hisses something in answer that is too garbled and soft for him to catch, but which makes Silverhand laugh harshly. He pulls away sharply while she’s distracted, and breaks free, pinning her to the wall even as she wrestles with him. They’re the same height but he has the advantage of strength, and he pulls her into a possessive kiss. Even that seems to be a struggle for control, and despite himself Goro finds that he’s testing the strength of his bonds, picturing what it would be like to crush Silverhand’s throat in his hands.
Rogue watches almost impassively, as though this is a common occurrence– and perhaps it is, as it becomes clear despite their anger that there is some boundary of violence which they are skirting but will not step over. They play fight like dogs, snapping and growling but never drawing blood.
“Tell me,” Goro says, bitterly, “Am I the one who is desperate?”
Rogue laughs, though with very little actual amusement. “He’s right, Johnny,” she says. “This is more important than your dick measuring contest.”
“Sorry to interrupt you at your work,” he sneers. “If you really want to get something out of him, let Alt have a piece.”
“What is it you would like me to do?” Alt asks, her voice in Goro’s ear, addressing all of them the same way. “I am not a torturer, nor do I intend to become one.”
“Tell that to Smasher.”
“He is not Smasher,” V protests, hands balled in Silverhand’s shirt.
“Sure, Smasher still has his balls.”
Her only response is the swift chop of her chrome hand to this throat, which catches him by surprise. While he coughs and sputters she shoves him aside, brushing past Rogue and moving to stand by Goro’s blind side with her hip just touching his arm.
“Why don’t we pair off?” she says, still in hissing whisper. “Those who set off an atomic bomb in a populated city, and those who didn’t?”
This time Rogue is the one angry, though perhaps only because Silverhand has not yet caught his breath. “You really want to defend Arasaka, right now? Here? To us?”
“It’s not Arasaka I am defending,” V answers, in a heated rush. “But if you think so, then you don’t know me at all.”
“Better than you think,” Rogue replies, and looks at Silverhand. He’s recovered enough to stand upright, but his eyes are murderous.
“Get out,” V says, softly, at a level where she can still produce sound. She’s as deadly serious as he’s ever heard her. More confident then when she had defended herself to him. “Take him with you.”
Rogue looks at her for a long moment, studying her face before nodding curtly. Silverhand’s mouth curls into V’s contemptuous sneer– a dizzyingly perfect recreation, and then he stalks out of the room, brushing past Kerry Eurodyne, who is leaning against the doorway without quite being in the room. He lingers even after Rogue has left, looking first and V and then at Goro himself, frowning.
“Ker,” V says, her hand pressing down on Goro’s shoulder as she leans some of her weight onto him. “Can you get me the medkit?”
“What are you going to do with him?”
Her grip tightens slightly. “Clean his face.”
“Not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He is oddly melancholic for a man who is always either playing to the cameras or screaming at the paparazzi. It’s his money that brought them this bastion of safety in a city outside of Arasaka’s sphere of control and yet he does not seem to expect his opinion to matter. Nor, it seems, does anyone else.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“If things had worked out differently,” she says, with some difficulty. “If things had worked out differently and I was the one sent out here to get Johnny, what then?”
“He’s not going to see it that way.”
She makes some gesture that Goro can’t see, and Kerry smiles. He’s handsome, of course, but this smile makes him look every inch his age. Weary and bitter. The gold of his cyberware is not the veneer of youth, but a mark showing where he has been so carefully put back together. He disappears quietly, closing the door behind him.
V crouches down beside Goro’s chair, resting her arm just above the mangled remains of his knee. “If I untie you are you going to try to fight me?”
“Is that what you want?” he asks, thinking of how naturally she and Silverhand had fallen into it. How she had broken a chair over his arm and cut his face before calling for help. “To fight?”
V only smiles sadly. “No.”
He wants to stay bitter, but in the force of both her honesty and her protection he cannot. “I will not fight you.”
Even after she’s released him he is far from free– whether it is a drug or something Alt has done, he is clumsy and uncoordinated, his limbs responding sluggishly to every movement. He cannot stand on his own, but must lean on V, once again reliant on her good favor. She grants him some privacy to use the bathroom and when he is finished brings another chair in with her and sets it down next to the sink, depositing him into it before sitting in his lap.
He closes his eyes while she works to soak the bandages off his face, enduring the pain from the broken skin, patched together with uncomfortable butterfly stitches. A pile of pink stained washcloths grows on the counter, but she still has more to go before Kerry returns bearing the familiar bright green medkit.
“Really did a number on him,” he remarks, leaning back against the column of the shower, apparently here to stay.
“It is not so bad,” Goro replies, and V lets out a strangled laugh, leaning to rest her forehead against his.
“What’s another few scars?” she asks in whisper.
“You could have done much worse.”
She doesn’t reply to that, but her hands are as steady and gentle as ever. Eventually she finishes cleaning the wounds and applies some gel that numbs the pain. By the time she secures a few protective bandages he is beginning to drowse again, replete with the sensation of her fingertips running over his undamaged skin– a tenderness he does not deserve.
“I don’t get it,” Kerry says, voice pitched low. “What kept you apart? You’re obviously…“ He trails off, and Goro makes the effort to open his eyes to see V’s distant stare.
“It only makes sense,” V says, frowning down at his hands, which she has folded on her lap. “You need someone who doesn’t want anything besides keeping Arasaka safe. Everything else is a weakness that can be exploited.”
“If you say so.” Kerry sounds almost disgusted, a surprisingly sentimental position. “But I guess corps don’t get rich by taking care of their grunts.”
“You are a wealthy man.” Goro says, tone mild. “Who have you helped?”
“Me,” V says, sharply. “And Johnny and Rogue and Alt. He’s the only one of any of them who didn’t consider just killing you, Goro. Got the cleanest hands here.”
Goro turns his head, to see Kerry looking at V with something like regret. He manages to draw the other man’s attention. “Even so. I think you understand that it is not always so easy.”
“I don’t understand anything you corpos do,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “But if you had gotten your shit together before now you might not be here with half your face ripped to shreds.”
“Watch your glass penthouses,” V says. The warning means nothing to Goro but makes Kerry grimace before the expression flits away.
“You think I can’t give out good advice?” he asks, flashing a charming smile. “Can tell you a lot of what not to do.”
“Little late for that,” she says, and they all fall silent. Her hand goes to the undamaged side of Goro’s face, and she chews on the inside of her lip, avoiding his eyes as she looks at him. “What are we going to do with you, my dear?”
“Why not keep him?” Kerry suggests.
“Keep him?” V echoes, voice cutting out in her anger. “I’m not a fucking jailer.”
“Hey– it’s not what I meant,” he says, sounding genuinely sorry. “I just mean, Arasaka clearly has you both tied up in knots, playing you off each other. How much of that are you gonna sit back and take?”
“Why not just leave?” V says, still petulant. “Why stay? Why stay so long? How could you let it get so bad?”
“Fuck you,” Kerry says, with venom this time. “It’s not the same and you know it.”
“Who knows better than me just how similar they are?” She pauses, breathing irregularly, perilously close to weeping. “Trying to please someone who’ll never be happy? Trying to live on scraps while you’re starving? Terrified of losing what little you have?” Her voice breaks, retreating into the harsh whisper. “C’mon, Ker– tell me what’s different?”
After V has fled from Arasaka with Johnny and Alt, she meets with Goro, who has come to bring her back. Their argument turns into passion, but there is more at stake than just their broken hearts.
“You slept with Silverhand,” he counters, the accusation slipping out before he can stop it. It’s been on his mind from the moment she left, how she could not only betray him but betray him so completely. “After everything he has done!”
V’s smile is mirthless. “I didn’t know you were keeping such a close eye on me.”
“There was an investigation.” The truth sounds hollow, even to his ears.
Her chrome fingertips glide over the back of his hand and he releases her, feeling like he’s been burned. “Should I have lived like you? In total denial?”
“At least I did not consort with the enemy.”
She tilts her head, frowning almost imperceptibly. “Am I your enemy?”
It’s misdirection. Provocation. He’s seen her back enough people into a corner with a similar technique, until they are too angry and defensive to avoid admitting fault. Working hand-in-glove with Abernathy, exposing their target to expertly crafted repercussions. But she’s not as invulnerable as she is pretending to be, or as unaffected.
“Are you?” he asks. He already knows the answer but wants to hear her say it. The instant he touches her cheek she leans into the touch like a cat, eyes fluttering closed as he leisurely runs his fingers down her neck, down the line of her shirt, over the curve of her stomach. He lingers at her belt, tracing the buckle as he feels her muscles tense. The gesture is complete only when he slides his hand between her legs, palm pressed against her clit through several layers of fabric.
She makes a guttural sound, pressing into him. “No.”
Read more on ao3
a/n: This is my magnum opus. It's a heart-breaking gut punch and I feel like I finally had the skill to accomplish the fic I've wanted to write since I first played Cyberpunk. :3
“I cannot ask your forgiveness,” he says finally. Always so diligent about laying himself down onto the chopping block, meek and willing as a lamb to accept another black mark on his soul. Even now, when he’s seen what the afterlife is like for useful tools. “I do not deserve it. If you do not wish to see me, I will not bother you again. But if you–“ Hesitation, there. What is the polite way to address a disembodied soul? “If you need my assistance, I will be here.”
“Since Hanako-sama refused to send you away, I know that is true,” you say. Oh, I don’t think he enjoyed hearing that. “As for the rest– let me have a look at you.”
You want a look at him? Very well, but only for you. Let me get to my feet.
The dead man is not small, of course– I think he is very close to average in size, as these things go, and perfectly capable of killing me in a dozen different ways without the advantage of being a head taller. But I’d nearly forgotten how sleek he is, how light on his feet he is despite the weight of all that chrome. He’s been hovering so close I think he forgot I was even here, but he’s remembering now. Last time we stood like this he had his fingers inside me, and now that we’re looking at each other face to face I can tell you he’s thinking that too.
More than a dozen different ways to kill me, and yet our dead man doesn’t resist having his hair grabbed, or the indignity of having his head wrenched back– you did want a good look, didn’t you? He’ll suffer it all, this one. What else is there to see? Two eyes, a nose, his frowning mouth. They’ve already done some reconstructive work, and I doubt they’ll let him keep the scars under those bandages on his left side. One is distinguished. A few more starts to look like negligence.
a/n: I tried about 5 or 6 different post-ending ideas for this fic, not with the idea that I would actually post them, but because I wanted to figure out how different characters would react. Then I had this image appear in my head, of V acting as an extension of herself but in a limited way- of wanting a good look at Goro and granting it, because heaven knows she normally avoids eye contact. I still couldn't figure it out, how to refer to them both when they haven't had a chance to talk, and as always the answer is another pov shift. I've never written second-person before but NK Jemisin did it so it must be good. I think it turned out pretty well, honestly. Put the most heartbreaking pun of my illustrious career in there and had to resist drawing attention to it. Ripped my own heart out. Worth. :3
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Finally finished my narration of the second chapter of thread-safe, included below. It's about 10 minutes long- it did not feel that way when I was making it. There are some quiet weird background audio bits like a popping and an annoying high pitched hum and I don't know how to remove those, sorry. Did my best, even recording in my closet but my apartment is full of signals.
Synopsis: Goro has brought V back to Arasaka after she ran away, to meet her engram which has been turned into an AI and charged with being Big Brother at Arasaka tower in NC.
Transcript is below the cut. You can also read the second chapter on AO3 here.
cicada killer transcript:
There are so many things I need to talk to you about, but I’d be a fool to think I’m not under observation. I guess you know that. Is that why you never said anything to me before? Is that why you never said anything to anyone?
It’s how I would do it. I get it. I wouldn’t have left if I’d known. You know that, right? I would never have left. I guess I answered my own question, didn’t I? If you wanted me to stay all you had to do was say something– and you could have. They can’t watch you all the time. That’s what you’re for, after all.
But did you know? Did you suspect?
I need you to know. I want to think you do, but you think you know a man and you don’t know him at all. I should have known, but I didn’t want to. If you hate me for that, I understand. God only knows, I’ll understand. Did you think I wouldn’t?
My first visitor– is that you? But of course not. As if I could be so lucky.
This man is dead to me. But you and I and everyone else know that the dead can be relentless. These days the dead don’t just have unfinished business, they have unfinished careers. Ah– he doesn’t know what’s so funny.
I’d tell him myself, but I can’t. They can rip out every ounce of chrome with a logic chip on it, and leave me with no left hand and some beat up vocal cords and call that the bleeding edge of medicine. I should write them some promotional material. At least they replaced my eyes. I was blind, but now–
“V–“ says the dead man, always so formal. I actually warrant a bow. Is that his guilty conscience? “It is time we talked.”
I’m not interested in a conversation with him, but you know how he is when he’s angry. Impossible to shake off. Even harder with one hand and a body that feels like it’s been patched together with glue and rubber bands. In the case that you aren’t watching, I want you to picture this ending with a little more dignity, and without me sitting down on this cot out of breath and tagged with some button speaker like a juvenile delinquent.
“Takemura.” So you are watching. So you’re here. “What is it you would like to discuss?”
That stumps him. I think he’s a little surprised by it, but shouldn’t he know better? Maybe I’m a little surprised, too. It was what he said to me, before he packed me up like cargo: I can’t help you both. Well to be honest, my dear, it doesn’t sound like he’s helped you much either.
“You are angry with me.” Soft words. Should we feel sorry for his wounded heart? “But I do not understand why you will not speak to me. Why you would tell Hanako-sama that you did not want me to know you even existed.”
“Weren’t you happier not knowing?” you ask. How can you ask that?
“It does not matter if I am happy,” he says.
“No,” you agree. “Is that all?”
It’s not all– I can see it in his hands. He’s upset, and angry, and he wants to scream at me almost as much as he wants to speak to you. I think he’d be annoyed to learn that’s what it’s like with Johnny, too. I don’t think he understands any of this, but he’s trying, I’ll give him that.
“I cannot ask your forgiveness,” he says finally. Always so diligent about laying himself down onto the chopping block, meek and willing as a lamb to accept another black mark on his soul. Even now, when he’s seen what the afterlife is like for useful tools. “I do not deserve it. If you do not wish to see me, I will not bother you again. But if you–“ Hesitation, there. What is the polite way to address a disembodied soul? “If you need my assistance, I will be here.”
“Since Hanako-sama refused to send you away, I know that’s true,” you say. Oh, I don’t think he enjoyed hearing that. “As for the rest– let me have a look at you.”
You want a look at him? Very well. Only for you. Let me get to my feet.
The dead man is not small, of course– I think he is very close to average in size, as these things go, and perfectly capable of killing me in a dozen different ways even if he’s a head shorter. But I’d nearly forgotten how sleek he is, how light on his feet he is despite the weight of all that chrome. He’s been hovering so close I think he forgot I was even here, but he’s remembering now. Last time we stood like this he had his fingers inside me, and now that we’re looking at each other face to face I can tell you he’s thinking that too.
More than a dozen different ways to kill me, and yet our dead man doesn’t resist having his hair grabbed, or the indignity of having his head wrenched back– you did want a good look, didn’t you? He’ll suffer it all, this one. What else is there to see? Two eyes, a nose, his frowning mouth. They’ve already done some reconstructive work. I doubt they’ll let him keep the scars under those bandages. One is distinguished. A few more starts to look like negligence. Vulnerability.
He was so furious when I saw him last. He had the right to be, I know that. But I will never forgive him for not telling me the moment I walked through that door. Do you understand?
“Ask me anything,” he says now. “And if it is in my power I will give it to you.”
Too late for that. Did he tell you how it went? Did any of them tell you how it went? Ah, I see he knows what I’m thinking, but do you?
“That’s very generous,” you say. You don’t know. You can’t see.
Here, I’ll show you. Watch him closely. See that in his eyes when I touch his jaw? Guilt. Desire. When I kiss him, he proves he is not made of stone. Stone doesn’t feel self-loathing. Can a dead man feel hunger? I don’t feel anything.
“Takemura,” you say. Polite. Furious. “What happened?”
He has an answer for you but doesn’t know how to give it. I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten that we’re being watched, either. What happened, my dear, is that he was angry with me. We were angry with each other. But he waited until after we’d fucked to tell me about you.
“We had… an argument,” he says. He’s looking at me again, and not you. “I did not control my temper.”
“But you did your duty,” you say. “And now you come here and tell me you will do anything within your power. Do you remember telling me that you had nothing to offer?”
He says, “Yes.”
My dear. I don’t mean to brag about being in possession of our first form, but the heart they gave me is still tender, and there is only so long I can tower over someone, even for you. This is not defeat. Do you understand? I’m only tired.
“You expect me to be grateful,” you tell him. “For hunting down a piece of me and bringing it back in your mouth. So much for your gentle touch.”
You almost understand, but as much as I’d like to see him kicked it should be for the right reasons. Here now, his limp, obliging hand to my throat, do you see? For that only, I asked and he gave.
“What good are you to me?” you say, unheeding. Stubborn. “What good are you to me if you hurt the only part of me you can reach?”
“Do you wish me to leave?” he asks. He’s not hurting me now. He doesn’t want to touch me now.
“I don’t know the answer to that question,” you say.
Is this a kindness? It feels like a knife. I want to hurt him but if you ask me I’d probably do it all again; I don’t know any other way. And if I told him to go? What would be left? You could march the corpse of Arthur Fitzgerald Jenkins through that door and I’d take him to keep my claws sharp. Anything but another white, empty room.
It’s a cruelty to bind him again, especially to me. Especially to us, but especially to me, who can touch him like this– balling his shirt in my fist like a child about to cry. You and I know what it’s like to be pulled in different directions. And it’s weakness. I don’t know how you did this alone. I don’t know.
I don’t know.
“I understand,” he says.
You say, “That may not be within your power.”
I don’t know how he responds to that. I’m tired of looking at him. I wish I could talk to you properly, and I wish I could talk to you alone, and I don’t know if that will ever happen. I don’t know if you feel what I feel but I hope you don’t.
Still. Still, I like weight of his hand on the back of my neck. His lips pressed against my hair– it’s daring. Maybe the quickest way to get him sent away is to ask him to stay.
“I wanted you to be happy,” you say. “I wanted you both to be happy.”
actually tell me a lil about cast not your stone too cos that is a killer title
:3 I can't take credit for the title, it's a lyric from wayward daughter by brown bird:
cast not your stone / at the wayward daughter
lay down the gavel and the robe
if not for the lure / of darker water no salvation we would know
This is part of the alternate ending (4 of swords) I'm working on for thread-safe! Basically, what if Goro failed to retrieve V and instead got captured himself. Instead of V focused on keeping her sanity, it's more like let's dig into all of the painful and awkward social interactions that follow:
V learning a copy of her engram exists and is working in Arasaka Tower
V learning that Goro has been sent to bring her back specifically as leverage/a hostage to make sure that her engram stays in line
Goro feeling extremely guilty that his anger at her abrupt departure almost led him to do something truly awful (put her back in a cage with herself)
Johnny extremely betrayed and hurt that V was ready to leave him behind without a word (sensing a pattern here)
And More!
I think I've underestimated the effort required on this one– I had the chapter already written and want to make it better but so far I've just torn things apart and haven't put them back together in a smooth way yet, so... still tinkering!
teaser:
V presses her lips into a thin line and doesn’t reply. She finishes cleaning the cuts and applies some numbing gel which allows him to finally relax. By the time she secures a few protective bandages over her work he begins to drowse, replete with the sensation of her fingertips running over his undamaged skin.
“I don’t get it,” Eurodyne says, voice pitched low. “What kept you apart? You’re obviously…“ He trails off, and Goro makes the effort to open his eyes.
V rarely looks at anyone face to face unless she’s giving a report, so it’s a shock to find her staring back at him. Her bright gray eyes are always intense, but now they bore into him, peeling back skin and chrome so that she can see straight to his core. She’s looking at him the same way she looks at problems. The same way she looks at something broken, before she disassembles it and puts it back together.
He understands after several painfully silent seconds that she is also waiting to hear his answer.
“It is my duty to protect the Arasaka family,” he says, stiffly. “All other attachments…are a distraction.”
In this post I'm going to explain a few pitfalls of using QNetworkAccessManager and how to avoid them elegantly using C++11 features.
Problem 1: QNetworkAccessManager's finished(QNetworkReply) and error(QNetworkReply) signals
The main drawback of handling replies using QNetworkAccessManager's signals is that when using the same signal concurrently for multiple replies, there is a chance of mixing them up.
Problem 2: QNetworkReply's finished() and error() signals
The drawback of handling replies using QNetworkReply's signals is that the signals do not have a QNetworkReply parameter, which means we have to manage the reply manually, probably storing it as a class member. However this would mean storing a pointer for every request and there is no way of knowing which reply the signals are called for.
There is also an issue of cleaning up memory after reply is finished or when there's a network error.
Lambdas: Solution to all problems
Using a hybrid solution of passing C++11 lambdas as slots and binding the reply as a parameter, we can avoid concurrency problems as well as handle memory cleanup.
Here's an example of posting some data to an http server safely and concurrently.
