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falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
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Skinless 4f/?
(Anonymous) 2012-07-14 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)My head is still reeling from way too much oxygen, and I hiccup, jolting in Gob’s arms. He shushes me again and I think he has as much experience comforting hysterical girls as I have with guns. But I realise I’m clinging to him, because he’s familiar and he’s on my side, and I’m still so out of my depth here. I want to go home, I want to go home.
The panic comes back, a new wave. I start hyperventilating again and I can feel Gob tense up, feel him have no clue what he’s supposed to do because people just deal with shit out here, they don’t get panicked about it, don’t start to breathe too fast, don’t flip out over noises and they don’t freak out all the time and they can shoot and they don’t try to alienate the only person who give a shit and they don’t deliberately starve themselves and they’re not stupid little girls who don’t know what’s going on and
“Stop it,” Gob says, and I think he’s angry and also sad and also uncertain and scared and sorry and it’s a lot of emotions and I can’t really handle that right now because who is this guy anyway. Who even is he?
I shake and breathe and Gob keeps saying stop it, stop it, but it’s not like a command, it’s a plea, a suggestion. And I don’t know because at first I want to hit him and say it’s not helping, but then suddenly, it is. Suddenly, it’s not about my panic attack.
Stop it.
Stop pitying yourself.
Stop it.
Stop blaming yourself, hating yourself, stop dwelling on everything
you’re not.
Stop it.
Stop thinking about how you can’t go home all the time.
Stop it.
Stop trying to be something you’re not – you’re not a hero, you’re not superwoman, you don’t know how to shoot, stop thinking that sort of thing will just happen. Stop thinking that because you can’t do it now, you’ll never do it.
Stop it.
Stop giving up.
By the time the panic passes, I am empty. Every last emotion has gone from me and I am calm in a way that isn’t right. But my head is clear and I realise for the first time that I shouldn’t be scared. The situation I am in is bad but I have a guide, a friend, someone to help me. And I’ve got someone else out here, my dad. I can find him. I can have a purpose.
Gob leaves abruptly. Part of me wonders if I should worry, if he’s upset. I can’t bring myself to stress about it though. I tell myself he’ll be back. I am calm in a way that isn’t right. I am fine to be here alone. If death comes, it comes.
This feeling will pass, and I think I’ll miss it when it does.
*
The feeling doesn’t pass. I wake up in the early morning light and I am at peace. I am worried, and scared, and hungry, and a whole lot of other things, but it’s like – it’s like they don’t permeate. They can’t get through. I feel them academically, intelligently, but they don’t reach down and twist my gut, make me sick. Except the hunger, I guess. I shift in bed, and Gob comes in so quickly he must have been waiting outside the door.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hello.”
Things are a world different today than they were yesterday but nothing’s changed, so how do you go about saying that?
We both try to talk at the same time, and then we both stop. He holds out a chipped bowl of Mac’N’Cheese. It’s warm and heavy and good. My stomach rumbles. Gob sits down on the bed.
“I shouldn’t have hurt you. I scared you,” he begin.
“I shouldn’t have acted like an entitled little bitch,” I counter.
“I should have remembered you didn’t know about stuff out here.”
“I shouldn’t have acted like you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry I flipped out.”
“I’m sorry I panicked all over you.”
I am sorry he didn’t grow up safe in a Vault like me, and he’s sorry that the world he’s lived in has to be my world, too. I’m sorry I can’t understand him, and he’s sorry he can’t understand me. We don’t say that though.