#do you think V will never be able to see herself as anything other than a monster?

[queensunshinee]

So sweet || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), drinking, mention of an eating disorder, again, I really don't know what's going on here. It's so weird. Just a small but important reminder: English is not my first language, so please don’t be mad if there are any embarrassing mistakes- I’m really trying my best!

Word Count: 7.3k

So sweet

Patrick wanted to know what is it about you that makes Art lose it. You're not the funniest, not the best at tennis—or at anything Patrick has ever seen you do, to be honest—and you're definitely not the prettiest. You're not the best. You're just not.

"She’s just so sweet," Art had said when the two of them were sitting in one corner of the Stanford cafeteria, and you were in another. Patrick didn’t see it; he thought you were scheming. That you were the least sweet person he knew. And because Art has known you for so many years, Patrick has known you long enough not to trust you. Who picks a college just because the guy she’s sleeping with also chose Stanford? Only a conniving witch. Someone who wants to pull Art away from him and Tashi. Someone who wants to pull Art away from his dreams. From tennis. Someone who wants Art all to herself. Patrick figured it out years ago. You can fool Art. Fuck it, you can fool yourself if you want. But you can’t fool Patrick.

And it doesn’t matter at all that you and Art have known each other since you were six. It doesn’t matter that all the evidence points to your parents being responsible for your academic choices. It doesn’t matter that it’s only since you got to Stanford that you started sleeping together; he never touched you inappropriately even once before college. Patrick didn’t like you before you two started having sex, so he sure as hell doesn’t like you now. You didn’t even bother to sit with them. You didn’t even bother to say a simple 'hi' to him. You don’t respect him enough to sit at the same table when he comes to visit Tashi and Art. You don’t respect him. Period.

“Do you think she’s ever eaten a burger?” Patrick suddenly asks, completely ignoring Art’s rambling about competitions and trying to inspect your plate from afar. He can’t see what’s on it, but he’s sure there’s nothing nutritious enough there. “I know for a fact she’s eaten more than one burger in her life,” Art rolls his eyes. “Why are you so obsessed with her?” he asks for the millionth time. He asked it every summer. He asked it after Patrick went on about how insane it was that you and Art were going to the same college.

“I’m not obsessed. I just think there’s no way her pussy smells normal with that diet,” Patrick says, earning himself a well-deserved elbow jab from Art. Art never talks about you that vulgarly. Art doesn’t talk about you much at all. That’s part of what annoys Patrick: that they can talk about any other girl, but with you, it’s never an option. Even about Tashi, he managed to talk to Art. He gave him the signal. He told him. But Art doesn’t share anything about what he does with you.

Patrick knows about Melanie from statistics that Art slept with. Patrick knows about Georgia or Regina or whatever her name is who works at the library and made it to second base with Art. He knows down to the exact books they leaned on. But he doesn’t know anything about you. Art keeps you to himself as if you’re some treasure he needs to guard at all costs. Patrick hates you and the broccoli you’re shoving into your mouth while reading a book, ignoring the outside world. You’re such a fucking smug witch. You won’t be able to fool him. . . . Art will never tell Patrick that there are moments when he thinks he loves you. Sometimes. Most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he knows he loves Tashi. The same Tashi that Patrick took for himself. Snatched her right out of Art’s hands.

But with you, it’s different. With you, it’s been building for years. You’re the one he smeared snot on when you were six, and somehow, you kept coming over to his house to watch cartoons with him. You kept showing up at the tennis court, reading a book while he practiced. You kept being an inseparable part of him.

Art knows you love him. It’s so clear to him, almost as clear as the fact that his first dog was named Jameson and that he died when Art was 8-years-old. You held his hand when he forced his parents to bury him. He didn’t want you to hold it, tried to shake you off for a few seconds, but you insisted. He never told you, but it felt nice.

Your first kiss was with Art. He insisted. Of course, he insisted. You love him so much, and you’re so, so sweet. Always polite and blushing at the right moments, and at 14, he kissed you. Explained to you that you couldn’t start high school without knowing how to kiss. He was doing you a favor. You said “thank you” afterward, like the polite girl you always were.

You kept kissing after that, as if it was the natural thing to do. Every time he came to visit in the summer and you’d come over. Every time he went to your place. You’d end your time together with his lips exploring yours. So sweet.

He will never tell Patrick that he knows you better than he knows himself. That he knows all your secrets just as you know all of his own. That sometimes he melts under your gaze and would be willing to tell you his ATM code if you asked. He will never reveal this to Patrick. Or you. He will never tell him that sometimes he feels like you’re such a deep part of him that you are simply him. And he is simply you. And when he thinks too deeply about that, he’s capable of barging into your lecture, telling the professor there’s been an emergency, dragging you into the janitor’s closet, staring for a second at your terrified face, and fucking you there on one of the shelves. Not that it happened. Maybe. He won't tell anyone.

And he will never give you the chance to go all in for him because it’s too terrifying. Because with you, he feels helpless, out of control, almost embarrassed. And because Patrick hates you. He’s never seen Patrick hate anyone as much as he hates you. And Art doesn’t think he can be in a relationship with someone Patrick doesn’t like. Which, in itself, is a crazy thought.

But Patrick loves Tashi, and Tashi has nothing sweet about her. No look that radiates tenderness or sweetness. She doesn’t smell like cinnamon and vanilla. She doesn’t have a soul that wants to share secrets with him. Tashi doesn’t look at him like he holds the moon. Tashi doesn’t look at him as if he could fill an empty space in her heart. Because she has no empty space in her heart. Tennis fills her heart. Tennis and Patrick. Art looks at her heart from the outside. He’s not a part of her story. He so badly wants to be part of her story. He thinks it's a need at this point.

And every time his mind fills with Tashi, he finds some random girl willing to stroke his ego (and his dick) just enough to make him forget. He never goes for the easy option; he doesn’t go to you. He only wants to be with you when he’s thinking of you. When you fill him so completely that he can’t breathe. When he physically needs you in front of him. Not when he wants someone else to touch him. Not when he wants Tashi Duncan so badly he could cry.

He looks at her and Patrick, unable to understand what she sees in him. What she finds in his best friend. The scatterbrained guy who doesn’t shower every day, who wears the same underwear longer than is acceptable, who snores while laughing, who eats whatever he wants, whenever he wants, like he isn’t trying to make a living as a pro. Like everything is a joke. Art doesn’t understand how Tashi can waste her time on a joke. . . . "What are you studying, Little Dove?" Patrick pulled out one of your earbuds when he found you tucked away in a corner of the library. He saw how you physically recoiled at the nickname he’d given you the first time you met. Not a nickname you liked. That only made him want to call you that enough times for it to be engraved on your gravestone when you die. For you to maybe one day think it was your real name. For it to become a part of you. Little Dove. He didn’t even know why he called you that. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either. But it wasn’t necessarily bad.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, half-indifferent, reaching out for him to give you back the earbud he’d so brutally yanked. "Killing time. I had a fight with Tashi, so I can’t go to her match. Art’s obviously there because well, he’s in love with my girlfriend." He paused to study your reaction, wanting to see how you’d respond to the fact that Art didn’t love you. That he loved what belonged to Patrick, and you didn’t belong to Patrick, so he would never love you. Not really. Not entirely. "You’re the only person I know here. It’s your job to entertain me," he said, flashing a fake smile.

Everything about Patrick was fake. That was something you’d learned to be indifferent to years ago. Every time he jabbed at you or said something vulgar to disgust you, you knew it was fake. There was no point in taking him seriously. You pitied him the way you’d pity a little kid whose ice cream cone had fallen and no one was willing to buy him a new one. "I’m not a clown, Patrick. I have a test tomorrow," you said and snatched the earbud from his hand. He didn’t retaliate. He simply sat down across from you, examining you more intensely than you were comfortable with. His gaze pinned you like a scalpel. You tried to breathe evenly. He’s always like this. He’s always like this. Remember that he’s always like this, and everything will be fine. This is not the time to panic. Not in front of Patrick Fucking Zweig. He can’t win a war you’re not actively fighting.

"How’s life, Little Dove? Happy at Stanford with Art? Better now that he finally agreed to fuck you?" He was blunt to the point that it made you glare at him and wrinkle your nose for a second. That only deepened the smirk plastered across his face. "Do you need something?" you asked, trying to sound as though his vulgarity couldn’t faze you. As though everyone around you spoke that way all the time. As though your pathetic sex life wasn’t plastered on your forehead like a billboard. He was laughing at you. Patrick Zweig was laughing at you.

The thought that he might know every intimate detail of what you and Art did in bed made your entire body shiver. He could see it on you. He knew he’d won. But you weren’t even playing. You wanted to scream you weren’t even playing. No sound came out. He’d won. He knew it, and you knew it, and there would never be a draw again. Because you would both always know he���d won. That Art had told him how you moan. Maybe Art had even figured out that you fake all your orgasms because you’re probably broken so he told Patrick that too. Maybe it was all more humiliating than you could imagine. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to talk to Art ever again. Maybe-

"You’re overthinking it, Little Dove. I can see it on your face. It’s not that deep," he rolled his eyes and took a bite of an apple he’d pulled out (you had no idea from where). "You can’t eat in here. This is a library," you mumbled, grateful for the change of subject. Any change of subject. You’d be willing to talk about cactuses at this point if necessary. "I’m not a student here," he reminded you, as if you’d forgotten. As if that wasn’t the sole reason for your fleeting happiness- that you didn’t have to see his face here 24/7. Only sometimes. Only when he was visiting people who actually mattered to him.

You put the earbud he’d pulled from you a few moments ago back in your ear, signaling to him that the conversation was over and that you hoped not to see him again for the next year. Or ever, if you're being honest. You wanted to go back to studying in peace. To not think about the brazen guy in front of you. The one so emotionally entangled with the boy you loved that sometimes you felt there was no way to win. No way to beat Patrick Zweig. Because he came gift-wrapped in a package deal with Art. And once, you tried so hard to make him like you. You tried to fit into their conversations, laugh at the crude jokes, nod when Art nodded. Just so Patrick would stop looking at you with disdain, stop looking at you like you were a stray cat too wet to save. Like one that had rabies. Like one that needed to be put down.

He just kept staring at you, eating his apple as if rules didn’t apply to him. As if he were above what was allowed and what wasn’t. Making you hate him a little more, but admire him just as much because you would never have the guts to act like the world belonged to you. You thought it had something to do with the amount of money he grew up with. Art once told you Patrick had two pools (in one of his houses). Who needs more than one pool in a house anyway? But that was all you needed to know about him—he was privileged enough to believe he had the right to treat people like they were beneath him. And you’d never admit it, but you didn’t want to be beneath him. You didn’t want to lose to Patrick Zweig. You didn’t want to lose when you knew the prize was having Art. . . . He finds out that Tashi got injured completely by accident. He leaves you alone in the library because you bore him. You don’t let him sink his claws into you, something he realizes he liked doing only when he's around you. So, he goes out to smoke a cigarette, what else is there for him to do when he’s stuck here while Tashi plays and Art makes eyes at her from the crowd? What else does he have to do when you're sitting in front of a book and ignoring his existence and the nasty words? And then someone said something about seeing Tashi's knee fly through the air, and Patrick’s cigarette fell out of his mouth.

He asked three different people where the athletes' clinic was. Two ignored him, and one gave him wrong directions. He found the clinic on his own, trying to make sense of the campus signage. He felt like it was taking him forever. In hindsight, maybe it was better that it took him longer. Because Tashi looked devastated, Art looked lost, and both of them screamed at him. Art’s scream hurt more. He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt Art’s scream all over his body. It made him shiver.

And that’s how he lost Art Donaldson forever. Checkmate by Tashi Duncan. He didn’t expect that. He thought only you could take his place in Art’s life. Never Tashi. He thought you were the only one Art would lose control for. Maybe he looked at everything wrong. What a terrifying thought, to realize you spent years trying to beat someone without noticing the other players. Absolute blindness. He felt lost. Stuck in your disgusting university. Stuck in the loop that his life dragged him into. No matter how much he tried to think about it in the last half hour, he couldn’t find a way out. He couldn’t see a world where he and Art could be friends again.

‘I've got your bag, you forgot it in the library,’ his phone beeped with a message from you. Another message with your room number. He nodded to himself, even though no one could see. He wiped away some of the tears that had fallen from him, hoping no one would see that either.

He knocked on your door loudly, not caring about the other students living in the hallway. You opened quickly, intending to say everything you think about him, but in the hour and a half he’d been gone from your sight, something in Patrick’s gaze had changed. You’d never seen him like this, and it made you lean against the doorframe, mouth half open. You know for sure that he cried, the trail of tears was obvious. You know for sure that he was confused, his gaze zigzagging. The famous smirk he dedicates to you at every moment wasn’t there.

"Who died?" you asked quietly, because you couldn’t find any other reason for what you were seeing in front of you. He just passed through you, as if your room was his own. As if he had an invitation. As if you had to let him in. "Can I sleep here tonight?" he asked. His leg was shaking. He looked the worst you’ve ever seen him. "What happened to Tashi's room-" "Please (Y/N)," he used your actual name, "I’ll be out of your hair by morning. You won’t even feel like I was here, there are no more buses, and my car’s at the tournament site," he explained incoherently but clearly enough for you to nod. For you to understand that something terrible had happened. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Tashi’s. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Art’s. The thought of it made you cringe because the only thing that could have happened, the only thing that could have caused Patrick to fold in front of you like this-

"Am I overthinking this?" you asked after what felt like an eternity. When you were lying on the bed in the dark, and Patrick was lying on a makeshift pile of sheets and pillows on the floor next to you. You hoped he’d tell you that you didn’t need to think about it too much. That he’d tell you the same thing he said to you in the library. "Not this time," he said almost in a whisper, "I’m sorry," he added. Neither of you knew what he was apologizing for; For how he acted all these years or was he apologizing on behalf of Art? On behalf of the person who until just a few hours ago was his best friend. Patrick thinks an apology won’t be enough for either of you. He tries to sleep. When he leaves, he doesn’t write you a note. But there’s a flash of understanding when he looks at you before he walks out; Art was right, there’s something sweet about you. Patrick will never admit it. But what reason would he have to admit it now? Art is no longer part of his life, and he’s pretty sure Art won’t be part of yours just as quickly. You and Patrick both lost him, you just don’t know it yet. He almost feels sorry about how out of the loop you are. And what connection do you and Patrick have without Art? He thinks he’ll miss you. He saw you move slightly, one leg sticking out from under the blanket. He’s sure he’ll miss you. What a humbling thought. . . . You haven't seen Art for a week. And that's okay. Because he doesn't owe you anything. He made sure to remind you at every opportunity that he doesn't owe you anything. Not with words. Never with words. With actions. By acting like he doesn't see you, even though you both know he does. He never sat with you in the cafeteria. He never introduced you to his friends from the tennis team. He never introduced you to Tashi. He drew a very clear line about who you are to him, and you decided years ago that it's okay. That it's enough for you. That Art is yours in the summer. That Art is yours at night. That Art is yours when he wants to be yours.

He doesn't want to be anymore. You can see it in him because on the rare occasions you do see him in the cafeteria, he looks away the second your eyes accidentally meet his. On the rare occasions you do see him this week, his arm is half-wrapped around some girl you don't know. He's trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. Hurt you without really hurting you. He's trying to remind you that he doesn't owe you anything.

You'll never tell him it hurts. You'll never tell him that when you were ten, your mom, half-drunk, told you that to be loved, you'd have to sacrifice a lot. You don't know why you remember that, but you do. And since then, all you've done is sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice until sometimes there's nothing left to give. And now is one of those times when there's nothing left to give. You look at him from across the room, and he's a stranger to you, and you're a stranger to him.

You expected him to say something when it happened. You expected a hug, and if he were sensitive enough, a kiss. You expected life to flip upside down and for the sun to stop rising. But life went on, and your sacrifices stayed behind. Along with secrets and hugs and caresses and tears and memories. So many memories. All of it left behind. You can handle heartbreak. Everyone can. You won't be the first to sacrifice and not be heard by God. You won't be the first to starve yourself, and you won't be the first to wait for a phone call that never came. You won't be the first to cry and cry and cry.

After two weeks, you stopped waiting for a message. You stopped expecting a 'hello' in the hallway. You stopped hoping that Art Donaldson would knock on your door in the middle of the night. After two weeks, you looked at him one last time with pleading eyes. With an almost tortured look. After two weeks, you decided you wouldn't sacrifice anything more for Art Donaldson.

After two weeks, you ordered pizza and ate the whole box. He doesn't love you. He doesn't owe you anything. It's okay. You're okay. If not now, then soon you will be. . . . Art spent all his free time helping Tashi recover. He missed Patrick the way you'd miss a vital organ that had to be removed in an emergency surgery. He missed Patrick's messages from the tour. He missed his stories. He missed hearing him talk about a show Art had never watched and never planned to watch. He missed Patrick, but he had Tashi. He missed Patrick, but it was necessary, and one day he wouldn’t miss Patrick anymore, and he’d still have Tashi.

It’s different with you. He doesn’t just miss you—he’s hollow without you. He doesn’t know who he is without your admiring gaze. Without your nose brushing his in the middle of the night. He doesn’t know who he is without you ever since he learned how your skin feels under his touch. And he thought he’d be brave enough to walk into your room and just tell you that he can’t keep doing what the two of you have been doing your whole lives. He can’t keep playing this game. Because it’s not fair. Because he wants to be somewhere else. Because you weigh him down.

He knew he’d be in trouble if things got too serious with you, so he followed all the rules. He never introduced you to his friends. He never took you on a date. He never called you his girlfriend. He did everything right, and he’s still in trouble. That frustrates him more than anything.

He’s noticed that you don’t seek his gaze anymore. That you don’t try to catch his attention. That you’ve stopped sending him messages. He’s noticed that you understood the painfully obvious hint of “no,” and he hated himself for it. He showered that day for almost an hour. Scrubbed himself until his skin was red. As if trying to wash you off his body. As if trying to cleanse the filth he carries in his soul. As if trying to convince himself he’s not a bad person.

He found comfort in the fact that summer was almost here. That it wouldn’t be up to him. That there would be family dinners. That your parents would invite him, and his parents would invite you. That someone would force you both to be in the same room. He found comfort in knowing he wouldn’t have a choice. He didn’t want a choice. He wanted to see how you were handling it. He always sees you immersed in a book. Immersed in a conversation with someone he doesn’t know. Immersed. So immersed. Once, he thought that look -that ability to see into someone’s soul- was reserved only for him. How presumptuous of him. How foolish. How fucking selfish. . . . Patrick sent you a picture of a pigeon that wouldn’t leave him alone while he was eating pita on a bench in some park. He didn’t know why he did it. You’re not friends. You were never friends. But he saw that ridiculous pigeon and wondered if there was something about it that might remind you of him. He wondered if you and Art were still you and Art. He wondered and wondered until he sent the picture. Maybe you wouldn’t reply, but ignoring something wasn’t your style. You’re too good to ignore someone. You don’t have any malice in you. He doesn’t know when he started thinking you didn’t have any malice, because up until two months ago, he thought you were a scheming witch.

'You don’t know how to take pictures.' -(Y/N)-

'Look at you bothering me while I'm eating, little dove' -P- He smiled as he typed.

'Are you bored?' -(Y/N)-

'Maybe I miss you like you clearly miss me' -P- He didn’t know why he wrote that. He didn’t know what he wanted from you, if he was being honest with himself. But he wanted something. He wanted someone. Everyone deserves someone, and Patrick deserves someone too.

'You’re full of shit' -(Y/N)- He could imagine you rolling your eyes as you typed that. He knows you don’t talk like that. He thinks it’s something reserved just for him.

He decided to call because typing with food in his hand was too much effort. You answered quickly, out of breath. “Are you in the middle of sex?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Why do you always have to say the grossest thing possible?” you shot back. He was glad you couldn’t see him because if you could, you’d hold the grin on his face against him. “What’s gross about sex, little dove? It’s natural-” “Why did you call?” you cut him off, not giving him any more points. “Just wanted to ask how you’re doing.” His voice sounded smaller. Embarrassed. You’re not friends. You never were. That’s not the nature of your relationship. There’s nothing he loves about you.

“I’m fine. Busy with school.” He could imagine you shrugging. “You’re going home soon, right? Summer break.” He knew what that used to mean for you and Art. He didn’t know what it meant now. He was fishing for answers, trying to figure out where things stood between you two. He wanted to know if Art had cut you out of his life with the brutality of a killer or if he was still keeping you wrapped in a ribbon, belonging only to him. He thought the former sounded more like Art.

“I’m probably staying at Stanford, for obvious reasons.” He could hear your voice, quiet as though you didn’t want to admit it. “It’s not fair,” Patrick said. “You’re supposed to enjoy your summer.” He added, growing frustrated with how inconsiderate Art was, with the monopoly Art held over your shared neighborhood. Bull-fucking-shit; “I’ve got two weeks off, and my parents are abroad. You could come to my lake house if you want a change of scenery,” he said, spitting the words out quickly before he could regret the invitation. Art was the only one who’d ever been invited there.

“That’s nice of you.” You said. He could hear the surprise you tried to hide in your voice. “I mean it,” he said, much more determined now. “It’ll be fun. My parents have the most impressive alcohol collection you’ll ever see.” He didn’t know what he was doing or which part of his brain was speaking for him right now. “I’ll think about it,” you said, wrapping up the call with a few more sentences. It felt like a win. And more than anything, Patrick needed a win. . . . "Is it true?" you heard Art's voice before you lifted your head from the book you were reading. "Hey, Art," you said with the most genuine smile you could muster, ignoring your racing heartbeat that only quickened. The truth was, you hadn’t seen him this close to you in two months. "You’re not going home for the break?" He sat down across from you without an invitation. "Nope," you said, as if it were obvious. As if that had been your plan all along. As if three months ago, you hadn’t whispered to each other in the dead of night all the things you’d do over the summer. As if you’d never loved him.

"You weren’t planning to tell me?" he asked, his gaze never leaving you. All you could do was raise an eyebrow because, honestly, where did he get the audacity? Where did he get the nerve to sit down across from you and make demands? Where did he get the idea that he owed you nothing, but you owed him everything? It’s your fault. You know it’s your fault. You taught him that you’d give every part of yourself for just a sliver of attention. But you don’t need that from him anymore. He’s a stranger. A stranger whose favorite scent you know. A stranger you’ve seen cry at Titanic. A stranger whose taste still lingers on the tip of your tongue. A stranger you know too well.

"No," you answered honestly. Because frankly, what else is there to say to him? "Are you serious? Why aren’t you going home?" he demanded answers. Demanded and demanded and demanded, after you gave and gave and gave. It’s your fault. Your mother’s fault and her foolish advice. You spoon-fed him love. "Because I have other plans. I’m sorry, am I missing something here, Art? We haven’t talked in two months, and I don’t understand what the issue is now." You didn’t want to be rude. Not to Art. Not to anyone. Sometimes to Patrick, but only because he was the most vulgar person you’d ever met. But Art was gentle and sensitive and beautiful, and harsh words had no place in your conversations with him.

"What plans?" he ignored your jab, but you could see him swallow hard, his eyebrows knitting together as if you’d sent him to work in a coal mine all summer. "I’m going to a friend’s," you found yourself shrugging. "Who? Someone I know?" he asked. "No," you felt guilty for the lie, "Why is this your business, Art?" you tried to make him leave or at least give you an answer. "We had plans too," he said quietly, as if revealing one last secret to you.

"I don’t remember." His expression changed in seconds. It was the look you’d only seen when he played tennis or tried to fend someone off you at one of the parties he told you to come to. Ice. He stood up and walked away within moments. Maybe this is the closure you two needed. Maybe it’s for the best. . . . Until the very last moment, Patrick didn’t believe you’d come. He waited for your bus by the side of the road, and when you got off, dressed in a floral summer dress and an oversized hat, signaling to the driver that you had a suitcase in the luggage compartment, Patrick stood frozen in place, his mouth agape. Because if someone had told him six months ago that he’d want to spend his free time in the summer with you, he would have laughed in their face. If someone had told him you’d show up in this remote place, in that ridiculous outfit, he probably would have snorted.

"Little dove, I was sure you’d chicken out," he said. Back when you talked about it, he treated it like a challenge. He spoke about your arrival at the lake house like it was a mission on a reality show. Impossible to pull off, with so much to lose. "I told you I’d come." You shrugged and smiled a smile he’d once seen you give to Art. Patrick had never received a smile from you, at least not a friendly one. Always a fake one. The kind he wanted to wipe off your face. "Are you going to help me with my suitcase, or are you going to keep standing there like a statue?" you asked with a chuckle. Patrick thought he was ready to sell the Porsche he’d come in, just to hear you chuckle again.

"This car is ridiculous," you said as you sat down beside him and raised your hands for emphasis. The convertible top was too much for you. Patrick had chosen this car on purpose. He wanted you to have the full Zweig family summer experience. He wanted you to feel what it was like to be in his inner circle. For a fleeting moment, he thought maybe he could buy your friendship. He didn’t know why he wanted it so badly. He went to sleep with your messages and woke up to them. Neither of you had any other friends, not real ones at least. It would’ve been sad if it didn’t make him so happy. He was such a loser. But it didn’t seem like you cared, and maybe the Porsche would grow on you by the end of these two weeks.

He showed you the rooms and the massive windows that let an unreasonable amount of light into the "cabin," which was supposed to be modest but was larger than most of the houses in your and Art’s neighborhood. Patrick knew that. He studied your reaction to everything he showed you. Watched as you stared at the lake right outside the cabin. Sat on the sofa in the living room for a moment. Placed your belongings in the guest room.

"We need to go shopping," you announced after opening the fridge to find it completely empty. "We don’t have to. You don’t eat anything anyway," he blurted out, and he saw you pale. "What are you talking about?" you mumbled, looking everywhere but at him. "Nothing, I’ve just never seen you eat." He tried to say it casually, but the truth was, it had always preoccupied him. Every time he visited Art in the summer and found himself at gatherings with you, you’d take food onto your plate but never actually put it in your mouth. He couldn’t understand how it didn’t bother Art. He couldn’t understand how Art just ignored it. As if it were completely normal behavior to sit with someone you called your best friend and not eat.

"I eat." Your entire face was scrunched up, the way he’d learned it does when you overthink. When you’re trying to get the most out of a situation you’ve found yourself in. When you’re trying to be nice to Patrick but don’t want to because he doesn’t deserve it. "Whatever, little dove. Let’s go shopping. I’ll show you the main street. There are some cool spots there," he concluded the conversation because he didn’t want to argue. And honestly, it wasn’t his place to comment on your habits. So he decided to let it go.

The main street of the small village you were in was almost empty. It could have been suspicious if Patrick hadn’t been here dozens, if not hundreds, of times since he was born. This was one of his dad’s favorite vacation homes. After an hour of wandering between stores, they found themselves sitting across from each other at a diner. Patrick watched as you ate fish and chips in front of him like your life depended on it. Like you had something to prove. He just rolled his eyes, shoved three fries into his mouth at once, leaned back, and chuckled.

Everything was peaceful. Patrick was sure it would be much weirder, at least at first. But no. You fit into his summer as if you’d always belonged there. From conversations with the elderly neighbors at the cabin next door to the meals you cooked together- it was domestic. Patrick was afraid to talk about how different this was from anything he’d ever done with a girl. He was afraid to mention that you were sleeping in the room that used to be only Art's. He was afraid to admit that he thought you were pretty in a way he hadn't thought before.

He thinks you’re most beautiful in the morning, before you’ve had your coffee. If he’s lucky and goes for a morning run, even before you’ve brushed your teeth. He’s discovered you’re funny. That you can deliver the funniest line with the perfect timing. He thinks it’s because you read a lot. Because you’re smart. Because you know things. He loves that you come to watch him train, even though you’re busy with your own things and only steal occasional glances his way. He thinks he could replace Art in your life. He thinks you think so too.

But deep down, you both know nothing could ever replace Art. And one of the times you’re sitting across from him at the diner, he takes a picture of you sipping a milkshake while smiling and uploads it to Facebook. Because Facebook is the new 'it' thing, and everyone has it. And if Patrick’s lucky, you’ll make it your profile picture. Then he can look at it and remember that he made you laugh, that he made you happy, and for two weeks, he beat Art Donaldson at something. And it felt sweet. So sweet.

The night before you plan to go back to university, you and Patrick get drunk on his dad’s fancy tequila. He’d never seen you drunk before, so like many things, this was new. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and you were wearing shorts that were far too short because August’s heat was unbearable. And the more both of you drank, the fuller your lips seemed to him, the rosier your cheeks, the larger your chest.

He just wanted to touch something. To feel something.

When one thing led to another and you were straddling him, your lips on his, he let out a deep bassy groan he never thought he could produce. Patrick had been with girls before- God knows he’d been with enough girls not to lose his cool over someone agreeing to kiss him. But something about how delicate you were and how much he had hated you a few months ago, how much he’d wanted to erase every trace of you, made him so hard he found himself grinding against you like some kind of desperate dog. He fucked you on the couch in the living room, and though the couch was comfortable, he wasn’t proud of it. He thinks he should’ve restrained himself, taken you to a bed. He thinks you deserve more than him being lazy, drunk, and not at his best. But if there’s one thing Patrick Zweig is terrible at, it’s delaying gratification. And he wanted you so badly. You didn’t seem to mind the location, at least not outwardly.

His lips were everywhere, as if he was trying to swallow you whole in one go. The sounds coming out of you were pornographic. Every so often, the thought crossed his mind that Art was the only other guy who had ever heard you like this, seen you like this- so needy, so vulnerable. It made his cock twitch even harder than it already was.

When he touched you, you were so wet that he told you how dirty you were for him. He talked to you like he still hated you. Like it was all punishment. Like he was about to get up, point at you, and laugh at how pathetic you were. But you couldn’t think about that now. You didn’t have the bandwidth. Not when his hands were teasing your nipple. Not when his lips were marking your neck. Not when he entered you in one hard thrust, making you almost cry out.

At some point, your heels found their way to his shoulders. He looked at your face with the little focus he could muster, and it was a sight he needed to preserve. To remember until the day he died. And he pushed deeper with that thought, drawing sounds out of both of you that neither of you knew you could make. In the end, he felt you clench around him, making him release everything that had built up in his balls with one long groan.

He just lay over you for a few minutes, still wearing the condom. With the sweat, the tears, the marks- you looked so utterly fucked. And it was because of him. He hadn’t felt this proud in a long time.

“So this is what it feels like,” he heard you mumble. “What feels like?” he asked, finding himself playing with your soft hair. “To have an orgasm.”

He hadn’t expected that, so he shifted slightly to look at your face. Your eyes were still glassy. You weren’t focused. If you were, you probably wouldn’t have said that. “What did you say?” he asked, wanting you to repeat it. “I’ve never come before. I thought I was broken,” you chuckled like it was a joke. But Patrick’s heart pounded harder than he expected. He knew for certain that you and Art had slept together before. That wasn’t a secret. He knew you and Art had done things that weren’t just sex even earlier. “You and Art-” He was confused. “I’m not proud of it,” you sighed quietly. “I faked it so he wouldn’t feel bad. I read in a magazine what to do to make it seem real,” you explained quickly, as if saying it faster would make it less scandalous. “You don’t have to fake orgasms to make someone feel good, Little Dove,” he sighed. “You’re the one who's supposed to feel good. That’s the whole point of sex,” he declared, explaining it to you like reciting a rule to a confused puppy.

Patrick needed a win, and this—this was the biggest victory of all times. He had beaten Art Donaldson in every damn set, and it felt so fucking sweet.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve written anything, so this came out super weird and unclear. I hope you like it tho! Please DM me and let me know what you think. That’s it, byeeeeee

[greenwitchfeeder]

hiiii your kink writing is amazing!!! I’m a shy little lesbian and v v new to all this and am not into gaining, but I reeeeally like the idea of a girl getting all bloated up from drinking too much and then another girl starts rubbing her belly, and then the girl rubbing her gets so unexpectedly turned on that they make out; if you ever wanted to write anything like that, me and my little round belly would be forever in your debt 😳

Sorry I'm getting to this so late! I'm taking a few liberties with the scenario so bare with me!

"Hey Katie, did you see this stupid new TikTok challenge?" Your roommate Jess called out to you from her bunk bed. You were complete opposites when you first met a couple years ago, but you've both rubbed off on each other a little. You were always strict about your diet and exercise and were always top of your class. On the other hand, Jess was a total punk and party animal. She helped you let loose and enjoy your time in college, and you helped her focus and do better in classes. All the time you both spent partying led to you developing a slight muffin top over your once-toned abs, but it's nothing compared to Jess's naturally curvy, yet chubby body.

"Oh, you mean the one where you have to chug a two-liter of soda without burping? What about it?" you replied.

"I think we should do it, it seems like fun!" Jess looked at you from her bed with a crazy look in her eyes that let you know her mind had been made up. Once she was set on doing something with you, she would never let up. That was how she got you to start going to parties in the first place.

"Ugh, you're not going to let me out of this, are you?"

"Nope!" She replied, chuckling to herself, and started working her way down the ladder. "I already got the soda too," she said as her bunk bed creaked under her weight.

"Crap, I was planning on distracting her at the store so I wouldn't have to do this," you thought to yourself. It seems like she was one step ahead of you this time.

"Wait, you're going to actually film it are you?" you ask as she pulls out two bottles of coke from the fridge.

"Of course I am! It's going to be so funny watching you struggle with this," Jess replied, setting up her phone in the ring light she used from time to time to make thirst traps.

"What makes you think I'm going to struggle?" She always knows how to get under your skin and goad you into a challenge. You know you're falling for her tricks again, but you just can't help yourself. It's like she has a power over you.

"Because of all the times I shotgunned a beer faster than you! Now hurry up and get over here." She said as she pressed record on her phone. She sat on the couch with a bottle in each hand and gestured for you to sit next to her. Reluctantly you did and looked at the camera in fear for what was about to happen. There's no way you'll be able to finish the whole thing but you have to at least try now.

"Okay, ready? 3...2...1...Go!" She yells. You raise the bottle to your lips and brace yourself. You close your eyes and feel the sticky sweet liquid crackle and pop on its way down your throat and rest like a balloon in your belly. The more you drink, the more you can feel your belly expanding against the gym shorts that fit you last year but now your muffin top peaks over the waistband. How much more can fit? You already feel like you're stretched to your limits. From the depths of your gut, you feel something gurgling and know that you've hit a wall. You set the bottle down, choke down the last liquid left in your mouth and let it out:

BUUUUUUUUURP

"I guess I failed the challenge," you think to yourself. The pressure in your belly distracts you from paying attention to your surroundings, but you are snapped out of your bubbly daze by the sound of a loud gasp and the crinkling of a plastic bottle. You expected this to be followed by gloating, but instead, you only hear the sounds of your roommate's moans.

You look over and see Jess struggling to unsnap the button to her black ripped jeans as her belly pushes the waistband to its limits. You try to help her but the bloating in your own belly is inhibiting your movement and making you uncoordinated. When you finally reach her waist, you can barely pull the fabric, it's stretched so tight. After messing with it for a couple seconds, the fabric finally gives and releases the flood of fat into your hands. Jess takes a deep breath as the pressure on her bloated belly eases.

Instinctively, you start to rub her belly to help ease her pressure. Even under the layers of pudge, you can feel how tight her stomach is. She'd put on more weight in the past year than you realized. When you met she had been a little chunky, but now she was turning into a full on fat girl. The way her fat body swayed and shifted with the movement of your hands mesmerized you. You can't help but continue to squeeze and grab her body and watch her fat squish through your fingers. It was like an addiction. Grabbing one hand full of fat on her bloated belly felt so good that you had to grab another handful. The belly rubs were turning into grabs and gropes without you even realizing. Jess's breathing is heavy and interrupted by moans as she comes to terms with the amount of bubbly liquid resting in her body. The only thing that snaps you out of your daze was the sound of her loud burp as she finally release some of the gas trapped in her gut.

"Hey, um, you can let go of my belly now weirdo," Jess said, smirking at you. Your face flushed as you realized what you were doing. Why were you so obsessed with her belly? "Oh my God, my bloated fat belly is turning you on, isn't it you little pervert!" She had a huge grin on her face, knowing she just found powerful ammunition against you.

"N-n-noo, it's not like that!" You stammered as you tried to save face. "I was just trying to he..." your plea was cut short by Jess tackling you and pinning you to the couch. You can feel her belly pressed up against your much more narrow frame. Even though you are also bloated past your limits, you can't help but feel immense pleasure and let out a loud moan while putting your hands on her belly.

"I always knew you were kinky buried under all that preppy bullshit. It's okay, touch my belly. You know you want to." She was right, you did want to. After groping her belly a few times you slide your hands to her love handles and squeeze them a few times. As you do so, Jess leans in to kiss your neck. She kisses you gently at first, but as you grab and squeeze her bloated body harder, she responds and kisses you harder in between burps. Her burps send shivers down your spine and get you even more lost and exploring her body with your hands. "I think I just broke your brain, didn't I" Jess whispered in your ear. "I'm going to torture you with this from now on"

[possibilistfanfiction]

caitvi: funeral :)

[i see u all trying to get me to write angst don't think i don't! but this is v little angst & mostly sweet, once again i love sisters. jinx pov, little continuation of this silly au if u are interested.]

//

‘are you attending some funeral i don’t know about, or —‘

vi huffs, straightening her collar in the mirror by the front door. ‘it’s a nice outfit.’

‘sure.’ to be fair, she is in nice black slacks — possibly her only pair of pants other than her firefighter uniform that don’t have a rip somewhere — and chelsea boots without too many scuffs, and those are fine on their own, but paired with a black, long-sleeve button up and a black trench coat — yours, thank you very much — she looks kind of ridiculous. ‘if you’re a caterer. or, you know, a pall bearer.’

she groans, flopping down on your couch in very overdone despair. and people say you’re dramatic. ‘well then you fix it.’

you’d known vi was nervous for days now, which you think is ridiculous. you’ve already climbed twice indoors again with caitlyn and jayce, so it’s not like they haven’t seen each other and subsequently flirted to no end; thankfully ekko had come the second time, so, along with jayce, you outnumbered them at least. vi had sent some monster stuff on lead, a great outcome of her nerves that was honestly sick to watch; she’s also showered every day and cooked you dinner when she’s not on shift, and she even got a real honest-to-god haircut at a real honest-to-god barber instead of your haphazard best with clippers and a pair of dull scissors every few months. she doesn’t look too different, really, a little neater if anything, but she carries herself with a self-consciousness — some mixture of deep care and a little embarrassment, maybe — that would be endearing and amusing if it wasn’t so tragic. seeing vi this stressed over a pretty (which you will admit aloud; you can see caitlyn) and cool (which you will never admit aloud) girl kind of makes your chest ache a little.

‘can do,’ you tell her, taking pity, and salute to off-set her frown. it works, just like it does every time, like it has since you were little, even if you feel kinda upset too. the idea of having to share vi with anyone, even if it’s a good thing and a good person, even if she definitely deserves to give her love — the best love — to someone, has been making you feel off, so you’ve been seeking out all the comfort you can. sometimes everything is too fast and too slow, the voices that have been so quiet these past few years, since vi got out of prison and you moved in with her and started university, knocking on your door, urgent. you’ve talked about it with your therapist and worked on adjusting your meds; you’ve tinkered in your room with the lights off when everything has been too loud; you’d sat in the park with ekko under your favorite tree, your head in his lap. you haven’t told vi explicitly, but she knows what’s going on, and she’s woken up from frequent nightmares before you’d been able to sleep lately, so you’d sat together on the couch, covered in soft blankets, and rewatched your favorite episodes of queer eye in the middle of the night, crying so hard you end up laughing as the sun comes up.

you have your own rooms now, after you upgraded to a bigger, much nicer apartment in a much safer area of town after she’d saved enough money and you’d gotten a work-study to help with the rent; she’d insisted on the smaller bedroom, because a lot of her shifts are overnight, but mostly you think it’s because she loves you and, in a lot of ways, is just trying to make up for lost time. you’d stopped being mad at her for getting arrested a long, long time ago, and, even though the voices are louder right now, they’ll fade, and you hope that knowing someone like caitlyn will help assuage vi of some of the guilt she’s always still carrying around.

you walk into her room first, scrounge around in her closet for the sweater you know she has because you bought it for her last birthday, hopeful for occasions just like this one, and emerge victorious. you put on your best tan france accent and pop a hip. ‘this, tucked into your pants, to match your eyes.’

vi nods seriously, even though she smiles at your impression. ‘good one, jinx.’

‘i know,’ you say. ‘i am the best dressed family member for a reason.’

vi is kind enough to not mention your current outfit of a ratty old fire department hoodie of hers that has long since been retired, sleep shorts with the elastic coming out of the waist, and mismatched socks, one slipping down your foot, but she does raise an eyebrow before shrugging out of the trench coat and unbuttoning her stupid shirt. the sweater you had picked out, and saved for, for months, is tight enough you can see her muscles, but loose enough she doesn’t look like an asshole; it’s a soft cashmere with a cool mock turtleneck you think fits her well. you nod in approval and venture to the coat closet while she tucks it in, and then bring her a leather jacket that had been vander’s once upon a time, you’re pretty sure, so it’s oversized on vi, but, ‘very cool,’ you say.

she looks at herself in the mirror and her shoulders relax; you know you did a good job, so you grin and pat yourself on the back. vi rolls her eyes but she laughs and wraps you up in a hug anyway.

‘are you wearing cologne?’ you mumble into her shoulder.

‘is it too much?’

‘no,’ you assure; it’s musky, with a little bit of smoke: warm. ‘it smells nice, actually. good taste for once.’

you feel her smile on the top of your head, and then she takes a serious breath.

you back up so you can really look at her. ‘caitlyn is, like, fine and all,’ you say, ‘and i will detonate a bomb if you tell anyone i said this, but you’re the coolest person i know.’

her eyes start to get a little watery so you wrinkle your nose and shove her; she barely moves, she’s so strong, but it does get her to sniffle into a smile. ‘you sure you’re okay with this? i know things have been harder for you lately.’

she wouldn’t ask if she didn’t really care, about both you and caitlyn. ‘yeah, sis,’ you say, and you mean it. ‘i’m sure.’

vi’s smile is too bright for you to feel otherwise, honestly. she putters around a little in front of the mirror again, and then you hear the buzzer. you scramble past her so you can answer. ‘come on up,’ you say, before caitlyn can even get a word in, and then buzz her in, grinning at vi when she sighs.

‘did you think she brought you flowers? oh my god, please.’ you twirl around.

‘you have a boyfriend; you and ekko go on dates all the time.’

‘i guess.’ you wrinkle your nose; it’s true, but, ‘definitely not quite like this though. wined and dined and all.’

caitlyn knocks on the door before vi can get another word in, and when you open it, a little too fast so it flings into the shoe rack, which makes vi wince, you’re very, very glad you made vi change, because caitlyn is in an understated, gorgeous navy blue dress and camel peacoat, her heels making her a good few inches taller than vi.

‘hello, jinx,’ she says, and then offers you a bottle of red wine and a carry out bag of — when you sniff it — your favorite chinese food. ‘as penance for stealing your sister tonight.’

you turn to vi. ‘keep her, please.’

both caitlyn and vi laugh while you scurry over to the kitchen island with your bounty, but you watch vi accept caitlyn’s offering of a single pressed flower in a small, simple black frame. ‘violet,’ she says, smiles crookedly, and vi grins, a little in awe, and kisses her cheek.

you’re ready for this, you are, because vi sets it down carefully on the entry table you’d fixed up together, and then smiles over at you, her fingers already tangled with caitlyn’s. ‘be good, jinx.’

you roll your eyes.

‘see you later,’ she says. ‘don’t wait up.’

‘ew.’ you uncork the wine; you’ll have to google the bottle later to see how much caitlyn really is trying to get on your good side. ‘have fun, i guess,’ you say, and they wave as they head out the door.

you do wait up, of course you do, playing video games and texting vander. when vi does get back in, her cheeks are flushed and her lips swollen.

‘went well, then?’

she startles a little, even though the tv is on and you’re clearly on the couch, her back pressed to the door like an actual teenager. ‘she’s … yes, it went well.’

‘make out in her subaru?’

when vi doesn’t say no, you roll your eyes. ‘gross. cliche too. i’m going to bed.’

vi laughs, happy. you’re happy too. ‘’night, jinx.’

‘goodnight, vi.’ the light from the tv is soft and she looks younger than you’re used to, her scars and everything behind them faded in the washed out, gentle light. ‘love you.’

her smile softens, just for you. ‘love you too.’

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.6k

Part 46 - Big Girl Pants

"He looked at me. His hair was still a mess, and in the bright morning sunlight he looked more handsome and human than I'd ever seen him. 'I guess I'm asking you to trust me,' he said." - Leigh Bardugo

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Masterlist

Sometime during the night, their bodies had shifted closer on their own accord. His leg slotted between hers, one arm under her neck and the other around her waist, his hand resting on the swell of her bare ass. She’d tucked herself beneath his chin, holding her to him like he might float away if she didn’t keep him pinned. 

As he woke, his subtle movements pulling Ash from sleep, he froze, coming to realize their position. 

Ash huffed irritably, prodding his stomach. “‘S like trying to snuggle a rock,” she mumbled, half asleep. 

Exhaling a breathy chuckle, he allowed his body to relax, burying his face into her hair and pulling her closer. She sighed her content. 

“I thought you wanted to talk first?” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Ash replied in a series of unintelligible grumbles, nuzzling her face against his neck. They were granted a morning of leisure at the estate before they had to begin the trek back to Skyhold - they had time. Besides, snuggling wasn’t anything particularly salacious. 

A soft kiss pressed to the top of her head warmed her all the way down to her toes. She dozed as Cullen traced small circles on her back and over her hip, allowing herself to naturally wake. She’d never been a morning person, but when she knew she had Cullen’s handsome face and beautiful voice to wake to, she didn’t mind as much. 

“Do you think we could stay here all day?” she asked, clearing the sleep from her throat. 

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin. “Your sister is bound to come check on you, and she is quite capable of finding her way around a lock.” 

Ash groaned, cursing Rae’s roguish abilities and incessant meddling - the pot calling the kettle black. “I’m guessing that Leliana’s scouts or the estate staff seeing you walk me back last night and subsequently never leave is the only reason she hasn’t barged in yet.”

Cullen hummed his agreement, and Ash braced herself. It was time to pull on her big-girl pants and face the music.

“While we have the time, we should probably talk about…all this,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady, even as fear pierced her lungs. Reluctantly, she removed herself from his arms. They wouldn’t be able to have a proper conversation if they couldn’t see each other, or if she fell asleep in the comfort of his embrace. Unwilling to remain lying down - feeling much too vulnerable, she sat up and scooted to lean against the headboard, holding the sheets to cover her chest. If she’d been truly dedicated, perhaps she would have gotten dressed, put that extra space between hard conversations and intimacy, but she couldn’t bring herself to - not when all she wanted was to be near him again, without any barriers. 

He made no move to dress either, but he mirrored her, sitting up and angling himself towards her. At least he was still wearing his smalls - though the tantalizing glimpse of the V leading down to his groin had her pressing her thighs together.

The quiet of the room felt suffocating, the rustle of sheets and the distant sounds of birds chirping at the rising sun the only noises Ash could hear over the pounding of her heartbeat. 

His hand found hers, pulling her gaze from her lap to meet his. Kind and gentle, patient beyond what she would ever have expected. 

“I’m possessed,” she began, careful to keep her tone even. Cullen nodded, undisturbed. “By a spirit of love who cannot be removed other than by death or Tranquillity. Last time you…weren’t willing to accept this, and I don’t blame you, it’s a lot. But now you say that you’re, what, okay with her?” 

Cullen’s forehead creased as he mulled over her question. “When I was first informed that you were possessed by a spirit and not a demon, I was angry and confused. As you know, the only other spirit possessed mage I’ve encountered destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall and took hundreds of lives. That, in addition to my…time at Kinloch, led me to judge you and your spirit based on those experiences, not on who you’ve shown me that you are. It was unworthy of me, and for that I am sorry.” 

His eyes flickered with uncertainty and he hesitated before speaking again, as though he feared saying more would make it worse. Ash relieved him of his indecision. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Cullen—“

“But I do,” he cut her off firmly, placing a hand on her knee. Affection and regret in the slope of his brows. “You are not the only one at fault, we both said things we regret, were rash in our anger. I should have made it clearer to you that you could trust me with this when you asked me, but instead, I avoided your question. I cannot turn back time, no matter how much I may wish it, but if you’d allow, I would like to prove to you now that you can trust me.” 

Ash's heart swelled at Cullen's words, a tentative hope spreading through her chest and easing the constricting grip on her lungs. Love trilled happily, and Ash placed her hand over his where it rested on her knee.

"I appreciate that, Cullen. Truly." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "But I need to know - what changed? How can you be so accepting now when before…"

Cullen's eyes clouded with pain, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I’ve recently come to learn a few key factors that aided in my decision.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You died in my arms, Ash. After the Archdemon attacked in Haven, when we were fleeing through the mountains. I carried you with us, but you stopped breathing before we arrived to safety."

Ash's eyes widened in shock, raising her head. She hadn't known it was Cullen who had carried her broken body through the blizzard, though now that she did, it fit perfectly in her mind. The memory of that night was hazy, fragmented - flashes of searing pain, biting cold, overwhelming exhaustion, and the faintest hint of armour polish.

Cullen continued, his voice hoarse. "I was powerless to stop it. You were so…cold. I didn't truly realize then how close I'd come to losing you forever. Sweetpea alerted me to your condition, she insisted she ride in my mantle, though I’m certain she wanted to be close to you." He paused, inhaling tremulously. "Solas informed me recently that it was your spirit who kept your heart beating, who gave him time to revive you.”

Solas was more meddlesome than she’d realized, but if it had helped bring Cullen back to her, then she should thank him for it. She wouldn’t, but she should.

Ash sat in stunned silence. She'd known that Love had saved her life in Haven, she’d made the deal to allow her in. But hearing Cullen describe holding her lifeless body, the raw pain in his voice - it made the reality of her near-death experience hit home in a visceral way.

"I didn't know it was you who carried me," she whispered. "I remember bits and pieces, but it's all a blur. I had no idea."

“And again, at Adamant,” he continued with his list, horror growing in his voice, “when you went into the Fade and the Inquisitor had to be dragged out kicking and screaming, unwilling to leave you behind. I’d known you were possessed the minute you changed and I felt the strength of your magic, but still, I was terrified that you wouldn’t return.”

“Then at Halamshiral, you used magic despite the Mage Bane suppressing your connection to the Fade. No mage can do that, not without spiritual powers, it seems. Seeing what they’d done to you, I…I wasn't even there that time; if anything, I pushed you into a vulnerable spot. Every time I have been powerless to keep you safe, but your spirit has ensured your survival where I have not."

His hand tightened on her knee, as if reassuring himself that she was really there, alive and whole. "I've seen firsthand now how…Love protects you. She's saved your life multiple times, despite how exceedingly reckless you are.” Rude, but begrudgingly, she could admit that it was true. “How could I possibly condemn that?"

Cullen reached out, cupping her cheek in his calloused palm. His touch was achingly gentle, as if she might shatter at any moment - a real possibility after all her recent ordeals. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you at the Winter Palace. When I heard what happened, I…"

His voice cracked, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. Ash leaned into his touch, covering his hand with her own.

"You're here now," she said. "That's what matters."

He met her gaze again, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I am. And I intend to stay, if you'll have me. I know I've given you reason to doubt me in the past, but I swear to you, Ashvalla - I accept you fully, Love and all. I only hope I haven't ruined my chances entirely."

Ash's heart stuttered at Cullen's words, hope and fear and everything in between suffusing her lungs like delicate flowers growing through tissue. "You haven't," she said softly, "I don't think there's any version of me that could truly turn you away. But that's…part of the problem." She bit her lip, struggling to articulate the tangle of emotions strangling her. "I can't do that again, Cullen. I can't open myself up only to have you pull away when Love does something you don't understand or approve of."

"I understand your hesitation," he said, low and earnest. "But I give you my word - if Love does something I don't comprehend, I will come to you first. I'll listen and try to understand." His thumb stroked her cheek gently. "I've learned the hard way that jumping to conclusions helps no one. Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

Ash wanted desperately to believe him. The sincerity in his gaze, the tenderness of his touch - it all beckoned her to let her walls crumble. But the memory of his cold dismissal still stung.

"How can I be sure?" she whispered, hating how frightened she sounded. "What if…what if Love does something truly frightening? Something that goes against everything you've been taught to believe?"

Cullen's eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting to one side. "Like what Love was doing to you in the gardens?"

Ash's stomach dropped like a stone.

"I…" She swallowed hard, gathering her courage. "Yes.”

Cullen’s scrutiny bore into her. “What did I see, Ash? I couldn’t make sense of it. She was hurting you because you wouldn’t confess, but there was more to it, wasn’t there?”

What had he seen? Love’s magic overtaking her cowardice, nearly turning her from host to prisoner? The loss of control, the weakness of spirit - a danger to herself and everyone close to her. Expendable.

She sucked in a shaky breath, eyes darting from Cullen’s intense gaze. She couldn’t hide this from him if he already knew, could she? If what had happened in the gardens was enough to turn him away, better to know now before she got in even deeper.

“It was my own fault,” she said haltingly. “At first, I didn’t know what was happening, but I was able to contact her. It turns out I was stifling Love by keeping my feelings hidden from you. She told me that if I persisted in suffocating her by burying my emotions, she would twist from her natural purpose into a demon. And then I would have become, well, you know."

"An abomination," Cullen finished. Horror broke across his features. "You would have rather become an abomination than tell me you loved me?"

Ash clutched the sheet tighter against her chest.

"No. Yes. I don't know," she stammered, tears welling in her eyes. "I just—I've never felt this way about anyone before and it terrifies me." The words tumbled out faster, a dam breaking. "How could someone as wonderful as you ever love me in return? A possessed mage with more baggage than a pack mule? I was so afraid I’d hurt you further than I already had that I nearly destroyed myself."

Cullen stared at her for a long minute. "I have my flaws. Many of them. I have nightmares that wake me screaming, I’ve been told I get quite irritable, and I've both acted poorly and said things in my past that I'll regret until the day I die."

Ash reached out, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. "I know. And I love them all."

"Then why," he asked, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm, "are my flaws acceptable but yours aren't?"

The question struck her speechless. She blinked, mouth opening and closing as she tried and failed to formulate a response.

“Because I’m…” What, unlovable? A creature beyond reproach or redemption? Selfish and uncaring? It wasn’t her voice that echoed those supposed descriptors of herself around her mind, it was her mother’s. And by Mythal, was she tired of listening to that woman.

"Because I'm terrified.” The correct answer was the amalgamation of all her self-hate. “I'm terrified that one day you'll wake up and realize that I'm not worth the trouble. That the spirit inside me is too much, that my past is too broken, that I'm just.…too much."

"Ashvalla," Cullen said, both hands cupping her face. "You are exactly enough. Not too much, not too little. Just perfectly you."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he caught it with his thumb.

"When I think about my life before you," he continued, "it feels like I was merely existing. Going through the motions. And then this impossible, infuriating, beautiful mage crashed into my world and suddenly everything was in colour again."

Ash let out a watery laugh. "Infuriating?"

"Absolutely," he confirmed with a grin, growing serious again. "I love you, Ash. All of you. The parts that make me laugh, the parts that drive me mad. I love you not despite your complications, but with them."

Love hummed contentedly within her, a warm glow spreading through her chest that was entirely separate from the emotional tightness wrapped around her throat.

"I won't pretend that this will all be easy. But the world isn't as black and white as I once believed." His lips quirked in a rueful smile. "You've taught me that, actually. You challenge everything I thought I knew, in the best possible way."

He took her hand, entwining their fingers. "I can't promise I'll never be afraid or uncertain. But I can promise that I'll always try to keep an open mind, to see the whole picture before passing judgment. And most importantly, I promise to trust you."

Ash's breath caught in her throat. Trust. Such a simple word, but one that held so much weight between them.

The early morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a soft glow on Cullen's features. His golden curls were tousled from sleep, a few errant strands falling across his forehead. The scar on his lip caught the light, and she yearned to place a kiss over the mark.

"I want to believe you," she said. "More than anything."

Cullen squeezed her hand gently. "Then let me prove it to you.”

Ash bit her lip. The earnestness in Cullen's gaze, the gentle way he held her hand - it all spoke of his sincerity. And despite her fears, she knew in her heart that she wanted this. Wanted him.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Okay," she said softly. "I'd like that."

The smile that spread across Cullen's face was radiant. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. "Thank you," he murmured against her skin.

As much as she wanted to lose herself in this newfound intimacy, there were still unresolved matters that needed to be addressed.

She took a steadying breath. "Cullen, I need to work on some things, too." Her voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on. "I've been unfair to you in many ways."

Cullen's brow furrowed, but he remained silent, giving her space to continue. Ash appreciated his patience, even as anxiety gnawed at her insides.

"I've been quick to assume the worst, to push you away before you had a chance to hurt me." She ran a hand through her hair, wincing as her fingers caught on a tangle. "I’m sure you noticed that I have a habit of keeping people at arm's length. Of, uh, lashing out when I feel vulnerable."

Ash forced herself to meet Cullen's gaze, finding no judgment there, only gentle understanding. It bolstered her courage to continue.

"And I need to be more open with you about Love. I can't expect you to understand if I don't explain things." She paused, chewing her lower lip. "It's hard for me, sometimes. I'm used to hiding that part of myself. But you deserve to know, especially if we're going to make this work."

"That can’t have been easy for you to admit," he said, a teasing grin canted at the corner of his lips that brought a matching one to her own.

“Hush, I’m not done,” she huffed, though he merely placed another kiss on her knuckles - a gentle encouragement to continue.

"Most of all, I need to work on trusting you. Not just with Love, but with everything." She swallowed around a lump in her throat, fighting against the instinct to retreat behind her walls. "I'm not used to relying on anyone but myself. And Rae, sometimes. But I want to try. With you. You’re not a Templar anymore. I should have listened the first hundred times you said it, but I think we’ve established that I’m a little hard-headed when it comes to challenging my beliefs."

Had she lost her mind? Ash wasn’t entirely sure, but if spiralling into insanity felt this right, she didn’t want to be sane. Cullen's eyes softened, and he reached out to cup her cheek once more.

"Thank you for telling me this," he said, and Creators, did she just want to smother him in kisses.

Ash leaned into Cullen's touch. "I think we've both got some work to do. But I'm willing to try if you are."

Cullen nodded, his thumb brushing gently across her cheekbone. "I am. More than willing."

Like an avalanche raining down upon her, Ash was struck by how surreal this moment felt. There she was, bare as the day she was born, having the most honest conversation of her life with the man she loved but had thought lost to her.

Ash's skin tingled where Cullen's hand rested on her cheek, and she found herself leaning closer, drawn to him - a flower seeking her sun. Her eyes dropped to his lips, remembering their softness, the way they fit so perfectly against her own.

Had she a weaker heart, she was sure it would have failed her. At least she would have died happy.

"I wish I could have been brave enough to admit how I felt about you from the start," she said as her heart continued to beat. "Even when I was pushing you away, even when I was terrified of letting you in - I was yours. Completely and utterly yours. I'm sorry for all the time we lost because I was too afraid to admit how I felt."

Cullen watched her with such deep affection that it rattled through her bones and made Love swoop low in her stomach. Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wished, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft, unhurried. A sacred promise, like coming home after a long journey. Ash melted into it, her hands coming up to tangle in Cullen's golden curls. Her regret for the time they'd lost, her gratitude for his patience, her hope for their future together, all mixed together into the sweet melting pot of his kiss.

A smile spread across her face, and against his mouth, a tingling sensation at the apex of her thighs stealing her breath away. "You're making it very difficult for me to keep my hands to myself right now, Commander."

He chuckled, his breath puffing over her lips. "Is that so? Well, perhaps I should make it even more difficult."

Before he could make good on his promise, a sharp knock on the door shattered their privacy and doused the flames of their growing passion. Ash groaned, burying her face in Cullen's chest as a muffled voice called through the thick wood.

"Lady Lavellan? The Inquisitor requests your presence before departure."

Was it already so late in the morning? Cullen's arms tightened around her. "Perhaps if we're very quiet, they'll go away," he whispered against the top of her head.

Ash snorted, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. "I'm fairly certain Rae would break down the door if I didn't respond."

With a heavy sigh, she called back, "Tell her I'll be there shortly!"

Footsteps retreated down the hall, and Ash allowed herself one more moment of indulgence, breathing in Cullen's comforting scent of armour polish and elderflower.

"I suppose we should get dressed," she said reluctantly, making no move to extract herself from his embrace.

Cullen hummed in agreement, his lips brushing the tip of her ear and making her shiver. "We should," he agreed, "but I find myself rather disinclined to let you go."

"As tempting as it is to stay here forever, I'm afraid my sister's wrath would be far worse than anything we'd face on the battlefield."

Groaning theatrically, Cullen finally released her, though his eyes remained fixed on her face. "I suppose you're right. But this isn't over, you know. I’m not done with you yet.”

Ash blushed at the promise in his words. "I look forward to what you have in store."

A future she’d never allowed herself to envision now lay out before her. A promise, Cullen’s love, her trust. She’d been a fool to think she could go without.

Next Chapter

A/N: A much needed conversation, though no smut yet, but soon…one day…But I promised one day Ash would find out Cullen carried here out of Haven, and that day has finally arrived! I was really saving it 😅

[flores-desyatov]

hi i've been in my feels a little bit since vanya posted the family pics and i just need to share it with someone. i am very much following all the competition updates and polls and rankings and techical elements and sport mumbo jumbo, but that's not what i'm in the mood to talk about. i need to rant about mushy emotional things.

i don't know, i just feel like this partnership/friendship/whatevership that b&v have has helped them so much in growing into good grown people and we're still only at the start of it. i can see it in vanya specifically. over the course of this last year he's becoming softer and more relaxed in his own skin and his new life. you can tell that this place bella lead him to has allowed him to be more carefree than he was before. which is especially important considering he lost his parents so young and had to leave his home to escape war. all people he knew before coming to the us, sadly including his brother, he has to chase around the world to actually be with them in real life. places he considered important to him he won't be able to see for years. i can't imagine not being able to see my family home or visit my family cemetary. those are very emotionally difficult things to deal with at such a young age and of course i'm just a spectator on the internet, but i feel like this place he managed to find half way across the world is safe and caring. and he found it by meeting the world's sweetest girl. a girl that believes in herself in spite of the odds and loves people very openly. she is fucking lightning in a bottle and her smile could power cities!!! people like that are rare to find and that girl is his partner. her energy and light make it so easy to forget how hard life can be. it's such an admirable quality of character. it's why people connect to her and her videos, she's welcoming and she radiates warmth and joy. she spreads it wherever she goes. i just find all of that so very moving. there's something so vulnerable and human in their circumstances. because if you really dissect it, them becoming partners saved her career and his life. they found each other by chance, managed to understand each other beyond language barriers and chose to do this thing they love more than anything else together. he repaired the trust her ex-partner broke. he never lets her doubt herself and always tries to catch her when she falls. she gives him peace and space to be childish and silly, even if it's at her expense. again i'm just a spectator, but i think he makes her bolder and she makes him softer. whatever they may be to each other, there's no doubt that they truly enjoy one another. i think that's the exact thing people get so attached to beyond the whole will-they-won't-they booktok fantasy. they make each other grow and you can feel it!!

sorry for waxing poetic about random athletes we found on the internet hahaha. there's just something very "mortifying ordeal of being known" about them, you know? kinda makes me slightly believe that the right circumstances will just find you when you least expect them.

My first instinct was to kinda deflect and say they're in their 'character development era' but honestly this is just such a beautiful message you sent here. I just wanna let it see the light of day (hope you don't mind) because I'm sure others have felt the same about B&V. I know I have.

It's part of what makes their chemistry to interesting to watch. Here are two people who have found themselves in the same place (for a second time), both of them with a dream of success, both of them going through a big change, adjusting to a new reality and still managing to make each other better people in the process. It's a beautiful story, even from the outside looking in 🤍

[blegh-110]

I get the worst cramps, and I think if Y/n got horrible cramps too, Flightless!Tan would be the BEST at taking care of her

not me on my period right now and having cramps as well :((( this will be totally self-indulgent btw

so reader knows when she gonna get her period in a number of ways. one, when she starts breaking out. and she is totally freaking out because she is getting that anxious feeling in her stomach from when her parents would notice this break out and comment on it not very nicely. shes afraid that tangerine will see the red spots and pimples on her face and not think of her as his "pretty girl" anymore :((( and because of this, she starts hiding away from him and trying to stay away from him until it starts to go away. so that means longer showers, sleeping in and staying in bed longer, resisting sitting in his lap and receiving cheek kisses. which does not end up going well because shes soon missing his touch.

second, when her boobs start getting sore and achy :((( she just lounges around the house in pain and all pouty, knowing whats coming in a day or two.

three, when she starts craving a bunch of food and eating whatever. and she always feels like crap after.

at first, tangerine just thinks shes gone a little back into her shell and his simply trying to distance herself because she feels like it. but one morning when he tries getting her out of bed after letting her sleep in for a little too long, he gently tries pulling the blanket of her body but stop when she starts whining and eyes start filling with tears.

"cmon, we dont wanna waste the day again, do we?" tangerine tries pulling at the blanket again but fully stops and drops his hands when she starts crying and tugging at the comforter like its her lifeline. at this, tangerine sits on her bed with a concerned look on his face.

"you have to tell me whats wrong. v' let you sleep in for more than two hours now. are you feeling sick?" tangerine tilts his head to the side to get a better look at her, gently wiping away her tears. he feels relieved when you shake your head.

"then what is it? just tell me and ill do everything i can to fix it."

at his words and calm, low voice. she leans herself into him, hiding her face in his neck to spare her the embarrassment she feels. she closes her eyes when she feels his arms wrap around her, itd been a few days since she felt it.

"got m'period." she whispers so quietly it takes tangerine a second to figure out what she says, it doesn't help that her face is shoved into the crook of his neck.

"well thats okay." he says, but is actually panicking because he hasnt gotten any feminine products for her. he mentally kicks himself for not thinking of this.

"got your sheets all dirty and gross."

"well we do have this thing called a washer and dryer, my love. it kind of cleans what needs to be cleaned," tangerine teases while rubbing comforting circles on her back, "your sheets will be just fine."

after a while, he is finally able to pull you out of bed.

"now, you go do your little morning routine, and im gonna head to the store and get you some stuff, got it?" you nod your head as he walks you to the bathroom, knowing that the first thing you like to do when you get out of bed is brush your teeth.

"okay, now is there a specific brand you prefer?"

you tell him quietly, feeling awkward because you had never had to tell someone this before. but a part of you is relieved that tangerine is not disgusted with you, but instead determined to get through this with you.

"alright, anything else you would like?"

"id like some chocolate, if its okay with you." you stare down at your feet, finding your painted toes very interesting all of a sudden.

"that more than okay with me, what else?"

tangerine writes down all the others stuff you want, and with that, he is out the door and in his car. ready to take away your pain and discomfort.

[blindmagdalena]

On the injecting V thing I actually read a more twisted fic of this, sadly the author got rid of their ao3 so no more updates but he put y/n on a pedestal like Madelyn in a sense. In his eyes she was very strong for a non supe like not strength wise obviously but personality ect. And he wanted her to become even stronger. She was with a god already why couldn't she become one too? Obviously she'd never be as strong as him but they could be unstoppable together. Y/n didn't want to tho, she liked her mundane life which he didn't understand. He kept saying like "why do you want this shitty mundane life you could be so much more why are you wasting your life" so of course he just kept pressuring her and then tricked her and she ended up letting him inject her with V not because he wanted it but to protect herself from homie more than anything else. There was some other things that happened between all this but will not say in case someone is uncomfy with that. Lots of back and forth toxic but lowkey one of my fave fics I read tbh 😭 sad the author is gone. He was attached to y/n but this was kinda a play on how impulsive he is. He was more thinking on he wanted her to be a supe like him and strong too and live longer with him than what she wanted and he was impulsive. He knew the risks where it could kill her, but he kept being like "Well she won't die I know she can pull through i want this" and didn't care enough.

i can totally see the appeal and why people are able to come to the conclusion that Homelander would feel the need to elevate someone he pedestals and make them more like him.

although despite the huge amount of V in his system, it's doing nothing for his lifespan. if anything, he might actually be aging faster than he should be. Stormfront seems to be something of an anomaly in her agelessness. Soldier Boy was just frozen the entire time. so there's no reason for him to think V would increase his s/o's lifespan. i can see him being arrogant enough to assume that someone he chooses would definitely get a cool ability/be very powerful just by virtue of being his "chosen" lol

either way i'm glad there's fic out there that explores this! i think i have a tendency to lean into the Homelander we see most in s1 where he's less impulsive and more calculating/manipulative. he's not quite as consumed by the idea of "supe supremacy" that we start to see in s2 and onward.

[baldwinivmybeloved]

୨᭄ㅤ꒰ㅤCharper One . . ੭

On a cold morning, a young woman walked through the halls of the castle of Jerusalem. Her beauty captivated everyone who crossed her path, whether they were slaves, servants, or even noble knights. Sighs and admiring glances followed her every step.

"I'd love to spread those legs," commented a disheveled Templar knight. Beside him, his companion also observed the young woman with lust.

She stopped and cast them a look of disdain. "Oh, really? Well, I think none of you could have me unless you go first," she pointed to the knight's companion, provoking an argument between them. While they argued, she seized the opportunity to quickly escape, heading to the chambers of young Prince Baldwin V, son of Princess Sibylla.

Upon arriving, she was informed that the prince was bedridden and needed to be taken away for treatment. She felt a knot in her stomach. She had cared for the prince since he was a baby, more than Sibylla herself, who barely bothered to see her son. The thought of not being able to accompany him on his journey filled her with despair. As a lowly slave, she knew she didn't have the power to convince the ministers or Tiberias himself. She could only endure the pain of separation.

Hours passed as she carried out her tasks, but her mind was with the prince, dreading the moment he would be taken from her. She loved him like a son, despite not being his mother. Finally, she was called to the prince's chambers. He, weak and pale, smiled at her.

"I will leave soon. They say I am sick, but they don’t know what it is," said the little boy.

"Don't worry, you will get better, my little king. You have always overcome everything, you will be a great king," she replied, caressing his head tenderly.

"I wish you would never leave my side, Xica, but they say I can't take you. It's so unfair! When I become king, I will make you my queen," declared the prince with childish determination.

She laughed softly and calmed him. Neither Tiberias nor the princess understood the close relationship between the prince and the mulatto slave, discovered only due to the prince's illness. Godfrey, who was in charge of the prince's lessons, was aware of this bond. The farewell was brief but painful. Heartfelt mother and son had to part, leaving Xica without a reason to live. Her tasks became monotonous and meaningless.

How could it be possible? She saw the princess so happy without her son, while she, who had not given birth to him, missed him every night and day. She prayed to God for his health, questioning the injustice of the world and those who inhabit it.

With the departure of the young prince, the castle of Jerusalem seemed to have lost its luster for Xica. The days passed with overwhelming monotony, and every task she performed felt empty without the presence of little Baldwin. However, life in the castle continued, indifferent to her pain.

One morning, as Xica was cleaning one of the castle’s grand halls, she overheard a conversation between two ministers passing by. They spoke in low voices, but the mention of Prince Baldwin immediately caught her attention.

"They say the journey is proving more difficult than expected," commented one of the ministers. "The prince’s health is not improving, and some fear the worst."

"What do the doctors suggest?" asked the other, visibly worried.

"They’ve proposed seeking a remedy in distant lands, a cure they believe could save him. But it’s a dangerous and costly journey."

Xica’s heart raced. The thought of the prince being in danger and so far out of her reach terrified her. She knew she had to do something, anything to help him. Even though she was just a lowly slave, she couldn’t sit idly by.

That very night, Xica decided she needed to seek help. She remembered Godfrey, the prince’s tutor, who had always been kind and understanding with her. If anyone could understand her desperation and help her, it would be him. Determined, she made her way to Godfrey’s chambers, hoping to find him there.

"Who knocks on my door at this hour?" asked Godfrey, opening the door to find Xica, her expression a mixture of fear and resolve.

"Forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, Master Godfrey," said Xica, bowing. "I need to speak with you about Prince Baldwin."

Godfrey invited her in and listened attentively as she recounted what she had overheard that morning. His eyes hardened as he grasped the gravity of the situation.

"I understand your concern, Xica," he said finally. "And you’re right, we can’t just stand by. But this is dangerous and will require careful planning."

Xica awaited his next words anxiously, hoping for an immediate plan of action. However, Godfrey sighed and continued, "Sometimes, the best course of action is patience. The doctors are doing everything they can, and while we want to help, we must trust in their abilities and in fate. I know this is difficult for you."

Xica felt disheartened, but Godfrey wasn’t finished. "You are a smart and brave young woman, Xica. In these difficult times, you must find ways to keep your mind occupied and strong. Here," he said, approaching a bookshelf and taking out an old book and some scrolls. "Take these. This book is one of my favorites, and the scrolls contain exercises and texts that can help distract your mind."

Xica accepted the gifts gratefully, though a part of her felt disappointed at the lack of a concrete plan to help the prince. "Thank you, Master Godfrey," she said, trying to hide her disappointment. "I will do as you suggest."

"Trust that we are doing everything possible for the prince," added Godfrey, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "And remember, the knowledge and wisdom you gain now can be of great help to you in the future. Keep your mind and heart strong, Xica."

That night, Xica retreated to her quarters with the book and scrolls. As the moonlight illuminated her small room, she sat down to read. Godfrey’s words echoed in her mind, and although she still worried about the prince, she found some solace in the pages of the book. Each story and exercise on the scrolls was a temporary escape from her pain and a reminder of the importance of patience and wisdom.

Over time, Xica began to notice that her nights were less lonely and her days less monotonous. Although the prince remained in her thoughts, she now had something else to hold on to, something that gave her hope and strength. She knew that, in some way, her love and devotion for Baldwin would continue to guide her actions, preparing her for the day she might reunite with him and perhaps save him.

While Xica was absorbed in reading her book and working on the exercises from the scrolls that Godfrey had given her, she heard firm footsteps approaching her room. She looked up just in time to see her mother, a strong woman of African origin, enter with a severe expression on her face.

"Xica," her mother said firmly, "what is this I hear about your worries for Prince Baldwin?"

Xica slowly closed the book and stood up to face her mother. "Mother, it’s just that… the prince is very ill, and I fear for his life. I feel like I must do something to help him."

Xica's mother approached and took her hands, her dark eyes filled with a mix of concern and love. "Daughter, I understand your concern for him. I know how much you care, but you must remember your place in this castle. It is not your responsibility to get involved in these matters. The doctors and nobles are handling it."

"But, mother, he needs all the help he can get," protested Xica, her voice trembling with emotion. "I can't just stay here doing nothing."

Xica's mother sighed and looked at her with a gentler expression. "Xica, I know you have a big heart and great devotion to the prince. But you must not be so dramatic. He will get better, trust in that. Your life should not revolve around him. You must find your own path, your own strength. Worrying all the time helps no one, especially not yourself."

Xica lowered her gaze, feeling chastened but also understanding the wisdom in her mother's words. "I know, mother. It’s just that… I feel so powerless."

Xica's mother gently lifted her daughter’s chin, making her look into her eyes. "You are not powerless, Xica. You have great strength within you. Use that book, those scrolls. Learn, grow, strengthen yourself. When the right time comes, you will know what to do. But for now, you must trust and be patient."

Xica nodded slowly, feeling a slight weight lift off her shoulders. "Thank you, mother. I will try to follow your advice."

Xica's mother smiled and hugged her tightly. "I will always be here for you, my daughter. Do not forget that. Now, go back to your studies. Knowledge is a great weapon, and someday, you may need it more than you imagine. You who can read and write, coming from where we do, must keep it a secret. We do not know what they might do if they discover a slave is literate."

Xica returned to her chair as her mother left the room. She felt a mix of emotions, but her mother’s presence and words had given her a new perspective. She opened the book again and began to read, determined to strengthen her mind and spirit, preparing for whatever challenges fate might bring her.

As the pages turned under her fingers, Xica found a renewed sense of purpose. She knew that, although she could not be by the prince's side at that moment, she could prepare herself for the day when her help might make a difference. And, in time, that preparation could be the greatest act of love and devotion she could offer.

[ria-writes-stories]

Title: Mirrors

Ship: Vuzi

Genre: Romance, Cotton-glass

Description: They have one thing in common, right? Loving the same fool who could never see them

I SUMMON THEE ANCIENT SPIRIT OF THE SOULS REALM!

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

(No one's pov)

Life isn't a piece of cake. It's not a piece of cake at all, indeed it is made out of layers but each is more bitter than the other instead of being sweeter. Everything is simply absurd, absurdly complex and bitter. Nothing makes sense! The concept is easy but when you get to dissecting it, there are so many elements that have to be put together to make everything, it feels idiotic. Not everyone knows how to bake, and not everyone likes sweets.

She loved him, she loved him so much, her heart bled out for him and what did he do in return? Not a quarter of the sacrifices that she had done, and he wasn't even able to recognise them. Yes, he has 'sacrificed' himself sometime, and now look where it got them because unlike her he acts irrational.

She trusted him, she trusted him more than anyone else she knew, her first ever friend and he wasn't even able to recognise it. She has given so much and he has given none. 'A man should this a man should that' that didn't apply to drones! So then why was she vulnerable in front of him but he not once showed any intention of being vulnerable with her? To protect her? Oh please.

V was looking at the sky with a tired look on her face, her arms crossed across her chest as she stood on the lone cold roof of the building. Nothing made sense anymore... She was a drone right? There's no afterlife for drones... what would she loose if she fell down? What was she fighting for now? She could never get a grip on anything anymore.

Uzi banged her head against her desk with her fists clenched tightly before her hands went limp as she sighed heavily. Was she doing something wrong? He didn't seem as happy as she was... It didn't feel like it... She waited her whole life for someone, anyone, to understand her, to accept her, to want her, but, it felt one sided. It wasn't fair. IT WASN'T!

Uzi punched her table before holding her head in annoyance.

Strolling in this cold ruthless wasteland of a planet all alone.

Or that's one would like to think, for whenever you are the loneliest someone else finds you, without them even acknowledging it. It just happens.

Uzi found V on the edge of a rooftop, and once she spotted she tried to turn around in her tracks but before she even got to V landed in front of her blocking her path with her wings spread like a demonic being coming to reap her soul. "And you're going where?" V asked as her face wasn't yet visible for her head was turned down. "BITE ME! It's none of your-" Uzi cut herself as her eyes widened when she saw V's tired lone eyes look up at her with a familiar look, a sickening familiar look, because she also had it. "It's not hard to see you're in the same place as me." V said simply as Uzi stood there unable to move, speechless. "It's he isn't he?" V asked with a knowing look as Uzi felt something drop inside of her heart. Was she that obvious?

"I saw you from the rooftop...I've been watching you for the past twenty minutes or so, you're walking aimlessly at a fast pace, as if you want to tire yourself out, get your head off from something constantly haunting you no matter what. Am I right?" Uzi wanted to be mad, she wanted to be angry, an angsty rebellious teen, but being angsty means pain and misery and never before has Uzi felt this stronger.

She looked away as she clenched her fist as her other hand stayed limp at her side as she looked at the ground unable to muster up any amount of energy to fight. She was frozen in place. She couldn't just walk away, she couldn't just disappear from there even if she wanted to.

Before she kenw it Uzi felt something she hasn't felt since the time before of her memories, the warmth of another. V warped her hands around her in a gentle soft manner as she kept Uzi within her embrace with her wings warped around her in a soft manner to let her know that she can leave whenever without needing to fight for it.

But Uzi couldn't fight, not anymore, not like this.

She quietly broke into tears as her face rested on V's chest as her hand gripped onto V's wings as she shivered softly as V gently held her closely to her, with one hand resting on the back of her head as her other one rested on her waist, her tail softly warped around her torso.

The last people we expect to find comfort from end up being the ones we needed from the beginning, it's so funny, isn't it? Yeah...hilarious.

V hushed her softly as she kept while Uzi's face got stained with her own bitterness. Such awful salty tears shouldn't rest on her perfect face's cheeks. So V did the most rational thing. She couldn't take her hands off Uzi, she couldn't leave her to feel helpless. She knew the feeling, back when she was a shy little maid, she had no one to hold her, but if they did, the moment they cleaned her tears they'd be gone as soon as they appeared because they'd think the problem was solved. She didn't want to do that to her, she couldn't, it would be so cruel. V kissed away her tears. Soft butterfly kisses covered all of Uzi's face as the salty contents of her tears made their way inside of V's mouth and tastebuds.

Uzi looked at her puzzled and confused not knowing how to react as V simply looked at her with a knowing look. She has been through this, she felt all that Uzi has felt up until now. She had no parental figure to hold her, she had no friend to understand her, and the boy she liked deserted her more than once, more than he realised despite his best indentions and wishes.

Uzi looked at V sadly as she slowly began to see more and more all of the sorrow and grief within her eyes. All this time one was at the other's throat and for what? For a blind fool and for their own selfish desires. Why fight on your own when everyone can get what they want by making an alliance?*

Uzi slowly raised her hand, making it's way to V's cheek, in response V closed her eyes and held her breath. "Don't." She said in a cold distant and serious manner.

She couldn't deal with this. She couldn't allow herself, not now, not when she could leave behind not now when... when...

Uzi flinched, keeping her hand at bay, before hesitantly making her way back to V's cheek, softly caressing it as V exhaled sharply with her fangs slightly visible as she caved into Uzi's hand helplessly.

Each deprived of warmth, each deprived of attention, each deprived of appreciation, each deprived of love. Mirrors, that's what they were, but who was mirroring who was a line that could never be found for it had no trace to lead to it.

In the darkest of times you are left stranded only to find your corner of heaven that'll forever keep you fueled to the end of time regardless of what comes next.

That night V slept in Uzi's bed, holding the shorter purple haired female closely to her chest with her wings warped around the two of them, keeping them in a cozy warm cocoon, as both were far too tired to think about how they'll act tomorrow morning after this interaction.

Uzi nuzzled herself into V's chest closely, hiding in her arms and wings like a small little mouse hiding from the big scary world, while V embraced Uzi as if she was her sole source of comfort and safety after such a long time of endlessly running around like, wounded, bleeding, left to die, abandoned like a dog, now finding shelter and safety.

A strand of silver hair tickled Uzi's visor, causing her to wake up, realising that it was probably late morning, something along the lines of 10 AM, a time where V most likely couldn't leave the colony without risking overheating to near death.

Uzi's eyes gently caressed V's face, she looked so tired but, for once she looked at peace, at least for once.

V woke up to the soft feeling of someone holding herself close, pushing themselves into her as if wanting to combine their beings into one, and before she knew it Uzi had her legs tangled with hers as her hands tightly warped around her upper waist affectionately.

Uzi was hiding her face in V's neck.

A soft blush rested on V's face as her arms softly warped around Uzi's torso as her tail stayed limp outside of the bed as to avoid accidentally running the moment with an unintentional sting.

Her wings brought Uzi closer to herself as she softly kissed her forehead.

Freshly awoken yet tired like never before, that's what it feels when you get a good rest after so long, you feel like you didn't get enough and that you'll never get as much as you need but that's alright, because now that you know what it feels like, knowing how to get it, you have higher chances to soon feel it once again.

The end

[dingochef]

Take Care

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Angst with a Happy Ending, Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Jake takes of El, even if it's from afar and while their relationship hangs in peril.

This is a one shot to my series Stepping to You Toe-to-Toe. Best read after Chapter 12: Cliche.

Masterlist

The moment Jake hangs up with Wolfie about calling in a favor to get Elsa a security system today, he is still plagued by the need to do something, something more to protect Elsa.

He wryly notes that Elsa would be half annoyed because she's said on more than one occasion, "I'm a grown ass woman who can and has taken care of herself, thank you very much." The other half would be secretly touched but the gesture. That stranglehold of sadness of just how much he's fucked things up with her closes in around his heart and he tries to push it away and think of something to he can fix right now.

He recalls her story about letting Creepy Bill have it and Millie backing her up. He knows Millie, she's Phoenix's aunt or something and has been at a few celebrations. He calls Phoenix.

"Come on, come on, pick up, he mutters to himself as he paces around the small kitchen.

Finally, a groggy voice answers, "Hangman, what the fuck do you want on a Sunday morning?"

"Good morning to you too, I need your Aunt Millie's number. "

Jake hears the absolute confusion in her voice,

"Why on earth do you want her number? Trying to move on after Elsa? I'm pretty sure Millie's wife Candace is going to have a few issues with that."

Phoenix's razor sharp wit doesn't take long to come online in the morning.

He gives her the fastest recap of the whole situation he can and finishes with,

"Millie probably has Bill's address."

"Figures creepy old man is involved. One, you're going to promise me that you'll bring someone with you capable of preventing you from beating this dude into a pulp and getting you court martialed. Two, don't think this is going to be enough to get back with Elsa. You know you have a looooooot of shit fix," she says, drawing out the o in a lot to a long syllable.

"I know, I just want to be able to do something, even if she never wants to see my face again," he pauses, the thought creating a deep ache in his chest, "Can you help me out?"

She sighs, it almost sounds like sympathy, and says,

"Yeah, I'll text it to you. Give me a quick sec to call her and let her know what's up."

"Thank you, Phoenix."

"Later Hangman," and then she adds a little more softly, "Good Luck."

He paces around the small house for five minutes trying to wait long enough to call Millie.

A text comes in from Phoenix.

Phoenix: Millie is pissed so she just gave me Bill's address with the promise you won't do anything stupid, I gave her an 85% guarantee on that.

Phoenix: Bill Wilson

8585 Saturna Court

La Jolla

Phoenix: DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID!

Jake: Thank you.

He gets dressed quickly throwing on some jeans, a white t-shirt, and his bomber jacket. His next stop is Rooster's room. Jake doesn't spare the door when he raps on it to wake Rooster up.

"What that fuck, who is it?" Rooster groans.

"It's me, Hangman, get up. I need a favor from you."

"Fuck off," he shouts back.

"Rooster, this is the least you could do after the shit you pulled last night. It's about Elsa, some guy is stalking her."

"Fine, fine, let me put some god damn clothes on."

"Try to look intimidating."

"Yeah, ok." Rooster snorts.

A few minutes later he emerges wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. They're out the door and walking towards Jake's car. Jake starts the car and pulls away, headed off the island and towards La Jolla.

"So what's the deal and why do you need me to go with you?" He asks.

Jake runs him through the situation and gets him up to speed.

"So, we're going to go beat up some old guy who can't take a hint, or in this case a giant fucking billboard?"

"No, just more of a come to Jesus talk and to scare him a little bit. Phoenix made me promise to bring someone so 'I wouldn't do anything stupid.'"

"Okay, what do you need me to do?"

"Basically just stand there and try to look intimidating, I'll do the talking."

"Okey dokey."

They find Creepy Bill's house and park at the curb. As they walk up to the house, Jake tells Rooster,

"Put your sunglasses on,"

Rooster snorts and points to the very overcast sky,

"It's for effect, dumbass."

Rooster rolls his eyes and complies.

As they stand on the small porch, Jake asks Rooster,

"Ready?"

He nods.

Jake gives three sharp raps on the door, not bothering with the doorbell.

There is a small amount of shuffling and then the door opens to a man in his 50s with slightly graying hair who is a couple of inches shorter than Jake or Rooster

"Are you Bill Wilson?" Jake asks.

The older man nods,

"Yes, that's me. What can I help you with?"

"You and I have a mutual acquaintance, Elsa Matthews."

He interrupts Jake and says,

"Oh yeah, Elsa, lovely girl."

He licks his lips subconsciously in a way that makes Jake's stomach turn. Jake takes a steadying breath and tamps down the overwhelming urge to grind this guy into a pulp.

"Here's the deal, Elsa is a friend of ours," he emphasizes the word friend and uses his thumb to point at himself and Rooster,

"And she made it known that despite giving a clear picture of how she sees you in her life, which is not at all, you keep pushing. We're not too happy with the stunt you pulled with the roses. Which by the way, she said were cliche as shit. So, Elsa has made it perfectly clear for you to stay away and you should be getting a piece of paper today from the police making that even more clear. I just want to add that Elsa has a lot of friends like us, especially a lot that live really close to her on Coronado Island and might not be as level headed next time you do something stupid. You got any questions, Billy boy?"

The old man has gone white in the face and manages to stutter out, "No, no. I get it."

"Good boy, you learn quick. I think we're done here." Jake turns around and motions to Rooster and he follows.

They get back in the car and Rooster speaks first as they pull away.

"I'm surprised, you actually held your shit together and didn't pummel him into the ground."

"Hah, he's a sad old man that thinks he bully his way into a woman's life, but when faced by any real man he's a total chicken shit."

"I gathered that, so now what? You going to go to Elsa and be her knight in shining armor to redeem yourself?"

"No, she doesn't need to know about this. I said I'd give her space and unlike that asshat back there I respect that. I just thought if I could do one last thing for her, I could feel a little better for being a giant asshole and ruining a good thing."

"Shit dude, you're in love with this girl. Huh, never thought I'd see the day Hangman fell in love. Can I buy a ski lift ticket in hell now?"

"First of all, fuck off, Rooster. Two, who wouldn't fall for Elsa, she's smart and funny as get out, a genuinely good person, hot as hell, and just gets me. Like me, Jake, not Hangman, just Jake."

Rooster let's put a low whistle,

"Oh shit, this is real," he pauses, "I'm starting to feel a little bit bad about telling her about the bet, a little bit," he holds his fingers a tiny bit apart. He continues, "What about her? Is the feeling mutual?"

"God, I hope so. I see these moments where she's unguarded about something and I can feel her being vulnerable and then it's gone. She's been hurt before, I can tell. I've got to earn her love.'

"Well good luck dude, just because we've had this little talk doesn't mean I like you any more and or I won't stop secretly hoping you crash. But you and I both know she deserved to know the truth."

"Fair, funny thing is that I was already planning to try again and then you laid down that stupid bet and I agreed it. A decision I hope won't haunt me for the rest of my life."

They arrive back at the house they're sharing and get out. Jake leans over the car roof and says to Rooster,

"Don't worry about us becoming bros, the dislike remains mutual."

"Whatever, dude," Rooster sniffs and walks into the house.

Jake heads to his room and flops down on the bed. He pulls out his phone to send Elsa one last text. His heart pangs at the photo of her I set as the background, it's her in front of the B-29 where they talked about the nose art. He set it as his background as soon as he took jt. She is mirroring the pin up girl's arms holding them up and has pulled up one of her legs with the knee bent in front of her. Her bright smile shining through. He scrubs his face as he sighs and unlocks his phone and pulls up the text app.

Jake: Bill won't be bothering you anymore.

He puts his phone aside and decides to go for a run just for something to do. The run around base is quiet as it's a Sunday with little activity. Running as far as he can to feel exhausted Jake makes his way back to the house.

Jake showers and grabs something to eat and sits on the couch turning the TV mostly for the noise, something to fill his brain other than the replay loop of Elsa's face from the bar last night, her saying "I do, Lieutenant" and the look in her eyes from yesterday in the car, and a quick succession of her laughing, the way she feels under his arm when they were cuddling on her couch, the feeling of waking up to her sleeping face, and what feels like a million more memories. He scrubs his face in frustration and keeps looking at his phone hoping that something will come through. Jake decides to read a book as a distraction, somewhere between the last murder and the brilliant detective monologue he must have fallen asleep.

Jake awakens to a gentle knock on our door, he gets up to open it and it's Lydia. He didn't realize he had gotten his hopes up in the five feet to the door that it would be Elsa. Rooster's room is dark, indicating he's not there.

"Hi Lydia, Rooster is out, but you're welcome to wait for him," Jake informs her.

"Yeah, he said he'd be about a half an hour but to just go on and meet him here," she replies.

Ever the polite host, Jake offers Lydia a drink. She chooses a beer and sits down on the armchair that makes up the second piece of the extravagant Navy issued living room set.

"So how's it hanging, Hangman?" she asks, knowing that he's heard that question a million times before. Jake decides to wave off a smooth response and replies,

"Not great and that's mostly your boy's doing."

"What'd he do? Short sheet your bed, put itching powder in your jockstrap," she pauses, "Wait do guys even really use those ever?"

"No nothing that juvenile, he talked his big mouth and told Elsa about I bet that I took and called off and she is understandably pissed off at me."

Lydia stops mid sip,

"Wait, what do you mean a bet you took and called off. Explain, and how does that involve Elsa?"

"Rooster bet me I couldn't get into Elsa's bed within a week from the night she blasted me at the Hard Deck. The thing was that I was already trying to figure out a way to contact her."

Lydia snorts,

"You're not the first one to become entranced by Elsa, but you might be the only one to get murdered by her and actually come back. So, the bet, you said you took it, why?"

He sighs,

"Because I am apparently a very stupid man who is easily goaded into doing stupid things by your boy, Rooster."

"I gathered that," she says dryly, sipping her beer.

"I didn't collect on it when Phoenix announced loudly that I'd woken up at a girl's house and Rooster confirmed it was Elsa's. I regretted taking the bet as soon as I said yes. I hope I don't regret it for the rest of my life."

Lydia sighs,

"I'll deal with Rooster, although this giant pile of dog shit you have to climb out of is entirely your doing." Jake nods in agreement.

"I'm more pissed Rooster fucked up something that good for Elsa, forget you, no offense." Jake shrugs the comment off.

She pauses for a long moment and looks off to her side, sucking in a deep breath she says,

"I'm going to tell you something about Elsa that she probably hasn't told you. She doesn't open her heart easily."

"I know that, there's these moments when I see these glimpses of her, really her, and then she shuts the door and changes the subject."

"Good, you're at least aware of that, that's a good start. Did you know that Elsa was engaged once?"

"No, she didn't talk about that."

"Yeah, it's not really something she likes to relive. She was engaged to this guy, Liam, who worked with her at SpaceX. She thought it was the real deal and they were living together. She came up with an amazing new design for getting satellites out of the rocket that made things way more efficient, like a solid make your career kind of innovation. The bastard beat her into work on Monday and presented the designs as his own. She only found out because she walked in on the end of the meeting. He didn't get why it was a big deal.''

Jake's eyes widen at that thought, to know Elsa was to know how proud she was of her work and the impact it has on the world. He couldn't think of a quicker way to kill off a relationship with her than to degrade, not value, not respect her work, her amazing brain, basically her. What a fucking idiot.

"She dumped his ass, told her boss everything, quit her job, packed up her shit from their apartment, left him his shitty ring, and drove back to Michigan that day."

"Holy shit, she doesn't mess around. Then she moved here."

"Yeah, and she's had a few relationships, but they've ended when guys get insecure because she's like a 1000 times smarter than them, or that fact she makes more money than them, stupid ego stuff. It just made her harder and she protects her heart."

"So, why are you telling me all this?" Jake asks.

Lydia sighs again,

"Because maybe I'm a hopeless romantic, but mostly because there's been a spark in Elsa and a joy I haven't seen in her for years. For some reason, you, perhaps one of the most egotistical guys on the planet, actually makes her happy. I thought if you knew some of her background you might be able to dig yourself out of this epic hole you've dug for yourself."

She goes on,

"I know you want to run to her and confess your soul to her, but let me repeat, give her space to think. You push too hard, you'll just push her away. If you get a second chance, don't fuck it up because if you break her heart again I will hunt you down and make your balls into earrings." The last sentence is said with such deadly seriousness, that Jake doesn't doubt Lydia's intent for a second.

"Thank you, Lydia. This helps, it helps a lot."

Rooster has chosen this moment to appear, his face lights up at the sight of Lydia and then turns to confusion as he sees the look on her face.

Jake takes that as his cue to leave and escape to his room, as soon as he shuts the door, Lydia says, in a deadly tone,

"Bradley Fucking Michael Bradshaw, you've got some shit to explain."

"Umm, babe what are you talking about?" The alarm in his voice is apparent and Jake is glad he is getting his ass chewed out.

"I heard about a bet you laid down about Elsa, my best friend for 15 fucking years, and then decided to tell her about last night."

There is a long pause as Rooster thinks up a battle plan. He says slowly,

"Yes, there was a bet that Hangman technically won, but that he called off."

"And that bet was?" Lydia asks him, waiting for him to answer.

"That he could get in Elsa's pants in a week."

"First of all, how gross. I get the stupid betting, but on that it's just disgusting. Second of all, Jake said he was already wanting to see Elsa again before the bet, but he let his ego lead him instead of his brain and he took it. He's got to clean up his mess, that's on him for that colossally terrible mistake. I'm more pissed at you that you would deliberately ruin what is or was turning into something good for Elsa. That girl has had some serious heartbreak and for some reason Hangman has been good for her."

Rooster has moved into full apology mode,

"Babe, I am so sorry. Let me make it up to you."

He is shuffling through the usual playlist of apologies trying to find something that sticks.

Lydia cuts him off,

"Rooster, you're a smart guy," Jake snorts where he is leaning against the door at that statement,

"You can't tell me you haven't seen a difference in Hangman. You can tell the boy is stupidly falling in love, why would you ruin that for anyone? You guys are supposed to have each other's backs up in the air, why would you do something that shitty down here?"

"I don't know."

Lydia sighs,

"Well, think about it, Rooster, I'm going home. Maybe we'll talk later."

The door opens and softly closes. Jake sprints to his bed and lays down like he hasn't been listening with his ear to the door. He expects Rooster to come barging in to start a fist fight, instead all Jake hears is the door to his room shutting quietly and the house is eerily silent.

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mayhemmanaged

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@genius2050

[birgittesilverbae]

do ava & lilith ever meet & talk to each other in babea au? is their dynamic a little different or more or less the same? (sure, ava didn’t ‘steal’ the halo this time around, but in lilith’s eyes she might as well be stealing bea)

lilith feels usurped, especially in those first hours when she completely misunderstands what bea's trying to convey to her, how torn she feels, when she thinks they've broken up about it

after she and bea talk, after lilith tells her she needs to work out exactly how she feels (or someone's going to end up hurt), she goes alone to meet ava, to see if she's good enough for bea (lilith, internally: everyone would be better for bea than me), their interaction occurring through the lens of their individual ~relationships~ with bea as opposed to on neutral terms

and lilith finds herself not hating ava as much as she expected to, not with her energy and quick wit and easy smile showing exactly what must have drawn bea in like a moth to a flame. which, really, only makes her hate her more, because this is someone she could never be, upbeat and able to shroud the pain underlying her brilliance with easy comedy, when lilith's never been able to do anything but wear hers on her sleeve

lilith, gruff, attempting to be removed: you should go for it

bea: what

lilith: silva.

bea: but-

lilith: I'll deal don't worry about me we don't have to keep- we can just-

bea: I have room in my heart for multiple people and also how could you ever think you're not enough for me

lilith: *gestures broadly at the concept of ava* are you trying to tell me that this wouldn't change anything

bea: change is a fact of life smth smth chaos theory smth smth entropy

lilith: 😮‍💨

anyway Bea is probably the hinge in a V and lilith and ava maybe hang out sometimes but not frequently because lilith can come to grips with the concept but is still working on having the reality of it in front of her

[krikeymate]

I saw you reblog a werewolf sam and kirby thing a while ago. Do you write for them?

If so would you write about werewolf sam and kirby in their wolf forms cuddling with tara? On the full moon i think they would be possessive with tara and they would carry her around by the hem of her shirt! They would act like mama wolves and tara loves it! The part tara doesn’t love is when they try to bring dead animals that they hunted as a gift for tara(like how dogs and cats bring food to their young) into the house

That's @a-b-o-v-eg-r-o-u-n-dr-a-d-i-s-h's Cursed by the Moonlight AU! She really inspired me with her werewolf Sam thoughts, so I'm working on my own werewolf AU. I have written so much lore today lol.

Sidenote, I'm having such trouble naming it. All I can think of is fangs for the support. I wanted a good moon or pack pun but I'm dumb 😞 Also I just kinda want to make Werewolf timelines of all my existing AU's lmao. (The urge to make this another 10 years age gap AU is SO strong because of the image of big doggy Sam and tiny little Tara.)

Sam always comes back from her moonlight jaunts with a gift for Tara, like it's an apology for having to leave her alone. Sometimes it's flowers, pretty rocks, and toys people have dropped. Sometimes it's bones, sometimes it's animals. Usually dead. An alive rabbit once that Sam was incredibly proud of catching if the breeze her wagging tail caused was anything to go by. Tara made her put the rabbit back. (She once bought back a snake and dropped it on Tara's bed whilst she was sleeping, a mistake she won't ever make again.)

Born wolves in their full form are massive, so Tara is prime size for being scruffed during full moons, much to her frustration sometimes. They get so much more protective during that three-day period of the full moon that she has no choice but to engage in pack-time. (Tara does love wolf-cuddles, though she'll never admit it. There's nothing like climbing on top of this massive creature and snuggling down, like facing this beast that could kill her in an instant but knowing it won't.)

13-year-old Tara thought she would be the one getting jealous when 22-year-old Kirby starts coming around, because Kirby is a born wolf too, and Tara's just a lame human. This is someone new that 18-year-old Sam can share her world with, that Tara will never be able to relate to (👀), but it turns out actually Sam is the one who gets jealous of having to share Tara with Kirby. Tara's insecurities all melt away on that first full moon together when she's patting Kirby's head and Sam butts her way in between them, growling all the while, to wrap herself around Tara.

Kirby was actually really nervous about spending a full moon around Tara, she'd never wolfed out around a human. It's just not something that is done. But Sam never grew up with a pack like she should have, she doesn't know their rules and laws, and she's always spent her moons with her sister, so it's not like Kirby would be able to convince her otherwise anyway, and Sam does need to learn and be around other wolves, so she takes it upon herself to join them to teach her. Kirby expressed her worries to Sam directly, and the way she had laughed was unnerving, the way she said "as if I would ever let you hurt Tara" was chilling. Kirby is older than Sam, and yet the threat in her words made her want to submit like she was just a pup.

Kirby's dismayed to see just how much bigger than her Sam is in their full forms. It speaks to more than just their human sides, it speaks to a level of power. She really needs to convince Sam to join the pack, but she knows packs don't allow humans, and Sam has made her own with a human.

[mimic-from-the-lab]

On N being as much of a killer as the other two

Likely that all three were put under a similar operating system. Same bases for them, I doubt they are on a pure worker os but something modified if not a new disassembler os. Which I assume controls the need for eldritch forms passively rather than Cyn doing it herself, I mean what would she do if multiple of them died at once. As well as their ability to regen, passive as well. I would guess that the programs are giving her updates but she doesn't control all that continuously.

Regardless, running on the same os doesn't mean same "ability" to hunt and kill. They just have the tools.

Now I hardly think N is purely innocent but it is weird he doesn’t truly have his own hunting thing. Even with that, we haven't seen him hunt and the closest we got was in the first ep and murdering. I guess you can say

He is actually quiet when "hunting", he doesn’t laugh till he gets to the bunker when he has J and V following after him to it. The laugh as V does with J's "slow" walking thing.

I have an idea that since he exhibits both laughing and slow starts to attack. (knowing how J fights would be great to compare this better and see whats different with her.) It could be a case of mimicry, he has seen how the other two do things and mixed the two. Though, he does have one thing. Use of his tail, and it was the first thing he uses. It's not a faster kill in comparison with simply lopping off a head, no idea how J uses it but V uses it last. But he does seem to use it more than the other two, even tho he says he doesn't always have control over it.

The idea of the resets is high in my mind, if he never formed his own style because he is reset so often that he hasn't really had the time to. 

Granted as we have gone on he has used a bigger range of weapons, from making new stuff like the ninja stars to using the basic blades. V has kept to the basics.

It would be nice if something was said about it all between the characters but alas. 

As it stands now something has always been off about him being a killer. It's easy for people to baby him when it hasn't been shown what he can actually do or willing to do. Doubt there would be many other chances for mass murder anymore, any fights will be with a limited number of people. A fix could be showing him need to hunt again, if anything changes to how he does things.

So I would like to see him and V do so again, either because they need to now with Uzi cause they all three will need oil after the stores dry out.

Uzi would be so easy to help in a hunt. Feel like she would be able to twist around mentally for it for the others rather than herself, with V and N both being able to understand at least a bit to how it can affect her.

I would love for V to be more of a support with that rather than N. Since he just knows they have always hunted but V remembers the before they were disassembly drones. How V had to come to terms with it and help Uzi the same way.

I need them to hunt, need it for it to set in stone some facts for N. If he would be able to, if not for himself then the other two. But also because it's not possible for them to continue without being able to.

The idea that he can't because he is friends with Uzi is far too weak of a reason now and he needs a push for his character.

[nercyar-ika]

Bad Habits: Chapter 04

Fandom: Cyberpunk 2077 Pairing: Johnny Silverhand/Fem!V Read on Ao3 - Master List Previous Chapter - Next Chapter Warning: Mention of what happened to Evelyn in this chapter but not extreme details. I figured still give the warning just in case. details. I figured still give the warning just in case.

Trying to think fast, V gently laid Evelyn down on the floor of Judy's moving van. The crates for the portable BD editing equipment helped keep her in place. Thankfully Judy wasn't speeding or driving recklessly. Taking a deep breath V closed her eyes. Exhaling she opened the sliding door and then opened her eyes just as she stuck half of her body out the door. She did a quick scan of the Van following them. Followed by a quick scan of what Scav's were visible. Only two showed up on both scans. Shouldn't be too hard, V thought to herself pulling out a pistol Just gotta hit the front tires than the two Scavs. "Think that's the only group?" Johnny asked after watching V shoot out the two front tires. The Scav's vehicle started to spin as it lost control. The driver and passenger were still in perfect view. Pop... Pop... And just like that their problems seemed to be gone. V ignored Johnny doing her best to keep focused. Everything felt as if it was going way too well for them. V was good at her job but never this good. Doing a quick scan of everything around them again showed they were still very much in the clear, So V closed the sliding door beside her and moved to check on Evelyn. She was still asleep, still breathing. Letting out a relieved sigh V sat down on the floor. "You know where Misty's Esoteric is," It was more of a statement than a question. V moved so she could look at Judy. "There's a short alleyway next to it where the back entrance to her shop is. Vik's clinic is down some stairs. Might be faster and have fewer eyes on us than going straight to Misty's front entrance. That area tends to always have NCPD blockin' up some shop or patrolling. I doubt they would care about us but less risk ya know." She gave a soft smile to her hoping Judy could see it in the near mirror. "Yeah I think I know which spot you're talking about," Judy sounded a little more at ease. "Almost there shouldn't be too much longer."

Once Judy had parked V stepped out of the van to ensure they were safe. She did another quick scan making sure no one had followed them. Finding nothing out of the ordinary V popped her head back in to give Judy the all-clear. "I think we are good," V started to remove her jacket to place on top of Evelyn. She did the best she could to wrap it around her body before picking her up. "You get the doors and I'll be fine carrying her again." Judy gave a quick nod before leading the way.

Slowly they made their way down the stairway into Vik's clinic. Thankfully he didn't have anyone in his chair. It was always hard to know if he would be busy or not. It didn't take much time for him to notice the two walking in. "Go set her down on the chair. What's going on V?" He asked rushing over. "Not fully sure other than she was at a sketch ripper who sold her to the Scavs after not being able to fix somethin'" "She's got a doll implant that may have scrolled something before all of this." Judy added watching V lay Evelyn down. "Nice to see you got my gifts," Vik lightly chuckled recognizing the samurai jacket. "Any idea what work she may have been doing?" He was already starting to examine Evelyn while asking the two questions. Judy didn't say anything for a bit before remembering where Eve had been working. "Shit," She shook her head in disbelief. "I warned her but I think she was at Clouds. I left her cigarette clip on my desk at Lizzie's but it had Clouds club card in it." "Any idea as to why someone might do this to her? Scan already found a problem." Vik looked over at V having a feeling he knew where this was going. "She helped with Dex. Originally she's the one who did scrollin' for where we'd find the chip, but offered to cut him out of the deal." V did her best to explain without outright telling Judy about Johnny.

And just like that Johnny came back. He did his best to keep his distance but V knew he wouldn't be quiet for long. She looked over his way while Judy and Vik started to go over more about Evelyn being a Doll. "Meant to say it earlier but it's cute that you have samurai merch," He grinned, and V rolled her eyes. "Just trying to lighten the mood some. We might want to take a trip to Clouds once Judy is safe to leave the Doll here to rest." Why? V gave him a confused look hoping the others didn't see. "Not sure just feel like we need to... Maybe get some clues Vik can't give us." Johnny shrugged. V couldn't tell if he was being helpful or just wanting to see some tits.

"There's a few more tests I need to do before I can do much more to help her. She's stable so I wouldn't worry. Should be fine once I figure out what is wrong. Why don't you go visit Misty in the meantime," Vik said moving his stool over. It was clear Judy was starting to get even more worried about Eve. "Probably could give you a tea for relaxation while we wait." "Doesn't sound too bad." Judy lightly brushed her hand over Evelyn's hair before following V over to Misty's shop.

Misty was standing in the back doorway of her shop. V could tell she was debating on whether she should come down to help or not. "Vik said you might be able to help with a tea for relaxing?" V smiled at her. Misty gave a soft smile before nodding and welcoming the two in. "Pretty sure I know just the thing. Make yourself at home! Any friend of V's is a friend of mine and is always welcome. I'm Misty." Her smile warmed up more as she introduced herself to Judy. "Thank you. I'm not sure you'd call V and myself friends but I do owe her." Judy said softly before looking over to V. It was pretty clear on her face she hoped what she had said didn't offend her. "We only just meet really because of the job." V added helping Judy not feel so bad about her statement. "Oh so does that mean she knows about Johnny?" "Johnny?" Judy looked at V who was now standing like a deer in the headlights unsure what all she could say without coming off crazy. "He's a friend of mine..." It wasn't the best answer but it was one that Judy didn't question. "Oh~ I'm a friend?" Johnny cued teasing V as he made his way into the shop. Fuck you, Johnny. V did her best not to suddenly look annoyed. "If you keep this up you'll get my southern blood goin'." He laughed as he plopped himself down in the reclining chair Misty had for when she did Chakra work. Are you seriously doing this right now?  V looked back at Misty who seemed to be catching on that Johnny had made himself known after her question. Instead of Johnny responding to V he just laughed while lighting up. She could hear the sound of his lighter followed by the sound of his exhale. For some reason, everything Johnny did sounded louder and closer almost as if V herself was doing it but she wasn't. Red lights had flickered over V's optics, nothing seemed to be worrisome about it just a new version of floaters for her. Looking back at Johnny his relaxed sitting had shifted to more sitting up as if he knew more than she did, she froze.

V wasn't aware of how long she had stayed quiet because of her vision but had a good feeling it may have been a worrying amount of time now seeing Misty, Judy and even Johnny right in front of her. "Sorry..." She said softly trying to give a smile. "Still getting used to the new eyes I think, seems to have some bugs." "That's strange but it's okay you're still recovering. You've been still taking yours Omega Blockers when needed and what Vik gave you too?" Misty asked lightly rubbing V's shoulder trying to comfort her. V nodded her head even though they both knew she was letting Johnny stay active. "I'll have Vik take a look at stuff once we know Evelyn is okay." She stated trying to not worry Misty which seemed to be working as she started to smile.

"I hate to ask you this," Judy said breaking the silence that had fallen again. "Would you be willing to go to Clouds and see if they know of anything that happened or if Eve left any of her stuff there? If Misty is okay with it I'll stay with her while we wait on Evey. " She sounded scared but V knew this might help ease some of her worries. "Yeah of course I'll do that for you," V gave her a soft smile. "I'll call you when I'm on my way back here 'kay?" Judy nodded in agreement. "Thank you, V… I really owe you." "Nah you're good just let me know if we get any updates before I'm back." Judy then sent the address to Clouds over to V "Stay as long as you need to Judy. I could even do a card reading for you if you'd like while we wait. Oh and I'll start that tea as well!" Misty seemed extra happy to have company in her shop. V said her goodbyes to the two as she left the shop this time going out the front door.

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

It didn't take V very long to make her way to Clouds. Something about the place didn't feel right to her. With the amount of Tyger Claws hanging around. It was feeling more as if they were running the building instead of just being there for the many stores and stalls below Clouds. V did her best to keep notes on all of them just to be safe. She'd had her runnins with them before and most knew of her because of Wakako being one of V's many fixers, but something just felt extremely strange to her. V walked over to the elevator doing her best not to be noticed. She pressed the button to call the elevator back down and then stepped inside the box as soon as the doors had opened. The elevator was empty thankfully but didn't feel that way with the blaring news, ads and now Johnny leaning against a wall in front of her. "Your plan is just walking right in and asking to get her stuff?" He asked outright in disbelief. "You sure you don't need to rest some before going?" "I'm fine." V snapped knowing he was probably why her vision was acting up earlier. "Look I'm not the reason you saw that." Johnny snapped back just as venomously as V. He was already good at reading her thoughts and body language V thought to herself realizing she really couldn't hide anything from him. "I'm fine really," This time V's tone was a little softer. "It'll be an easy in and out job even if they don't let me go right in." She said trying to reassure Johnny as he moved to lead the way. To V it felt like he knew where they were going. It felt odd that he'd knew that. Was Clouds even around 50 years ago?  V questioned without thinking Johnny would hear her "No I just had an idea of where it could be," He stated while pointing to the large neon lights that read 'Clouds'. "Hard to miss." Hearing that all V could do was roll her eyes at him as she opened the door to the doll house.

"Hello! Welcome to Clouds! Is this your first time visiting us or have you been before? I'm Cheri happy to help make your stay dreamy." "Uh... First time but I'm not here to see anyone." V was caught off guard by how fast she was greeted by the cheery receptionist. "Oh, That's strange. What brings you here then?" She raised a blue eyebrow at V. "I'm here to see if Evelyn Parker left her stuff here. I'm a friend of hers, said she left work early sick the other day not by her choice," V started to scan around unsure if the lady was buying this. "Probably just her jacket or something." "She did leave early but sadly she no longer works with us. I'll see if it's okay that you go up and get it. While you wait I could have you visit one of our many dolls to keep you company," She smiled brightly hoping to make a sale. "We'd just need you to plug in and give a safe word so we can figure out the best match." V could tell this wasn't going to go as originally planned. Debating about waiting out front or pretending to see a doll started to float through her mind. The little lie could be faster but would security have their eyes on her even more knowing about V asking around for Eve? Letting out a sigh "How does the doll thing work?" "Oh good! We will scan you, and then it will give a match, no pain at all," Cheri motioned to the personal link port. "Just connect in and we'll be good to go. I promise it's perfectly safe and all data we keep is encrypted so no need to worry about it," V ported in just trying to get this done as fast as she could. " Everything seems to be going good just need you to pick which doll you'd like. For some reason, two showed up," Cheri frowned slightly. Getting two dolls to show up seemed uncommon for them. Without putting much thought into it V picked one. "Alright and now your safe word?" Right as that question was asked Johnny showed up again standing behind the desk. "Johnny?" V questioned without realizing she was speaking aloud. "Funny safe word but you should be good to go. Please put your weapons in one of the lockers and enjoy your stay! If you get cleared to retrieve Evelyn's things it will auto-update on your end so no need to worry about that." "Thanks." V gave a half-hearted smile before glaring daggers at Johnny who had made his way to the chair next to the weapon lockers. "Would have thought you'd get more options than only two." With you in my head, it messed up things. Johnny put his hands behind his head to stretch out. "That should have given you more options princess." V went back to ignoring him as she put her weapons in the locker.

It shouldn't be too hard to figure out how to get past security in a place like this. V had broken into many places with even higher security.  Her eyes moved from box to box checking each of the numbers she has already forgotten the one Cheri had told her to go to. Here and there a security guard seemed to be standing watch. All their blind spots seemed to be covered by cameras but not very well. "Hey look over here," Johnny showed up for V standing next to a room that was taped closed. "Think this might be worth looking into." Maybe room 11 was Evelyn's?  V asked opening it up to find even more caution tape and what looked like filming equipment. Scanning the room V found a few spots of blood on the bed and along the wall. Moving over to the equipment V realized it wasn't for recording it was for recovering. Fiddling with the buttons on the device V was able to make it turn on and start to play a projection of Evelyn with a client. It seemed to be going fine before a spark shot out of Evelyn's head causing her to roll around on the bed in pain. She then moved off the bed and hit the wall that had blood on it. "Might have to tell Judy about this when we get back," V stated turning everything off and locking the room back up. No one had noticed what she had done surprisingly. Some security this place had. V couldn't help but roll her eyes at the thought. Shoving her hands into her pants pockets V started to look around doing her best not to seem lost but, also not to look out of place. V found herself heading down the hall of booths, quickly scanning each one. All seemed to be in use with only Evelyn's being out of order. Reaching the end there was a staircase that was marked to show where the VIP booths were. The bouncer seemed to have stepped away making it easier for V to slip her way in. At the top of the stairs V could see a staff-only door with no one watching it. Easy in-and-out job for sure.

Slipping her way past a few cameras V found what looked to be the locker room. V was able to find Eve's locker pretty fast after entering the room. Slowly V opened the door just in case something might be inside that she didn't want to see but all that was inside was Evelyn's purse and work schedule for the month. "Think that's everything?" V asked closing the door hoping Johnny might show up. "There's probably a make..." "You okay?" Johnny asked making himself known again. V didn't reply while closing her eyes. V found herself sitting in a place she didn't remember going to with Judy before "I found some scrolls on her, they were corrupted but I was able to fix some of the data..." Judy told V before pausing. "Woodman had his way with her before sending." She started to fade out for V.

"V? Hey" Johnny sounded a little more panicky this time. This caused V to open her eyes and look at him. "Yeah just had a weird optical glitch again I think," The look Johnny gave her was clear he didn't buy what she was saying. "Think we can find an office for a guy named Woodman?" He nodded his head realizing what may have just happened. "Yeah shouldn't be too hard. You sure you're okay?" "Yeah just fine now." Right as V reassured him about being okay she got a text from Judy.

Just dropped Eve at my place. You still at Clouds? We need to talk. - Judy Read

Yeah just about done here. Where should we meet? - V Sent

Be there in 5 - Judy Read

"Seems like she knows about what you just learned." Johnny stated leading the way back into the hall before disappearing. V took a deep breath trying to collect her thoughts. The memory that came over her wasn't her own but at the same time, it was. The feeling was like when she remembered Johnny's memories but this time she was herself. With how Johnny was reacting it was clear he knew what was up but wasn't going to say anything to V. Cursing under her breath V forced herself to make her way to Woodmen's office. It wasn't too hard to find, Johnny was leaning against the window of an office. V watched as he began to smoke. "That's the bastard, you should be able to do a couple of hacks on him without anyone seeing or noticing." Johnny motioned to the window and he was right. The blinds had been opened the wrong way, instead of keeping people's view out it was making it so they could peak in. Woodman was behind his desk and unable to tell who or what might be outside his office. Without overthinking it V sent a couple of deamons to Woodman before making her way back downstairs out and to the front desk of clouds. Silently she grabbed her weapons and left. By the time she had left Clouds V knew Woodman was gone for good. Her vision started to get weird again. V could feel that she was going to have a seizure and the way Johnny was starting to act she could tell he felt it too. "Here I got you," Johnny somehow was able to take over enough to help her sit down. "This was harder on you than I thought it would be. Just wait it out until Judy gets here okay?" V let out a soft mhmm and nodded at him. Everything felt weird and everything hurt. Johnny had gotten them sat down just in time. Thankfully it wasnt a full blown seizure, but it was enough to cause worry. Once everything seemed to stop V noticed Judy was standing in front of them. "Van's parked out front you okay? You didn't get into a fight did you?" She asked seeing V's bloody nose "I'm fine, just overdid it some but I'm good." Standing up V followed Judy. It was clear Judy wanted to say something but couldn't. Once they had made it to the van trauma team and NCPD showed up rushing into the building. V couldn't help but give a nervous laugh as Judy shot her a look of "what did you do."

The ride to Judy's was quiet. Leading the way up some stairs Judy showed V her apartment and then took her to her at-home office. Sitting down she let out a sigh. "She's asleep now and Vik fixed her up good. I don't know how to thank you for finding her or even knowing what to do. With her being a doll we did some digging and found some things," Judy paused to collect her thoughts. All of this reminded V of the memory she had back at Clouds. "Woodman her boss did things to her... I don't know if she has memories of it but he had his way with her." V knew she had to say something to help Judy feel better, she could tell Judy felt gross saying everything. "I offed him," V interrupted, "Don't ask me why I just did, say it was a gut feeling that the man needed it." Judy looked shocked at what V had just told her but what they had seen while leaving started to add up and it was clear by her face. "You didn't." "I did, sent over a few daemons their security is bad." "I guess they never changed it," Judy gave a small laugh. "I'll keep an eye on Evelyn, Shouldn't be too hard while she's healing. You don't have to worry about her for a while I'd say. Once shes better I feel like she can help you with whatever you needed her for." "Tell her you can help even if it's for an hour." Johnny stated sharply as he leaned against Judy's window, He'd been there the whole time but V was just now noticing his prescents. "If you need me to help watch her even if it's just for a short amount of time please let me know." She wasn't sure why she kept listening to Johnny like she was but V did as she was told. "Yeah of course, thank you again V. I'll let you go, you've looked half dead since I met up with you again," Judy moved to lightly touch V's shoulder and smiled. "I promise to be in touch. We can go over more details later." V smiled back and nodded. "Yeah I probably should rest still in recovery myself but this was important." And after saying that V left Judy's place to make her way back to her own apartment building. Once she had entered her room V did a quick look around to see if Johnny was going to show himself. "Johnny we need to talk." V snapped waiting for him to show his face. He didn't answer...

[aparticularbandit]

Loaded God Complex (V)

Summary: The problem with designing a Game that ends in your death during your most desperate hour is that sometimes things can get better.

…and then you still have to play a Game that ends in your death.

Or: The woman we know as Tsumugi has probably the best birthday of her life at what is probably the worst time to have it.

NOTE: Because this is pre-game, Tsumugi’s name is different. In this, she is primarily referred to as Tsukasa Yuki instead of Shirogane Tsumugi. Despite names you might recognize, every other character in this is an OC. Think of it as a reverse reference; Yuki seeded her scripts and games with references to people she knew and loved. We’re just seeing that in reverse.

Chapter Rating: M for brief nudity. Fic Rating: M for brief nudity.

AO3

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For the first time in months, Yuki doesn’t wake alone.

(She also wakes in a bed and not on the not-so-comfy couch in her office, but that’s less important.)

Even before she truly wakes, before she opens her eyes, Yuki feels Ryoko’s arm tight around her waist, Ryoko’s head burrowed between her shoulder blades, Ryoko’s legs tangled with her own.  She barely shifts, and Ryoko murmurs something unintelligible before tightening her grip on her, drawing her closer to her.

Yuki opens her eyes just enough to settle more comfortably in Ryoko’s gentle hold, relaxes with a comfortable sigh, and then closes them to slip off into another dream.

~

The second time Yuki wakes, it’s less pleasant.

Her phone buzzes on the bedside table – Yuki had not necessarily been consciously thinking when she placed it there; it was nothing more than an old, ingrained habit from the years she lived here with Ryoko before…before – and she groans, eyes cracking open, as she reads the caller ID.  Then she carefully disentangles herself from Ryoko’s grasp, sits up with a little groan, and answers the phone.

“Tsukasa Yuki,” she grumbles out.  “What do you need, Usa-chan?”

“Well, I was going through the script—”

Yuki groans again and kneads her forehead.  “I thought you said you didn’t read the script—”

“I don’t, but I needed to copy and paste stuff over for the flashback lights, you know, and Shuichi still doesn’t have a last name?  It says something about editing it in later?”

“Yes.  I haven’t thought of a good last name yet.  Nothing seems to fit.”  (This is a lie.  Yuki knows exactly what name she’s going to give him.  She just can’t put it in the script because they will catch her out.  It’s going to have to be something that goes live with the show.  Just like so many other of her changes.)  “I’ll have something before the first light drops.”  She taps her fingers on the bedside table.  “You did add that—”

“Yes, yes!  I added it!”

Yuki reaches for her glasses and pushes them on – anime villain style, because she feels like one right now.  “And the other thing,” she says, voice even more hushed, not wanting to wake Ryoko, yes, but also not wanting her to even possibly hear this, “the one I wanted you to add for the final trial?”

Usagi never pauses.  She jumps straight in.  “The screens for the audience, mmhm, I’ve got those added, and the place for the chat interactions, but Tsukasa-sama,” she says, hesitating, pausing, “what do you need all that for?”

“I thought it would be a fun gimmick.  Goes well with the robot.”  Yuki sighs and shoves a hand through her frazzled blue hair.  “Usa-chan?”

“Hm?”

“I’m taking the day off.”  Yuki taps her fingers on the table again, then pulls her hand into her lap.  “If anything comes up, I trust you’ll be able to take care of it for me.”

“B-b-but Tsukasa-sama—”

Yuki waits to hear what Usagi will say, but for a while, there’s nothing.  Maybe Usagi thought that Yuki would cut her off and stopped abruptly as a result of that, but that isn’t the case.  So she waits, expectant.

Finally, Usagi says, “Is this because of Mitsuki?”  She hesitates again, and Yuki can imagine her brow furrowing.  “Are you afraid, Tsukasa-sama?”

Yuki smiles, caught out, even though she knows Usagi can’t see that confirmation.  “I plainly want some time off before the Game starts, Usa-chan.  That’s all.”  She runs her finger in circles against her skin.  “Maybe a couple of days.  Everything you need should be plain to you.”

Again, that gentle quiet before Usagi says, “Okay.  I’ll protect your time.  However much you need before the Game, Tsukasa-sama.”

“Thank you, Usa-chan.”

Then Yuki hangs up, turns her phone on silent, and hides it in the back of the nearest drawer.  She starts to remove her glasses just as she feels Ryoko snake her arm around her waist again, as Ryoko kisses up the curve of her spine.  “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.  “I plainly didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Quit using that word,” Ryoko groans.  She nuzzles against Yuki’s neck.  “You’re…taking the day off?”  Her voice tightens.  “Now?”

At first, Yuki doesn’t turn to her.  Her gaze flits to the drawer where she shoved her phone.  “I sent in the finalized scripts yesterday,” she says quiet, trying not to realize (and yet still realizing all the same).  “They won’t need me again until the Game starts.  To make sure that everything.”  Her voice catches, and she pushes past it.  “Runs smoothly.”

She can’t breathe.

“I—”

She pushes that feeling away, pushes it down, pushes it into that drawer with her phone where it’s hidden and she can’t see it and she doesn’t have to acknowledge it and she doesn’t have to touch it, not now, not until she’s ready, not until—

“It seemed plain to me,” Yuki says, ignoring the shadow looming above her and turning in Ryoko’s grasp to meet her curious (annoyed) gaze, cupping her chin with one hand, and nuzzling against her, “that my time would be better spent with you.”

Ryoko kisses her, and Ryoko kisses her – wanting and greedy and needing, because they’re both such desperate things – and she smiles against her lips.  “Hungry, are you?”

“Starved.”  Yuki tugs Ryoko’s lower lip between her teeth, and then her stomach rumbles loud into the silence between them.  She scoots back and covers her mouth with one hand, eyes growing wide, as the grumbling returns.

That sparkle in Ryoko’s eyes returns, and she laughs – loud, boisterous, head tilting back until her white teeth shine.  She slaps her leg.  “You said starved, and then…and then—”  She laughs again, louder this time, and gasps in furtive fits.

Yuki crosses her arms and looks away.  (If she were an anime or visual novel character, there would be a shadow across her face, likely in an unappealing shade of blue.)  “I don’t think it’s very funny.”

“I do.”

“That’s plain to see.”

Ryoko crawls over to Yuki and kisses the tip of her nose.  “So we eat first.  There’s leftover birthday cake.  I can smear icing all over—”

“There was a cake?”  Yuki’s eyes widen.  “I never saw any cake.  Did I miss the candles, too?”

“After last time?  Fuck, no.  I’m not about to let you burn down the house again.”  Ryoko kisses Yuki’s cheek, then draws away from her with a sigh.  “Ruru-chan made the most amazing cake.  I can’t believe you didn’t have any!”  She pushes herself out of the bed and starts scrounging around for their clothes.  “It’s like you stuck yourself behind that bar and wouldn’t leave for nothing.”

Yuki glances down at her fingers and slowly taps them together.  She doesn’t say anything.  The only truthful answer she could give is her own avoidance: she hadn’t wanted to see what else around their house had changed in her absence.  She slowly tucks the sheet around her as she moves to the edge of the bed before something Ryoko flings at her lands in her face.  “Ow!”

“Put that on!” Ryoko says as she kneels down and takes Yuki’s sweater dress off the floor.  “Kitchen nudity is how your fucking tits get burned!”  She looks mournfully at her left breast, cups it in her hand, and runs her thumb along a white patch on her nipple.  “RIP Mi-chan.  You deserved better.”

As her girlfriend stares mournfully at her own scarred nipple, Yuki pulls Ryoko’s large sleep shirt over her head.  Then she slips from the bed to stretch the front of the shirt out, staring at its upside down image.  The Danganronpa 50th Anniversary Cast stare back up at her with differing expressions.  She can almost – almost – pick out Mitsuki in the background.  The Ultimate Mortician.  It set her perfectly in line to examine the bodies (and to modify things as needed to match with the script).  She and Mitsuki ran the shows back then, and they’d been so good at covering the other’s flaws.  They’d both been insistent that Ryoko – the character, not her girlfriend – not be placed anywhere near the middle of the promotional art, although she often is in any of the fanart, and Mitsuki—

“I can’t believe you still wear this thing.”  Ryoko holds Yuki’s sweater dress aloft as she stands.  “You stole this from me years ago—”

“It was a gift!” Yuki exclaims, letting the front of Ryoko’s sleep shirt drop, its edge brushing against her thighs.  “It was the first gift you ever gave me!”

“Yeah, because you stole it and wouldn’t give it back.”  Ryoko sticks her tongue out at Yuki.  “Well, I’m gonna wear it now.  It’s mine after all!”  She pulls it over her head and then shoves the sleeves up before twirling on her heel.  “See?  It fits me so much better!”

Yuki rolls her eyes.  “Yeah, but you hate that thing.  Besides, I used it as a basis for one of my most popular character outfits, so you can’t just—”  She cuts herself off as Ryoko shoves her hands into her pockets, as Ryoko’s eyes widen, as Ryoko pulls the small box out of her pocket.  Oh.  Then she bites her lower lip and looks away before Ryoko can say anything.

For a moment, Ryoko just stares at the box.  “Yu-chan,” she says, hesitant, gaze not leaving the box, “what is this?”

“Nothing,” Yuki lies.

“So it’ll be okay if I open it, right?”

“No!”  Yuki moves towards her to try and grab the box away, but Ryoko holds it aloft, out of her reach.  As a result, Yuki wraps her arms around Ryoko’s waist and collapses on the floor, hiding her face in the edge of the sweater dress.  “Just…just put it back!  And forget about it!”

Instead, Ryoko gently unclasps Yuki’s hands and returns to the bed, sitting just on its edge.  She holds the box in the palm of her hand for a few seconds – enough time for Yuki to make another swipe for it, if she wanted, but she doesn’t.  It won’t do any good, not the way Ryoko is staring at it.  If only she hadn’t forgotten—

Ryoko flips the lid on the box and lifts the ring from inside it – a single diamond set in white gold, smaller alternating rubies and sapphires trailing from it down either side of a rose gold band.  She holds it up to the light, and every gem sparkles.  (Her eyes do, too, their light reflecting within.)  “Yu-chan,” she says again, quieter, a near hush, “what is this?”

“I should think it’s plain to you what it is.”  Yuki doesn’t move from where she stays collapsed on the floor, hands clasped together in her lap.  “I…I got it about a month before….”  She can’t complete that part of the sentence – won’t complete it – and so continues as though she has, “But I never found the right time to….”  That sentence, too, falls incomplete from her lips.

“And you….”  Ryoko’s gaze finally moves from the ring to Yuki.  “You brought this to…to your birthday party?”

Yuki can’t meet her eyes.  “I thought it was your engagement party.  I thought….”  She swallows.  “I didn’t think I would change your mind, but I plainly thought that I shouldn’t keep it.  But I…I couldn’t sell it, and I couldn’t get rid of it, so I plainly thought—”

“You thought you would give it to me as an…an engagement present?”  Ryoko raises a brow.  “Yu-chan, that’s plainly pretty fucked.”

“I know.”  Yuki glances up just in time to see Ryoko slip it on her finger.  “Don’t—”

“Why not?  It’s mine, isn’t it?”  Ryoko sets the ring on the finger where it belongs – where it just fits – and then holds her hand up to the light, her fingers outstretched.  She stares at it for another few minutes, saying nothing.  “Hey, hey,” she says, finally.  “Yuki, do you…want to marry me?”

This isn’t fair.

“Yes.”

This isn’t fair.

Yuki slowly sits next to Ryoko on the bed again.  She takes Ryoko’s free hand in hers, but her gaze doesn’t leave her fiancée.  “I think it’s quite plain to see that.”

This isn’t fair.

Ryoko finally looks away from the ring on her finger and turns to Yuki.  She takes Yuki’s face in both of her hands – the ring cold against her cheek – and draws her into another kiss.

THIS ISN’T FAIR.

Yuki knows that she’s crying before Ryoko lifts her fingers with a smile, before she brushes her thumb along her cheekbone to wipe them away.  She must think they’re tears of joy, and Yuki has no intention of telling her otherwise.  It wouldn’t do any good.  What would she say?  Instead, she murmurs, “We can…we can figure everything out after…after the Game, okay?  We only just…we’re plainly not even—”

But Ryoko kisses her again, and Yuki can’t stop crying.

[raayllum]

what’s your opinion on Soren and Claudius character arcs? they both fall under the same lie given to them by their father Soren has a positive arc from being an antagonist to realising wrong from right and doing the right thing

whereas Claudia falls under the negative character arc where she falls deeper into the lies of her father and Aaravos

by the end of the series do you think Claudia will redeem herself or continue to plummet into the lies she’s been told?

So Soren and Claudia are great precisely because of the contrast they give each other. Soren has a rougher personality, but a more moral heart; Claudia has a sweeter personality, but a sharper edge to her. They both care a lot about the boys, but Soren is a knight - inherently used to taking orders - and Claudia is a dark mage - solution, creatively and independently oriented. This distinction is made clear in their character designs, but also their early choices in S1: moments after Claudia sent smoke wolves after the boys, Soren is saving Callum’s life; while Soren is yawning in the funeral procession because he spent all night defending his king, Claudia burns Harrow's body with dark magic without a second thought, despite it going against traditional funeral rites.

I think Viren's biggest mistake was that he asked Soren - his strong, older son - to be the one to kill the boys, thus leaving Soren open to tell the truth with none of the justification that Viren offered up. Justification she, reluctantly but ultimately does accept and reaffirm in S3.

V: But if we are led by a child king... S: He'll make bad choices? V: He will make weak choices.

V: Claudia, you understand why Prince Ezran had to be removed? C: ... Of course. He couldn't have done the things that needed to be done.

Claudia buys into and predicates a lot on necessity, for both her and others (mostly her father). She needs to take the boys home; she needs to recapture the dragon egg, etc. Part of that is her father in her ear, of course, but Claudia isn't mindlessly obedient either. (Again, that independent thinker.) She is regularly the one coming up with solutions for her and Soren's plans, while Soren most provides distractions (attacking Rayla so his sister can go after the boys) or tools (Claudia already had the tracking spell in mind, Soren finds an ingredient).

Post-S2 meta on Claudia's character here. Post-S3 meta on Soren's arc here.

The main thing, I think, is that because Soren was asked to do something more terrible, he was given more room to have doubts. He also was already leaning more toward seeing elves as people (not entirely, but he didn't dehumanize elves or dragons to the same capacity). Soren also made a lot of mistakes in S2 (trying to kill Ezran, lying about Harrow, his prior treatment of Callum, the dragon debacle) that he was able to recognize as mistakes. Soren pre-emptively striking first was him following through with father's ideology, and everything in that experience humbled him, I think, but mostly made him re-evaluate his life. Most importantly, Soren expresses the desire to be Free: "I'm free to do what I want without expectations from Dad, or - or anyone!"

Claudia never realizes that she's in a cage. If anything, she's bolted the door shut and think it's a good thing, and is in many ways now trapping Viren in there with her, as of S4, rather than being orchestrated into and pulled forward by devotion. She's shifted from repeating Viren's laws and each of them reaffirming each other's cognitive dissonances ("You're doing this to help us, to help everyone!" "Yes! Yes, exactly") to repeating everything Aaravos has told her (and hence why it's beat for beat what Ziard said, too): "All of the elves and dragons except for Aaravos saw humans as nothing more than worthless, stupid, dirty animals. But Aaravos saw we could be better! So he gave us magic." Which, given what Viren almost did to Soren (the heart of cinder spell) under the guise of making him better/stronger... yeah, no wonder that isn't a convincing argument for Soren. And no wonder ("But you're going to be better now, that's all that matters") it's a compelling argument for Claudia, who's always been such a Fixer by nature (something she shares with Callum, although his manifests in a different way, of course).

That said, there's still plenty going on with Claudia. Her hair being literally black and white (with the black nicely representing her humanity), her sympathetic motivations (she just wants to save her family/dad), her sweethearted boyfriend, the fact she still cares about Soren and she gave the coins back in the end. I still do think she'll be redeemed & always have, I just think she has to get worse (hair going either almost fully or entirely full white) before she gets better, and that her family (Soren, Viren, Terry, and possibly Ezran as well) will play the main / initial roles in helping her get there (to either / both ends).