#although the dialogue at the end fought me so hard

[flysafepapi]

the sin factor 14/?

masterlist

Warnings: mentions of murder, nothing too bad, other than that i don’t think there’s anything that needs a warning but let me know if there is

Summary: It’s in the eyes, too, the same ambition and clawing desperation to be more, get more, hidden behind a carefully blank stare. He also knows that Duke has something Tommy never had although it’s more likely that it’s the other way around, because Tommy has lines that he won’t cross for reasons that are his own. Duke has no such reservations.

tagging: @zablife​​​​​​​​ @the-makingsofgreatness​​​​ @peakyrogers​​​​​​​​ @hb-writes​​​​​​​ @caelys​​​​​ (let me know if you want to be added on or taken off)

The thing is, Tommy had assumed that eventually he would come to think of the boy as his son and not a stranger with eyes that looked too much like his own for comfort. It had been a foolish assumption, he knows that now, and yet he still can’t quite shake the idea. If everything had happened sooner, if he’d made an effort years ago, would it have stopped everything from happening? The thoughts turn over and over in his mind like a never-ending self imposed torture. Would it have stopped this? What was it that made Duke the way he was, something unspoken and hidden from his childhood, or was it something in their bloodline that did it? 

“You look unwell, are you ill?” 

From anyone else the words might’ve been concerned, but any warmth they might’ve held is smothered underneath the utterly blank voice they’re spoken in. Duke stares at him with eyes that might as well be carved from ice for all the coldness they hold within them. The gaze makes him feel like he’s underneath a microscope, being studied for purposes he’s not privy to, and for the first time he understands why people are so unsettled by his own stare. 

“There’s no shame in declining an invitation. Especially from someone like Oswald Mosley,” Duke says, still monotone, and if it wasn’t for the slight twitch of fingers Tommy might think he was completely unaffected by where they’re going. “The world is slowly going to hell and people are hosting parties like if they ignore it hard enough it won’t happen. 

“Duke-“

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll have an interesting night,” Duke says, turning to look out the window at the crowds gathering outside the ostentatious club, still with that blank mask concealing what he’s thinking. 

He watches Duke ignore Isiah watching him in the rear view mirror. It had been Ada’s idea, keeping Isiah close at hand, because where one goes the other swiftly follows, but something about it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It means they’re both close enough to strike if that’s what they’ve been planning, and he knows they’ve been planning something. Neither of them have been seen much the past week and normally that would be a comfort, so why does it feel like he’s walking into his own execution chamber?

There’s no point in ordering Isiah to stay with the car and so he doesn’t even bother, turning away when Isiah steps up behind Duke like a silent shadow, glaring at anyone who gets too close. Thankfully not many people do, though whether they’re deterred by Isiah’s glares or the dead-eyed look on Duke’s face is impossible to tell. The part of Tommy that wants to keep Duke away from Mosley and his mistress, to minimise any collateral damage that could happen, wars with the small part of him that wants to stand back and see what happens. 

“Try to look less like you’re going to slit everyone’s throats,” he says quietly, and if he hadn’t been watching so closely he would’ve missed the minute switches in Duke’s face. He might’ve thought they were two different people entirely, had he not seen it for himself. Isiah laughs and conceals it, poorly, behind a cough. 

“I would never slit everyone’s throats,” Duke says, smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world, “It’s a bitch to clean out of clothes and these are new.” It’s not comforting, but he’ll take it. 

***

Isiah watches from one of the small tables as Duke shakes Mosley’s hand, smiling like he’s being paid to do it, like it doesn’t make him want to claw his own skin off. It’s impressive how easily he manages to hide it. He’s too far away to hear much of the conversation but there’s no point in getting any closer. It would look suspicious, for one, and he’ll be hearing all about it later once they finally get away from here. 

He doesn’t turn to look when he feels someone stop beside him. Isiah had already seen her as soon as they stepped inside. 

“Ms. Nelson. I heard about what happened to your husband. I imagine it was quite a shock, finding him like that,” Isiah says, and he can practically feel the rage rolling off her like it’s something tangible. Sooner or later, Isiah’s money is on sooner, she’ll say something she won’t be able to take back. 

“Tell me, is it you calling the shots, or do you let Tommy Shelby’s son fu-“

If anyone were to look at them, all they’d see is a young couple getting a little closer than proper for such a public spot, not scandalous enough for someone to say anything but enough that they’d make their assumptions and keep their distance. He tightens his arm around Gina’s waist slowly, dragging her closer under the guise of young love or whatever inane story people will decide on if they’re seen, until it’s far past the point of comfort and she digs her fingernails into his wrist. Isiah knows the knife is sharp because he’d sharpened it himself, and he doesn’t bother being gentle when he holds the blade of it against her stomach underneath the table, hidden from view. 

The smell of her perfume is enough to make him sick. 

“Baby, if you think your family name is enough to deter me from opening you up all over this freshly polished floor, I’d suggest you rethink that and shut your fucking mouth.”

“Baby, if you think I’m scared of you, I’d suggest-“

He’ll laugh about it later, the way Gina shrinks into herself when she sees Duke reach around her to pick up her forgotten drink, staring at her unblinkingly as he downs it in one smooth movement. They’re attracting more attention now, especially after Duke’s moves in on Gina’s other side, the two of them boxing her between them, and she flinches when Duke reaches out to tuck her hair back behind her ear. 

“Do you want to know a secret, Gina?” Duke draws the name out mockingly, looking her over for a few quick seconds before he reaches down and pulls her hand away from Isiah’s wrist, eyes flashing when he feels the wetness of blood there. Isiah almost wants her nails to have left permanent marks behind, just so he can watch what Duke does to her for it. “You’re so close to being right. I do call the shots, so you get a point for guessing that, but you know what that means? All I have to do is say the word and he’d use that frankly beautiful knife to gut you like a fish. I’m tempted to let him, all that red would be spectacular against all this marble, don’t you think?”

Isiah sees Tommy looking at them from across the room, and the carefully blank look on his face is so similar to his son’s that it’s amusing to see. Isiah shakes his head and watches until Tommy deliberately turns his back, and he can see that the inaction takes a toll, even if it is Gina they’ve got trapped between their bodies. 

“Then afterwards, when everyone has all run away and this place is empty, he wouldn’t think twice about fucking me in the blood you leave behind if I asked him to, because unlike you, I have a husband that truly would do anything for me. You don’t even have a husband anymore. He didn’t even call for you while I was spilling his blood all over my shoes.”

“Husband?”

Isiah isn’t expecting the box that Duke pulls out of his pocket, or the smile Duke sends him, one of the rare real ones and not just the one he uses when he’s hiding who he really is. He’s not expecting the familiar rings inside. 

“Your father gave them to me, I’ve been waiting for the right time.”

“And this is the right time?”

Gina has gone silent, probably from the knife digging further into her stomach, but maybe from the shock of what’s happening right now. It could go either way.

“We can never make it official, I know that, but I know how I feel, and I’m sick of pretending to care what everyone else might think. Will you-“

“Love, as soon as I saw you, I knew I’d follow you anywhere, and if I had to do it all over again I still wouldn’t change a thing.” 

The ring feels right on his finger, like belonging and home and acceptance all at once. He doesn’t even care about anyone that might be looking when he steps around Gina to cup his hands around Duke’s face, looking down at him. It’s a risk, even above all the violence and the bloodshed the two of them are personally responsible for, and he knows they’re both going to be subjected to a lecture on the way home but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“You’re my reason, baby.”

[allysunny]

Congrats on 200. I fell in love with ur Bruce Wayne one-shot and immediately followed u. This is my first request ever so I hope I did fine

11 + 21 Dialogue Prompt and make up scenario prompt with Bruce Wayne

"You're intoxicating, you know that, right?” + "You're a forbidden fruit. And I’m tempted to take a bite.” + Make Up x Bale!Bruce Wayne

Words: 4.9k words

Warnings: Some angst, break ups, infidelity, some suggestive themes but nothing explicit, no use of Y/N not proofread (I'm dead sick), maybe OOC Bruce? If I missed anything, please let me know.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! I'm back with another one of my requests. Nothing much to say about this one, although I had a kind of hard time matching the dialogue prompts with the scenario prompts. I'm not very sure how I feel about this one. I'm extremely sick, I can't even think straight.

I hope you all enjoy it, though! I love Bruce, and loved writing this. He's such a little gremlin omg, the mc is stronger than me honestly.... <3 I hope this lived to your expectations, and I hope I did your request justice!!!!

The first time you and Bruce had fought, things had ended awkwardly.

There were no sparks, no big make-up kiss, no passionate make-up sex.

You’d gone your separate ways, too scared of what you might say to each other to even be in the same room. You’d hurried to your shared bedroom, closing the door, and crawling under your thousands of blankets. Bruce, on his hand, didn’t want to upset you any further, so he took one of the guest rooms and had to make do without the warmth of your touch.

On the morning after, he’d sheepishly knocked on your door, and allowed him to crawl back into your bed. He was shy and afraid, and so were you, but you loved him and let him cling to your body. None of you said a word, just held each other silently and tried to go about with your days later. It was weird – you walked on eggshells and barely spoke, and you wished to never fight with him ever again.

The second time, you didn’t let him crawl into your bed the following morning. But you’d allowed him to lean into you the following night while you watched a movie in the couch. You’d gone longer without speaking.

The third time, you were far too tired. Neither you spoke for a few days. In fact, you refused to even look at him. The ice was too thin to be broken.

It was getting harder and harder to do this. Staying with Bruce, that is.

So, this time, you weren't patient enough to stick around. You grabbed your car keys and drove to a friend's house to spend the night.

You were familiar with fighting with Bruce. Exasperation and exhaustion while you tried to fight for your relationship weren't foreign.

But just because they weren't foreign, it didn't mean you should be used to them.

You loved Bruce. Really did, more than anything in your life. You were sure he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your days with. Kind, caring, with a sense of humour that matched yours perfectly. It also helped he was handsome to boot. The perfect catch, and your perfect match, in more levels than one.

UT you just couldn't help wanting to bang your head against a wall whenever you two fought. The motives were always the same. Bruce had gotten home super late, barely acknowledged you, and locked himself in his study. You'd only gotten a glimpse of him when he joined you in bed at around 4 in the morning. This was no way of living, you'd told him. He was ruining his sleep schedule, his health, his mind, his body, and his relationship with you.

But according to him, he just had to do it.

It wasn't until you were roughly one year into your relationship that he revealed his secret.

It all made sense then, clearly. The late nights, the missed dates, the exhaustion, the eyebags. It clicked instantly.

Of course, your first thought was to beg him to stop. What else were you supposed to do? Watch as he killed himself night after night, coming home with all sorts of weird bruises, tired out of his mind, pushing himself further and further until he crashed and burned? NO. You loved him far too much for that.

Still, you stayed. Through thick and thin, you'd promised. The two of you weren't married, and after he revealed to you that he was Batman, you weren't even sure if marriage was even an option (On his side, of course. You'd still have married him in a heartbeat), but you would always love him as if you were.

He, of course, did not relent. Why would he? Being Batman was his duty. It's what he had to do. Gotham needed him, and he wasn't going to simply abandon it. You got it. Kind of. He was a dutiful man, of course. But this godforsaken city had done absolutely nothing for him. Gotham did not deserve him. And Bruce was worthy of more. Much more.

You tried to make it work after his confession. For a while, you'd wait for him until he came home, patched him up once or twice, lull him back to sleep, running your hands through his hair and softly singing lullabies to him. It felt weird. It was domestic in a weird way. You felt like it was your own little secret, you, and your little vigilante boyfriend. For a while, you felt like the strong loving woman your sweet hero would come home to at the end of the day. For a while, you felt like his home, and it reminded of your superhero movies and comic books you enjoyed engaging with from time to time.

But it got boring really quick.

The lack of attention from Bruce became unbearable, the lack of his love even more so. The Mansion, instead of your once fairytale castle, was now suffocating, its pretty and adorned walls feeling too claustrophobic.

The little secret you'd loved at first, was threatening to consume you whole.

So, you did the only rational thing.

You broke him with him.

You loved Bruce, that much was true. But you were not going to silently suffer while he got closer and closer to death each morning, nor could you stay there to watch. It broke your heart, yes. But it also had to be done.

You packed your things and promptly left. You were planning to tell Bruce a few nights before, but thanks to his job and his, well, other job, he hadn't been home, which gave you even the more reason to do it. You hugged Alfred tightly,  got your things and left.

Bruce of course, was shocked. He only found out about two days later, when he finally came downstairs for breakfast at a regular time, and didn't find you curled up on the couch. Upon asking Alfred, he was given the small handwritten note you'd left for him, the one he hadn't even seen.

After that, he'd called you countless times, but you never replied. You knew that if you answered your phone and listened to Bruce's voice once, everything would go down the drain and you'd forgive him. And that just couldn't do.

So you moved on with your life – or tried to.

You got a promotion at your job, a fancy business dedicated to pharmaceuticals, got a sweet place of your own, a pretty loft with a lovely view of the river, and even got a boyfriend.

He wasn't Bruce, that's for sure. He was shorter, smaller, thinner, not as funny and to be honest, kind of annoying sometimes. He had some habits that drove you nuts, and you could swear sometimes his eyes lingered far too long on the women that walked down the street hand in hand with their boyfriends, and spoke about football players way too much. But he was sweet and brought you flowers and never disrespected you, so you chalked it up to being too nitpicky and swallowed it down, allowing Matt to spoil you and take care of you the best he could.

You'd get glimpses of Bruce's life here and there, plastered all over magazine covers. His latest affairs consisted of gorgeous actresses, a rising pop star, and a model you particularly remember disliking because she made you feel insecure. When you saw her picture with Bruce in some scandal column, you bit through your cheek and thought to yourself what a petty man he was.

No matter.

You were doing great. Your life was just beginning. You had new work opportunities, a nice boyfriend, and weren’t going to let anyone, let alone him, stop you.

It was easier said than done.

The first time you had ran into Bruce after your breakup, you nearly screamed. He'd walked into your company's building, claiming something about a partnership and a donation. Your boss thanked him profusely, a deep flush taking over her cheeks, but he couldn't care less, eyes boring into you with an intensity you were familiar with. He asked to speak to you, and you'd tried shooing him away, but your boss felt it was "incredibly rude to deny just a small request of Mr. Wayne", she practically locked you both inside your office.

"This is a nice place," he'd said, looking around at the room you'd decorated with a few personal belongings. "Nice view. Got it with the promotion?"

"Yes. Not that it's any of your business, actually." Had been your reply. You'd crossed your arms over your chest and scowled. How dare he show up just after everything he'd done to you?

"Actually, in case you didn't hear your boss over there, it'll be my business alright. We're becoming partners, and I believe we'll have to work closely together." You had not missed the smirk that accompanied it and fought hard not to let your face show just how strong his hold still was over you. While you tried to distract yourself from his presence, you hadn't realised just how close he'd gotten.

"Pft. It's not me you'll be working with," you'd said, trying to keep calm. His beautiful brown eyes were searching for yours, and you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of backing down.

"Something I consider a great pity," he had sighed, taking one step towards you. "Look, I'm really sorry – "

"We don't have to do this."

"What?"

"This. Apologies. We don't have to. You did what you had to do, or what you thought you had to do, and so did I. I've moved on, Bruce. Let's just keep it in the past." You'd said, looking away. Bruce had eyed the way you bit your bottom lip, desperately wishing it was him tugging on it.

"It doesn't change how sorry I am, how – "

"How you moved on super quick, not afraid to date literally every model in the book," you 'd chuckled sarcastically. Sorry my ass.

"You know why I did that. I have an image to maintain," Bruce had taken another step towards you, and he placed his hands on your waist, testing the waters. When you did not walk away from his grip, he pressed closer to you. "There's not a single day that goes by that I don't miss you. Desperately."

You could have let him fool you, with his pretty words and even prettier face. But you'd just realised how fantastic your life could become without him (even if, deep down, your heart still yearned for the man before you). So, you gathered all your courage and pushed him away, quickly moving towards the door and opening it.

"Have a good day, Mr. Wayne."

He did not question you and left your office promptly, allowing you to sink back in your chair and release a sigh so deep, you were sure everyone in the building had heard it.

Your other encounters with Bruce, had been more intense.

Now partners, you had to interact with him almost weekly, and every time, he managed to find some excuse to get his hands on you.

You had something in your hair, or some dust in your jacket, or he simply had to walk past and needed to gently cup your waist or place his hands on the small of your back to guide you. At first you thought it was annoying, but quickly began to eagerly await each meeting where you knew Bruce would be present. You'd started to tease him, bending over sometimes to catch whatever had slipped from your grasp – pencils, pens, books, binders – pretended to trip just to have a reason to hold tight onto his arms, gave him flirty smiles whenever he was presenting anything, causing him to stutter and fumble over his words.

He'd caught onto this little game of yours, and it became your little secret.

You didn't like what this entailed – your last secret had ended badly for the two of you. Besides, you had a boyfriend. A very nice one, who was oblivious to your little "adventures" with Bruce at work. Sure, they didn't go past him getting his hands on you or you on him. You never kissed him again; it wasn't like that. But it wasn't fair for Matt if you kept going with whatever this was between your ex.

So, one day, when Bruce arrived for a meeting, you'd pushed him aside after and spoke briefly.

"Look, I don’t' know what this is between us," you started, "But it has to end. I – I have a boyfriend. And it's wrong to do this to him."

You didn't miss the way Bruce's eyes narrowed when you uttered the word "boyfriend". Nevertheless, you continued.

"And it's not fair for either of us as well. We're not together anymore, Bruce. We're not in a relationship. I'm sorry if I led you to believe there was anything else going on here. It was wrong of me – all of this was. But I'm putting an end to this. From now on, we're to only speak to each other in a professional setting. I don't want anything to do with you outside of work. Ever again. I have a life of my own, you know. And you're not in it. Goodbye, Bruce."

You walked away, leaving him to soak your words.

That same day, you got home earlier and snuggled up with Matt on the couch. He'd brought you flowers and cooked dinner, telling you all about how he "could sense you weren't doing well". You smiled. Yeah. You'd be perfectly happy with him. He was a great catch, and you were lucky to snag a guy like him. After dinner, you helped him load the dishwasher and pulled him through the couch, where you picked a movie that was abandoned halfway, the sound of the TV being muffled by your little sighs and whimpers of pleasure under your boyfriend.

Images of Bruce's face tried to sneak into your thoughts as Matt kissed a trail down your neck (was it just you, or was it almost robotic the way he did it?), and you fought against them. He'd abandoned you. He'd chosen Batman, his mask, his other identity, over you. And you deserved better. Matt was better. You shook your head and pulled him up, crashing his lips into yours (Was he simply not into it? Not in the mood?) until you were out of breath and light-headed, and Bruce Wayne could no longer disturb your mind.

You still had no idea how anyone had convinced you to do this.

Not that you minded the get up, the pretty dress, the cute hairstyle, the heels. You looked and felt like a Princess. But such getups should be saved for date nights or other romantic activities. Never a charity ball in which you, along with other equally excited coworkers of yours represent the company.

You really did not want to be here. You could've dolled up to go somewhere with Matt and that would have been fine, but it was a Friday night and the last thing you wanted was to socialise with a bunch of Gotham snobs whose only reasoning for donating money was to appear charitable than to be charitable.

You sighed and took a sip from your drink, some sweet cocktail you'd fetched at the bar, earning a quizzical look from Matt.

"Having fun over there?" He asked. He looked rather dashing with his blonde hair all slicked back, and his stormy eyes looking at you with amusement.

"Another one, and I'll gut you open," you muttered. You were tired of the fake smiles, of the polite small talk, of having to pretend you actually sucked up to everyone in the grand ballroom.

"I don't know, you look like you might fight right in," Matt joked, which had you nearly choke on your drink.

"I need to down a few more of these to try and make myself believe I could ever fit in."

Matt chuckled and the two of you spoke for a while. He looked very handsome in his dark blue tux, and he was all yours for a few minutes, until he spotted someone "he simply had to meet". Some big shot economist he'd read about in a paper. Personally, you'd never really realised Matt was big on economy, but you let it slide. At least one of you was having fun.

Hours went by. Mark was nowhere to be seen. You were leaning against a wall, in one of the far ends of the room, completely alone and bored out of your mind, when you heard his voice.

"You look lovely," Bruce said, glancing over your figure, eyes lingering on your hips and how your dress snugly hugged them.

You stood up straight and did your best to look away and appear uninterested.

Bruce sighed

"Are you really not going to talk to me?" He asked, to which you sighed. No one could see you –you were far from the bustling crowd, from the noise. And that somehow had your knees weak.

"There's nothing to talk about, Bruce," you said.

"Yes, there is. I want to apologise – "

"I told you; we really don't have to do this – "

"Yes, we do." Bruce reached out to you, his hand carefully resting on your waist. You finally looked at him, and your gaze softened. Of course, he looked as handsome as always, hair carefully styled, doing a beautiful black suit. Then, your eyes landed on his tie. It was a lovely shade of burgundy – perfectly matching your dress. Did he know that was the colour you'd be wearing? Had he done it on purpose?

"Please. Just let me explain." He murmured, and you couldn't help but relent. You always did when he gave you that sweet look and spoke to you in that voice. You nodded.

"I'm sorry. For everything," he started, stepping back a bit to give you some space. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel trapped. "You should know that I never wanted to hurt you. It's just... I know how you feel about Gotham. I know you think it's done for, and that I shouldn't waste my time on it. But... I believe in Gotham. I truly do. I've seen what its people can do, what they're capable of. And they're good. They're trying. I have hope for this city. And I can't just stand back and watch it fall. Not when I could've done something to prevent it."

"And I couldn't just stand there and watched as you nearly killed yourself every night for a city that doesn't deserve you," you replied, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I know. I'm sorry I put you through so much pain."

He leaned in closer, and you unconsciously followed, chest pressing against his. Bruce tucked a rebel strand of hair behind your ear, and his fingers travelled down your neck and shoulders. You sighed, having missed his touch far too much. Bruce always touched you gently. Sure, he’d pulled and tugged and been rough with you sometimes, when you both needed, or you asked him nicely. But you always liked it when he was gentle with you, taking his time and treating you like a precious treasure.

“It breaks my heart to know you were suffering so much because of me. I’m sorry. I know I’m selfish to want it all. The city, you, Batman.” He spoke, hands running up and down your neck and collarbone.

“I only ever wanted you. But I guess that was too much to ask.” You replied.

“It wasn’t. I was yours. I am.”

“You’re not. I have to share you with the city, don’t I?”

“My heart was always with you.”

“But you weren’t. And that was enough for me to leave.”

You’d completely forgotten where you were. And it’s not like anyone else even minded you – old men were already going on drunk rambles, and women were flirting with men who weren’t their husbands. No one seemed to be paying attention to the two idiots nearly hidden away in the darkness. Probably some clingy couple, most of them thought.

Bruce sighed and dropped his head to your neck. You should have wanted to push him away, tell him that he couldn’t. Tell him that you had a boyfriend, and you couldn’t have your heart broken by him again. But instead, the only thing that left your lips was a soft whisper of his name, something short of a plea.

He brushed his lips across the column of your neck, and you tilted it back, granting him a better access. As he started pressing kisses against your soft skin, you heard him whisper.

“You’re intoxicating, you know that, right?”

You sucked in a breath and your hand came up to tangle itself in his neatly styled hair.

Looking over his shoulder, your eyes scanned the party. Men and women dressed in formal attires, dancing, chatting away, drinking. Suddenly, your eyes fell on Matt, who was excitedly talking with an older man. Something inside you (was it your conscience?) churned and you shook your head.

“Bruce, we shouldn’t – “ you were interrupted when he latched his lips onto that one sweet spot just below your ear, the one that made you go weak in the knees, and gasped loudly. “M-Matt – my boyfriend – we can’t – “

“Oh? And why is that?” Bruce asked, soothing over the spot with his tongue, hands expertly tugging on your hips.

“I’m – I’m taken, Bruce, I can’t do this… It’s wrong…”

You weren’t even sure if you’d believe your own voice.

“Ah. I see. You’re taken. It’s wrong.” Bruce got up and part of you wanted to pull him closer once again, mind screaming “Why did you stop?” over and over again. But your whole face heat up when he placed his thumb under your chin, tilting your head up and looking straight into your eyes.

“You’re a forbidden fruit,”he muttered, “And I’m tempted to take a bite.”

You looked up at him in surprise. You were sure he could hear just how loud and fast your heart was beating, betraying you.

“May I’?” Bruce asked politely.

Should he?

He’d hurt you. Very much.

But he’d also apologized.

Yeah, but he’d left you alone countless times.

He was saving Gotham. What a good person Bruce Wayne was.

He chose his city over you. Repeatedly.

He’s choosing you right now.

How long is that going to last?

Forever. Because you’re sure that no matter what, you’d love him forever.

“Yes,” you whispered back, and it was only a matter of seconds before his lips crashed onto yours. Bruce pressed you close against him, allowing himself the pleasure of letting his mouth explore yours. Your tongues fought for dominance, and you let out a soft moan that he deliciously drank up. His hands tugged at your waist, and you wanted him closer, closer, closer.

You cupped his jaw with your hands and kissed him fervently, doing your best to keep up. One of his hands tilted your head even higher and Bruce was able to kiss you deeper. You held onto his jaw, his hair, his head, his suit. You needed him closer, needed to breathe him until his whole existence consumed you, until you knew nothing but the feel of his lips on yours and his love in your heart.

Bruce pulled away for air, and he rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath.

“I missed you,” he mumbled.

“I missed you too.”

“I promise things will be different,” he nodded, hands still caressing your cheek. “Things have… they’ve been good. Gotham is getting better. It doesn’t need me as much. And as much as I want to do my best to keep it safe, I’ve come to realise that I should let it heal on its own sometimes.”

“You really mean that?” you asked, looking up at him. Bruce kissed your forehead and nodded once more.

“I do. Please, forgive me. I promise things will change. I will change. I was miserable after you left.”

You let out a soft snort.

“So miserable you had to date a bunch of actresses and models.”

“I had an image to upkeep. I didn’t like any of them. They weren’t you. Couldn’t come close to you, really. I didn’t even kiss them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d be betraying you if I did.”

You nodded and allowed yourself to melt in his embrace. It felt nice. It felt like home.

“So? Am I forgiven?”

You thought about it.

Bruce seemed to have changed. Sure, he could be lying. All of these could be empty promises, simply a scheme to get back in your pants. But you somehow didn’t believe that. That wasn’t the Bruce you knew. The Bruce you knew was kind and caring and true. He was always true when it came to you.

That’s why it was so easy to believe him.

“I… There’s Matt…” you mumbled, looking over his shoulder again, spotting your boyfriend who had suspiciously gotten closer to an older woman with a sparkly silver dress and her husband.

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Do you love him? Because if you do and you don’t want to be with me, I’ll walk away. Look me in my eyes and tell me you love Mark – “

“Matt.”

“Whatever. Tell me you want him, and I’ll leave you alone. Your happiness is my priority.”

You liked Matt. He was sweet. Very caring towards you, a great friend.

But he would never be Bruce.

You shook your head, and turned to face Bruce again, dropping a soft kiss on his lips.

“There is only one man in the world that I love.”

“Is there?”

“Mhm. His name is Bruce Wayne. And he’s forgiven.”

Bruce sighed a sigh of relief, and took your face in his hands, bringing you for a sweet kiss, which you returned.

You’d missed him so much.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner Thursday night?” Bruce asked you, walking into the living room of his mansion, carefully buttoning his white shirt.

“Can we switch it to Friday?” You replied, looking up from the show you’d just paused.

“Sure, I haven’t made the reservations yet anyway. Any particular reason?”

“Matt is coming to Gotham, and he’s asked me out for coffee. I’ll finally get to meet John!”

It had been a few months since that fatidic night at the charity gala.

Later that week, you’d sat down with Matt and ended things. You explained to him how you were still in love with your ex, and that you couldn’t possibly hurt him any further, that he deserved better.

On his end, Matt just sighed and hugged you, confiding in you that he was actually questioning his sexuality. He’d really liked dating you, but had felt like his feelings simply weren’t enough, and that he was actually into guys. Suddenly, it all made sense, and you kicked yourself mentally for not realising sooner.

Nevertheless, you smiled and congratulated him. You were proud of him for admitting such an important thing to himself, and you two agreed to remain friends.

Lately, he’d been telling you all about his new boyfriend, John, whom he wanted you to meet as soon as possible.

“I really think he’s the one!” he’d told you over the phone, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“If that’s the case, mind if I switch patrol to Thursday then?” Bruce sat next to you, handing you his tie, which you promptly began to tie around his neck.

“Sure. You didn’t really go last week, did you? Better check on your city this one then. Can’t leave it unsupervised for long.” You smiled, hands swiftly tugging and pulling and tying a near perfect knot.

“Can’t leave you unsupervised for long,” he mumbled, and you pulled him by the tie to kiss him. He groaned and you took it as an opportunity to run your hands over his clothed chest. Just as he was about to reach around your waist and pull you closer, you moved away from him, earning a very sad look from your puppy – I mean, from your boyfriend.

“You’re going to be late to the meeting.”

“They can start without me. I’ll be quick.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

You offered him a smile and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, before turning to the TV.

“Good luck with those investors. I’ll see you later?”

“Absolutely.” Bruce replied, kissing your forehead, and standing up.

You smiled.

Things had been normal, good.

Bruce was right. Gotham was getting better. It didn’t need him as much. Daily patrols turned into weekly ones, which turned into monthly ones. Crime rates were going down, and people were no longer afraid to walk the streets at night, all thanks to Batman.

Bruce was home nearly every night, helping you around in the kitchen, taking you on fun dinner dates, or just spending a nice quiet evening curled up in the couch with you in his arms.

It was nice, it was domestic. It was perfect.

And most importantly, you didn’t fight anymore. You didn’t cry over his absence, didn’t lament yourself over how lonely you felt without him, over how much he was neglecting you.

Because he didn’t do it – he didn’t abandon you for Batman or patrols or whatever.

Not anymore.

And he promised to never again.

A/N: And that's it!!! Please do tell me how you feel about the ending. Was it too rushed? I didn't want it to be too long, because usually, when my fics become really long, they start feeling like a burden instead of something I like doing. I don't know if any other writers in here can relate, hahaha!

Poor Matt!!! Y'all I had no idea what I was going to do with him, because when I started writing it, he was such a good boyfriend. He was straight and deadass the best boyfriend in the world and it would've made zero sense for the mc to leave him when he was such a green flag. So I had to change things up a bit. I tried not to be stereotypical or offensive, and used my own experience with my friends who were also struggling with the same thing, so I hope I did not offend anyone. That wasn't what I intended at all.

Okay, that's all!

I'm sick off my mind, I can barely stand, I have a super high fever, and I think I'm gonna collapse on the floor. Totally worth it though. I hope you guys enjoyed this.

Have a great day!!!! <3

[burnednotburied]

Chapter One

AO3 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/injury; cutting (not to self, but still); religious/cult-like ideas

Note: So the idea for this started as a prequel to my first fic (linked here), but ended up turning into much more. It basically follows the plot of Abby’s Seattle Day 1, diverging from canon where necessary and using dialogue from the game wherever possible. I split this part into two chapters because it’s so long.

This is a lot of build-up (important to the story and hopefully enjoyable to read), but I promise romance is on the horizon!

Also, the idea of deadnaming or misgendering Lev—even in the flashback part where they’re little kids and wouldn’t have known otherwise—physically pains me, so we’re going to pretend that reader has been calling Lev “L” as a nickname for forever.

Hope you enjoy! :)

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April 2038

Abby knew as much about the Scars as any of her fellow WLF members.

She knew that the group was founded by a woman who claimed to have a vision after the initial outbreak of Cordyceps brain infection in 2013, and then started spouting some bullshit about how it was all just a punishment for the sins of humanity. Said that the way to move forward was to go back to the basics. Live off the land. Reject technology and progress and pretty much all the good things in life.

She knew that they live on the island but they wouldn’t fucking stay on it, and that there was once a truce but they broke it, forcing the WLF into an endless war.

She knew that they fought hard and killed brutally, without hesitation or remorse.

She knew that, especially now that Joel was taken care of, killing Scars was pretty much her life’s purpose.

And she knew that the woman who started all of this became known as The Prophet. And that Isaac gave the order to have her killed ten years ago.

It was for that reason that Abby thought Isaac must have misspoken when he opened with:

“The Prophet is on the move.”

He was standing over the large map of Seattle in the center of the room, hands braced on the table, head down in thought.

She didn’t know what to make of that. Or how to respond. A quick glance over at Manny confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who was confused.

One of them had to ask. It seemed Isaac wasn’t going to fill in the gaps unprompted.

“The Prophet?” Manny questioned hesitantly. “Sir… respectfully… She’s been dead for years. Died before we even joined.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one who killed her.” Isaac was always calm and measured, almost always spoke quietly. But sometimes there was something beneath his words, just below the surface. Something seething and kind of terrifying, although Abby would never admit that out loud. This was one of those times.

“My unwilling informants downstairs,” he said, referring to the captive Scars being held and interrogated on the building’s lower levels, “tell me that they have a new Prophet. One their Elders have been quietly grooming for the role for the last decade, maybe even longer.”

“Okay so… What does that mean?” Abby asked, finding her voice. This was not the conversation she was expecting to have when she heard that Isaac wanted to talk to them. She had hoped to get some answers about what was going on with Owen.

“There’s a reason why they’ve been more resilient lately. Bolder. Even more bat-shit than normal.” He clenched his fists on the table. “This… Neo-Prophet,” Isaac almost laughed, the words coated in venom, “is about to fully step into her role. She is of age now. Or so I’ve been told.”

Abby stared at Isaac, still waiting for him to tell her what all of this meant. And what exactly he wanted her to do about it.

Manny jumped in. “What? So the Scars are… celebrating? You’re saying that’s why they’ve been ballsier? Killing more of us. Pushing further inland.”

Abby let out a short laugh. “If this is what it looks like when they’re happy, I don’t want to see what happens when they’re mad.”

Isaac remained stoic. “They have a renewed sense of purpose. When we killed their first Prophet, the Scars were enraged. They fought hard for vengeance. But people will only fight on behalf of a dead woman for so long. Passion for the cause wanes without something tangible to fight for. They need that higher authority to look to. They need someone to honor and defend. Their Elders were smart enough to know that their people need a unifying symbol. A living one.”

“Right, and you said that unifying symbol was on the move so…” Abby said. “Want us to hunt her down? See what they’ll do when we take away their new favorite toy?”

“No,” Isaac said quickly. “She’s not our target. We’ll get to her in due time.”

“Then wha—”

He cut her off. “The Prophet will be leaving the island soon, for the first time. In fact, it’s possible she’s already here. One of our captives tells me there will be some sort of initiation for her. I don’t know what that entails, but I’m sure it will involve attempting to kill some of ours. I’ll spend some more time with our friends downstairs and see if I can’t get any more information on that. We’ll try to prevent it if we can, but that’s not our main focus right now.” Abby opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off once again. “With the Prophet away and many of their best soldiers traveling with her, the island will be more vulnerable than ever.”

Manny gestured to the map, reinserting himself into the conversation. “Sir, we’ve tried attacking their island and—”

“Not like this,” Isaac said. “Not with everyone. There’s a big storm a few days out. We’re going to use it to mask our approach. And you two are going to lead the first wave. Pick your squads. Start prepping.”

“And the Prophet?” Abby asked.

“One battle at a time, Abby.”

“Are we sure it would be a battle?” she pressed. “Isaac, she’s just one girl.”

“You would be foolish to underestimate this unknown enemy. Besides the likelihood that the best of the Scars will be at her side, I don’t doubt that she will be a very skilled fighter in her own right.” Abby huffed. Isaac continued, “And if she’s anything like her predecessor, the greatest threat is in her words. Not her actions. I watched some of my most loyal soldiers abandon our cause for theirs after just one conversation with the one who came before her.”

At this, Abby raised her eyebrows, ready to argue. A look from Manny shut her up.

“We’ve only got one shot at this… And this is bigger than any of us.” Isaac pushed off the table, walking over to Abby and placing a hand on her arm. “I need you, Abby.”

She shifted uncomfortably before relenting, giving a curt nod. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Good.” He pulled away, heading toward the door. “Look over the plans and go through your rosters.”

“I want Owen,” she said. Abby thought Isaac could at least give her that.

When he denied her permission to go look for Owen, Abby went anyway.

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

March 2030 (8 Years Earlier)

The day of your scarring had been the first time Haven saw the sun in weeks.

Your mother said it was a sign. But your mother thought everything was a sign.

She told you that, no matter what, you were not to cry. That you, her only child, would not disgrace her by shedding tears during your ceremony.

You were to be brave. And strong.

The Prophet herself had ordained the act of scarring for all of her followers. A symbol of the innate imperfection of mankind. And so her people would never forget their own failings, even in the midst of their unending efforts towards perfection.

No one was meant to question the Prophet’s teachings, or the Elders who had taken on the responsibility of interpreting those teachings and carrying out Her will since Her death two years prior.

You could feel your mother’s breath against the back of your head as she huffed and decided that she was once again unsatisfied with your hair, roughly taking it down and beginning again for the fourth time.

While she worked, you sat still on the wooden stool in front of her and stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to memorize your features as they were now.

This was the last time you would see the face you knew. Next time you looked in the mirror, you would be different. Would you feel different?

You tried to picture yourself scarred, with two thin lines running from each of your ears to the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the thought.

But there will be no crying today.

Instead, you let your eyes wander to your mother’s reflection, hovering just behind and above yours in the mirror. You examined her face. Of course, you had never seen her without her scars, but you’d always thought your mother was beautiful.

Maybe the change in your appearance would not be so drastic. Maybe it was vain to care.

You were not supposed to be vain.

Once your mother was satisfied with the look of the braided crown of your hair, she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting you gaze in the mirror.

“We are imperfect beings,” she recited. You joined your voice with hers for the second part, “And thus we make ourselves imperfect in Her eyes.”

She smiled softly, squeezing your arms lightly. “Good girl. I’m proud of you. I know you will do wonderfully today.” You tried to return her smile. “Now. Get dressed. I laid your clothes out on the bed.”

She turned to leave you, pausing in the doorway. “Remember what I said, child. No tears today. Do you understand?”

You nodded quickly. Obediently.

She seemed pleased as she left the room.

You changed quickly, wondering if she had been able to tell that you’d spent the whole night before crying. You hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep.

The stool squeaked as you sat back down, not sure what to do with yourself while you waited. You met your own eyes in the mirror once more, this time immediately averting your gaze. You felt sick. And close to tears. And so very scared.

On the other side of the door, you could hear Yara and her mom greeting your mother. The eight-year-old asked if she could come inside to see you. After just a moment of hesitation, your mother allowed it, and you could hear the slight creak of the door as she came in.

Yara said your name quietly, standing just inside the door. You turned to look at her. She smiled, happy to see you, just as always.

“Happy birthday!” she whispered excitedly, closing the distance between you and wrapping her arms around you tightly. You squeezed her back, holding her close for longer than usual. Yara, never one to be the first to break a hug, lingered for as long as you wanted her there.

You were neighbors, and your mothers had grown up together and always been close. And although Yara was four years younger than you, the two of you were close too. She and five-year-old baby L were your siblings, as far as you were concerned.

Yara was mature for her age, even more so than most of your other friends. You knew you could trust her, so with her you were honest.

“I’m really scared,” you said quietly into her hair, still not releasing her from the embrace.

“I know,” she whispered back, squeezing you even tighter. “You’re the bravest person ever though. I know you can do this.”

You finally let go, retreating back to your stool, but Yara stayed close by, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.

“She will be with you through this, and for all the days of your life,” she said, earnest. “Our pain is Her pain, and Her pain is ours.”

You couldn’t help but make a mental note of the fact that the Prophet actually did not receive the same scars as all of her followers, so perhaps this one specific pain is one that was not, in fact, shared between to two of you.

But Yara’s comment was made with a level of sincerity that you couldn’t help but admire—and borderline envied—so you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Her presence was always a comfort, so you allowed yourself to relish in it for a quiet minute before your mother reentered the room.

“It’s time to leave,” she said simply. Firmly.

Behind her, just outside the door, you could see Yara’s mom standing there, holding a quiet but curious little L’s hand. They would all be walking over with you to witness the ceremony.

You forced yourself to stand, brushed your hands down your thighs as if to clear some nonexistent dust and smooth the phantom wrinkles. For a moment, you considered taking one last look in the mirror, but ultimately deciding against it. It would feel strange to do so, now that everyone was watching you and waiting.

For the briefest moment, you thought about making a run for it. Stealing a boat or even attempting to make the swim to the mainland. You could survive on your own, or maybe even join the Wolves. You weren’t scarred yet. You could lie about where you came from, and they would probably take you in…

The hiss of your name from your mother’s mouth ripped you back into reality, along with a gentle nudge from Yara.

You took a deep breath and started walking.

Once the home of the Prophet herself, Sanctuary was one of your people’s primary places of worship, second only to Martyr’s Gate on the mainland. (You had never seen it – You’d never left the island – so Sanctuary was where you most often prayed.)

Scarring ceremonies were held there, always on a child’s twelfth birthday.

You had witnessed many friends receive their scars. It was customary to attend the ceremonies of those close to you. Family, friends.  

The process was always the same.

Elder Constance would lead all those gathered in a prayer, holding the ceremonial blade. You would recite a version of the Prophet’s Prayer. The blade would be blessed. Then Elder Duncan would make the incisions before welcoming you as an official member, a child of the Prophet.

It never took very long. Everyone had work to get back to, tasks to fulfill.

You would soon come to find that your ceremony would not be like any of those others.

The first indication of this was the sheer number of people who were gathered at Sanctuary. You had never seen this many people gathered in one place at one time, many of the faces you did not recognize.

As you approached the dais, the crowd silently parted for you, all eyes examining you carefully as if looking for something unseen. You couldn’t begin guess what it was.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to cry. To hold your mother’s hand. You wanted to not be here at all. Ever. For this to be a horrible nightmare.

Why were there so many people here?

Your eyes met Elder Constance’s. She was stiff and serious, as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes that you were not accustomed to seeing. A quick glance at Elder Duncan revealed a similar expression on his face.

The other five Elders also stood on the stage. Another thing that was unusual for a simple scarring ceremony.

Had you done something wrong? Were you in trouble?

You looked ahead, and your legs continued to carry you forward, despite your internal protestations.

When your feet were nearly touching the first step up, you stopped. And although your mind went blank, your body remembered what to do.

You bowed your head to each of the Elders, silently waiting to be greeted and invited onto the dais.

“Welcome, child, on this most joyous day!” Elder Constance’s voice boomed, carrying enough for everyone gathered to hear. “Come. Join us.”

You fought the urge to turn around and find your mother. You wanted to look at her face, to see if she knew what was happening.

But you knew that any moves you made in this moment other than exactly what was expected of you would be seen as hesitation, and therefore disgraceful. And you didn’t want your mother to be angry.

So you did as Elder Constance said, and you climbed the steps.

Your vision blurred. You tried to focus on your breathing.

“Two years ago, the ignoble Wolves took our beloved Prophet from us,” she began once you were standing center-stage. The reaction from the audience was instantaneous, full of outrage and despair. Elder Constance allowed this to continue for several moments before holding up her hand; and the noise stopped just a quickly as it began.

“But She is not dead! For the Prophet’s spirit cannot be killed by the evils of mankind.” The crowd hung on her every word as she continued, “She lives in all of us. In our actions and in our virtues. In Her teachings.”

“Here before you are all of your Elders, appointed to this honorable position by our Prophet, most wonderful and wise. She speaks to us, and it is our duty—our privilege—to share her words with you.”

“But today, She does not have words for us.” Elder Constance paused, the audience hushed, waiting for the reveal. “It is Her heavenly desire to give us a new source of hope. An advocate. A champion… A new Prophet.”

Elder Constance’s hands landed on your shoulders.

“Today, She has chosen Her successor.”

The crowd erupted in celebration.

You went completely numb and tuned them all out.

The Elders continued to speak, and the people continued to celebrate. All the while, your mind was reeling and your face was blank.

A new Prophet?

There can’t be a new Prophet.

What does that even mean?

There have never been any prophets except for THE Prophet.

And if there does need to be a new Prophet, why would it be you?

Why you?

Why you?

Why you?

It can’t be you.

If any of your questions were answered, you didn’t hear it above the ringing in your head.

Your attention was drawn to the blade that was now in Elder Constance’s hands, and you forced yourself to again begin to listen.

“…The Neo-Prophet will take on her full responsibilities when the time is right. But until then…” She continued on with familiar words, ones used in a typical scarring ceremony to bless the blade before it was used.

The knife was then passed down the line of Elders, each of them lifting it above their head and reciting the same words.

Your legs suddenly feel very weak.

Elder Duncan blessed the blade last and stepped forward, positioning himself just a couple feet away from you. You turned to him just as you knew you were supposed to.

This was the part in the ceremony when you would usually say a version of The Prophet’s Prayer. You weren’t sure if you were still meant to do that, given the circumstances, but you were operating solely on instincts now, so you began, “The world is not in balance, but I will do my part to right it.”

You weren’t speaking nearly as loud as the Elders had. You hoped you were loud enough. You hoped you were doing it right.

The pleased look on Elder Duncan’s face indicated that you had done well, but before you could go on with the next line, all of the Elders continued the prayer together:

“You will lead us through the storm May the current be calm May You guide us home.”

Their words had been slightly altered from the classic prayer, different than you would’ve said it if you had been given the chance. The strangest part was that they were speaking to you.

Almost like they were praying to you…

Elder Duncan took another step forward, gripping the knife.

You expected him to use his other hand to lift your face, to hold it at the best angle for the scarring. You’d seen him do the same to others many times before.

This was the part that you knew was coming. You had been at least attempting to prepare for it. You could handle it.

But you were thrown off once again when instead, he took your right wrist in his free hand and gently pressed your fingers down, making you form a fist. He then lifted your hand until it was by your ear, knuckles facing down, arm bent at the elbow. His own hand gripped your elbow, holding your arm in place.

You were frozen, with no choice but to watch as the knife met the outside of your forearm and sank in. A slow, straight line was carved from the top of your wrist all the way to your elbow.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t cry. You did as you were told.

You wanted to go home.

“We are imperfect beings. And thus, we make ourselves imperfect in Your eyes.” Elder Duncan said, meeting your gaze. “It is for this reason that we proudly wear our scars on our faces.”

When his work was done, he released your right elbow and moved on to the left, lifting that arm into the same position. “But the Prophet, in Her kindness, bears the weight of our imperfections, carrying all of us in her arms. This is why You will wear your scars here.”

“Remember that You are part of us, but set apart.” The blade pierced the skin of your left forearm, and a twin incision was formed. “We look to You, Prophet. May She guide you. May She protect you.” With that, he took a step back, lowering the knife.

You slowly lowered your arms to your sides and turned back to face the enraptured crowd.

Finally, you found your mother among them.

And she was crying.

“My friends,” Elder Constance declared, gesticulating dramatically, “Your Prophet!”

The cheers were deafening.

As you scanned the masses, you felt the blood ooze down your arms and curl around your fingers, pooling on the ground by your feet.

You found Yara, who was somehow clapping and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone else. And then you saw L, held up on their mother’s hip, face concerned, eyes wide and wary.

At least someone was as skeptical as you were.

You wondered if you would get to go home now.

But Elder Constance placed her hands on your shoulders again, this time turning you and leading you in the opposite direction, into the Prophet’s grand house. Into Sanctuary.

There, servants’ gentle hands carefully cleaned your stinging wounds, took down and brushed out your hair, and helped you change into a new white dress.

You would never live in your mother’s house again.

And it would be eight years before anyone addressed you by your name.

[willalove75]

Alcina's New Maid Pt. 17 Lady Dimitrescu x Reader

Summary: You have your final few days of training and the morning of the meeting finally arrives.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Very brief mention of suicide (while talking about Donna's past and her parents). No details mentioned, just mentioning the act itself. If you want to skip that part, skip to the dialogue after the paragraph starting with **.

Tags: fluff, light angst

Notes: Part 17! Sorry for the teeny tiny cliffhanger but we were reaching 5k words so I had to cut it off. Next chapter will dive straight into the meeting! Also, I re-read most of this the other day but I'm sick and don't have the mental capacity to go over it again so apologies for any errors!

Click here for the rest of the series

Gif source

The following morning Cassandra woke you up before sunrise again for your last full day of training. Once you were warmed up she started sparring with you again and showing you different ways to get out of different kinds of grapples.

After breakfast she brought out one of her old daggers and handed it to you and taught you how to use it properly now that Karl was making you one of your own. Cassandra showed you how to wield it, and the different ways you can use it for defense and the occasional attack. Once she was satisfied with your movements she ran inside and grabbed a wooden dagger and used that to spar with you.

The first hour of the sparring session ended with her poking you with her wooden dagger in at least eight different places that would kill you. She grabbed Dani and used her as a model to point out where the main arteries in the body were and how to hit them to either kill your opponent or cause massive damage.

She continued sparring with you and teaching you how to block the most important parts of your body to avoid death or severe injury. After a few hours you were finally getting the hang of it and you decided to take a quick break for lunch. Zina brought out your lunches again and Bela and Daniela joined the two of you, all of you eating in the courtyard.

When you finished eating Cassandra quizzed you on the locations of the major arteries again and had you practice sheathing and unsheathing your dagger while you digested. After about an hour it was back to sparring. Once more you sparred with Bela and Daniela but this time they had the wooden dagger. Bela was hard to hit due to her defensive nature and you were able to get a few hits on Daniela because her moves were so erratic and chaotic. None of the hits you landed would have done much damage - no less kill someone - but the fact that you were able to hit her at all meant you were progressing well.

"Okay, now you'll have mother, Aunt Donna and Uncle Karl there to help you if shit goes sideways so you won't have to fight Miranda alone." Cassandra says.

"Which is a good thing because if you fought her alone you would definitely die." Daniela adds in.

"Oh yeah, without a doubt. You'd be super fucked. But even with the three of them Miranda is still stupid strong so it'll still be a really hard fight. Lets team up, you and Dani and me and Bela and we'll do a team match. This will encompass everything, grapples, defense, the daggers, you gotta be on your toes."

The match started and Daniela immediately went after Bela and Cassandra headed directly for you. You were able to fight her off for a decent amount of time before she grappled you. When you realized her grip on you was too strong you were able to grab your dagger and stab her in the leg and get out of it. Even though you missed the artery it was still enough damage to knock her off her game for a moment and get out of her grip.

It felt wrong attacking the girls. Even though you knew a stab like that was the equivalent of a papercut to them. Attacking them wasn't something you enjoyed. Although if you were being honest, attacking anyone wasn't something you enjoyed so at least when you go to stab someone else when they attack you you won't feel as bad as you do when you stab one of the girls.

Bela was able to knock Daniela down and headed over to you to assist Cassandra. Two on one was tough and you didn't last long at all. Although you lasted longer than you thought you would - meaning you were able to fight them off for about a minute instead of immediately being subdued. Bela managed to pin you down and when Daniela finally got over to you, Cassandra was quick to pin her, winning them the match.

The sound of applause rang through the air as Alcina walked over.

"Well done girls. Cassandra, your swordsmanship with the dagger was fantastic, Bela, wonderful defense, Daniela, I don't know how you always manage to keep your sisters on their toes, even after all of these years. And draga, you did a fantastic job, you held your own well. I'm very proud of all of you." She says with a smile. "Now girls, go get washed up, dinner will be soon."

The girls swarm up to give their mother kisses on her cheek and head inside. Alcina walks over to one of the benches and sits down. She pulls you into her lap and holds you close.

"I am very impressed draga mea, truly."

"You are?"

"Yes, I saw you stab Cassandra in the leg to get out of her grasp. Your quick thinking was impressive my love."

"Thanks. I really hope a fight doesn't break out at the meeting. It's one thing sparring with the girls, but with Miranda? I don't know, it makes me nervous."

"It makes me nervous too draga mea. But I'll be there with you and I won't let anything happen to you. Donna and Karl also swore to help protect you so you will be okay." She says.

"I'd hate to be the reason anyone got hurt."

Alcina kisses you on the head and you look up into her golden eyes. She smiles down at you and places a knuckle under your chin and leans down, capturing you lips with hers.

"I won't let anything happen to you, draga mea. I promise." She whispers against your lips.

"I know." You reply before kissing her again.

Alcina nuzzles you and the dinner bell rings.

The two of you walk into the dining room and the girls swarm in. Hunger hits you the moment you smell the delicious food and as soon as your plate it piled you dig in.

Alcina lets you sleep in a little the next morning and just as you're getting dressed the breakfast bell rings. After breakfast Cassandra reviews some of the things she's taught you over the last few days and the two of you finish up right before lunch.

The rest of the day goes by pretty quickly. Cassandra does another quick review with you after dinner and once the two of you are finished you head into your room and find Alcina drawing herself a bath.

"Ah, draga, there you are. How was it?"

"It was good, I was able to retain almost everything she taught me."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. Would you like to join me?" She asks as she finishes taking off the rest of her clothes and steps into the tub.

You nod and pull off your clothes and toss them in the hamper. Alcina lifts you into the tub and sits you down in her lap with your back against her chest. Once you're comfortable you let out a sigh and lean into her. Alcina wraps her arms around you and kisses your neck.

You're completely enveloped by her, by her scent, by the feeling of her skin against yours, her warm breath skating across your neck. As stressed as you are over tomorrow's meeting you can't help but feel relaxed in her arms. When you're with her like this you feel more safe than you ever have in your life. Even after everything - all of the pain, the hurt, the heartbreak, she's still the one that brings you more comfort than anyone else ever has. If you tried making sense of it you'd surely get a migraine. But right here, in her arms, you're safe. And that's all that matters.

"How are you feeling about tomorrow?" You ask her.

"It's difficult to know how to feel when I don't know what her intentions are, draga. If it were solely about the hunters I would say I am prepared and looking forward to coming up with a plan to deal with them. Although yes, the hunters will certainly be discussed because they are a topic of concern, I know Miranda and I know she's not asking you to be there to solely take notes."

"Are you afraid of her?"

Alcina pauses for a moment to contemplate your question as her fingers mindlessly trace patterns across your skin.

"Yes and no."

"How so?"

"I am not afraid of her for myself. She is incredibly powerful and even though it would not be easy, she could certainly kill me. But I know she won't. She needs myself and the rest of the lords to keep the village under her thumb as she searches for her perfect vessel. And since I do most of the work she knows that killing me would be a mistake. But I fear for the day that she deems us unnecessary because when that day comes, she won't hesitate killing all of us. Her power is nearly limitless and I have no doubt that she will do anything and everything to succeed in finding a suitable vessel for Eva. Even if it means destroying everything around her to do so. Until then she will do whatever she feels is necessary to keep us, the lords, in line. I'm also worried that she is going to try and hurt you to hurt me. I wouldn't put it past her to do something like that again and that scares me, draga mea."

She sighs and holds you tight, nuzzling her nose into your hair. As you take in her words, the word "again" sticks out.

"What do you mean 'again?'"

"Lets finish up in here and I'll tell you in bed."

You nod and you both finish bathing. After drying off and putting on pajamas you crawl into bed and curl under Alcina's chin. Alcina holds you close and continues.

"Many years ago, decades ago at this point, Karl had a paramour. It wasn't someone he truly loved but he did care for them. They were a worker at his factory and the two of them began spending time together. Karl began slacking off to spend more time with them; Mother Miranda got wind of it and she was less than pleased. One day they went missing. Mother Miranda called a meeting and none of us knew why until we arrived and saw Karl's paramour chained down at her feet. She said they were nothing but a nuisance and they were only causing trouble, distracting Karl from her goal of finding a perfect vessel. She ordered Karl to kill them and he refused. Mother Miranda was going to kill them but instead I offered. Karl was furious but I knew that whatever Miranda was going to do, she was going to make them suffer horrifically because Karl refused her. She relented and I was the one who killed them. It was the only time I ever apologized to someone before I killed them. They knew that this was a mercy kill and that Miranda would have done much worse so it was also the only time someone had thanked me for doing it. Miranda was pleased and allowed me to take their body back to the castle to do what I pleased with it. Karl came over the next day and he was so angry, he thought I drained their blood and turned them into one of the vineyards scarecrows. But I didn't, instead I cleared a small spot on the edge of the woods and had them buried. Karl was grateful and after we had a conversation he understood why I did what I did. Karl was still relatively new and hadn't seen Miranda's wrath like I had. He knew refusing her would anger her but he didn't realize she would have taken it out on their paramour instead of himself."

"Is that why he hates Miranda?"

"One of the reasons. He hated her well before that incident. She had kidnapped him and infected him with the cadou when she found out that he was one of the descendants of the four founders of the village. He never got a say in the matter like I did. She just took him and forced it upon him."

"That's so horrible. Why didn't he just leave after he got the cadou?"

"It's difficult to explain but in the end he wasn't able to. Miranda would have hunted him down. Once we were given the cadou, whether or not we had a choice in the matter, we were forced to stay. She was also able to influence him to stay."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone takes to the cadou differently. I have a theory that those with a higher affinity to the cadou are less affected by Miranda's control. To a certain extent, Miranda controls the mold because her powers were given to her by the Black God, which is where the mold comes from. Since the cadou contains the mold, by extension Miranda has a certain amount of control over it."

"So can she control you?"

"Not necessarily. I believe she has a certain amount of influence over me, but no, she cannot control me because I have a higher affinity to it. For example, the moroaicǎ and lycans have almost no affinity to the cadou so Miranda can control them if she wanted to. In the past she has, but she generally she views them as a waste of time so she gave Karl the job of overseeing the lycans and myself the moroaicǎ."

"So how can you tell who does and doesn't have a higher affinity to it?"

"My theory is that the more mutated the subject, the less affinity they have towards it. The moroaicǎ and lycans are at the bottom, they are the most mutated and most easily controllable therefore have the lowest affinity. Next comes Salvatore, whom you haven't met yet. He is severely mutated and will do anything to please Miranda. Next I believe is Donna. Although her only mutation is on her face, she is very mentally unstable which leads me to believe that Miranda can more easily influence her."

"How is she mentally unstable?"

Alcina lets out a sigh as her fingers dance across your skin.

**"It is quite a tragic story. Many years ago, before she received the cadou, her sister, Claudia, died. Donna was very young when it happened and her parents were unable to deal with the death of their child so they committed suicide together leaving Donna all alone."

"Oh my god, that's horrible."

"It was horrific. After they died she isolated herself and developed severe depression and anxiety. When she received the cadou, she took part of hers and put it into Angie and now primarily uses Angie to speak when she's around mixed company."

"Wait, so Donna is that chaotic?"

Alcina laughs and shakes her head.

"Gods no, Donna uses Angie to speak but the cadou granted Angie her own personality. Part of me believes some of the things Angie says are the thoughts Donna would never say out loud but that is just mere speculation."

"So how do you know when it's Donna talking or Angie?"

"Donna's voice comes through Angie."

"Oh, got it."

"Yes. So because of Donna's mental illness, she is more easily influenced by Miranda but since her and I have formed and alliance that influence has been fading."

"How about you and Karl?"

"Based on my mutation theory, I would be next given," Alcina gestures to her body. "and Miranda does have some influence over me, but not much. I have retained enough of my own cognitive abilities to not fall completely under her influence. There are times where I can feel her influence and if I so chose to I can ignore it. But the pull is there."

"Is it hard to ignore?"

"In the beginning it was, but now not so much."

"Can she tell when you ignore it?"

"Yes, but only because when I do, I am not doing what she wants so she knows her influence on me has failed. Whether she knows I consciously ignore her or not is still a mystery."

"So Karl has the highest affinity to the cadou?"

"As much as I loathe to admit it, yes. Which is also why I refuse to relay this theory to him because I would never hear the end of it. But he has no visible physical mutations, at least that I am aware of. And he hates Miranda more than any of us. He refuses to do anything she asks unless it directly benefits him and he has no desire for her acceptance or approval."

"Do you have any desire for her acceptance or approval?"

Alcina pauses for a moment and you look up at her. She has a faraway look in her eyes before she looks down at you and sighs.

"Truthfully? Yes." You feel the hairs on your arms raise at her answer. Not that you're completely surprised, but hearing her say it out loud makes it real, too real. "It's complicated. There is a part of me that yearns for her acceptance. There's a part of me that's willing to do nearly anything for her. I understand how ridiculous that may sound but after so many years of being under her rule, it's difficult to not want acceptance from the person who essentially created you. And since she rarely shows her approval of anyone the thought of being one of the few becomes almost addicting. She has done a lot for me. She saved my life, although it was under false pretenses. Still, I am still alive because of her. She gifted me the girls, gave me the castle, the vineyard, and the business so I had a way of supporting myself. She has done a lot for me, for my family. In a way in feel indebted to her for those things. But at the same time I hate her. I can't stand what she's done to me, how she's manipulated me and used me over the years." She tightens her grip around you as she thinks back on her past history with Miranda. "I despise how she treats my daughters poorly. I hate that after everything I do for her, after everything I've done, she still views me the same as the rest of them. It aggravates me to no end."

"So you hate her, but at the same time you want to be her favorite? You know that sounds crazy, right?"

Alcina chuckles and rolls her eyes at you.

"I said is was complex, draga."

"Complex is an understatement." You say with a laugh.

Alcina shakes her head and runs her fingers through your hair. An unsettling energy fills the room as the two of you think about tomorrow's meeting.

"Even though I feel that pull of her influence, even though I crave her acceptance, I will never let her hurt you. I don't want you to think for a moment that I won't do everything I possibly can to protect you, draga."

"I know." You say, cuddling into her more.

"Good. Now try and get some sleep draga mea. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

Her fingers comb through your hair and you feel her nails scratching at your scalp. She holds you a little closer after pulling the duvet over the both of you.

Even though you're tired you can't seem to fall asleep. Anxiety begins to creep its was into your chest and you cling to Alcina a little tighter.

"Rest, draga. I can hear your heartbeat from a mile away."

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous."

"So am I, but you need to sleep."

"I can't."

Alcina lays you on top of her, resting your head on her chest. One of her large hands scratches at your scalp as the other traces patterns across your back.

"Close your eyes, draga mea. I have you. I will protect you, I promise."

"I know you will. And I love you so much for that."

"I love you too."

Alcina starts singing, her fingers moving perfectly in time with the song and your eyes start to flutter shut. Even though you don't know what song it is since it's in Romanian, whatever she's singing is soothing and begins to lull you to sleep.

Alcina hears your breathing and heartrate settle and knows you finally drifted off. She finds herself having a hard time falling asleep - she's too anxious about tomorrow's meeting. But the soft sounds of your snores help her to relax and a little while later she dozes off into a restful sleep.

The following morning you wake up in the same exact position you fell asleep in; laying on top of Alcina with her arms wrapped tightly around you. Alcina feels you stir in her arms and brushes the hair away from your eyes.

"Good morning, draga mea." She says with a kiss to your head.

"Good morning." You say with a yawn as you stretch out on top of her and curl back up in her arms. "Did you stay here all night or did you get up to work and pull me back on top of you when you came back to bed?"

"No, draga." She says with a chuckle. "I stayed here all night with you."

You didn't say anything in response, just a light chuckle and then you nuzzled your face into her neck. Here in bed, in her arms, it was safe. You were safe. There wasn't a single part of either of you that wanted to get out of bed this morning. Neither of you wanting to leave the comfort and safety of each others embrace. The thought of starting the day made you a little anxious but after taking a deep breath and filling you nose with the scent of Alcina's skin and shampoo, your anxiety melted away and you relaxed into her.

"Can we stay here forever?" You asked as your lips brushed against her skin while your face was buried into her neck.

"I wish, draga mea. I wish." She sighed.

Reluctantly, the two of you finally got out of bed. The meeting was taking place in the chapel at the castle shortly after breakfast so both you and Alcina started getting yourselves ready for the day.

Alcina put on her usual floor-length cream dress, leather gloves, pearls, and her hat. The two of you decided that it was best that you wore the uniform that her handmaidens normally wear. She was sure that Miranda knew the relationship between the two of you was past the point of you just being her handmaid but in order to keep appearances up you both decided wearing the uniform was the way to go.

Once Alcina was finished fixing her hair and makeup the two of you headed down to the dining room for breakfast. Just as you were walking in the girls swarmed in and appeared in their seats.

"Good morning mother!" The girls said in unison.

"Good morning daughters." She said.

You could tell the girls wanted to ask how you and Alcina were feeling about the meeting but none of them dared to. They could tell Alcina was already on edge and they didn't want to make her worse. The nerves in your belly slowly but surely began to build as the time to leave creeped closer. Even though you weren't hungry you forced yourself to eat a decent meal because you knew you were going to need the energy.

Breakfast was quiet and the tension in the air steadily built as the time passed. Every so often you would look over at Alcina and every time you did you noticed she was further and further away mentally. You could tell that her mind was heavily focused on the meeting and that the newspaper in her hand was just a front. The only reason you knew that was because she stayed on the same page throughout the entire meal yet burned through at least four cigarettes. She looked as if she was rereading the same sentence over and over again as her mind wandered. By the time breakfast was over her eyebrows were so closely knit together they nearly became one.

When the girls finished eating they all kissed their mother on the cheek and wished her luck at the meeting. Daniela and Bela gave you a hug before they left and Cassandra punched you on the shoulder and mumbled "don't die." before swarming away.

As the girls left Zina entered the dining room.

"Pardon me, my Lady." She said to Alcina, whose eyes were back on the newspaper. "Lady Beneviento and Lord Moreau have arrived."

Alcina looked up and nodded before taking a sharp inhale and putting the paper down. She took one final drag of her cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray and downed the rest of her wine in one large gulp. Removing the napkin sitting on her lap, she carefully dabbed the corners of her lips and looked towards you and back to Zina.

"I made sure the chapel was stocked with extra wine. One bottle of sanguis virginis and the rest of your finest vintage, my Lady."

"Thank you Zina, your fine attention to detail never goes unnoticed."

"My pleasure, my Lady."

"Ready, draga?" Alcina asks you. You nod in response and she stands up. "We shall be off then."

As Alcina walks past Zina, Zina hands her her cigarette holder with a lit cigarette already sitting at the end. Alcina nods at Zina with a small smile and leaves. As you walk past Zina she stops you by putting her hand on your shoulder.

"Be careful." She whispers with a small squeeze before removing her hand and heading back towards the kitchen.

Alcina expertly guides you through the castle halls. Once you leave the main part of the castle you notice that the halls are less ornate. The smooth stone walls slowly turn more jagged and unkept and the cracks in the floor grow until the stones beneath your feet are uneven. You've never seen any part of the castle in such a state of despair before. Alcina doesn't say a word the entire time. The juxtaposition of her and your current surroundings is a fascinating one. Her steps are purposeful and she's as elegant as ever as she strides through her domain. Alcina is a woman of elegance, of nobility, she's a queen roaming the halls of her castle. Yet the current surroundings show evidence of disarray. The further down the hall you walk the worse it gets. Alcina would never let the main areas of the castle look like this. If a spec of dust is left behind she throws a fit. You wonder why she's allowed this area to fall apart so much, seemingly without care.

She leads you to a large door and turns towards you. As you finish taking in your surroundings you look up at her. There must have been a look of confusion on your face as you took in the crumbling walls around you because you hear Alcina sigh.

"As you know, I take pride in keeping my castle in top shape so I am sure the passageway has been rather out of the ordinary." You nod your head in response. "This side of the castle sustained extensive damage during the war and I was never able to properly conduct the repairs. The dilapidated state ended up keeping wandering maids away and it warded off unwanted visitors. It was far too much trouble to repair it and since it provided almost guaranteed privacy for these meetings I allowed it to remain in such a despicable state."

"Got it. That makes sense." You say with a small smile. Alcina returns the gesture but her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

She takes a deep breath and exhales. Her eyes stay on the floor and she looks like she is having trouble saying something.

"Are you okay?" You ask.

"Yes. I have something to ask of you, and I hate that I have to ask this of you."

"What is it?"

"In order to attempt to keep appearances up, I don't think it would be wise for you to," she pauses for a moment. "for you to call me Alcina during the meeting." She says quietly. Her eyes flick up to yours and they're filled with concern. "I know we are well past formalities but I'm worried about Miranda as it is and if she hears you call me by my given name, I fear it will make things worse."

Alcina starts to ramble a little and you take a step forward and reach out to grab her hand.

"Hey," you say, looking into her eyes. "I get it, it's okay. I promise."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, my Lady." You say with a smirk.

Alcina releases a breath that sounds like a sigh of relief and she cups your face with her hand.

"I truly don't know what I ever did in my life to deserve you, draga mea." She whispers.

The two of you share a moment as you gaze into each others eyes. Angie's cackle rings out on the other side of the door, effectively ruining the moment the two of you were having. Alcina closes her eyes and takes a grounding breath before adjusting her posture and putting her "countess" mask back on.

"Stay by my side and do not do anything unless I give you the okay. Understand?"

"Yes, my Lady."

She nods in approval and looks at the door and back to you.

"Shall we?" She asks.

You nod in response and she pulls a key out of the band around her hat. The door unlocks with a soft "click" and swings open. Alcina returns the key and she ducks under the doorframe, making her way into the chapel.

"Here goes nothing." You think to yourself before following behind her.

[egcdeath]

sunday kind of love

request: I'm still so so so in love with jake lockely, and wanted to request something with him and his girl being domestic af, like going to the night market together to get stuff for a late dinner, him not letting her get an uber because he's the best, dancing with her in the kitchen while it cooks 🥺 you're so good at writing intimacy it kills me honestly (in a good way) 

pairing: jake lockley x reader

summary: a glimpse into the best and most domestic day of the week for jake and the reader.

word count: 5.1k

warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF!! you will need to see your dentist after this, domesticity, playful nagging, a lot of references to food idk why, dialogue heavy towards the end, really really soft, not beta read

author's note: i want to preface this by saying that jake is ooc. to be fair we’ve seen like 3 minutes of him in canon, but he is just a big old teddy bear softie in this fic who loves his gf more than anything. this fic involves the same couple from love in bloom. i wrote it with them being together for at least a few years in mind, but it’s really up to interpretation, and you definitely don’t have to read that before you read this fic! i hope you enjoy.

Saturdays used to be your favorite day of the week; that was, until you fell into your Sunday routine with Jake. 

You woke up to the rhythmic snoring of the sleeping man beside you, the familiar vibrations from his chest rattling through your own body, fueling your reluctance as you slowly and quietly slipped out of bed, attempting to escape the heavy arm laid across your own chest. Despite the knowledge that he often slept like a rock, you made sure to avoid your one creaky floorboard as you escaped your bedroom. 

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you evaluated the ingredients you’d picked up from the farmer’s market just a day prior before turning on a playlist of some of yours and Jake’s favorite music. 

It was almost alarming how easily you’d fallen into a familiar rhythm with the man—beginning with routine visits to the market on the weekend, to second, third, and countless other dates, then escalating into spending more time at each other’s places together, and collaborating on little things together when you couldn’t be together, like watching the most recent season of Acapulco Shore while sending texts with commentary to each other, or adding a song you thought he might like to your shared playlist. Falling for Jake, and loving him, was easy—something you frequently thought about, like now, as you evaluated your pantry and fridge for something nice for your partner to wake up to.

You eventually settled on dressing up some avocado toast on Jake’s favorite artisanal sourdough, and got right to work with washing and cutting produce, along with arranging the avocado in a manner that was simply unnecessary—although, as you’d learned, it was the little details that Jake appreciated. Singing under your breath along to a song that Jake had added to the playlist, you found yourself focused and lost in making a clean green spiral of avocado slices. 

“Morning,” Jake said raspily, voice low and groggy from sleep. He casually snaked his arms around your hips as he approached you, setting his head on your shoulder, giving you the tiniest start. You couldn’t deny that one of your favorite parts of spending the weekend with Jake lied in how you kicked off the morning. The back hug and cheek kiss was now a classic move, one you always looked forward to while you stood alone in your kitchen, despite the tiny scare it always seemed to give you. 

“‘m glad you finally decided to wake up,” you teased, setting down the butter knife in your hand that you’d been using to design your own toast, and reaching up to gently scratch the stubble on the cheek next to yours.  

“It’s hard for me to get my beauty sleep without my girl,” he shot back, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. You fought (and lost) a smile as his stubble gently rubbed against your face, a familiar comfort that seemed to make your heart leap no matter how many times you felt it. 

“I dunno, you still look pretty beautiful to me,” you shrugged, reaching back down to the cutting board to grab a washed strawberry by its stem before holding it up to Jake’s mouth for him to bite while you held your free hand under his chin in order to catch any mess. “Open.”

Jake gladly took your strawberry offering and practically purred. “Delicious. But not as sweet as you, cariño.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, watching Jake with nothing short of hearts in your eyes as he shuffled away from you and made somewhat of a beeline to your Keurig. You paid him no mind as you moved over to your stovetop to work on cooking eggs to go on top of your toast. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’d sleep better if you didn’t leave me,” he sighed dramatically, grabbing two mugs and coffee pods as the machine gurgled at him in a frankly uncouth manner.

“I was gone for like, ten minutes tops. You’re just clingy,” you teased right back, setting a lid on top of the popping skillet. 

“Can you blame me for wanting to spend every second of the day con mi corazón?” Jake questioned, walking to your fridge and grabbing your respective creamers. “You’d be complaining too if one of your major organs got up and left you alone in the middle of the night.”

You scoffed playfully, “It was nine in the morning! I’m tired of this honeymoon phase. Will you ever stop being lovesick?” you whined, setting your hands on your hips as Jake took a detour to snatch yet another strawberry off the cutting board on his way back to your now fully functioning coffee machine.

“Unfortunately no. Doc says it’s chronic. I may never recover,” he sighed, adding the creamer and sugar to your piping hot drink in just the way he knew you liked it. “And Doc told me that the only temporary cure is for you to stay in bed with me all night.”

“That’s too bad,” you feigned disappointment, sliding the now over-easy egg onto Jake’s overdressed toast. “I guess I’ll sacrifice the possibility of ever bringing you breakfast in bed. Those are just the kinds of things you do when you love someone.” 

You made quick work of putting finishing touches on the slice before grabbing your plates and heading over to the table. 

“Eh, I’ll live,” he shrugged, setting your mug in front of you, then leaning down for a quick kiss that you gladly returned. “Everything looks amazing. You’re amazing.”

You shook your head fondly, “sit down and eat before I make you take me to the dentist for being so sweet.”

—

There was never a dull moment between the two of you, which was why something as simple as doing the dishes had somehow managed to become a ‘moment.’

It all began when Jake insisted that he do the dishes, as he often did, followed by you protesting (as you often did); something about you being a good host and him being a good guest. Either way, it ended with you at the sink, and Jake on drying duty standing in a comfortable silence as your joint playlist flipped through some of your favorite songs. 

Eventually, one slow song in particular popped onto your speaker, eliciting a soft gasp from the both of you— one that said ‘This is our song!’ without really having to say anything at all. 

All at once, the fork in your hand fell into the basin of the sink, and Jake set the partially dried mug onto your countertop. You gave each other a certain look, and Jake reached out an expecting hand, one that you gladly took.

He pulled you close to him and hummed softly along to the words as he wrapped his arms around your waist once more and softly swayed you along to the music. 

You draped your arms around his neck and wordlessly grinned up at the man who seemed just as happy as you to be dancing along to the song that had grown to have so much meaning to the two of you. 

Catching you off guard, Jake lifted an arm, encouraging you to do a little twirl in the tight space of your apartment dance floor, and twirl you did, returning to him with a giggle as his ever passionate eyes locked on yours, as if you were the only person in the entire world. 

You held on tight to Jake once more, heart (and body) practically melting as he sang the last few lines of the song to you, maintaining that intense, yet adoring eye contact before he leaned down once more to give you a soft, tender kiss. 

Jake stepped on your foot a few times, and you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t catch your own on his, but standing in your kitchen, swaying along to your song, there was no place on Earth that you’d rather be. 

—

There were only so many times that you could playfully tell one another that you didn’t smell the best until you finally had to do something about it, so it was no surprise when you and Jake ended up in the shower together, somewhere between comfortably and uncomfortably cramped between the tile of the wall and the flimsy curtain. 

Showering together had become yet another staple in your Sunday routine—something about saving energy and money on a water bill, or maximizing your time together. In reality, you knew there was nothing Jake looked forward to more than the intimacy of something as simple as a joint shower… and the promise of a thorough scalp massage just happened to be a bonus. 

You lathered up your hands in your favorite lavender body wash and gently massaged the suds into Jake’s back, smiling to yourself when he unconsciously let out the sigh and tension that his body had been holding onto. 

“When are you gonna let me take you out to get a real massage?” you asked, running your hands up to his slowly untenseing shoulders. 

“Never. You do a good enough job,” you could practically hear the bliss in his voice as you both cleaned and kneaded his back. 

“While I appreciate the flattery, I promise you that once a professional gives you one, you’ll never go back,” you lightly ran your nails down his back before passing off the body wash for him to take care of the rest of himself while you worked on shampooing his hair. 

“You’re perfectly adequate enough for me,” he countered as you rubbed the product into his scalp. “And if you keep that up, I’m going to fall asleep.”

“Hey! You’re not allowed to fall asleep before you lather me up. Those are the shower rules,” you paused from your scalp massaging to peek around Jake’s torso, and didn’t miss the slightly too relaxed expression on his face. “I’m serious, Jake. I’ll make the water freezing cold right now if I must.”

“Fine, fine. Turn around,” he ordered, voice slightly more alert from the new threat of a cold shower. You gladly followed his direction, pleasantly humming to yourself as Jake rubbed soothing suds onto your body. 

“Stop, you know I’m ticklish there!” you laughed, attempting to slap away your partner’s hand as he unnecessarily emphasized rubbing on your neck. Jake’s laughter joined with yours, the sound of your shared giggling filling up the room. “You have one more strike, Jake Lockley,” you threatened emptily. 

“Yeah? Or what?” 

“Or you’ll be showering alone for the rest of your life,” you snapped back, suddenly reaching for the sides of his torso, eliciting a mixture of Spanish curses and laughter as you tickled him back in his most vulnerable spot. 

“Okay, okay, I get it, we’re even now,” he wheezed out, grabbing your hands to stop you. “I don’t even know if I want to shower with you anymore.”

“I don’t believe that coming from the biggest shower sap in the entire universe,” you looked up at him expectantly, using your joined hands to wipe out some of the water in your eyes. “You come here every weekend practically begging for a shower and massage.”

“Fine, you got me there.” Jake conceded. “It’s time for you to rinse, though. I’m starting to prune up.”

You nodded in agreement before awkwardly shuffling around so you could rinse yourself off at a somewhat better angle, and you cringed at the heat. “I’ll never understand why you need it so hot. Are you trying to boil us to death?”

“Hey, I just like my showers hot,” he defended. “But I guess dying with you is my ideal way to go.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to lightly hit his chest. “You are something else.”

—

“One day we’re gonna move into a place with two sinks,” you mumbled against the toothbrush in your mouth. “I can’t go much longer like this,” you glanced up at Jake in the mirror, fighting laughter as you peered at his foamy mouth and ridiculous appearance with just his waist wrapped in a towel. 

“Why? You don’t like being close like this?” Jake asked, gently bumping his hip against yours and smirking at you through the mirror. 

“Something like that,” you muttered back, spitting out the remaining toothpaste and reaching across your countertop to grab a roll of floss. 

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” Jake asked after a beat as he watched you quietly floss your teeth. 

You shrugged cavalierly, but the heat practically radiating off of you betrayed your true feelings on the matter, and it certainly didn’t help that Jake was standing so close to you. The truth of the matter was that you would love to move with him, maybe go upstate and have a pet and a garden, and eventually even children—but for now you were just enjoying your Sunday with the man you loved in a bathroom that was far too cramped to comfortably brush, let alone floss your teeth—and that was plenty for you. 

Besides, Jake knew what you really wanted regardless of what you did or didn’t say. 

—

Rain lightly pelted against the living room windows, a soft soundtrack of serenity that contrasted awfully well with the overdramatic reality show playing out on the television while Jake laid against your chest, half-lidded eyes falling closed every now and then as you ran your fingers through his curls and occasionally scratched his scalp. 

“This is just ridiculous,” you murmured, glancing down at Jake as you aimed your commentary toward him. “Can you believe they’re doing all of this for fucking Flavor Flav?”

Jake grunted out a sound of agreement, not really processing anything you’d just said as he was clearly much more interested in being spooned and having his hair played with than the trashy television playing in front of you. 

“Having a good time?” you asked with a cheeky grin, obviously picking up on his distraction. 

“With you? Always,” he hummed. “I’m not having a good time with Pumpkin, though. She needs to leave New York alone.”

“Right?!” you laughed. “You just get it. I’m glad I have you to indulge me in my shitty shows.”

“I feel like you’re indulging me. These have always been a guilty pleasure of mine,” he confessed. 

“Really?” you asked with raised brows. “I never would have guessed. Really! I’m not being sarcastic or anything.”

“I guess our terrible television taste makes us the perfect pair,” he suggested. 

“Yeah, just our television taste,” you retorted, amusement ever present in your voice. 

—-

While your local grocery store was no farmers market, it was nice to grab a few pantry staples for the week at a much more understandable price. It also just so happened that you had an extra pair of hands and an Uber driver to assist you during your weekly trip. 

You happily strolled through aisles, tossing whatever looked right into the basket that Jake was faithfully following you around with through the store.

“You’re doing a great job sticking to your list,” Jake teased as you checked off pasta from your list after tossing various other grains that were not exactly pasta into your basket. 

“Thank you,” you gave him a tight smile. “Y’know, it didn’t always used to be like this.”

“Really? Tell me more,” you gave the back of the cart a little tug to let him know that you were on the move once more. 

“Alright, once upon a time, long, long ago, only one person lived in my home for all seven days a week—me,” you continued to guide him to a checkout lane. “But then, one day, a man, a very handsome and lovable one, ended up essentially moving in for two of those seven days. And my pantry could no longer keep up with those two mouths. Especially when the handsome dork thinks that finding a bunch of ingredients and cooking together is the ideal date.”

“Is it not?” Jake asked, setting one of the fully checked out and packed bags into your cart. “I understand now. I’ll never question you ever again.”

“Stop,” you laughed, grabbing the next bag from the cashier. “You don’t have to stop questioning me, you just have to stop judging me.”

“I’m never judging you! Just making observations.”

“You’ve done enough damage today. There’s no coming back from the things you’ve said in the walls of this store.” 

—

Sundays were a day of domestic chores, which meant laundry, and ever since Jake started staying with you more often— a lot of it. 

You were fortunate enough to have your own washer and dryer in a practically microscopic closet next to your kitchen, meaning that you had a more than ideal view of Jake working on your next meal as you fidgeted with the settings on your washing machine. 

You attempted not to pay him too much mind as you moved one load of clothes into the dryer, but the very obvious scent of burning herbs was too much to ignore. 

“What’cha doin’ Jake?” you questioned, wandering over to him as he peered into the oven. 

He looked back at you and gave you a guilty half-smile, eyes shifting back to the mystery item in the oven. “Just admiring the view.”

“The oven view?” you asked, already slipping on a mit and maneuvering yourself in front of the appliance.

“The you view, pretty girl,” he attempted, knowing that neither of you were buying his words.

“Mhm. You’re a cute liar,” you laughed, opening the oven and coughing as a mixture of steam and the stench of a burnt item hit your nose. 

—

“Come run another errand with me,” you asked as you finished folding up the last of your laundry. Jake peeked out from the closet and raised a curious brow at you. 

“What’re we doing?” he questioned, hooking one last piece of clothing onto the valet rod before flopping onto his back atop your bed. 

“It’s a surprise,” you sat down on your knees next to him and leaned over his face. 

“I’m scared,” he countered, the dopey, lovesick smile on his face not matching his comment at all. 

“Trust me,” you reached down and grabbed his hand, giving it a little squeeze. “It’ll be fun. It’s just a surprise. You trust me, right?”

“I do, but when you keep bringing up trust it makes me not want to trust you,” he laughed. 

“Fine. Don’t trust me. Just trust that you’re gonna have a good time.”

“Hey! I never said I don’t trust you! I would trust you with my life, and even more.”

“I’m convinced you really will never grow out of being a lovesick sap,” you teased, pushing down that warm and fuzzy feeling in your stomach in favor of nuzzling his nose. 

—

“I love when you drive my car,” Jake commented as you parked in a spot of the mystery location. 

You really didn’t drive too often, only when you had a secret date you’d planned that you didn’t want to have spoiled by Google Maps. Other than that, Jake practically insisted on being your chauffeur, even when it came to mundane tasks, like a trip to the hair salon on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“Stop being sarcastic,” you scolded, your tone not matching the silly smile you shot Jake. 

“I’m not! It’s very endearing,” he countered, grabbing his wallet from the center console. “So what is this mystery errand?”

“We’re at a night market! They have a bunch of vendors selling neat things they made, and a ton of street food, since lunch was kinda a flop.”

“So it’s like the farmer’s market?”

“Yeah, but at night. So it’s different.”

“Sounds different and fun,” he concurred. “What are the odds we’ll need an umbrella at this market?”

“Slim to none, since it stopped raining hours ago. But we will be outside.”

“It stopped raining hours ago, but the sky looks ominous as hell right now.”

“It’s only like that because it’s late. And because of pollution.”

“Mhm, sure.”

“I’ll bet you that it doesn’t rain.”

“And what do I get when I win this bet?”

“Prizes are to be determined. But don’t hold your breath. There will be no rain.”

“I’m sure,” Jake nodded as he reached into his backseat to grab an umbrella. “Just in case.”

“You won’t need it, but okay. Come on,” you popped out of the car, hurried around the front, and opened Jake’s door for him as well. “M’lady.”

“Keeping chivalry alive as always,” he mused as he slipped out of the car. 

Jake slipped his hand into yours and you gladly wove your fingers together—a comforting and familiar motion that seemed to warm you up from the inside out— before you led him into the entrance of the market.

It started with one droplet hitting your cheek as you stood in line to pick up bao that was allegedly the best in town, then another, and suddenly it was as if all hell broke loose from the heavens above. You both glanced up at the sky in a synchronized act, then back down at each other. 

In one quick moment, Jake had popped open the umbrella and held it over both of your heads before too much rain had the opportunity to drench the two of you. 

“Start thinking of what I’ll get for winning our little bet,” he goaded, shifting the umbrella slightly further over to you to ensure that you wouldn’t get too wet.

“It seems like you’re already having enough fun with bragging rights that you really don’t need a reward,” you shot back, moving in closer to him to attempt to avoid getting too wet, as it turned out that the umbrella was not quite big enough for two people. 

“I’ll gladly take your permission to bring this up at every opportunity I get,” Jake continued on, perking up when your names were called with food. “Why don’t you go find us seating and I’ll grab our food? You can take the umbrella.”

You nodded, taking the umbrella and briefly basking in only being a little wet before hurrying off to find a seating area with some kind of roof. 

After searching a good amount, you stumbled upon a little tent with only a few people scattered about, sitting at various different tables. It wasn’t too long before Jake showed up in the tent, lifting up one of the little paper trays as if he were waving at you with it. You could’ve sworn that man had a sixth sense for where you were located, but you weren’t particularly mad about it. 

Your partner walked up to you, pretty much drenched from the less than pleasant weather. He sighed out something that seemed like relief as he sat down next to you, passed you your similarly damp food and wasted no time getting straight to business. 

“This is really good,” Jake commented between ravenous bites. “Here, try mine,” he held up his bao to you and you took a bite, humming pleasantly at its flavor. 

“Okay, okay, try mine,” you held one of yours up to his face, and didn’t miss that his eyes lit up after taking a little bite. “Wanna swap?”

He gave you a smile that said a thousand words, and you gladly switched the paper trays in front of you. “You know me so well,” Jake hummed, extremely content as he finished off your order. 

As you sat, the cold wind and a stray drizzle of rain continued to batter you, despite you being under the overhead safety of a tent. You couldn’t help but shiver as you and Jake played Words with Friends, attempting to wait out the rain. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your hip and pulling you closer to his side in an attempt to share some of his warmth.

Jake’s observance was both a blessing and a curse. Sure, you were shivering a little, but it really wasn’t that bad. And since you were showing any sign of discomfort, you had a feeling you knew the direction of this conversation. 

“I’m okay,” you dismissed. 

“No,” he countered stubbornly, already shrugging off the shoulders of his jacket in preparation of draping it around you. 

“Jake,” you whined. 

“No, really. I was overheating. You feel the heat radiating off of me, right? Why not share some of the heat with my girl?” 

There was no other protest you could make, as Jake was already slipping his surprisingly warm jacket around you. 

A few rounds of your game and facetious arguments later, the rain still hadn’t cleared up. You were usually quite patient, but the thought of getting out of your wet clothes and laying in your warm bed was far too exciting of a prospect to stay under the shelter for one minute longer than you needed to.

“Think we should just brave it?” Jake asked as if he could read your mind. 

“Please. I was literally about to ask you the same thing,” you both were already getting out from your seats as you spoke. 

“What’s our plan here? Duck and run?” Jake asked, already popping the umbrella back up.

“I think so. And my honest opinion is that the umbrella is only going to slow us down. We need to raw it.”

“Ew,” he cringed at your word choice, and began to fold the umbrella back down. “But you’re right about it slowing us down. Okay, let’s go.”

You two looked at each other and took a dramatic deep breath before grabbing one another’s hand and rushing out from under the tent.

You had an idea of just how ridiculous the two of you must’ve looked, holding hands and running in the rain as an umbrella dangled off of your wrist, but you would be lying if you didn’t admit just how fun it was. 

It was surprisingly easy to find your vehicle, but before you could slip into the passenger side, Jake grabbed you by your waist and pulled you into a rather dramatic and surprisingly passionate kiss. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he gasped breathlessly, winded from both running and kissing you so intensely. 

“Rom-com kiss? I think we can both cross that off of our bucket lists,” you giggled, pecking his lips once more before getting into the car. 

“That was fun. We should do it again sometime,” Jake chimed as he sat down next to you, immediately blasting the heat in the car. 

“I think we have different definitions of fun,” you panted. 

—- 

It was a miracle that Jake had managed to stay over so long, usually opting to leave your apartment sometime in the evening with a gentle kiss and a promise to be back the following weekend. But not tonight. Following a second shower together—the result of getting so damp at the night market—Jake followed you to bed and laid on his side as he watched you get a book out and try to relax your mind enough to fall asleep. 

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t love when he decided to stay over an extra night, or that you didn’t love when he got into one of his ‘lost puppy dog’ moods where all he wanted to do was follow you around and be close to you. Hence, why you didn’t comment on him laying his head on your stomach while you attempted to read, despite the action distracting you every time you noticed the heap of wet curls sticking out from the top of your book.

“Would you marry me someday?” he asked out of the blue, looking up at you from where his head was resting on your stomach. 

You would be taken aback, but it wasn’t the first time one of you pulled out a future card after a long day of domestic bliss. 

“What do you think?” you asked, setting your book down on your bedside table. 

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” the earnest look on his face telling you that he genuinely was curious—if not a little concerned—about what your answer would be. 

“We’re practically a married couple already,” you slipped your hands down to cup his face. “Some of my friends think we’ve been engaged for months. I’ve received texts asking why they haven’t been invited to the ceremony.”

You both chuckle at that, Jake’s sounding slightly more nervous than your own. You rubbed at his forehead gently with your thumb, as if you could wipe away his worry lines. 

“Please don’t look so anxious. I will marry you someday. Hell, if you proposed to me right now, I would find a minister online and marry you in this bed at this very moment. How else are we gonna have two and a half kids, a few cats and dogs, and a garden full of meaningful flowers in our suburban upstate home?”

“We could be lifelong partners…?”

“Shh,” you cooed before beckoning him closer to you. “C’mere.”

Jake readjusted himself so he could properly spoon you, giving you a second to hit your bedside lamp before wrapping his arms and body around you. 

“That wasn’t you proposing to me, was it?” you asked, your hands finding his as you cuddled. 

“No! No. I just wanted to gauge how you feel about me.”

“You really think I would say no to marrying you?”

“Possibly.”

“Jake!”

“I just come with a lot of baggage, you know? Seeing each other is one thing, but marriage?”

You rolled over a bit awkwardly so you could properly face the man. “I would spend the rest of my life with you if you had three eyes, a tail, and were the owner of the baggage factory. We all have our things. I don’t love you any less because of it.”

Jake sighed, and you weren’t quite sure whether it was a sigh of relief or surrender. 

“It’s true. Really. You need to worry less about whether or not I’d say yes, and worry more about how you’re gonna propose. I love you, but asking to get married while I’m trying to read before bed isn’t gonna cut it. I might end up thinking it’s a dream.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe even add it to my proposal notebook.”

“You have a notebook on how you’re gonna propose to me?”

“Maybe…” he drew the word out.  

“You are so…” you broke out into laughter. “I don’t even know. I just adore you.”

“Would it be redundant to say that I adore you?”

“Maybe a little bit. But I wanna hear it anyway.”

“I adore you. I truly love you to the moon and back,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Mm, music to my ears,” you yawned sleepily. “I love you too. Sweet dreams.”

“With you? Always.”

[elvenbeard]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Yes I'm actually doing this on a Wednesday wooo :D

I just went back through all my tags of the last month and man, you guys ;__; <3 I'm not good at keeping up with tumblr atm and I don't have something to share every week, so I think once a month a WIP Wednesday might be a good compromise XD Thank you for all the tags!!

@theviridianbunny @dreamskug @ouroboros-hideout @lokiina @therealnightcity @chevvy-yates tagging you all right back!

So, with that off of my list of works in progress, as is answering all the tag games and quizzes, some projects I'm working on atm:

Writing: Love is stored in the olive jar (WT) - Chapter 13

It's done, but still needs a lot of editing, as it got very heavy on dialogue in the end and I want it all to flow more nicely and make it a bit more scenic XD Too many instances of "she looked up again" or "he paused for a moment/second" xD But I'm getting there! Here's a snippet from the already somewhat polished beginning:

“Alright,” Fuentes said as she finally caught her breath again, “I suggest we cut straight to the chase.” “Yes,” V nodded, “Thank you again for taking the time.” “Of course,” Fuentes nodded, “I have to admit, I have been thinking about you and your case a lot these past days. Even with the limited knowledge I have so far, I still believe I may be able to help. If you are willing now to tell me more about your condition now, of course.” ‘Willing’ wasn’t the word V would use, it was more a necessity at this point. “I will,” he said, “But only if you can provide me with a certain level of security.” Fuentes shifted in her chair slightly and frowned, then she opened one of the drawers of her desk and pulled out a tablet. She turned it on and began to search for something on it while maintaining eye contact with V as best as she managed. “You’ve come here today as my patient. As far as I’m concerned, everything, anything that we discuss, falls under the doctor-patient confidentiality. My contract with the Little China MedCenter binds me to treat your data and information with utmost care and discretion. All data we store is locked away securely, all in accordance with your Trauma Team policy. I can resend you the patient information papers and contracts, although I think most of them you should already have…” “I care less about the MedCenter than about what you personally do with the information I’m going to give you,” V said, and Fuentes stopped her search, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I’m not sure what you’re alluding to,” she said, still polite, but significantly more tense than before. “Nothing,” V shook his head carefully, “This is just not something I tell random strangers on the street… no offense, of course. If I have to play with open cards, I need you to as well.”

In which Vince hates doctors but has to trust one now, boo XD

Writing: Some drabbles :3

Inbetween the longfic I still have some ask prompt drabbles to fill that I'm looking forward to tackling soon! And in a sudden burst of inspiration I wrote out a long although not very serious convo between Vince and Johnny the other day xD I'd love to turn it into a (VP) comic maybe, but I'm not sure yet XD

Art: Nothing new since last time, slowly chipping away at some bigger projects inbetween

VP: Currently no concrete plans for a bigger project

Although I wanna do more "days in the life" for Vince!! And I wanna play around more with some poses though and have a very soft set to share that I gotta edit a bit still ;_; Tomorrow probably!

Also, I'd like to turn the interface thingies from my recent "V as NPC" projects into shareable templates, that is also on my wip/ to-do list! Just wanna gather some in-game reference shots first :D

Modding: 👀👀👀

I'm working on a little something maybe, and I'm so excited :DDD Just gotta relearn how to do Archive XL, it's been half a year xD And I fought MLSetup Builder so fucking hard, but now I know how to edit MLMask Setups, so that's a victory at least XD And I have a base for a very kitschy coat :3

But yes, so much to that so far! See you again in a month or so probably with an ever-growing pile of wips xD But maybe some more writing, maybe some more art, and maybe a finished mod after too long 👀

[monochromaticbutter]

(CW: Mentions of rape)

Source: @welovelookism on twitter | Original post

Image transcriptions:

"My favourite character was Jiho tbh. I drew Jiho as the 'dark side of PTJ', so I expressed my inferiority, sadness, shame and all the thoughts that I couldn't speak up to others through Jiho. Basically my inner self. I originally had Jiho's own story ahead and his backstory, but the main story had so many big turns. Which is why Jiho's role kinda disappeared. He was the antithesis of Daniel Park. I can't really write them out because he is dead. Anyways, he had a definite role and clear situations in the story, but as I was writing the story I started to have another storyline and ending in my mind, making Jiho a little uncertain. I might be the saddest one to feel about Jiho's death. To conclude, he wasn't the type of guy to die in that way, he shouldn't have died like that. Readers were asking if Jiho is going to resurrect… but no, he is not going to. But 'this' guy is going to resurrect. He is going to resurrect in the most bs way possible. There is a character that is going to resurrect in Lookism. Jiho got a lot of hate when he made an appearence. I always felt sad about it but at the same time I liked it because I knew I wrote this character well. Jiho is like an inner self of everybody at least to a certain extent."

"Juvenile prison arc was the arc where I was so greedy about it. Tbh, there were a lot of things that weren't available for the Lookism age limit. Readers only saw 60% of what I wrote. It is actually very dark and full of speechless stuff, I knew Naver would ask me to edit it. But I just drew. I even drew the panels that I knew that would not be available to readers with all I got… because I was hoping if Naver would allow them. But they rejected them as I expected. Jiho actually got raped by Darius. I drew it to show that it is a very terrifying thing, but there were a lot of changes in the end. From removed dialogues to panels… a lot of edited panels. The Darius dialogue 'I will come back later' before Jiho's one when he fought got edited too. When Jiho said 'I made sure I washed motherfucker'. Darius's lone was originally 'I will come back after I wish'. That is why Jiho went for a revenge match against him, where Jiho's mindset of actually killing someone was fully completed. Jiho says 'I made sure I washed motherfucker' after seeing his lowest point of himself and his misery. It didn't really manage to connect with Darius's previous dialogue. The dialogue 'I made sure I washed motherfucker' is for Jiho to say to Darius, but I put a meaning of where Jiho washed his old self away. But I think not a lot of reader noticed it."

Although the translation seems a bit messy, there's a lot to unpack here. This is a very interesting piece from PTJ's writing.

The parallel between Jiho and Daniel has always been there. It's more obvious some times than others. Both of them suffered a lot at the hands of others and both of them were offered "a light" (a positive situation to make things better), but the main difference is: Daniel managed to hold onto it, Jiho didn't.

Daniel's insecurities are, most of the time, internalized. The one time he lashed out at his mother, it stuck with him and made him value her more than anything in the world. It's easy to like and relate to him, because he's the palatable side of trauma-related issues.

Jiho isn't. He always takes the worst decisions possible, he lashes out at his parents and friends, he acts selfishly many times. Even after attempting to murder one of his closest friends, he's desperately thinking of a way out for himself, not the guy in a coma. His arcs are frustrating to read through at first, because his worldview is so distorted and his actions are hard to digest.

And at the same time, it's clear Jiho really hates himself. From start to finish. But he spirals and never stops; even at his last appearance, he can't acknowledge that Daniel took better decisions (and ultimately is "a better person" in the world's eyes) and boils it down to him "being luckier".

So, he's easy to hate. Even if you relate to some of his attitudes, you might end up disliking Jiho, because deep inside you know those are wrong.

However, there's a deeper reason for that.

(Other than us being conditioned into empathizing with people who match Daniel's profile of mental illness and trauma and casting those like Jiho aside.)

And the reason is: people don't like seeing the ugly side of themselves on the screen. They don't like the senseless aggression, lashing out or other behavioural problems that are common in humans. Being unnatractive, being physically weak, being paranoid, taking bad decisions at every corner, misreading kindness, fucking up even the purest of relationships, those are all very human "flaws" that might not be easy to fix. Jiho checks all of those items.

That's the same reason so many people hate on Shinji Ikari from Neon Genesis Evangelion. Both of these characters are traumatized and abused, but the audience frequently turns to the "pathetic" or "insufferable" aspects of their personalities.

Anyways, this was a short analysis I needed to do after seeing this post. Good night 💜

[tmntkiseki]

I find it kind of funny that when it comes the Fast Forward characters TMNT fans hope make a comeback in other iterations, it's almost always the Dark Turtles that get brought up, but I personally ended up latching onto the Inuwashi Gunjin.

Like when comparing the Gunjin to the Dark Turtles purely from a writing standpoint, I get why the Gunjin get very little, if any, love from the fanbase despite appearing in just as many episodes. The overwhelming problem with the Gunjin is that although there are four of them, it feels as though they're only one character. The only one with a substantial amount of dialogue and thus characterization is the Gold Gunjin; the Red Gunjin gets a couple of lines in, but the Silver and Orange Gunjin never even speak outside generic grunts/cries in all of their appearances. As a consequence, the other three Gunjin don't really feel like their own characters, but merely extensions of the Gold Gunjin and thus aren't particularly interesting as individuals or as a group. In contrast, the Dark Turtles do have individual personalities and are thus inherently more interesting by that alone, never mind that their final appearance teased the possibility that that they were going to end up switching sides and joining the Good Guys(tm) (which would have happened had the second season of Fast Forward not been cancelled in favor of Back to the Sewer. Damn you, Back to the Sewer.)

However, I think the reason I like the Inuwashi Gunjin so much is because, to me, they are so profoundly tragic. The Gunjin are a proud race of warriors with a strong code of honor, and are clearly not bad people whatsoever. Unfortunately, because the wars they fought in ended and all they're seemingly good for is fighting, they were rendered obsolete--we have no idea what happened to the rest of the Inuwashi Gunjin but by the time of Fast Forward, the four we see in the series are seemingly the only ones left. When we first meet them in the second episode of the season, they are bound to stasis generators by Darius, which he uses to torture them and keep them under control "like dogs," as the Leader puts it, a situation that they spend their first two appearances trying to get out of. While they are eventually able to walk free, because they are the last of their kind, their final episode appearance had a collector of rare aliens capture them in order to put on them on display like trading cards. Knowing how much time they already spent in stasis thanks Darius, it's a pretty messed up situation to be in and goes to show how they're considered more of a unique novelty now than actual people.

Beyond that, I do believe that had more effort been put into their individual characterizations, the Inuwashi Gunjin would have been yet another interesting four group ensemble to contrast the turtles; however, whereas the Dark Turtles are their "evil" counterparts with the potential to be good, the Inuwashi Gunjin would have been older, more worldly versions of themselves to learn and take notes from. It is a fact that, thanks to advertising for a cancelled set of figures, we know that the Gunjin do have names; the gold Gunjin is "Leader" while his brothers (note: we don't know if they're actually related or if it's just short for "brothers in arms") are Hothead, Sage, and Joker. And the Leader Gunjin's characterization does genuinely make me think of Leonardo, albeit more mature and a bit wiser. Because of this, I can easily see Hothead as being Raphael but with more control over his anger, Sage as Donatello but not as hard on himself when he fails others, and Joker as Michelangelo but more focused and thus able to better apply his natural talents. All of this is just speculation, mind you, but it still would have been interesting had it actually happened in the show.

Overall, yeah, the Inuwashi Gunjin are a bit on the boring side and I get that, but like a lot of stuff from Fast Forward, they do have some great untapped potential and fandom is all about doing what canon would not, so let me have my fun with the metallic birb men, damn it.

[incognitajones]

Fic author interview

Thanks to @sesamestreep and @glorious-spoon for tagging me in this one over the holidays! But between starting the new job and the holidays and the RCSS, it totally slipped my mind until now 😬

No-pressure tagging: @anghraine, @ladytharen, @luciechat, and anyone else who feels like it.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

An even 200 if I include both accounts.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Just under 650K words altogether.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Last Train 

I fought the war (but the war won) 

left-handed kisses 

Fixer Upper 

Chain Reaction 

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I want to let commenters know they're appreciated, and I enjoy talking about little details or plot turns. Lately I haven't had the time or energy for much more than a quick thank you, but I'm still trying to respond.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

At one point it would've been the bad ending of I fought the war, but now I think this Whumptober piece takes the crown.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Considering canon, most of them have an unrealistically happy ending! Especially inside the vastness of the galaxy, the "Naomi & Filip get a happy reunion" story.

7. Do you write crossovers?

No. I enjoy writing & reading some fusions (i.e. characters from one canon in the setting of another) but traditional crossovers in which characters from two different canons meet don't generally appeal to me.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not on AO3, but I've been sent anon hate on Tumblr about my writing a couple of times (find a Reylo writer who hasn't challenge).

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah, a fair bit - in fact it's hard to remember sometimes that I never wrote anything explicit before 2016! It's all pretty vanilla, though, minus a few attempts at kinkier stuff which are deservedly anonymous.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Kind of; someone commented on one of my stories on AO3 to tell me that another story had copied significant parts of it. (They'd already commented on and reported the other fic, so I didn't take any additional action. The plagiarizing story was eventually deleted.)

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Bless the fandom translators, for they are amazing.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nothing posted publically.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I couldn't possibly choose a single favourite! In terms of longevity, it's either Han/Leia or Eowyn/Faramir. And Star Wars ships in general seem to have a strong hold on me 😁

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The OT3 whumpfic. It's nearly done, but it's far outside my usual wheelhouse so without a beta reader, I can't tell whether it's worth finishing or beyond help.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think I write decent dialogue, and I'm genuinely proud of the ideas behind I fought the war and pulse to pulse. I can also write a pretty good pastiche of 19C style, although you wouldn't know it from this account.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotting. Falling back on boring/clichéd beats to flesh out dialogue-heavy scenes.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

A sentence or so? Sure. Can't think of a reason to do much more than that.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

It would be either Buffy or Lord of the Rings - I honestly don't remember - not counting the terrible Shannara-fic I wrote as a pre-teen.

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Someday I'd really like to write a Children of Men story telling what happened to Kee and [spoiler] after the movie, plus fixing [spoiler].

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Subject to change by the moment, of course, but looking back at some older stories recently reminded me that I've always been pretty fond of don't go home without me.

[snowsheba]

finished aveyond 3-3. i am emotional. thoughts under cut

characters

mel it is astonishing to me how consistent she is throughout these games. she's not written particularly well in the first place, so the fact that it neither improves nor gets worse is really impressive!

i thought it was very funny how quickly she and edward fell back into sniping at each other. i can't even conceive of them as friends because mel is such an asshole. if anything the only reason they get along is because they've kept each other alive during their adventures, which is a bond that only breaks when there's no more fighting to be had.

lydia her in-game motivations make absolutely no sense. i really liked her in 3-2, but in 3-3 she's a caricature of herself. disappointing to be sure!! like if in 3-2 they had had her talk about how she wants to rule i'd get it, but in 3-2 she was mostly concerned about edward dying out there. and yes you can twist that into some convoluted "it's foreshadowing!" section but come on. really guys. really.

stella stella come back i miss youuuuuuuuu

i wish she had more screentime here. i think it's pretty telling that one of the only poc characters we play (at least visibly poc) is shunted off to the side. (not to mention how they lighten her skin in her dialogue avatar. sigh.)

edward he's the king and he fucked off and let lydia do her thing. we love a colossally stupid man who does no research into how to annul a marriage. LITERALLY the stupidest prince/king alive.

i like at the end he finally decides to get going and do his job but like sir. you ran off during your coronation to help your friend? what about your WIFE. (because i had him marry stella.)

ulf he deserves a peaceful apprenticeship in animal town. you go, ulf. you had more lines in 3-3 than you did in 3-2, and you were with the party for a section that lasted less than 20 minutes. then he came back for another 10 minutes, but hey, it's something! i actually fought with him for a bit!

te'ijal (and galahad) i did not read as many letters as i should have, but every single one broke my heart into a million tiny pieces. i'm so SAD for you, te'ijal! by far her letters were the best written thing in the game because of how heart-wrenching they were in their simplicity. ARGH

june i went from 0 to 100 with june between starting and finishing this game. i think the fact she's 14 years old is WILD to me. what the fuck! get this girl into school! she literally DIED on this quest because sometimes i fucked up the fights and she's FOURTEEN!

i think there's something very cute about how she likes to keep track of how much of something you've done. she will count everything. shields. pixies. whatever. she'll count it for you. good for you, june.

yvette she is myst lite. i can see how they took yvette's base and made myst. i desperately wish yvette was more unhinged than she already was.

i do think her way of speaking, as well as the fact she often was giving explanations, was a nice touch. she's a local and she knows the area(s) better than anyone!

spook i'll admit the game got me with this one LOL. the writing in general is Not Great so i was like "oh a character without a real reason or motivation who wants to get it on with mel? sure. seems reasonable" and just rolled with it.

the primary issue was that since i had edward marry stella, edward being jealous was really fucking weird, so i didn't even think twice about it. shows what i know! they really hit it hard at the end. although why would gyendal say he's done the whole route dozens of times if he hadn't been able to get into the cave before?? that part didn't make sense to me i mean, seriously.

can we also take a moment and think about how gyendal's plan to get mel to do stuff is to... join her party and try to get it on with her? like. that is his first plan. he could've just sat and waited. like. he COULD have just not done anything. i think about this very often.

story

sincerely i don't see the point of saving your game in 3-2 if the only thing that's kept the same is whoever edward proposed to. it doesn't even really matter: the game is slanted to having mel being the scorned wife even if she wasn't the one who was supposed to get married, and it makes everything really stiff and awkward.

THAT SAID. i am grateful there were less characters for me to focus on - that made a much more compelling narrative. the side quests felt much more fleshed out in this chapter than the other two so far, and i feel like i actually remembered things about each town and its locals. it Felt Right. it Felt Good. the vibes were exquisite for each place and you could tell the effort they'd put in to give each area a personality. i genuinely love that very much.

i do think the big twist at the end is kind of lame, but like, they DID get me with it, so that's on me.

gameplay

oh my god they finally made the quests clearer and with more instructions. i screamed when i saw they put the location of the quest in parentheses next to each name or whatever. thank GOD. it made the game SO much easier to manage (and more efficient in terms of completing several quests at once).

i never was a huge fan of the aveyond 4 battle format (kind of hard to see each icon) so i'm not thrilled to see it here, but it's also really fun to see how each game slowly builds on itself to create the next.

also i didn't know this until i looked up a walkthrough, but i skipped an apparently pretty big quest in peliad where you set leopold up. i was wondering why the fuck i learned trapping the whole time i played, so i looked it up and it turns out... you set leopold up. which i never did. and yet when stormbend's tavern keeper was like "i wanna retire!" leopold was already out of business. SUPER weird. i'll try to replicate it on my next playthrough, i think.

conclusion

literally was like "meh" at the start and then INTENSELY invested by the end. this is probably my favorite chapter so far. like the other two i was like "these are good" but i finished this one and was like. man. i really feel connected and at home with this one.

i'm immediately jumping to 3-4. HOW DOES IT END!!!

[project1939]

100+ Films of 1952

Film number 110: Kid Monk Baroni 

Release date: May 1st, 1952 

Studio: Realart Pictures 

Genre: sports drama 

Director: Harold D. Shuster 

Producer: Jack Broder, Herman Cohen 

Actors: Leonard Nimoy, Richard Rober, Bruce Cabot, Allene Roberts 

Plot Summary: Paul “Monk” Baroni is a disfigured street ruffian who is taken under the wing of a kindly priest. Father Callahan teaches him how to box, and soon he is making good money as a pro. Still unable to let go of the bitterness and self-hatred he feels, his girlfriend Emily encourages him to get plastic surgery. This gives him new confidence, but has he really changed for the better? 

My Rating (out of five stars): **¼  

This was a quintessential low budget film. Need I say more? It was pretty bland and silly, and the only reason anyone would care to watch it today is the fact that it was Leonard Nimoy’s first film. I’ve certainly seen worse movies, even worse movies from 1952, but that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement.  

The Good: 

This had a pretty good cast for a cheap film. No one was egregiously bad, and several of the supporting characters were quite effective. Ricard Rober as Father Callahan stood out the most for me, and Mona Knox was entertaining as a bad girl. Jack Larson played Monk’s best friend- I was already familiar with him as Jimmy on The Adventures of Superman! 

A mini Singin’ in the Rain cast party! Kathleen Freeman played Monk’s mother here- she was the hilarious speech coach in Singin’. Paul Maxy played a gambler here, and in Singin’ in the Rain he was memorable as a rotund dance partner for a movie star in the opening Hollywood party scene. 

Leonard Nimoy did pretty well. He wasn’t outstanding, but the script didn’t give him much to do except be sulky and angry. He was definitely a nice looking young man- he was only 20 years old at the time. He didn’t quite have a body that was convincing as a boxer, though! He was lean, but not exactly muscular. 

There was one cool transition edit where the screen went from a close up of Monk to a fade out, and it faded back in on the derriere of a cigarette girl walking through a nightclub.  

The Bad: 

This was shot in 9 days and you can tell! Nimoy said he was only paid $350 plus the suits he wore. (That’s about $4,000 today.) 

The whole thing had a rather hackneyed vibe. 

The ending. It felt a bit anti-climactic? And why wasn’t Nimoy in the last scene? 

Allene Roberts. I’m sorry to say, her performance stood out as particularly bad. In her defense, her character, although unmarried, was afflicted with what I call “The Classical Hollywood Good Wife Syndrome.” She was wholesome, boring, and had no real purpose other than to worry about/be with Monk. She did fight back in one scene, however, which was pretty cool. 

The absurdity of the portrayal of plastic surgery! Like the film Stolen Face from later in the year, in the world of Classical Hollywood plastic surgery can work outrageous miracles. Even 72 years later, nothing like it is remotely possible.  

There were some cringy moments with a priest where he was trying to get teenage boys to go to the church basement where he had a gym and warm showers... In 2024 it’s hard not to be a little creeped out by that. 

The script had so much terrible/terribly fun dialogue! Here are some favorites: “It’s no crime to enjoy fine music, Paul. It’s the key to a number of good pleasures.” “No fighter quits. Once you lace those gloves on, you’re in a lifelong marriage.” “This was not defeat. You’re a bigger man for trying, for the sacrifice. The way you fought carries its own victories. Look at the wounds on your face. Don’t say you lost.” 

A hilariously over-explained fighting scene where Monk’s manager thinks he’s not fighting his usual dirty way. In the space of a couple of minutes he says- “Looks like he’s been reading Emily Post! He better drop his pinky in the next round!” “I’ll whisper in his ear that this is a fight and not a cotillion!” “You want a little soft music this round? You start out a tiger and end up a pussy cat!” “I don’t need you to play Paddy Cake! If I want this kind of a bout, I can get a better one out of an old maid’s home!” OK OK WE GET IT ALREADY! XD 

[silverflqmes]

now that you have a tag for toorellie, i have a few questions

1. your reaction to tooru as sephi

2. favorite date idea

3. where your first kiss would be

4. would you chop him with a book

5. first time you both say i love you

6. execute order 66

7. meeting his family for the first time (in an alternate timeline lol)

8. indulge yourself for this one, i wanted symmetry (death the kid vibes)

hey queen, i will attempt to answer🫡

— i would absolutely die on the spot hello?? he has his tits OUT I WOULD EFF AR COMBUST😵‍💫 ahem uh, on another note i would be very much heart eyes and admire him a lot.. i mean have you seen the fit??? bro’s ego is gonna end up like a ass hot air balloon.. although emo ellie noises bc sephiroth angst🙁 anyway furthermore i would tackle him in a hug and not let go<3 and then we blast one winged angel✨

— i wanna go to a really pretty fantasy looking library with him, it would just be so cool<3 maybe dress up fancy too and get a spinny hug somewhere in between.. that or the waterpark because chaos.

— hm, i think while acting out lines from the book i’m writing, there would be a kiss scene and instead of skipping over to continue the dialogue.. somehow we would have actually kissed each other ( he initiated ofc )

— depending on the context i might whack him with a book ( likely out of embarrassment.. ) and if i do- i’ll end up feeling guilty somehow afterward just by seeing his face.. so he gets treated like high maintenance ( as if he wasn’t already ) as compensation🧍‍♂️

— honestly i think during the confession i would cry it out or something because how long i’ve held in my feelings for, and he of course — might joke about it being early or say how i must really really love him that bad to say it so soon.. but he literally feels the same way😐

— we reenact the mustafar scene without question. however we fought over who got to be anakin — in the end he got to be because he brought up the argument of me being choked

— i would be super duper nervous.. cuz i wanna be good enough for tooru and be able to prove that i can take care of him in their stead and treat him well🥹 but he reassures me not to be too hard on myself and to just stick close. that he would be there the whole time and not allow me to feel alone or cornered by his parents — not that they would do that.. in the end, they were rather sweet<3 his sibling(s) too ( @/sky lol )

— somehow he does my hair better for me than i do😐 not sure how, might just be him having grown up with (a) sister(s)

okok done<3 thanks mami, will be invading your box when you post your selfship stuff woo

[horizonzerodawnaesthetic]

TBH, I wish Nil wasn't in HFW. My personal dislike for him aside, it sucks because we as players had the choice to decide his fate in HZD but then he pops up in HFW invalidating the choices made by some players. If Olin had appeared in HFW I'd be annoyed even though I personally spared him, I don't doubt others chose not to and I find it annoying that our choices in HZD didn't matter in HFW. The Witcher 3 allowed choices made in Witcher 2 to be imported over. What do you think?

I understand your reasoning, it can be pretty frustrating when games retcon a player's actions. It really would have been simple for a quick little questionnaire asking about your previous actions in the game. However, I think it would have been disappointing for the people who chose to spare Nil to not see him again. Even though keeping him ambiguous (as they did with Olin) could have made him a Schrodinger's Nil, I think there's a few reasons he's left alive.

1. His arc isn't over. Smarter people have said this better than me, but Nil has growth to be made. We've seen it between hzd and hfw, how he's found a way to get his kicks and his adrenaline pumping without actually killing anyone. it may be through semi-lethal robo-horse racing, but it's a step in the right direction for him, and although his role is lessened in fw compared to zd, I think it hints at more Nil to come. Though I will say, I think the reason he exists in fw (despite his possible death in zd) is really because Guerilla didn't think he'd be so goddamn loved. They may not have planned for a resurgence of Nil in the sequel, which is why his fate can be left up to the player in the first game. Then, once they saw how popular he was, they decided to include him in the sequel. I will at least give props for not just making him a throwaway, it seems hey really did put some care into his character in the Forbidden West.

2. Something said in one of the GAIA Casts has stuck with me since I heard it. They talked about how the current games are not our stories, they're Aloy's. That's what makes it different from an RPG, of course, but every choice in the game was one Aloy would make. An example they used is how you can't kill the guards or citizens, because Aloy wouldn't do that. Every choice offered to the player is one in a spectrum of choice Aloy would make, with some more likely than the others, but of course she can only actually choose one. So Now I suppose it comes down to this question, do you actually think Aloy would kill Nil? I'm sure that answer has a different response depending on who you ask, but personally, I don't think she would. Even if she does think Nil is a bit of a Problem, I think it may be hard for her to turn her bow on someone she fought beside, no matter the circumstance. Listening to the two dialogue options in Cause for Concern, she seems far more genuine when she decides not to kill him. She recognizes that he's not exactly.. well, but he is still a powerful ally, and she thinks he deserves a second chance (just as Avad did). If she accepts, she sounds far more resigned, with a "if this is the way it has to be" sort of outlook.

In the end, I think Nil's return in HFW makes logical sense, and even if does go against some player's actions, it still fits well into the narrative, and can even give insight into the Aloy of Zero Dawn.

[franklyshipping]

The Giggliest Narrative ~ A Markiplier and Crankgameplays Ego Fanfic

ANOTHER DELIGHTFUL ANON PROMPT CONTAINING A WONDERFULLY UNIQUE PAIR! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @the-authler

Blank had literally no idea why he was here. He wasn’t exactly someone people would come to if they needed the help of someone scary or intimidating . . . and yet for some reason, the Author had come to him. Blank was sat in the Author’s suite, cross-legged on his couch, with a script on his lap. Author was sat next to him, nibbling the end of his pen, experiencing something many of us know well: writer’s block. Except in this case it was more like precise dialogue and characterisation block. Author was working on a story that included a sentient monster, but was having a hard time visualising it and giving it true detail. So, he had asked Blank to act out the part of the monster, so he could see the true effect of what he’d written so that he could figure out just how to edit accordingly.

‘So uh, I just read from here?’

Blank asked, and the Author nodded, crossing his legs as he replied.

‘Indeed, just emulate the creepy subtlety as much as you can, the dialogue should do most of the work for you.’

‘Uh, okey dokey.’

The Author fought a smile as he watched Blank look down at the script, softly clearing his throat; he thought he was pretty damn adorable. Now though, Blank took a few breaths, and tried to deepen his voice as he read the Author’s words.

‘I’ve turned out the lights now, and yet still you stumble. Fumbling for a door handle. A window latch. But all that’s left for you is me. I’ve been the lump in your throat for long enough . . . and now the whole of you, will be swallowed down mine.’

When he finished, Blank looked to the Author with a soft smile, whilst also trying to hide how many chills he got from the Author’s amazing writing. However, the Author had his fist subtly pressed against his mouth, having to try even harder not to smile. Somehow, despite the nature of the words . . . Blank made them come across adorably! His voice had still been soft and his eyes had been bright; he’d let his excitement shine through. The Author cleared his throat and smiled lightly, trying to be encouraging.

‘Uh-huh, okay good, that’s . . . that’s alright. Perhaps try it again but really imagine you’re trying to scare someone, make someone fear you, that kind of thing.’

‘O-Oh yeah, yeah sure.’

Blank really wanted to help the Author out, so he tried it again. However, the words still came across the same, with the Author not even getting a hint of a goose-bump. So he asked Blank to read a different portion, one which had snarls interspersed in the dialogue . . . but when Blank did them, he honestly just sounded like a puppy snarling. Blank just kept coming across as so cute! The Author was being incredibly kind as he asked Blank to do more do-overs, but Blank was getting annoyed at himself; he felt like he was letting the Author down, and that was the last thing he wanted!

‘I-I’m sorry, I’m trying to get it but I-I’m not good at this stuff! And your writing is so good-I’m sorry Author-’

‘Hey, hey don’t apologise! You’re not doing anything wrong, it’s just that not everyone is at ease embodying an evil figure.’

Author interjected in a comforting manner, not wanting Blank to get upset. He reached and squeezed his shoulder, and smiled warmly as he added.

‘And actually, that’s probably a good thing.’

Blank smiled bashfully, and did feel a little better from the Author being so kind to him; although, the Author could still see he was disheartened. Blank was a naturally generous soul, and not being able to fulfil his selflessness just really brought him down. Author certainly wasn’t going to have that. He nibbled his lip in thought, and tilted his head at Blank curiously.

‘Blank . . . have you ever actually gone out of your way to intimidate someone before? Even just harmlessly?’

Blank fiddled with his sleeves and shook his head.

‘No, no I never have.’

The Author smiled subtly, his eyes glimmering as he replied.

‘Would you like me to teach you? I wouldn’t be teaching you how to cause anyone true harm or discomfort, just a few pointers on how to make someone get goosebumps in your presence. Or even just make their blood quicken, and their adrenaline build at the mere thought of you.’

Blank shivered at the mere thought of all those things, but honestly, the fact that he wouldn’t be harming anyone was a large incentive. Also, he would take any opportunity to keep hanging out with the Author . . . he liked the guy. So he smiled and nodded.

‘Y-Yeah, yeah I’d like that.’

The Author now grinned a slightly more wolfish grin, and his reply came out as a dastardly purr.

‘Excellent.’

Before Blank could react, the Author tossed the script out of the way . . . and manhandled him effortlessly. He gripped him by the forearms and got up on his knees, and before Blank knew it he’d been forced into a lying position on the couch, with the Author straddling him and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. Blank’s eyes widened and he squealed at the suddenness of it all, struggling and stuttering as his heart raced.

‘A-Author wh-wha-?’

Blank was cut off, by the Author putting his free hand over Blank’s mouth (gently, of course). The Author sneered down at him, leaning down nose to nose as his eyes glimmered and his voice seemed to get oh so cold.

‘Hush now, little thing. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll only speak when you’re spoken to. Understand?’

Blank let out a cute little whimper and nodded, so the Author removed his hand from his mouth. Blank’s lips were parted in the most adorably shocked way. Blank knew of course that the Author was putting on a show, but it was so incredibly terrifying! The Author then let out a sigh and stroked Blank’s cheek, tracing his cheek bone.

‘Such soft, tender skin . . . such shaky little breaths. What a dainty little darling you are.’

Blank quietly whined, shivering at the Author’s soft touch as he got goose-bumps. He felt so intimidated. The Author trailed his fingertips down Blank’s jaw, his neck, and over his Adam’s apple; he chuckled at feeling him gulp. Then he teased his collarbone, and the Author noticed how all of a sudden . . . Blank seemed to be trying not to smile. It clicked immediately of course. The Author smirked as he realised Blank’s ticklishness, and that just cemented the climax of his teasing plan in his mind.

‘I’ve been meaning to acquire a new subject for my torturous practises . . .’

Blank was nibbling his lip constantly now as the Author’s lean fingers trailed down his torso, awakening his nerves in the most tantalising, flustering manner. Blank’s mind was racing, but then his eyes widened at the Author’s final words.

‘. . . and you are just perfect.’

Blank let out the most adorable shriek of a laugh when the Author dug his fingers into his lean stomach, tickling him speedily and causing Blank to arch his back and wriggle in utter shock.

‘AAHH-AUTHOHOHOR?! WHAHAT AHARE YOU DOHOHOING?!’

The Author chuckled as he kept tickling, relishing in Blank’s mirth as he replied nonchalantly.

‘I’m just showing you how to be an intimidating monster, isn’t it obvious?’

Poor Blank was so flustered and confused, gazing up at the Author pleadingly as he whined through his laughter.

‘IHIHI DOHON’T UHUNDERSTAHAND?!’

The Author snickered, and lowered his voice with a chuckle as he replied to him with the most teasy glee imaginable.

‘Ohh, perhaps I should have elaborated . . . I’m the tickle monster!’

In under a second, Blank just went utterly beet red, and his hands flailed about as the Author now used both hands to scratch and squeeze at Blank’s tummy. The Author was chuckling gleefully down at him as Blank exclaimed.

‘AHAHAHA GAHAHAD NOHOHO!’

The Author grinned and mused in his reply, meanwhile Blank’s erratic batting did absolutely nothing to dislodge his tickle torture.

‘Mm, not quite, but I appreciate the compliment! It’s most kind of you to give my ego a little stroke during your predicament.’

The Author winked down at him, and Blank snorted heartily at the innuendo as he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. His smile was the widest that the Author had ever seen it, and the longer the Author gazed down at him and admired him . . . the more he realised something. Warm joy melted through the Author as he realised that was utterly in love with Blank.

‘YOHOHOU’RE SOHO MEHEHEAN!’

‘Ohoho my dearest, you have no idea.’

The Author replied with delighted playfulness, and he leant over Blank now as he lightly walked his fingers up towards his ribs. Blank gasped and immediately pressed his arms in, blocking his ribs off completely. Blank giggled amidst his pants when the Author raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Blank.’

‘Y-Yeheah?’

‘I assume that your blocking was mere instinct, and that now you’re going to be a good boy and move those arms for me?’

Blank giggled, and then shook his head. The Author started to smile less sinisterly and more playfully at him, since he couldn’t help but find his clear giddiness so damn endearing.

‘No?’

Blank giggled again and nibbled his lip. Inside he was just the happiest person alive, and he had realised something so preciously fundamental. He was utterly in love with the Author. The Author now inched his face closer to Blank’s as his smile broadened playfully.

‘So . . . you’ve decided to be a naughty boy, have you?’

Blank giggled harder, and immediately nodded up at the Author, not bothering to hide how much fun he was having. The Author chuckled, and purred with delight as his fingertips twitched at the base of Blank’s ribcage.

‘Ohhh but my dear, tickle monsters dole out the most torturous kind of tickling to naughty boys . . . are you sure you wouldn’t rather do as you’re told?’

Blank felt himself becoming more and more breathless as he gazed into the Author’s eyes, but he still shook his head, and cheekily replied.

‘Y-Yohou cahan’t make me mohove my arms!’

The Author smiled fondly, let out a warm sigh, and tilted his head down at him as he replied softly.

‘Mm, technically you are correct. I cannot make you move your arms . . .’

Then, the Author leant down to whisper huskily in Blank’s ear, making the pinned man go even more red-faced.

‘But I don’t even need to speak, to move them myself.’

The Author then executed what he liked to call, a non-verbal narration. It only works with the simplest of actions, and though he could have just spoken the command aloud, he found himself wanting to be particularly suave with it. So in an instant, Blank’s arms shot above his head, and he gasped with giddy terror as the Author loomed over his exposed torso . . . and started pushing up his t-shirt with a grin.

‘Ohoho nonono dohohoon’t!’

‘But when it’s all laid out so handsomely for me, how can I possibly resist?’

The Author replied to Blank’s stammers, and pushed his t-shirt all the way up to his chest so all his ribs are exposed, and he eagerly danced his fingers up and down his ribs. He was featherlight with his tickly touches, making Blank arch and let out the most precious, high-pitched fits of giggles.

‘Thahahat’s nahahat fahahair! Nohoho pohohohoweeers!’

The Author laughed affectionately and teased.

‘Well I would apologise, but alas, I’m not actually sorry.’

Blank snorted through his giggles, but then let out some particularly noticeable squeals when the Author came to tease his top-most ribs. He was incredibly ticklish there, and the light traces and scratches were just driving him mad!

‘Nahaha nahahat thehehere!’

The Author raised an eyebrow, and eagerly kept up the tickling at his top-most ribs as he taunted him mercilessly.

‘Ohhh so this is where you like it? I imagine these pretty ribs are extra sensitive, with them always being hidden . . . but not anymore. Now they’re all mine to tease and tickle, and all you can do is squeal and squeal and squeal . . .’

Blank arched his back even more, letting out a plethora of whines, squeals and giggles as the teases invaded his mind. This was unlike any tickling he’d ever gotten before . . . and he loved it. The Author’s fingers were a devilish musician, and he delighted in being the instrument at hand.

‘Plehehehease! Plehehease ihit tihihickles!’

The Author beamed, and used his nails to particularly tickle Blank’s highest rib bones as he purred.

‘Oh I am so glad to hear it!’

The Author also adored laughing along with him, feeling so buoyant and overjoyed by Blank’s laughter and expressions, all of it just filling his senses. He especially grinned when Blank wailed preciously.

‘Plehehease gohoho sohohomewhere ehelse! Ahahanywhehere ehelse!’

‘Anywhere else? Hmm . . . well now that I think on it . . .’

The Author stopped the tickling, and Blank managed to briefly catch his breath . . . but then gulped when the Author smiled a feral smile.

‘. . . I’ve always wanted to know how your neck tastes.’

Without further ado the Author dove in and started ruthlessly nibbling at the crook of Blank’s neck, whilst also mentally releasing Blank’s arms, since he liked to think he wasn’t entirely cruel. He grinned happily when he heard Blank’s yelp filled laughter, and his hands grasping at him adorably.

‘EEEE-NOHOHO! GEHET OHOUTTA THEHERE!’

‘But I’m soooo hungry, and we tickle monsters have a diabolical appetite!’

The Author eagerly nibbled as fast as he could, making Blank writhe beneath him as he got tears in his eyes. He really didn’t know if he could take much more, even though he was loving every bit of the new closeness that they had now.

‘NOHOHOHAHA! IHIHI’LL STAHAHAP YOHOHOU!!!’

The Author laughed at his exclamation, deciding to nip behind his ear and lie on him a little as he teased.

‘Oh you will, will you?’

‘YEHEHEHAHAHA!!!’

The Author laughed warmly, and nipped his earlobe with a smug little growl.

‘Oh I’d love to see you try.’

The Author then reared up so he could smirk down at him, preparing to dive into the other side of his neck and give it the tickle treatment it so deserved . . . but Blank managed to act first. Blank gasped, took in a breath . . . and yanked the Author down by his black shirt so he could kiss him. The Author’s eyes widened, but then all sense of the tickle monster melted away as the Author succumbed to the kiss with happy delight. They made out for a lovely few moments, both of them smiling and adoring every second, which was honestly long over-due. Then though, Blank moved away with a giggly gasp.

‘O-Oh my-ahah, I-I c-cahan’t breathe . . .’

‘Oh my daharling, come sit up, sit up with my dearest.’

The Author replied affectionately, letting out a few giggles of his own as he helped Blank sit up, whilst gazing at him with all the love in the world. Blank eagerly held the Author’s hands as he caught his breath, and the Author was so smitten. Before they knew it, they had locked eyes, and giggled together sweetly. Then, the Author raised a playful eyebrow and grinned.

‘So . . . do you feel you have a better idea about what an intimidating monster is like?’

Blank pursed his lips at him, his face immediately flushing, which made the Author laugh . . . but then he gasped audibly when a cushion suddenly hit him in the face. He blinked as he looked at Blank, seeing him holding said cushion in his hand with a little smug grin in place. Then though, Blank gulped, and got intense butterflies when the Author smirked at him, his eyes glinting.

‘Oh dear . . . it seems you need another demonstration.’

Blank squealed and immediately bolted from the couch, with the Author immediately giving chase. Of course, Blank didn’t try to escape as seriously as he could have, and the Author wasn’t as cruel to him as he could have been. Well, that indeed is love.

WOOOOO HOPE YOU ALL LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOOO LUV YOUS!!

[sokkastyles]

I’ve talked about this before, but I need to emphasize that Zuko working in the tea shop is a huge part of his arc and development. It wasn’t just something that lasted only a few episodes that he hated and then moved on from, it’s something that is threaded throughout his arc and into the finale. 

Of course he’s not happy for a large part of the time he’s working there in book two. He’s a traumatized teenager who is desperately trying to achieve the approval of his father so that he can go back to the home he was banished from. Iroh tries to make the best of things in part because Iroh genuinely enjoys it and making the best of a bad situation is just who he is, but he also wants Zuko to be happy and wants to make the best life for his nephew that he can, and he knows that Zuko needs positivity and security in his life, as well as tries to nurture in Zuko an appreciation for the small things in life and an attitude of service. It is hardly surprising that Zuko is resistant to this, though.

Zuko complains even more when he and Iroh are presented with new opportunities, because he doesn’t want to accept the possibility of growth in this new life.

Iroh: Did you hear, nephew? This man wants to give us our own tea shop in the Upper Ring of the city!

Quon: That's right, young man, your life is about to change for the better!

Zuko: [Sarcastically.] I'll try to contain my joy. [Walks outside, slams door shut.]

Zuko spends seven episodes working in the tea shop in a twenty episode season. It runs through his entire Ba Sing Se arc. He grumbles, groans, and complains through most of it.

Iroh: So, I was thinking about names for my new tea shop. How about the Jasmine Dragon? It's dramatic, poetic, has a nice ring to it.

Zuko: [Shows Iroh the flyer.] The Avatar is here in Ba Sing Se and he's lost his bison.

Iroh: [Grabs the flyer.] We have a chance for a new life here. [Cut to Zuko looking out a window.] If you start stirring up trouble, we could lose all the good things that are happening for us.

Zuko: [Turns to Iroh.] Good things that are happening for you! Have you ever thought that I want more from life than a nice apartment and a job serving tea?

Iroh: There is nothing wrong with a life of peace and prosperity. I suggest you think about what it is that you want from your life and why.

Zuko: I want my destiny.

Iroh: What that means is up to you. 

Zuko’s time in the tea shop is part of his arc of discovering that he can choose his own destiny, and although he didn’t choose to live as a refugee, he can choose what he makes of it, which is what Iroh is trying to teach him here. Part of that is choosing to accept Iroh’s love, choosing to appreciate the good things instead of wishing for something that he doesn’t have, and we know that Zuko’s desire to go back to being the prince of the Fire Nation and earn his father’s affection is ultimately empty, and part of a life where he was abused, as well as where he was a part of a system that was oppressing others.

Then Zuko refuses Iroh’s advice about accepting a simple life in favor of pursuing Appa as the Blue Spirit - an identity that represents Zuko’s internal conflict between his fractured self image, which in book two involves him using the Blue Spirit identity to steal, to get back a part of the old life which he’s lost. It is extremely painful for him to admit that trying to get back to who he was before his banishment is causing him to engage in self-destructive behaviors that are stagnating his growth. Iroh just wants him to be safe and happy but he also knows that Zuko has to confront this conflict within himself.

That’s why, after he frees Appa, he must throw away the Blue Spirit mask once and for all, symbolically letting go of his desire to go back to the Fire Nation.

Iroh: You did the right thing, nephew. Leave it behind.

Giving up the past is never easy. Especially giving up the ideas he’s held onto for so long, the idea of what he can one day get back that, as Iroh said in book one, had kept Zuko going through his banishment, that gave him hope. But part of creating your own destiny is realizing that you can find hope in places you didn’t think you could find it. Zuko has to find something else to put his hope in and that’s represented physically by the sickness he suffers after freeing Appa. His entire sense of self has been shaken to the core, because change, real change, is hard.

Iroh: You should know that this is not a natural sickness, but that shouldn't stop you from enjoying tea.

Zuko: What's happening?

Iroh: Your critical decision. What you did beneath that lake. It was in such conflict with our image of yourself that you are now at war within your own mind and body. 

Zuko: What's that mean?

Iroh: You are going through a metamorphosis, my nephew. It will not be a pleasant experience, but when you come out of it, you will be the beautiful prince you were always meant to be.

Tea even makes an appearance during Zuko’s “metamorphosis,” because the tea is symbolic, y’all. Then when Zuko wakes up from his sickness, we see an immediate change in him.

Iroh: Now that your fever is gone, you seem different somehow.

Zuko: [Optimistically.] It's a new day. We've got a new apartment, new furniture, and today's the grand opening of your new tea shop. Things are looking up, Uncle.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that Zuko has suddenly decided that he loves serving tea and working customer service, but the change he’s experienced is about choosing to find the good, to accept change into his life, to accept humility, and love. And this is the most happy we’ve ever seen Zuko be. We also see him emotionally supporting Iroh and working on his relationship with his uncle because he knows that seeing Zuko happy makes Iroh happy. Before, Zuko made a big show of his unhappiness, slamming doors and frowning and shouting and generally acting like a spoiled teenager with major authority issues, which made Iroh visibly upset. Iroh constantly tries to get Zuko to change his attitude but in the end it’s something that Zuko has to choose himself.

Iroh: Who thought when we came to this city as refugees, that I'd end up owning my own tea shop? Follow your passion, Zuko, and life will reward you.

Zuko: Congratulations, Uncle.

Iroh: I am very thankful.

Zuko: You deserve it. The Jasmine Dragon will be the best tea shop in the city.

Iroh: No. I'm thankful because you decided to share this special day with me. It means more than you know.

Zuko: Now let's make these people some tea! 

This is more than just Zuko being happy for Iroh or trying to be happy because Iroh wants him to be happy. We see the idea repeated here that you can choose your own destiny, and that those who do are rewarded by life. This is also echoed in Zuko’s conversation with Katara in which he tells her that lately he has realized that he is free to choose what he makes of the scars of his past, and his future. We also see him practicing what Iroh told him, he lets go of shame by letting go of pride. Instead of talking about what he thinks he deserves, he talks about what Iroh deserves. The dialogue also indicates that Zuko chose to be there.

This development is emphasized when Zuko and Iroh are invited to serve tea to the Earth King.

Iroh: I ... I can't believe it!

Zuko: What is it, Uncle?

Iroh: Great news! We've been invited to serve tea to the Earth King!

Zuko goes from “step aside, filth!” and complaining about doing work to smiling about serving tea to the king of a rival nation. That’s character development. And as I said before, it was essential to Zuko’s development in becoming the kind of Fire Lord that he is supposed to be.

The dramatic irony of Katara finding them and unintentionally ratting them out to Azula is that when Katara enters the tea shop, she finds not only a Zuko in a tea apron, but a happy one enthusiastically taking people’s orders.

Zuko: Uncle! I need two jasmine, one green, and one lychee!

Iroh: I'm brewing as fast as I can!

I love this scene so much because it’s like, imagine that you decide to go to Panera Bread and you find Kylo Ren working at the counter, cheerfully asking you if you want chips or an apple with that. It’s also hilarious that Katara’s immediate thought is they’re infiltrating the city when she knows that there’s an evil force of brainwashing government agents lurking about.

That Zuko genuinely found peace with his life in Ba Sing Se is narratively important because it makes what happens next even harder for him. “The Crossroads of Destiny” is a true crossroads because he’s fought hard to find happiness and hope in his new life, but then it’s all ripped away and he’s put to the test. That he fails it this time just emphasizes how hard it is to break free of old destructive habits.

This is why when he does go back to the Fire Nation, we’re shown his doubts, and how uncomfortable he is. He tries to be happy and to accept his role as prince, but he already knows that this is not the destiny he wants for himself. The excessive opulence of the Fire Nation is meant to show this. We see this in scenes like Zuko constantly being unhappy during the beach episode and becoming angry when he is told to relax and do nothing, and his insecurity at the party in a room full of rich kids. 

In particular, we see him being uncomfortable being waited on by servants in “Nightmares and Daydreams”:

Servant #1: Fresh fruit, Prince Zuko?

Zuko puts out his hand and shakes his head respectfully.

Servant #2: May I wash your feet, sir?

Zuko respectfully puts his hand out and shakes his head again.

Servant #1: Head massage?

Zuko shakes his head again.

Servant #2: Hot towel?

Zuko looks at the towels for a moment and takes one. He is seen wiping his forehead before walking out of the room. The two servants bow behind him. Zuko walks out the palace gates, with Fire Nation citizens waiting for him.

Servant #1: Prince Zuko, is something wrong? You didn't take the palanquin.

Zuko: I'm just going to Mai's house. It's not far.

Servant #1: It's not a prince's place to walk anywhere, sir.

Zuko looks to the distance, walks over, and gets into the palanquin.

We see him trying to fit in with Mai because he’s a sixteen year old who has a girlfriend for the first time in his life and he wants to impress her, but what this scene actually shows is their differing values.

Zuko: Tell me, if you could have anything you want right now, what would it be?

Mai: Hm ... A big fancy fruit tart, with rose petals on top.

Zuko: You know, being a prince and all, I might just be able to make that happen.

Mai: That would be impressive.

Zuko: [To the servants.] Do you think you could find a fresh fruit tart for the lady, with rose petals on top?

Servant: Excellent choice, sir.

Mai: I guess there's some nice perks that come with being royalty. [Pushing Zuko to lay down with her.] Though there's annoying stuff, too. Like that all-day war meeting coming up.

Zuko: [Sitting up, followed by Mai.] War meeting? What are you talking about?

Mai: Azula mentioned something. I-I assumed you were going, too.

Zuko: I guess I wasn't invited.

The two look away from each other.

Zuko asks Mai what she would want if she could have anything and what she comes up with is fruit tarts. This doesn’t necessarily mean that Mai is shallow, but what it does mean is that she’s never had to worry about what she wants in terms of the big picture.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

She’s also never had to go hungry like Zuko has, and never had to serve others like Zuko has.

And then she brings up the war meeting, which to her is only an annoyance. Zuko doesn’t care about fruit tarts and palanquin rides, but this is something he cares about. It’s also funny to me that Mai is like “make out time,” and let’s be real, nobody would fault Zuko, a sixteen year old boy, for enjoying a little hanky panky, but Zuko is like “no, anxiety time!” Which shows how much he’s changed and how much he is struggling to be happy despite all the fruit tarts and hot towels and having a girlfriend who is all over him.

It is NOT a coincidence that when Zuko joins the gaang, we see him genuinely happy and among friends and making and serving tea.

Zuko had to go back to the Fire Nation to really understand how much he had changed and to really be able to choose his own destiny, but we know which one he chooses, between a life of empty riches and a life helping others. Even when we see him addressing the people as Fire Lord, his speech is all about service and humility. When the crowd cheers for him, he does this:

Zuko: Please. The real hero is the Avatar.

Which shows how far he’s come from the boy who so desperately wanted recognition, who was repulsed by the idea of serving others or lowering himself to the status of a “peasant,” who only thought of himself and what he deserved. His last scene is not his coronation, not his triumphant moment of standing in front of a crowd as Fire Lord, or even confronting his father, but a quiet moment, serving tea to his friends.

[bettyminicoop]

We're at AU since 504, and I'll prove it to you.

So, Riverdale is a comic.

No not like this.

RIVERDALE is a COMIC.

This is how this article began a day ago, when I tried to develop a theory about season 5 and try to explain the absurdity of everything that we have seen on the show lately. But Riverdale is really a comic, in which anything can happen, including events that take us to an alternate universe.

So, the main secret of the season 5 is not mixing ships, it's not about TBK, not about Moth Men, not about TRAUMA™. The main secret of the season 5 is: "What the hell is going on here?"

Does RAS like predictions? Jughead in 417 literally says, "In what future are we not together?" Thus, launching this universe, in which we find ourselves since 504. And there is an explanation for all this, oddly enough.

Honestly, I think that the absurdity of 518 helped me a lot. I realized that all the ship's nonsense of the season is a red herring. I calmed down, exhaled, moved a little further and looked at the whole picture.

For convenience in the future, I will call the events of the first four seasons as RD01, and season 5 since 504 as RD AU. So, everything that happened in RD01 also happened in RD AU, but in a different way. And something may not have happened at all. This is where all the inconsistencies with the plot of the first four seasons come from.

1. The writers are not lazy, they don't forget what happened 5 episodes ago. RAS simply deceived everyone by taking a very risky step. All of the plots that take place in Season 5 have a backstory that we don't know anything about. Except for certain plots that are taken out of the context of the first four seasons. But the difference is that all these plots that happened in RD01 went completely differently here in RD AU.

2. The episode of Citizen Lodge has the most direct evidence for the existence of RD AU. Because if this episode hadn't happened, it would have been hard to guess RD AU. It would be impossible to connect the dots. Citizen Lodge is the key to unlocking the mystery of Season 5 of Riverdale.

The Midnight Club takes place in 1992, but Citizen Lodge takes place in 1988. Although these are the same characters, in the same age range. But at Citizen Lodge we were shown newborn Veronica, because Hermosa never existed here. In RD01, the Lodges have a family rum business, RD AU Lodges are shoe shiners not originally living in Riverdale. The events of both episodes contradict each other, because they took place in different universes. This is not a fault of the writers, this is a deliberate hint. This whole new RD AU universe exists several years earlier than RD 01.

Small addition. In 516 it is indicated that Hermosa exists in the RD AU. But maybe she is younger than Veronica.

3. The last time a clear timeline is set is 503, when Jughead sits in Pop's a year after graduation. And when he walks out the door, he says that the next time he saw his friends was six years later. But we haven't seen that yet. Because that's where RD01 ends.

When 504 starts, nowhere is it stated how many years have passed. The first timeline is set by Veronica Lodge. "It's 2021". And this is the very first clue that we are in the middle of RD AU.

4. When Season 5 was announced, RAS said it would be a 5 year time jump. But by the start of the season, it turned into 7 years. And there is still no error. In RD01, after Bughead says goodbye on the porch, their next meeting actually happens in seven years. But we haven't seen it yet.

RD AU probably takes place five years after core four graduated from high school. And this is confirmed by Bughead's conversation in the bunker when Betty asks Jughead why he's bringing up a conflict five years ago. Which by the way does not negate the fact that voicemail happened only two years ago. Because it is the aftermath of a terrible five-year conflict that ended Bughead's relationship in RD AU. Do you seriously agree that kissing was a terrible thing to do? Probably something worse happened at RD AU.

5. On the chest of Archie RD AU there is no scar after his meeting with the bear, so this did not happen in this universe. We've been shown Archie's breasts so many times this season but we never really noticed!

6. Tom Keller and Sierra McCoy do not appear to be married in RD AU, although they literally fought the Gargoyle King for their relationship.

7. I believe that the RD AU timeline is shifted 4-5 years back relative to RD01. As confirmed by Bughead's bunker conversation and the events at Citizen Lodge. And this explains why RD AU is now in 2021, and not 2027, as it should be in RD01.

8. I watched season 5 very casually and hardly saw more than 1/3. So I need you to help me collect more evidence for the existence of RD AU. For every plot, event and conversation, you need to apply an AU theory filter. And I can promise you, every piece will find its place in the puzzle.

By the way, differences can be not only in plots and dialogues, but also physical in the appearance of characters and interiors.

I'm sure that Veronica's question to Archie, where he sees himself in five years, was also not accidental. But I no longer have the strength to develop this and build it in the context of RD AU. Especially because I don't know much about their relationship history. I trust you to figure it out.

And I wouldn't be at all surprised if Season 5 of Riverdale is still Jughead's book from RD 01, called Rivervale.

Will we get the RD AU backstory in Season 6? To be honest, I'm not sure if we need it.

Is Polly still alive in RD01?

Could Alice's hallucination at 518 be AU on AU? That is, literally being RD01 inside RD AU. Because these scenes were, it seems, the most "normal" in the whole episode. Follow up on this idea. Or we can just wait for season 6 special.

It does not matter at all which ships the RD AU will end with. It does not matter. Because season 5 and season 6 special is not about ships.

Maybe season 6 special is when RD01 and RD AU mix. Well, let's see, it's not long to wait.

Is there a chance RD AU will end on episode 100? Perhaps.

Please give this season and finale a chance. I am currently re-watching individual episodes to find confirmation of my AU theory, and now season 5 makes sense! Check it out for yourself. I'm sure there will be a TBK mystery in the final episode next week that will make my whole AU theory obvious. But I will write about this separately right after this post.

Looking back now, I think the flurry of spoilers ahead of 518 is literally when RAS went crazy. Because we're incredibly dumb and didn't want to see obvious clues in the narrative.

I will never pull this stone out alone. So, my young archaeologists, arm yourself with hammers and brooms, and help me bring this treasure to the surface completely.

I want to say THANK YOU to Bughead fandom. Because you are amazing. Because you are building theories, you are guessing, you are thinking. Because you spin every situation, you question every plot that happened on the show. And I am overwhelmed with complacency, because the uncovering of the main secret of Season 5 came from the Bughead community. After all, who else besides Bughead can uncover Riverdale's secrets?

And thanks to those who first brought up AU in Riverdale. Because only thanks to this theory, I was able to pull the thread and untangle the whole ball.

It's so liberating. It’s like someone has suddenly turned on the lights in the dark room we’ve been in since the beginning of Season 5.