#but sometimes I almost understand entirely

[lovieku]

TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

“Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

[paragonrobits]

honestly this whole thing being treated as an exclusive problem to superhero tropes in general, or implying that superheroes as a concept are inherently bad because I guess people assume they were specifically created to Keep The People Down or what-not, REALLY ANNOYS ME A LOT so this seems a good opportunity to make a point:

this trope is not specific to superheroes, and has been a thing for quite a while in fiction overall, specifically in TV and films (and at the risk of being snappy and letting irritation doing the talking, thus in mediums that get the most coverage and it makes people sound like a series doesn't exist if its not in TV or movies)

At its worst, this is basically a low-effort way to give a villain some nuance without putting much thought into it. It's not really meant to imply, at least in most cases, that their goal or motive is BAD, as some people seem to suggest. This is probably an outgrowth of the common idea of a villain being the hero of their own story; its common to suggest that a villain MUST have some kind of moral point or heroic quality to them, and that's basically where this comes up; its a less well-written handling of that concept by using it to get some pathos into a villain that can often be counterproductive.

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that its not suggesting that their cause is BAD; indeed, the writer implicitly means that their cause is good, because that's where the villains Good Cause Points come from; if it wasn't a good cause to them, they wouldn't be trying to humanize the villain by rooting them in that cause.

It's not exclusive to superheroes by any means, and the general trend predates the modern superhero genre in film and television, at least in the post-MCU sense.

The other point to be made is that sometimes, the supervillain isn't actually concerned by a problem at all, and they're just using it as an excuse to satisfy their own personal grudges, because it gets them support as they pursue their own goals, or because they're cynical manipulators who never gave a damn about that problem but it furthers their own goals to manipulate others who DO care about that problem.

There is also one other aspect; sometimes the villain does genuinely believe in solving a problem, but their understanding of it is completely divorced from reality, or their intended plans are inherently a bad thing. For example, lets take the common idea of Poison Ivy as a heroic eco-heroine fighting corporations who pollute the planet. All well and good, but Ivy actually doing that is an extreme outlier in her established character. More often than not, what she's actually doing it is causing massive destruction that gets a lot of completely unrelated people killed because her explicit end goal is the complete genocide of all human life, and at extremes, all ANIMAL life as well. This makes her a textbook ecofascist of the 'kill all people, especially the ones that have no power to do anything about ecological destruction' kind.

This is closer to the sort of villains you're actually likely to see; their stance on a problem is completely destructive, counterproductive and generally just kind of evil. Thats why heroes stop them; because their entire plan is to kill lots of people while making vague comments about 'x thing is the Real Evil' or something like that.

This, uh, also tends to be the actual nature of villains that fandoms often present as enlightened True Heroes unjustly antagonized by heroes. Almost every time, they only give lip service to any real goal and mostly just want to kill lots of people or do large scale disasters to satisfy their own grudges, and as such they're not really meant to be taken seriously.

And from another point of view, its like this: the reason we don't usually see the hero solving that problem is because that's not the focus of those sort of stories. If you're going in for an adventure story about someone with fantastical powers have action-filled showdowns with larger-than-life antagonists, its not really reasonable to expect it to suddenly swerve into a political treatsie about sociological phenomenon just because the villain of the week makes some vague references to societal ills as they start kicking orphans into a giant blender to fuel their giant robot that's going to burrow to the core of the earth and blow it up.

Its a fairly basic writing bit to give a villain some apparent nuance without having to do much more, and that's basically it. And to follow the metaphor, I don't think its really reasonable to give a go-ahead to the sort of person who kicks orphans into blenders just because they make some vague references to a greater good and then never follow up on it. As a villain, their only real purpose is to be an entertaining roadblock, rather than 'a hero but kinda edgy' as the term seems to become around some fandoms.

[satsugacafe]

𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒/𝐎

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: Grimmjow, Starrk, Ulquiorra

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: Hello! Can I have a request? How would Starkk, Grimmjow, and Ulquiorra adjust to a human world with human s/o?

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: I had too much fun with this piece lol. Enjoy!

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: How they adjust to living in the human world with you.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Coyote Starrk

↬ Starrk found the human world baffling, mainly because of how noisy everything seemed compared to Hueco Mundo. Car alarms, the hum of electricity, and people chatting endlessly in cafes had him constantly muttering, “Do humans ever shut up? Where is the off switch?”

↬ He had a lazy charm that worked in his favour. He would somehow manage to get free samples from the bakery down the road just by looking mildly interested. “You know, this human world isn’t so bad when they hand out food for no reason.”

↬ Teaching him to use modern appliances was a trial. He once accidentally turned the vacuum cleaner on full blast and almost blasted himself through the wall. “This thing’s alive, isn’t it?”

↬ He was a natural with animals, though. Dogs adored him, and he could walk into a park and have a pack of strays following him within minutes. You joked he was assembling a canine fracciones.

↬ He had an odd fascination with pigeons. He’d sit on park benches for hours, watching them mill about, occasionally throwing them crumbs. “They’re like tiny, less annoying Lilynettes. I like them.”

Cooking became a mild obsession for him once he realised how much variety the human world offered. You caught him watching cooking tutorials on your phone. “Why do they all say, ‘easy recipe’ when this involves twenty steps and an oven I barely understand?”

↬ He was incredibly protective in the human world, though it didn’t show in dramatic ways. He’d keep you on the safe side of the pavement, steer you away from crowded areas, and shoot deadly glares at anyone who even glanced at you wrong. “Humans don’t know their place sometimes. Annoying, really.”

↬ He once tried going grocery shopping alone and came back with entirely the wrong things. You asked for bread and milk; he brought back jam and six bags of crisps.

↬ You introduced him to Netflix, and he became addicted to crime dramas. He liked to critique the criminals’ plans. You also caught him talking to your cat one afternoon, a very serious conversation about naps. “Listen, furball, if you don’t appreciate a good nap, what’s the point of life?”

↬ He was baffled by your human obsession with coffee. One morning, after trying it for the first time, he leaned back, his eyes narrowing at you. “So you willingly drink this dirt water every day?”

↬ Every time you mentioned going to work, he’d dramatically throw himself across the doorframe. “No. Stay. Your world’s already loud enough—don’t leave me to suffer alone.”

↬ Sleeping in the human world was oddly peaceful for him. He would stretch out on your sofa, claim half the bed without meaning to, and casually drape an arm over you. Just don’t let him sleep on a water bed. Worst sleep of his life.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

↬ The feral kitty cat was convinced humans were weaklings until you took him to a gym. He ended up challenging some poor bloke to a weightlifting contest, won, and then complained it wasn’t a fair fight. Eventually, exercising was his idea of fun. He got addicted to the gym, showing off during pull-ups or weightlifting. “You watching? Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

↬ Adjusting to technology was a nightmare. He refused to admit he didn’t know how to use a phone and kept swiping at the screen like he was challenging it to a fight. “Why doesn’t it do what I tell it to? Stupid thing.”

↬ He got into trouble almost daily. One time, he scared a street performer by growling when they asked for a tip. You had to stop him from picking fights with random joggers. “What? They were staring too long. Looked like they wanted a challenge.”

↬ You tried teaching him how to cook, but he turned it into a battle. “Fire’s too weak. How do you even boil water in this thing?” He ended up burning toast and proudly declaring it a success.

↬ He was surprisingly good with kids, though he’d never admit it. Once, a group of kids challenged him to a game of football in the park, and he got way too into it. You had to stop him from trash-talking a ten-year-old. “What? They need to toughen up!”

↬ Animals adored him, which annoyed him to no end. Dogs would trot up to him on walks, wagging their tails. “What’s your deal? Go away!” But you caught him sneaking them pats when he thought you weren’t looking.

↬ Grimmjow got jealous easily in the human world. If anyone flirted with you, he’d casually stand behind you with his arms crossed, glaring like an angry kitty ready to pounce. “They can look somewhere else unless they want trouble.”

↬ You introduced him to video games, and he was instantly hooked. He preferred fighting games and made it his mission to beat you every time. “Don’t hold back, or I’ll make you regret it.” When he finally lost, he pouted for hours.

↬ He mocked human horror films relentlessly. “This is supposed to scare you? I’ve seen Hollows scarier than that guy with the knife.”

↬ He hated wearing human clothes at first and complained endlessly about jeans (like those skinny jeans Urahara gave him lol). “These things are like a prison for my legs!” Eventually, he settled for hoodies and track pants, which he grudgingly admitted were “not bad.”

↬ Going out to eat was chaos with him. He’d order the spiciest thing on the menu just to prove he could handle it, then spend the rest of the meal pretending his face wasn’t red. “I’m fine. This? This isn’t hot at all.”

↬ He did love human food but refused to admit it. “What’s this crap? Tastes alright, I guess.” Yet you caught him hoarding spicy crisps and chugging fizzy drinks like they were going out of style.

Ulquiorra Cifer

↬ The fourth Espada treated the human world like a scientific experiment, observing everything with quiet fascination. You once caught him staring at a vending machine for ten minutes before he asked, “How does it decide what to give you?”

↬ He doesn’t understand the need for human social practices, like small talk. When someone greeted him with, “How are you?” he replied, “That is irrelevant,” and walked away, leaving you to apologise.

↬ He had an unexpected knack for blending in. His quiet demeanour and neutral expression made him oddly suited to working in your local library. The librarian adored him for his efficiency, though he refused to smile at patrons. “They do not need my emotions to find a book.”

↬ He doesn’t understand sarcasm at all. When you joked about him being a terrible flatmate, he replied, entirely serious, “Then perhaps I should leave.” And then proceeded to depart.

↬ Was very baffled by human food. You once handed him a chocolate bar, and he stared at it like it was a piece of alien technology before taking a cautious bite. “This…is acceptable.” But no spicy food, please.

↬ He was deeply confused by human emotions. Once, you cried watching a sad film, and he frowned. “Why are you leaking from your eyes over something fictional?”

↬ He adapted to human clothes surprisingly well, favouring monochrome outfits that matched his Espada uniform. You teased him about looking like a model, and he replied, “If that is how humans perceive me, it is irrelevant.”

↬ Ulquiorra had a habit of silently appearing behind you, scaring you half to death. When you yelled at him, he tilted his head and said, “If your reaction is fear, then perhaps your spiritual awareness is lacking.”

↬ He found rain fascinating. One evening, you found him standing on the balcony, staring at the sky as water drenched him.

↬ Despite his stoic nature, he had a protective streak. Once, a stranger got too close to you, and Ulquiorra stepped in, his gaze cold. “You are intruding. Leave.” The stranger bolted without another word.

↬ He often left you cryptic compliments. When you asked if he liked spending time with you, he’d say, “Your presence is…not unpleasant. That is sufficient, is it not?”

↬ He found the human world illogical but not without value. One night, as you both watched the stars from your balcony, he quietly admitted, “You humans…are fragile, yet endure. It is strange.”

©satsugacafé 2024: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[justiceforvillains]

Misunderstood

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the little coffee shop inside your company, the warm air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating the rustic wooden tables and the eclectic mix of mismatched chairs. You loved this place; it was your escape, a perfect spot to unwind with a book or catch up with friends.

After ordering your usual, you settled into a corner table, your laptop open in front of you. Gripping your coffee, you attempted to concentrate on your work, but your mind kept wandering back to the whispers surrounding Hyunjin.

He had joined just last week, but already, suspicions clung to him like shadows, swirling in the air like the steam from the espresso machine. With his tall frame and striking features, he emanated an intensity that made people step back. The rumors—some claiming he had served time in prison, others hinting at a troubled past—buzzed around the café, igniting both fear and curiosity.

Despite the opinions swirling around you, you didn’t buy into the gossip. Your company was known for its integrity; they wouldn’t hire someone who didn’t deserve a chance. Yes, Hyunjin had an almost intimidating presence, with his buzz cut and fire-like eyes, but the truth was, judging someone by appearances was a simple mistake.

Sitting at your usual spot, fingers nervously tapping the table, you found yourself stealing glances at the new intern. There was something captivating about him, an unintentional allure thanks to a tattoo peeking from beneath his sleeve, only adding to an aura of mystery.

Today, your heart skipped a beat as you noticed Hyunjin stepping out from behind the counter, his eyes scanning the room with an intensity that sent a thrill through you. As he caught your gaze, a spark of connection ignited between you. You quickly returned to your screen, but it was too late; he was already approaching your table, energy crackling in the air around him.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice low and surprisingly soft, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Of course,” you stammered, doing your best to appear casual, even as butterflies fluttered in your stomach.

Settling into the chair across from you, he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, an amused smirk dancing on his lips. “You look deep in thought. Working on a grand mystery?”

“Just… some projects,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, unable to hold his gaze for long as the weight of the rumors lingered between you.

He studied you for a moment, his dark eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart race. “You know, people talk. I hear things,” he said, leaning back slightly.

Your breath caught in your throat at his directness. “Yeah, I’ve heard a few things.”

“Like what, exactly?” he pressed, curiosity shining in his gaze, the vulnerability of his tone pulling you in.

You hesitated, the rumors whirling in your mind. “Um… that you spent time in prison?”

He let out a soft chuckle, yet it didn’t quite reach his eyes, which held a flicker of something deeper. “That’s one of the nicer things people say about me.”

“Is it true?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, drawn in by the layers of mystery surrounding him.

“Does it matter?” He leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. “I’m here now; what I did before doesn’t define me.”

Your heart raced, understanding dawning on you. “But… people find it hard not to be scared when those kinds of rumors are flying around.”

His expression softened, like clouds parting to let sunlight break through. “I get it. Sometimes, when you look a certain way and carry a past, people jump to conclusions. But what if the true story is something entirely different?” His vulnerability swept over you like a gentle wave.

The weight of his words hung between you, pulling at your heartstrings. “Then I want to know,” you said softly, your heart steadying. “I want to see the real you, beyond the rumors.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, and he leaned back, crossing his arms with a hint of amusement. “Not many people are willing to do that. Most would rather keep their distance.”

“Maybe they’re simply scared of what they don’t understand,” you suggested, feeling a surge of courage. “But I want to dig deeper. Sometimes, the most beautiful truths lie buried beneath the scariest stories.”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up with genuine warmth that made your heart flutter. “You really think there’s beauty in my past?”

“Perhaps,” you replied, newfound strength coursing through your veins. “We all have our shadows, but it’s how we choose to embrace them that defines us.”

Hyunjin regarded you thoughtfully, and you sensed the atmosphere shift; the tension dissipated, replaced by an unspoken understanding. “That’s a refreshing perspective,” he remarked, the admiration in his tone making you blush. “Most people don’t think like that.”

“Maybe they should,” you said, a slow smile spreading across your face, finding comfort in the connection that was blossoming between you. “You’re not who they think you are, and I can’t wait to uncover the layers of the real you.”

As the minutes passed, the initial fear that had surrounded him melted away, replaced by a warmth that radiated between you. Suddenly, Hyunjin laughed, breaking the moment. “What’s so funny?” he teased, his grin infectious. “The idea that a company like this would hire someone fresh out of prison?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, the jovial atmosphere engulfing you. “I thought the same! I knew it couldn’t possibly be true,” you admitted, unable to hide your embarrassment.

He chuckled again, his playful energy making your heart race. “The way you reacted when I sat down, though—I almost thought you agreed.”

✦ Masterlist ✦

[scoops404]

Scoops' Fics of 2024

It's that time of year again! The time for me to rank my own fics for the last year in order from my least favorite to most favorite. I only considered fics I wrote entirely myself, so you won't see an honest living in here because that was almost 50/50 written with Dizzy! (but you should definitely go check it out!)

This year I only had two novel length fics because I was supposed to be focusing on original work (oops). I had a heck of a summer with my bingo fills. There's definitely recency bias at play here, but that's just how it goes sometimes. Let me know if you agree/disagree :D

See the Elephant - T - this one was written for a fic fest that ended up getting canceled because of the grituation. I had already written the entire thing and it had to be T because the artists were going to post their work. If I had known it would be canceled, I would have had them doing the freaknasty. This was after I had already planned out and written a fic before new boundaries dropped in November (see Circling Back). Basically, this fic fest was never meant to be, I suppose. I was starting to think I was a curse. Oh, but the fic itself is a soulmate AU and kinda angsty and has a hospital scene. 0 horse mentions.

Merry Men Making Merry - T - This was written for Fairy Tales from the SMP - the first and only successful fanfiction event I've completed all the way through (it's never me dropping out btw, it's always the event getting canceled). Anyway I got my first choice of fairy tale, which was Robin Hood, and I put a fun spin on it. The art with this fic was gorgeous!! A very different type of fic for me and it stretched some writing muscles I didn't know I had. Secret identity and identity reveal, some of my favorite tropes. 4 horse mentions.

Move to Florida, buy the car you want - E - the first of my bingo fics. It turns out I am bad at being brief. Anyway, DNF get together and semi-roadhead and I dunno, it's cute. I wrote most of this fic free hand in my note book at my work desk because fuck capitalism. I just checked, the prompt was "late night care rides" which checks out. 0 horse mentions

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts (croptop) - E - this is the one from the middle of June about crop tops that was also written for bingo. I dunno. It's cute enough. 0 horse mentions.

Everyone understands why it’s mean to be (a/b/o phone call) - T - this one is funny because I didn't even bother saying what the prompt was in the author's notes, but I think it was a/b/o. This one was fun to write because it was basically a nod to the 2021 fandom and where we were, and where DNF were -- waiting on that damn visa. Like going back in time and writing a fic. 1 horse mention.

Can I Use You Up - E - I really had fun writing this one. It has fun Dreateam dynamics and then a really intense sex scene and the dichotomy of both of those things in one fic -- and short (for me), at that! impressive. 0 horse mentions.

Circling Back - E - this fic is fun and wild. I got to write co-workers to lovers that is also hidden/secret identity -- and it works! WILD! I re-read this one recently and it stands up. This was originally written for that first fic fest i was talking about and when they changed it for the new boundaries for art, I couldn't have any smut and the whole plot kind of hinged around the smut, so... I decided to just write it as it is. ALSO this is the first fic that Chelsey beta'd, I think. So that's fun! And it was the first fic of the year (not counting Hits Different which wrapped up in January). 0 horse mentions.

Just to do experiments on - E - Yall, if you had told me that I would write tentacle porn, I would have laughed at you. Extra has been trying to get me to write tentacles for YEARS and then it came up on my bingo card and I felt like I finally had to bite the bullet and do it. Except, I actually really love how it turned out? This bingo prompt was tentacles, obviously, but also cursed by a witch. A twofer, if you will. 0 horse mentions.

Let Me Familiarize You - E - here's some Scoops lore. I wrote this fic in two sitting and it is 13K, so that's wild!!! It took me two days in the time after my surgery but before I could go back to work to write this (in between writing the beginnings of Two Fools and another story that I haven't and won't publish lol). Anyway, it's about witch!George accidentally making Patches his familiar and then coming clean to Dream and also his mom is there. And then literally that same day, George dropped a video with his mom. Crazy pants. (or maybe it was the day before when this was all written? Can't remember. Also I was on pain pills). I really like how it turned out. It's a fun premise! 0 horse mentions.

Puzzle pieces in the dead of night - T - another bingo fic, the prompt was pirates. Anyway, I had a BLAST writing this one. Secret identity, kidnapping, munchy mc dynamics, I really like writing action adventurey fics and this one feel right into that category. A fun read, in my opinion. 0 horse mentions.

I’m Having His Baby (No, I’m Not) - E - a bingo fic, the prompt was "mpreg, but abortion" because the person who made the boards *ahem* doesn't like pregnancy stuff and wanted to punish me (lightheartedly lol). Anyway, joke is on her, because I made this into an epic story and I had so much fun writing it. Like, laughing out loud to myself while writing it, which is kinda sad, but is also the point of fanfiction. You have to entertain yourself first and foremost. And also I snuck eventual mpreg in there anyway so haha! for real, though, if you think the premise of this one is weird -- Dream and George accompany Sapnap on a roadtrip to Colorado to get his abortion -- you should try it out anyway. 1 horse mention, and arguably the one that brought it to our good anon's attention.

Anagnorisis - E - speaking of mpreg, LMAOOOOOO. My "I didn't know I was pregnant" AU with Angst and miscommunication and domesticity and last minute flights to London and a baby named after the lead singer of Glass Animals. This fic has a lot! I wrote a lot about the beginning of this fic on Tumblr and kind of how I begin writing fics. Here Anyway, pretty proud of this fic. I had to ask my mom a lot of questions about NICU. 3 horse mentions.

I Am Two Fools - E - every year the last novel length fic of the year seems to be in the top spot. No Exception this year. This fic was very tough to write, but very rewarding. I think it taught me a lot about making sure character motivations are fleshed out and make sense. It, and Anagnorisis, taught me about trusting the reader and dropping hints at things. Yall got So Good at catching hints and making molehills out of anthills, as intended. I took a chance and switched up POV halfway through, which is almost never do. And I think that really helped me stretch my writing muscles as well as all the bingo fics. Very proud of the work I did on this fic. 0 horse mentions.

[whetstonefires]

you can understand getting so confused about how to escape a screen offering 'yes continue' and 'no go back' buttons that you leave the site entirely??

they weren't even confused about whether it was a muture[sic] fic or not, just about how to get out of the page.

...mind you, i spent the first few years i was using ao3 thinking the tag filtering function didn't work, because i was used to sites with similar filtering architecture using that style of ticky-box to indicate 'or' rather than 'and' instructions. and when as a result of this assumption every search i ever attempted gave 0 results, i just used the site without ever visiting tags large enough to need filtering, rather than attempting to troubleshoot. this was fine; i didn't want to go in the main tags anyway.

sometimes you do just go 'oh fuck this, i refuse to work to access my leisure activity.'

but not being able to figure out how to escape a content warning screen containing almost nothing but two very explicitly labeled buttons for going forward or back is still a pretty severe struggle to comprehend UI.

i assume they were looking for an 'x' or 'dismiss' option and it didn't exist so their algorithm broke down and they went back to something familiar. i can see how this would happen, but it's still pretty funny as a place to get stuck.

ohhh… you guys are like… STUPID stupid

[ghostnotoast]

I'm having withdrawal symptoms from waiting for the new episode to come out, and this has been buzzing around my head since this part came out (also I wanna talk about my wife Lily)

Relistening to this part twice made me cry I'm not even gonna lie but weirdly enough it made me think of the end of season 1 where John gets a taste of being the king for a split second but then chooses to go back to Arthur. After he returns, he says:

"But it was in that time in the hospital, that month alone. Trapped in this body without you, when something changed"

"I found meaning. I found that the challenges of life within the boundaries of death were not only acceptable, but could be meaningful. That without a purpose I could forge my own. Is that humanity?"

Don't get me wrong, I don't think it was Lily who was fully responsible for giving John humanity - if anything, that's the mistake Arthur makes in season 3 when comparing John to Yellow (which John calls him out for). It was Arthur who laid out the pieces, and Lily was basically the one to make it click.

Buttt I think reducing John's reason for humanity to only one thing is almost a disservice- because developing a sense of self is so much more complex than that.

It was Arthur's love, it was the stories and thoughts he would share with John, it was being in awe of seeing trees and nature again after so long of living in the dark, it was hearing music, it was listening to the radio, it was the joy he felt after they complished something and he was finally able to feel something other than fear, it was seeing the wraith help them, it was holding a cute baby and picturing her future as a pianist, it was seeing her mother and recognising that she had just lost something priceless, it was having to hold onto hope that anyone is capable of redemption, it was defending and having empathy for the widow despite what Arthur had said.

The last moment is paralleled in season 3 with their conversation about Yellow. Listening to all these makes me realise just how much Yellow missed out on.

Arthur no doubt played a massive role in helping John find humanity and meaning, but honesty? I don't know if purely being with Arthur is what made John who he is. John himself has a conscious and had to make decisions on his own and, on multiple occasions, fights Arthur about ideology with basically little to no outside influence (e.g, their infamous first divorce).

Despite all that though, I still do think Arthur was one of the biggest reasons, I mean just look at Yellow 😭 I'll write an entire essay about him one day

But this entire yap session was basically me trying to imagine what exactly was so special about that month at the hospital because let's be real if I were John I would go crazy BUT sometimes i just imagine John being there, in a hospital without Arthur, being able to do nothing but think

He thinks about the bright clear blue sky he saw, a bird that landed on the windowsill when they were at the library, he thinks about how alive this world is compared to where he came from, he thinks about the radio that's playing, he thinks about the piano, and then he thinks about Arthur

And I imagine he looks at Lily, at her tending to them, at her chatting to them, at her turning on the radio for them so they're not bored and even though people would call all these extra bits of care pointless - she does it anyway, and she does it for them, and John is there to witness this, and that's the moment where it clicks.

I imagine it sort of being like being moved back to see a finished puzzle and finally understanding what you've been making this entire time after spending so long up close looking at individual pieces

And I think that's what the witch didn't understand about John's story. Lily's care was the climax of John becoming John, and even though John acknowledges that for her it was probably another Tuesday - it still doesn't dampen the fondness and love he has for her, he just loves for the sake of it

[gremlin-girly]

It's a Wonderful Life

A Bucky Barnes Christmas fic

Tags/warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, mentions of suicide/depression/abuse/ptsd, post end game, Steve went back, generally depressing stuff but it's a happy ending :)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied or reposted or put through an AI machine.

Summary: based upon the film of the same name. On Christmas Eve, Bucky takes a walk and meets a stranger who assures him life is worth living.

Word count : tba

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! ☺️ sorry to make it so sad - I may come back amd edit parts but I dont know yet! I apologise for any mistakes etc etc. And there's another note at the very end! - Love, Grem x

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Bucky Barnes Collection | Navigation

Christmas Eve in New York was always cold and today was no exception. Bucky wasn't sure how far he'd walked, but he was at a bridge not far from the city, watching the lights wink in the distance.

Leaning on the stone ledge, breathing into his gloved hands to (at the very least) keep his flesh hand warm, he did what he had been doing since the moment he blipped back; think about his entire existence and the lead up to this point, here on the bridge, on Christmas Eve.

The water below whooshed by quickly although you couldn't see the inky mass below. It was loud, almost too loud to hear himself think. He sighed, dropping his hands to the metal railing stuck into the stones.

What was the point of it all?

Bucky wondered, staring into the black void below, if he'd ever truly be free of HYDRA. Sure, his brain was apparently brainwashing-free but, and not to insult Shuri, he was with HYDRA for almost a century.

Almost a century.

Almost a century of abuse. Seven decades worth of scars. Seven decades of murders deserved and not. Seven decades of being frozen and defrosted to the point his body sometimes makes him sick because he shouldn't be out of cryo so long. Seven decades of torture, mental and physical, on top of losing Nat, Tony and... Steve.

End of the line.

What a joke.

What was the point of dragging the Winter soldier kicking and screaming to fix him, to put your life and others' on the line for him; a man who tried to kill you and your friends multiple times, only to leave him once he was back to his old self?

Well, old self was a bit of an exaggeration.

Bucky's grip on the railing tightened, creaking under his strength as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He hated, hated, hated to admit that he was angry at Steve. Resentful. If Bucky was in Steve's position he would have put a bullet in his brain.

He tells himself, night after night, that Steve had good intentions. Bringing him back, fixing him but... leaving him? Bucky knew very few people, and very few (rightfully) didn't trust him. The only connections he had to most people were Steve and with him gone, it was like people stopped having to pretend to tolerate Bucky and left him alone.

And Steve... after the blip, he'd changed. But coming back after five years, five blissful years where there was no fighting, no pain, just nothing... for Steve to vanish like that made Bucky think he had done something wrong.

Bucky didn't know when he had started crying. He wiped his eyes roughly with his hands and sniffed. He was also a man out of time. He didn't understand modern slang, modern music (which was awful), modern romance or any of that texting stuff or Facebook. Or whatever the bird app was. Or was it as letter now? God. Everything was confusing.

There was a sick comfort in knowing what he was good at with HYDRA.

What was the point of it all?

Even if he threw himself over the railing, by some sick cosmic joke he'd probably live; if not by losing another limb.

"Excuse me?" A voice calls. Bucky ignores it. "Bucky Barnes?"

Bucky blinks and looks over in the direction of the voice. It's not one he recognises and neither is the person.

Before him is an old woman, bundled in thick coats and scarves. She has thin, short white curly hair that's almost translucent and an angled face with chubby, rosy cheeks and eyes that glitter with a playful wit. She's somebody's grandma, with that half-stern eyebrow raise, matronly and motherly look rolled into one.

"Hi?" Bucky blinks at her trying to place her. He still doesn't recognise her.

She approaches a little closer and peeks over the bridge where Bucky had been staring and whistles, cutting through the rush of water in the darkness. "I hope you weren't thinking of jumping."

"No." Bucky lies, still confused.

"Ah, clever boy. It would do you no good. Plenty left to do."

"Do I know you?" Bucky asks, staring at her.

"Oh! No. You don't know me." The old lady says cryptically. "But I know you, James Buchanan Barnes. I know everyone."

Bucky stands up to his full height, towering above the old lady, who watches him unphased. He tilts his head at her, narrowing his eyes, trying to decipher who or possibly what she is and what she could possibly want with him.

"I'm guessing you know me from the news? Or from history books?"

"I know you as James Buchanan Barnes, born March tenth, nineteen-seventeen. I know you as the Winter Soldier. I know you as White Wolf and now I know you as just Bucky."

Bucky reels. Civilians didn't know about his time in Wakanda and he was certain that not many people just knew him as Bucky outside of SHIELD.

"How...?"

"Nevermind how." She snips, adjusting her handbag on her forearm. "What brings you to the bridge tonight, Bucky?"

It sounds like a loaded question. It is a loaded question. The old lady seems to be goading him into admitting something he didn't want to admit.

"I...Just out for a walk." He falters, looking down at his feet.

"Perfect. Walk with me?" The old lady offers her arm out to him, and for some reason Bucky is compelled to take it. Walking arm in arm, they slowly make their way back into the thrum of the city centre.

There are people everywhere.

Pretty standard for New York on Christmas Eve. There are kids, carolers, couples and Christmas-everything along the streets. There's music playing Here Comes Santa Claus somewhere, lights flashing and a giant tree decorated to the nines every few blocks.

"Look at them," The old lady murmurs looking out into the crowd with a warm smile. "Aren't they just the sweetest?"

Bucky follows her gaze. There's plenty of laughing kids, couples walking hand in hand and making gooey eyes at one another but Bucky knows there's more beneath the surface; abusers, pick pockets and murderers walk amongst them. He would know.

"Yeah." Bucky says gruffly. "I guess."

The old lady's gaze pierces him with a stern look. "You don't believe me."

"There are just as many bad people as there are good." Bucky huffs. "No matter what, it hardly makes a difference."

"Now, now," The old lady tuts with a small, patient smile. "That's just not true. Look at where we are."

Bucky frowns down at her. He doesn't know why he feels compelled to stay and argue with some random old lady on Christmas Eve, but he does.

"We're in New York, lady." Bucky grumbles. The old lady jerks her head upwards towards the street name etched into the side of a tall concrete building. Time had worn most of the wording away but Bucky could still just about make it out.

"Worthing Street?"

"Worthing Street." The old lady confirms. And glances up at Bucky. "This is where you first met Steven Grant Rogers all those years ago."

"How in the hell-"

"Language." The old lady huffs and then smiles. "I told you. I know you."

Bucky frowns.

"A little bit of good always makes a big difference. It's all about perspective." She chuckles happily. "This is where James Buchanan Barnes met his best friend; protecting him from bullies. Do you know he could've died that day?"

She gives Bucky a sideways glance as memories spill from Bucky's brain. Steve hacking up a lung and trying to stand, his face and knuckles bloody, struggling to catch his breath.

"I remember." Bucky says quietly.

The lady continues. "Had you not stepped in and saved him, your lives would have been very different. Without you, there would be no Steve Rogers, no Captain America as we know him."

"But there'd be no Wonter Soldier either." Bucky counters and is surprised when the old woman cackles at him.

"There would always be a Winter Soldier. Always a Captain America. Whether or not they were you or Steven is another school of fish entirely."

Bucky ponders her words but thinks that maybe discussing alternate realities would melt his brain. Clint had tried when he'd explained the time travel stuff in the search for infinity stones but it gave Bucky a headache. He was from the 40s for God's sake.

"Your small act of kindness, your selflessness, made Steve aspire to be who he was." The old lady says after a moment. "As difficult as it was, Steve felt that he owed it to you to give you back your life. He deemed you worthy of saving above all else."

Bucky's chest tightened. He could feel the sting of tears again and forced them back.

"Probably because I saved his ass more than once," Bucky tries to chuckle, but the lump in his throat is too thick.

"Because you were his brother." The old woman says simply. She looks back out into the crowd once more before tugging on Bucky’s stiff arm. "Come on. We're not done."

"If you know everyone," Bucky begins, walking alongside the old woman. "Why did Steve leave?"

"Love." The old woman sighs. "He had sacrificed so much and so many. He knew you'd be okay."

"Did he?"

The old woman grins wickedly at Bucky. "Of course. You now have Sam."

Bucky scoffs.

"And Sarah. AJ. Cass. Yelena. Alexei. Shuri. Okoye. T'challa. The list goes on." The old woman reaches into her handbag, scouring it for a moment before producing a mint humbug and offering to Bucky who awkwardly accepts it. She finds one for herself and they continue on down the street.

"And there's those you haven't met yet." She says after her humbug has melted enough for her to speak.

Bucky frowns again. "Oh yeah? Like, I don't know, a partner or something?"

The Old Woman's eyes twinkle. "Or something."

Bucky harumphs, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't let himself think about that; a future. How could someone love him? After everything he'd done? He was beyond damaged goods.

But the way the Old Woman speaks, as if she knows, makes a small part of him jump for joy. If even he was worthy of love and affection...

"Must you always do that?"

Bucky gives the Old Woman a sideways glance. "Do what?"

"Scrunching up your face like that." She mimicks Bucky's expression, brows furrowing deeply adding extra wrinkles to her skin and pouting her lips comically. "You look like a sad little basset hound."

Bucky throws up his hands. "Its my face!"

"Well, make it smile more." The Old Woman argues back.

"I'm one hundred and six, lady, you can't tell me what to do!" Bucky's lips twitch upwards when he catches her small smirk. "Where are you taking me now, anyway?"

"We're going to see a friend of mine."

Horizon Resedential Care was one of the more impressive care homes in New York. Set within a small block with a park for residents to mull about in, the care home boasted glowing reviews from family members who adored seeing their loved ones sociable, active and well cared for.

The small, wrought iron gate was shut; locked tight to ensure no residents went walk about in the ice and snow. Only the intercom button glowed red, begging to be pressed, to allow family visits.

"No." Bucky said, standing outside the gate. His feet couldn't move. He felt sick. He wanted to run. "I'm not going in there."

The Old Woman looked at him sadly, heartache etched all over her face. "She'd love to see you, you know."

"I - would she? Surely she thinks..." Bucky swallows thickly.

Surely she thinks I'm dead?

"You don't give the woman enough credit." The Old Woman chuckles with a shake of her head. "They watch documentaries in there all the time. The latest one was that Netflix special on the Winter Soldier."

"Oh my God." Bucky murmurs.

"Language." The Old Woman puffs. "Rebecca is more upset that you haven't come to visit her."

Bucky's heart clenches uncomfortably. "She is?"

"Of course. And you clearly know she's in there." The Old Woman gives him another annoying, knowing look. "You’ve known she was alive and haven't visited. Why?"

"Why?" Bucky growls, irritation and a sense of overwhelm crashing over his nerves like a tsunami. "My baby sister is old. I am a killer. How could I show my face to her after everything?"

The Old Woman only shrugs, turning away and beginning to walk down the street again. "You'd be surprised at how much love can forgive, Bucky. But remember, you have her back. You ought to make the most of the time you have together. Perhaps you should not let her think that you have forgotten her."

Bucky's flesh hand is fisted to hard he can feel his bones ache. He grinds his teeth as he fights down his temper. Who was this woman? And how did she know so much about him?

Jogging to catch up to her, Bucky hangs his head falling into step beside her.

"Im sorry for snapping." He grumbles. "Its just-"

"No need to apologise." She holds up a hand and still wears that kind, grandmotherly smile. "However, I do have one more person I'd like you to meet. She should be up this next street."

She?

The alleyway the Old Woman stopped in was... well, exactly how you would imagine an alleyway at the busiest time of year to look like. Trash cans scattered, rotting food mixed with debris and cardboard neatly lining each side of the alley.

"She's supposed to be here." The Old Woman comments, looking down at a thin gold watch around her wrist.

Bucky watches as a rat dives into a trash can and grimaces. "Who?"

"Ah!" The lady throws up her hands and waves at someone past Bucky. "There she is!"

Bucky turns but there's nobody there. He's about to argue with the old lady when a soft meow draw his attention to the ground. At his feet, sitting daintily with wide blue eyes, is the scruffiest white kitten he'd ever seen.

"Alpine."The Old Woman beams. "I was worried you wouldn't make it."

Bucky looks at the rosy cheeked old lady; cherub-like with her dimpled smile and then down at the kitten, who chirps at him. There's something about the Old Woman that's strangely familiar, but he can't quite place it.

"Bucky, Alpine. Alpine, Bucky." She nods and the kitten, Alpine, looks back to Bucky. Bucky stares back. This is entirely surreal.

"What the hell is-"

"She's your companion." She says matter of factly. "I had to pull a few strings to get her a little sooner but-"

"I don't know the first goddamn thing about looking after a cat!"

"Language!" The Old Woman snaps before adding spritely, "You'll learn."

Alpine toddles over to Bucky, circling around his legs and purring loudly. Bucky blinks. Once. Twice. This wasn't a dream. All of this, the wandering was real and not some sort of fucked up nightmare like he was used to having.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when Alpine's giant jeweled eyes meet his and she meows quietly; looking up at him with adoration that said I trust you.

"She needs you as much as you need her." The Old Woman says softly. "Take good care of eachother, you two."

He squats down and offers his flesh hand to Alpine, who sniffs it gingerly before bumping her tiny head against it. Bucky had never been one to say whether he was a dog or cat person, he never had either growing up, and then with the war and HYDRA.... But looking at this kitten before him, his heart was already a puddle at his feet.

Bundling Alpine into his leather jacket, Bucky turned to find the space the Old Woman had occupied was empty. Bucky whipped his head up and down the alleyway and peeked out onto the street. She'd disappeared.

Shaking his head slightly, he looked down at Alpine snuggled against him.

"This has got to be the weirdest Christmas Eve ever." He mutters, stepping into the street and heading back to his apartment.

Bucky's apartment was a lot noisier than when he'd left it over three hours ago. And far more brightly coloured with tinsel and fairy lights.

AJ and Cass are playing some video game on his sofa, Sarah is making something that smells delicious and Sam was in the middle of finishing up the decorations.

"I know you said you didn't want anyone around," Sam starts nervously, already holding his hands in surrender as Bucky opens the door. "But no one should be alone on Christmas. Sarah and I-"

Sam stops and looks at Bucky's jacket as Alpine pokes her head out. "Is that a cat?"

"Uh, yeah." Bucky looks down at Alpine who meows loudly. "This is Alpine."

"Right. Sorry." Sam shakes his head before continuing. "Sarah and I brought some food and snacks and the boys are gonna watch Christmas movies. I'd love it if you'd join us, Buck."

"I... yeah." Bucky nods and swallows thickly, smiling over at Sam. "Thanks, pal. Although... you're in my house."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam waves a hand dismissively but his grin is wide. "Come on. You hungry? We've got plenty of snacks. No cat friendly ones though."

Alpine puffs in annoyance making Bucky chuckle as he joins Sam and Sarah in his small kitchenette. Warmth blossoms in his tight chest as the ice begins to thaw. He tries not to let it show, when tears prickle his eyes again in the warm, flashing lights.

The Old Woman was right; there was plenty left to do.

~ END ~

A/N: Nadolig Llawen! Or happy holidays wherever you are. I hope you're having a good time!

I've been writing and editing this all damn day in between work and cooking.

Originally I played with a few ideas but ultimately decided that I wanted to keep it as non-complex as possible (but if you are curious, yes Old Woman was an angel - specifically I chose Gamaliel Angel of protection and strength, Angel of Cherubs, "recompense of God" - thanks Wiki for that one). I'm not Christian, but a big supernatural fan (hence why I loved this fic idea). I thought if anyone was to be thrown into an old school movie (Like It's a Wonderful Life) it would be Bucky.

And don't worry, he visited Rebecca the next day.

I hope you enjoyed if you've read this far! And once again, happy holidays

- Love, Grem x

[cyberr-v0id]

Sometimes whispering your pain and your regrets and all of your wishes to the silent, silent beyond really helps, and it’s times like that when I realise why Christian’s find so much comfort in praying to a good whom they do not know will ever answer them

[delawaredetroit]

Now that I have to see his face again, Bakugou isn't much a deuteragonist. He only really acts as deuteragonist in some school arcs until about halfway through the manga when the war arc begins. And in the arc where he is most relevant to the overall plot (the second war arc), he spends half of it as a corpse.

Shouto is deuteragonist of the Sports Festival Arc. Iida is deuteragonist of the Stain Arc. Mirio is the deuteragonist of the Shie Hassaikai Arc. If you consider Izuku the protagonist of the Kamino Arc (which there's a decent argument it's actually All Might), then Kirishima and/or Iida are closer to deuteragonists while Bakugou fulfills the role of the damsel in distress.

His record is dismal prior to the Paranormal Liberation Front War: The Battle Trials, the Midterms, Hero Licensing Exam/Deku vs Kacchan Part Two, and the Joint Training Arc (Endeavor Agency Arc is arguable, but the Hellish Todoroki Family took control of the plot for that one). Bakugou is somehow constantly present and almost completely irrelevant to the overarching plot for at least half the story.

And I can't tell if this is Horikoshi shoehorning him in because Bakugou was too popular but he didn't want to change the main beats of the story. Or if he was trying to make Bakugou grow into the deuteragonist role like Izuku and Shigaraki grow into the roles of "the hero" and "the villain" respectively. It wasn't well executed if that was the case. They had to grow into their societal roles through the story (so they could later overcome the roles of hero and villain), but Izuku and Shigaraki already fit the roles of protagonist and antagonist from the beginning, unlike Bakugou as a deuteragonist.

[secriden]

Well, Thailand was certainly a mixed experience.

On the one hand, I was in the most pain I’ve felt in a while.

On the other hand, I did get to see Dunk in the flesh. ☺️

[yaoianimeremade]

Soon im rly gonna do it

[thelocalconstellation]

Something I'm Very aware of is the way Branzy always seems to slip under the radar, no, he's not a strong combatant, maybe he can't seem to weave webs of lies so elaborate and well said that he can control people enough to keep them off his back, but I will always say that I think he's got the hearts of the people. He's harmless enough that people will run right by him without a second thought, harmless enough in practice that people can cross him and doubt he'll actually get his promised vengeance, he seems harmless enough to be an easy target.

Like one might assume an angel dropped into hell to be.

But what I'm overly aware of because it's such an interesting character trait, is that there's that underlying bloodlust. There's that desire to be seen as a threat. It's the fact that he can trap people and pull out redstone contraptions that are just insane actually (I had to figure out how that fucking roulette wheel was built, and my design is undoubtedly more spaghetti-ish and far more complicated than Branzy's was, but By Fucking God. As somebody who built that. No.) I mean. look at the death carnival! He wants so badly to be dangerous, he Knows that he's a target and he's sided up to Clown, somebody who is dangerous but there's also that hint of the fact that Branzy seems to enjoy playing with fire sometimes.

Which. Because he's harmless, at least in most conventional situations, people forget that Branzy likes being a threat.

So that also explains the fallen angel branzy headcanon.

But uh. Yeah. He goes in as an angel and the betrayal of Vitalasy was probably part of the tipping point, the other part being Spepticles murder, but it's the second time around that he's proper condemned by whatever god he was to follow.

I think it's interesting to imagine that from Vitalasy's perspective too though. Because your ally, who you likely knew wasn't entirely harmless, but you knew wasn't exactly the strongest player on the server, has ended up in cahoots with Clownpierce. The evil murder clown. the guy who could hunt most of the server and plan his way on top- the guy who. just does not give up. And your ally, this angel who has managed to land on this server, the angel on your team whose wings have been slowly tinting more and more grey, is helping that murder clown. And then you're invited to the funhouse your friend has helped with. And you probably suspect for a moment that this is a trap, but that's your friend who has helped build it- he hasn't warned you not to go, and it's Clown, even if it is, he's just going to hunt and kill you anyways. So you go! And you see your friend so cheerfully explain the system, getting that kind of finnicky he always has when people activate his redstone when that's his thing to do, and you think that maybe it'll be okay!

And then it's not. And then you're falling, and you keep falling, and that murder clown your friend has been helping is down there. And you're being chased and hunted and he didn't warn you. And even as you die, he apologizes, he says he's sorry, and he says "surely you understand- working with- with a murder clown!" and you don't. Because how could you? How could he think you'd understand when you don't really understand his choice to work with the murder clown in the first place. And you die there. And he's still saying sorry. But if he was, would he have done it to begin with?

And next time you see him, that angel that was on your team, that angel who managed to get this far on lifesteal, it takes a minute for you to find his wings again, they're so dark. It's clear he's fallen. And you wonder, even if only for a minute, if Clown did this. If Clownpierce did something to him- dragged him down this path and so fundamentally changed who he is.

And on that note.

I like to think that Clown, for a moment, was almost scared he did- was almost scared that he was at fault for Branzy's baseline change in what he was. I like to think that when the horns were coming in, Clown, entirely- oh so human, one of few on the server, somebody who had managed to hide that fact so well many thought he was a demon for a period of time, was scared that he was at fault for this. And Branzy just looks at him and tells him that Clown didn't do this to him, it was a long time coming. Branzy was just waiting to find that tipping point for his god and he considers it a kind of freedom because he can finally disregard the expectations from his god. Branzy- hazy through the fact that horns growing in when you're this old and have definitely pissed off at least one deity- thanks him for giving him that freedom. Clown is just glad that slight worry doesn't haunt him anymore.

Now? After Falling, the rest of the server probably Knows of his penchance for chaos- Knows of his break from whatever morals he might have had left- the morals they thought he had. Branzy... hasn't changed. And nobody understands that except Clown. Branzy is still the same person, usually worried about Something or other, penchant for chaos and making traps, harmless as he was. Well. Except for the sudden acquisition of a murder clown he has wrapped around his finger, but when the clown isn't around, he's practically harmless. And it takes a little bit for people to figure that out. And then he's back to being seen the same way he was. And people forget just when he fell, people forget he Fell at all, sometimes. Sometimes they just think that he was always like that, he was an angel maybe? Who knows!

Branzy is still good ol' Branzy. never thought to expect him to slip poison into your cup, but he might just do it anyways!

Clownzy but its human Clownpierce and angel (Fallen angel) branzy. Something about in the funhouse era between the casino portion and after the betrayal of vitalasy Branzy who has been slowly sliding out of the gods domain finally crosses that unseen line and the feathers that were going from the grey they turned as soon as he joined lifesteal to a pure vantablack shade. Something in Branzy having that small measure of power left to him not knowing, never wanting to or caring to use it, being free enough from whatever expectations his god may have held still disregarding the gifts he was left with, but Clown, all the bloodlust and lingering threats and danger that he can be being so completely human. Something about the impressiveness of that skill especially in comparison to the inherent power that was deliberately never used in an act of spite.

Something in the opportunity for Ash to look Branzy in the eye, knowing that those horns weren't there three weeks ago, knowing that the last time Branzy molted, those feathers were a grey, now dark enough you can't make out the individual feathers anymore, the chance for Ash to know all that, look Branzy in the eye and ask if he's being held hostage. The question of "what did he do to corrupt whatever might have survived this server- what did he do to make you Fall?" When Branzy wasn't dragged down by Clown his morals were never changed by his sudden associate. Branzy was always like that. Clown just gave him the freedom- the protection enough from the rest of the server to actually show it.

Something about worship, I think.

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

That Tolkien post going around again is a Mess bc the OP most likely only made it to justify shipping that Tolkien 100% would not have approved of but then you read the notes and realize they don’t even know what they’re talking about when they’re discussing Tolkien’s Christianity

[a-chuffed-floating-panda]

The deeper I fall down this extreme research hole of reading sutras and Buddhist texts, I feel like the lotus sutra would be what Yangchen chants on the regular. Followed by either the medicine Buddha sutra or the Ksitigarbha sutra

[loregoddess]

okay hands down the best new mechanic for LoZ:EoW is the ability to warp around the dungeon, if I get stuck on a puzzle I can just warp away and try to solve a different part of the dungeon, if I get stuck on that puzzle I can go back to the first one with a slightly different mindset bc I'm now avoiding a different puzzle, it's great