#no but really he's on the path of preservation and everything. he's like... the definition of reliable safe and lovingly protective

[omegapheromone]

Listen I don't normally post anything not safe for work/tumblr but I apparently just. Am having a really strong heat for seemingly no reason and basically my brain isn't working right and it's like... my own skin feels uncomfortable and my body is just. A mess really.

[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.”

[jimlingss]

Three years!

Hello, everyone and happy Jimlingss anniversary! Woohoo! It has been three years since my official retirement and eight years since I’ve began this blog. That’s absolutely crazy since it all feels like yesterday. Time flies when you’re having fun.

First and foremost, thank you to all who still send me messages and give me feedback on my stories! I do check back once in a while and read everything, so nothing goes unnoticed. Your kind words always make me miss the simpler days of writing. :’) It really gets me nostalgic.

Second, here is my yearly update!

I’ve finished my second year of law school! I finished off this year with a bang and did quite well, if I do say so myself. There’s one more year left to go and that’s insane since I remember the first day so vividly. I’m a bit sad for it to be all over — I never thought I’d ever feel this way. But I’ve made so many friends and created so many memories. When it’s all over, everyone will be going their own path. Luckily, I’m sure we’ll remain connected and be close friends no matter what.

I don’t think I’ve had such a positive experience quite like this in all my years of schooling. I’ve always been the type to just scurry on home, never liked what I was studying, and never had too many friends. So this change has been unexpected yet very welcome.

In terms of career, I’ve been working this summer and I have something lined up for when I’m finished school! So soon I’ll be racking in the dough, wooooooo!! Let’s get it!

My family is also doing well — and I feel very fortunate for that. 

Third, and most important, I am happy to announce that I have a boy I absolutely adore! We’ve officially been dating for four months? That seems so short on paper, but we’ve known each other for close to two years! I’m living out one of my friends to lovers fics, I swear (lol).

He’s been a close friend since the start of law school and somewhere along the line I gradually caught feelings (of course I did lmao). I was sure rejection was on the horizon and I wanted to preserve our dear friendship, so I was trying to get over it for months by myself. This included online dating and going on a string of dates (hahaha). I ended up cracking and calling him on the phone one night, but then aborted mission. Thanks to the advice of a friend, I stopped avoiding him and being an embarrassment, and I finally confronted him. He said we should give it a shot, and here we are!

He has brown, curly hair that reminds me of a poodle. And he made me realize why love is so loved — why it’s so revered — talked about — imprinted in each other’s minds. Everywhere. I’ve written countless love stories but never truly experienced the feeling before, and yet, he’s made the heart of my stories come to life. He’s let me live them in real time. 

I really hope it works out! LOL

Anyway, I’m always happy to do these updates and for all those who may be just a bit curious enough about me to check in. Although this is a very positive update (and I hope it continues to be), my life isn’t without its ups and downs either. It just seems to be in a general upwards trajectory. 

Thank you to everyone who still remembers me, and who may still read my stories! I definitely haven’t forgotten about you all, so I hope you haven’t forgotten me either.

Here’s to another year! See you again!

[myownwholewildworld]

13. DEATHROW

chapter 12 | ao3 | series masterlist | chapter 14

pairing: post-outbreak!joel x f!reader. summary: tommy's ill-placed trust brings you to an impasse. a/n: uhmmm... hi... the only thing i'm going to say is that i'm really sorry. please know that writing this chapter took an emotional toll on me and was crying towards the end. if you're sensitive to certain topics, please heed the warnings. i will tell you though that there will be a happy ending, i promise. as always, i appreciate comments, reblogs and likes, and if you do all three, i'll treasure you forever. take care, lovelies <3 x warnings (spoilers!!): 18+, mdni. some fluff until it isn't. explicit gore, violence, murder. miscarriage. angst and grief. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov. dividers by @\saradika-graphics w/c: ~5.2k. taglist aka the drama wagon at the end of the chapter (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!)

“Fuck, no,” you grunted, turning the keys in the ignition while your other hand tightly gripped the steering wheel.

The Jeep’s motor spluttered, wheezing as you tried to bring it back to life. Pressing on the gas pedal, you spun the key around again to no avail.

Last night you should have checked on the battery. Having thought about it and then not doing it was infuriating, but at the same time you couldn’t blame either Joel or yourself for it.

You both had been so focused on the conversation, your fears being washed away, that preserving the life of the car battery had dropped several spots in your list of things to worry about. It wasn’t every day that Joel opened up to you, so when he did, you hadn’t dared stop him.

Despite the simmering fear under the surface of your skin, the excitement outweighed everything else. A much-needed ray of happiness among the darkness. Even though it was still too early, you couldn’t wait to welcome this baby into the world. To introduce them to Joel. Imagining him holding your baby, nestled in his arms, him pressing a soft kiss on their forehead…

Your chest swelled with emotion, a wave of warmth overwhelming you, filling your core. You definitely couldn’t wait.

And yes, there were infinite threats out there, but you and Joel would keep them all at more than arm’s length. This baby would be loved, protected. Joel would not let anything happen to any of you, but neither would you ― you would do absolutely anything and everything for them. Whatever the cost.

A big part of you was sure that Tommy would do nothing with the information he had unearthed about you. After all, he was your friend and Joel’s brother. You liked to think that, despite how he ditched you both when you were bit back in Chicago, he still cared about the both of you. Having spent months with him in the wilderness, he had been like the big brother you never had. Always the older sister, you never had someone looking out for you when you were younger. Tommy had filled that part in a sense, albeit briefly.

Joel, on the other hand, was keen on leaving, hence why you were trying to resuscitate the Jeep. Blamed how his brother had changed solely on Laney. And although you agreed that Laney had been an extremely bad influence on Tommy, she could not be the only culprit here. Tommy had decided, of his own free will at first, to get involved with that group, to drown his sorrows in alcohol and harder drugs.

But he would do nothing that would put Joel or you in harm’s way. Despite it all, he was a good person, just a tad lost. Tommy would eventually find his way back to his brother, to family. You were darn sure he would make an amazing uncle.

Grunting, you jumped out of the car, keys dangling from your gloved fingers. Trudging towards the cabin, Joel came down the steps to meet you halfway through in the overgrown path.

“Any luck?”

“Nope, sorry,” you apologised although were not sure why. You handed over the keys. “I should’ve checked the battery last night.”

You unintentionally pursed your lips in frustration, but Joel’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip to soften the gesture. Your eyes flickered to his as his fingers splayed across your jawline.

“I could’ve checked too and didn’t. This ain’t on you, baby,” Joel reassured you. “We’ll find an alternative, don’t worry.”

You pecked the fingertip of his thumb, which earned you one of his lopsided smiles, tiny dimples sinking in his cheeks. Joel was always a sight to see, handsome as he was, but when he grinned, his whole expression shifted. The worry would ease its grip on him, the crow’s feet around his eyes accentuating and the skin on his lips tensing into a boyish smirk.

No wonder he had such an effect on you. Couldn’t be any other way. Because Joel Miller was gorgeous on the outside, but it was his heart what you treasured most about him. His passion, his predisposition to help those who needed him, his good intentions, his kind nature towards you was what stole your heart.

Yes, he could be a huge prick sometimes, but it was out of fear, of love. Not that it was a good excuse for some of his behaviour, but you knew he was trying his best.

“What’s crossing your mind?” he probed, sensing your absent-mindedness.

You shrugged, a half-smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Nothing, just mentally listing the reasons why I love you,” you whispered as he bowed down, replacing his thumb with his mouth.

“Oh, yeah? I bet it’s a long list. Care to share?” Joel taunted you, lips moving against your as he spoke.

You chuckled, slapping his shoulder playfully as you stepped back.

“Stop being a flirtatious tease, Miller. You’ve already knocked me up, you don’t need to impress me anymore,” you joked.

His hand slipped to yours and pulled you into his hard, broad chest. You couldn’t help but titter when his arms wrapped around you in a bear hug. Joel kissed the crown of your head, his palms sliding down your back until both cupped your ass to press you on him.

His mouth made its way to yours lazily, his lips prying yours open with ease. The tease of his tongue swirling around yours pulled all air out of your lungs, his wet warmth pouring into your thirsty mouth. His tongue retreated and you whimpered lowly, for him to lick back in your mouth with ravenous need.

Joel broke the kiss a minute later, gasping for oxygen. You panted as well, slightly flustered.

“I may not need to, but I definitely want to impress you every single fucking day of our lives together until death do us part,” his tone grew darker, more intense, as he mumbled such words against the soft skin of your lips.

Your heart jolted, the bare intensity of his promise making you shiver with raw love. Warmth settled in your core, his pledge a reassuring blanket that nothing would break you apart. You knew he meant every single word, which made it even more significant to you. You didn’t think you could ever love someone else the same way you loved Joel ― it would be simply impossible.

Your eyes got glassy, a finger brushing your waterline as you laughed it off, taking a step back.

“Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry,” you said, a chortle loosening the emotion in your voice. “I don’t think I can even blame the pregnancy hormones for that.”

Joel cradled your face, his thumbs stroking your cold, wet cheeks. His brown eyes softened as he leaned in for a chaste kiss this time. Then his forehead rested against yours intimately.

“I do mean it. I love you. And this baby too,” he hummed, one hand drifting down and then up the hem of your padded coat until it landed on the bare skin of your belly. His thumb trailed an invisible line below your belly button. “I don’t think you understand how much, sweetheart.”

You swooned. How could you not when Joel was talking like that? You liked him being so vocal about his love for you, for this baby, because you knew it was rare.

Hugging his neck, fingers laced at the nape of it, you pushed him down for another kiss, his warm palm still stroking the skin over your womb.

“I do understand, because I feel exactly the same. Now stop this before I lose my mind and lock you up,” you laughed against his lips.

“As tempting as that is, you’re right. We need a vehicle,” he sighed loudly, almost exasperatedly, while he stepped back from you. “We’ll go into town, see what we can find.”

“I can stay here with our supplies, so we don’t have to carry everything with us,” you offered.

“No, you’re coming with me. Tommy knows we are here, it isn’t safe anymore. We go together,” his steely tone told you he would not be convinced otherwise.

“Do you really think Tommy would come back and do something rash? I highly doubt it, Joel. He’s your brother, he wouldn’t harm either of us,” you reasoned with him, knowing it was a lost battle.

“It’s not him I’m worried about, but the others he’s with if he opens his goddamn mouth.” He had a point, so you didn’t argue anymore. “We’ll hide some things in those bushes over there, so you don’t have to carry that much weight, and then if it’s safe, we’ll come back to retrieve everything else.”

You nodded, sliding your hand in his and squeezing it.

“Let’s go then, it’s freezing out here.”

Joel’s senses flared the whole time, even the twigs breaking under his heavy boots made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. The nagging feeling stalking the back of his mind kept him on edge, checking his surroundings at all times.

Oswego felt alien, otherworldly even. Joel had not set foot on this town for years―decades―and nothing had really changed. But the atmosphere had, the mist adding a layer of mystique to how he perceived it. Being here felt… wrong. His skin bristled at the thought, instantly turning around to check on you. Again.

“Yes, I’m still right behind you, just like the last twenty times you’ve checked, Joel,” you mocked him with a gentle smile in an attempt to ease his uneasiness.

Joel pursed his lips, swallowing the snappy retort. His mood had soured with every step closer to the dam on West River Road. With no cars to be seen, you had to venture further in than what he had anticipated.

“I know, just making sure no one is following,” he said instead.

You did not deserve his spoilt temper.

Slowly coming down the hill, you both got to the asphalt. The dam was on your right, fenced off and in big disrepair. The water was pouring over, the winter almost forcing the river to overflow.

Joel quickly moved to your side, keeping you close to him, as you both walked northwards.

“See that red-bricked building? Tommy once got inside and almost didn’t make it out. He tripped over some bare cables, and they came in contact with water… It was a shitshow,” Joel recalled, trying to get his mind off that nagging feeling that made his skin crawl. “He almost electrocuted, got a nasty burn on his hands.”

“And let me guess, you went after him to try and stop him from being even more reckless,” you added, intertwining your gloved fingers with his.

Joel cocked his head, looking at you askance with a subtle grin. You knew him too well by now.

“Damn right I did. That kid could never be left unsupervised,” he tutted at the memory. “I had to break him out while the guard was chasing us. When our old man found us, he was not impressed.”

You chuckled, a melody to his ears in this decrepit world. Joel loved the sound of your laughter, how easy going you were when worry was not gripping you tight. He gently yanked at your laced hands to push you into his side, his arm quickly draping over your shoulders as you trudged forward through the thick layer of snow.

The light screech of distant tyres made him stop right away, his alertness going through the roof as he turned around to discern where the noise was coming from.

His heart jostled against his chest, blood rushing through his eardrums with anticipation. Danger was nearby, Joel could sense it.

He pushed you towards the trees on your left.

“Go, hide in the woods, but don’t strand too far,” his voice was unusually calm, especially considering how his heart pounded, threatening to break a rib.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Someone’s coming. Trust me,” he pushed you again, this time with more urgency. “Please.”

Your eyes widened when you heard the car approaching too.

“It can be anyone. Doesn’t have to be―”

“I said go.”

“But you―”

“I’ll keep ‘em busy. I’ll be fine. Go,” he insisted, keeping calm even though the fear bubbling inside him was asking him to yell.

Finally, you nodded, a last squeeze on his hand before you ran towards the cover of the woods.

Drawing a deep breath in, with the coolest demeanour he could muster, Joel faced northwards and kept on walking, pretending he didn’t know you were being followed.

Soon enough, a vehicle approached him from behind, his whole body stiffening in preparation for what was to come. His left hand gripped the leather strap hooked to his shoulder, while the right tested the weight of his riffle’s stock. Blood pumped thick through his veins, mind rushing at lightspeed.

Joel dared to shoot a sideways glance to the trees, checking you were nowhere to be seen. His relief was short-lived when he noticed the trail of imprinted footprints on the snowy, frozen ground, a clear path leading to where you were hiding.

If he could throw up his heart, Joel would have done so there and there. But he couldn’t fix that, not now, so could only pray that whoever was following would not spot them.

Not whoever ― Joel knew who they were, as sure as the sun would rise over the horizon tomorrow morning. You were adamant that Tommy would not give you up, that his little brother would smarter than that. But Joel knew better than that ― knew Tommy too damn well. Although he probably meant no harm, his need to belong, to find his people, was far greater than anything else. A fucking irony, if you asked him ― Tommy had him, had you, but apparently neither of you had been enough to satiate his longing.

It had always been like that though, so why was he surprised? Even as a kid, Tommy would find the shittiest people he could to hang out with, and then it was up to Joel to get him out of dire situations.

A loud honk coming from the car derailed his train of thought. Halting suddenly, the riffle’s strap came off his shoulder, the barrel weighting heavy on his left hand while his right pawed the grip.

Joel slowly turned around to face four people coming out of the Jeep. He recognised Laney straight away, the woman who had gotten Tommy’s head up his own ass. A baseball bat rested on her shoulder. The three man that accompanied her were strangers to him ― all of them had drawn their guns.

Fucking outnumbered, but his coward of a brother was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey there, Joel. Long time no see,” Laney greeted him, a wide smile showing her crooked, yellowed teeth. “Going somewhere?”

Joel eyed his opponents, pondering how to get out of this unscathed. His hand tightened around the riffle’s grip, but he kept it steady. Didn’t want to force a situation he wasn’t sure he could win.

“No, just aimlessly walking around,” he barked back, snappy.

He had no time for pleasantries.

Laney laughed, closing the distance with the three man right on her back.

“I see. Tommy was telling us all about how you have forgotten about Sarah already and decided to replace her with another shot at parenthood. Is that right?” She stopped six feet away from him, her grin spanning across her mouth like a fucking clown.

Her words hit him like a motherfucking lorry. The most primal anger flared his nerves, his vision reddening at the thought of Tommy airing his personal life to fucking strangers. Could he not trust his own fucking blood anymore? Why the fuck would Tommy tell her anything about Sarah?

He wasn’t replacing her. Never could, would never even try ― Sarah was irreplaceable. This baby could never supplant Sarah. He’d love them to death―already did―just as he had Sarah. Tommy should fucking know that.

Displaying the highest forms of control for the sake of you both, Joel stood there, white knuckles under the fingerless gloves. He petted the trigger, wanting to give in to this urge ― the urge to right a wrong. But he had you and the baby to worry about, couldn’t be so reckless.

“Did that clicker you call your girlfriend eat your tongue or what?” one of the men chipped in, snickering at his own tasteless joke.

Of course Tommy told them that too. When would the younger Miller ever learn to shut his fucking mouth up?

“What do you want, Laney?”

“Ah, well, you see…” she shrugged, folding arms. Joel wanted to wipe her smile off her stupid face with the blow of his shotgun. “This is our town now. And we don’t like having fucking pregnant clickers around here, Joel. Have you considered the kind of monster that is gonna come out of her?”

Fury crawled up his throat, closer now to losing his goddamn composure. Joel had to blink a couple of times to clear his vision from the tinge of red buffering around his eyes.

You’re the fucking monster, leave my family alone, you bitch, was what he wanted to yell, but instead forced himself to try and diffuse the situation.

“We’ll leave. There’s nothing here that would keep us in this place,” and by nothing, he truly meant no one.

Tommy’s betrayal stung like a swarm of raging wasps.

“Ditching your brother already? Wow,” Laney cackled like a parrot. Then tutted, her head cocking to one side. “Bit late for that, I’m afraid.”

“Let go of me, you bastard!”

Your high-pitched shriek froze the hot blood running wild in his veins. His head snapped to his right, just in time to see a fourth man dragging you out of the woods, grabbing you by your hair as you kicked like a madwoman to break free.

His heart literally stopped, brain trying to catch up with what was happening. He had missed the moment the fourth guy had diverted from the group to track you down through the snow. And Joel was afraid you would pay for his inattentiveness.

A dense knot swelled in his throat, his lungs straining to get some oxygen in. He couldn’t afford to panic now, nor to lose his goddamn mind, but the urge to give in to desperation was overwhelming.

You were everything he had left in this godforsaken world. Joel couldn’t lose you too, not to his brother’s stupidity.

So he persevered, forcing himself to remain calm. The seconds dragged on like a thread being pulled off a blanket, time standing still the moment that vile man threw you to the floor.

On your fours, you fought for a gasp of air before the same man yanked at your hair again, another painful scream as he forced you on your knees.

“You son of a bitch,” you spat, feeling your scalp pinching with the pull.

For a moment you avoided Joel’s gaze, because you knew what you would find there: helplessness. The same you were feeling right now. But his eyes were burning a hole right through your face ― and you finally met his glare.

Even if he had a tight grip on his composure, you could feel his anger, his guilt, his rage. To someone else Joel might look eerily calm and steadfast, but to you, who had learnt everything there was to know about Joel Miller, he looked like a man in penance.

Your captor slapped you, the blow pushing you onto the frozen ground again. Your skin prickled at the contact, a grunt slipping through your lips ― but that was all you would show them.

Joel moved towards you suddenly, a reaction he could not have suppressed even if he wanted to. But the moment the other three men pointed their guns at him, you regretted him doing it. Luckily, the sound of the firearms being cocked stopped him before he could reach you.

“Look, it doesn’t really need to be this dramatic, Joel. You get in the car, we take care of her, and we drive you to your brother,” Laney spoke as if you were not there.

Why did people had developed the ability to talk about you as if you were an object, as if you were not even present? What the fuck was wrong with people? Had they stopped seeing your humanity because of a fucking bite?

“No, you get in the car and leave, before I kill y’all,” Joel muttered under his breath.

Only when you saw the feral look in his eyes, did your heart start racing. This could only go down one way, because Joel would not let them do anything to you. For his own preservation, you wished he did, so one of you could make it out alive.

Launey laughed, followed by the four men.

“You reckon you can take on the five of us?” she taunted, her teeth becoming yellower with the white background. “You are delusional.”

Joel was not someone who took being challenged graciously. You had seen him unleash his temper before, and how that had turned out for the men who tried to rape you. He had not only killed them both, but then spent hours hunting down every single member of their group on his own.

This, though, was different. Joel had already three guns pointed at him.

You felt the shift in the atmosphere before the rest, the twitch in his jaw alerting you that Joel was at his wit’s end. His pose stiffened almost unperceptively, one finger slowly sliding towards the trigger. He didn’t need to communicate with you ― you knew what was about to happen.

Joel lifted the riffle, turned around promptly, and shot the man who had dragged you out of the woods. His body fell to your side with a muffled thud.

Then hell broke loose, the three men coking their guns at him in an instant, stepping in front of Laney to protect her.

“Don’t kill him, Tommy wouldn’t forgive me,” was her only order.

Two of the men holstered their guns, one of them still keeping Joel at gun point, and lunged forwards towards him. A second shot knocked the second man down, while the other two grabbed at Joel’s shotgun’s barrel. A fight ensued while they struggled to get hold of the firearm.

Your pulse accelerated, forcing you out of your state of shock as you raised to your feet, hand slithering to your back to grab your own gun. You would fight besides Joel even if this was the last thing you did.

Then Laney’s body blocked your vision, the baseball bat swinging in front of your face.

“Where do you think you’re going, you fuckin’ clicker?” were her only words before the bat swayed again, hitting you harshly on the sternum.

Your lungs evacuated all air, leaving you mouthing for a gulp of oxygen. Your knees quivered and you managed to stop the fall, your nails digging in the dirty snow underneath. A second shot of pain ran down your spine when Laney hit your back with all the strength she could muster, and both your arms and legs gave way, your gun falling and dropping a few feet away from you.

Your face kissed the white blanket beneath as you crawled onto your side, still trying to catch a breath, wincing and panting, clutching at your chest. This much pain could only be caused by a broken rib, the stabbing feeling worsening with every breath you tried to get in.

“You’re disgustin’,” Launey snarled before she started kicking you, her boot and the bat taking turns.

She hit you everywhere, but most of the blows landed on your stomach. You crouched down, protecting your head as best you could, while searing pain cursed through your body, sharp and dull at the same time.

You could still hear the struggle between Joel and the two men, and you hoped he would prevail. But you couldn’t wait for him to help you, not with the burning cramps taking hold of your whole body. Another minute of this beating and Laney would end up smashing your skull open ― it was only a matter of time.

Through the agony, the worst pain you had ever endured, you rolled onto your back as the woman kept on hitting you with boots and bat. Not the best idea, but it was your only chance to reach for your gun on the ground.

Laney was so focused on you, she didn’t even notice the moment your fingers wrapped around the grip of your forgotten gun. With no hesitation, your finger slid to the trigger, and pressed it.

The bullet lodged right between Laney’s brows ― a millisecond later, she fell on her back.

You drew in a breath, then a trembling sigh escaped your lips, trying to slow down your heartbeat. A cloud of mist lingered in front of your mouth. Closed your eyes for a minute, trying to reign in the pain coursing through your being.

Tilting your head to one side, you saw the last two men on the floor. Joel was on top of one, fisting and punching his face until his head cracked open. A pool of blood tinted the white snow, and only when his brains were spilling over onto the ground, did Joel sit back and look in your direction.

You saw the fog lifting off his mind, his rage forgotten the moment he landed eyes on you. Those brown orbs you loved suddenly widened with fear and his face expression completely transformed into anguish.

“Baby, no,” he whispered with despair, crawling his way to you.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled the moment he reached you, helping you sit up and hugging you so tight you feared he might break the last of your ribs. “Joel, I’m fine,” you reassured him.

All your body ached just as if you had been put through hell, but you were alive.

“No, no, no, no,” was everything he could murmur, his lips pressed onto your temple. His breath so warm it was soothing. “No, no… can’t be… I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Oh God, please forgive me. I’m sorry…”

Joel started to rock back and forth still holding you, his eyes so broad and glassy you knew you were missing something.

That was when you looked down and saw the blood staining your jeans where your inner thighs met, leaking through the fabric onto the snow underneath.

For a second you didn’t―couldn’t―understand what was happening, why you were bleeding so profusely.

And the moment it hit you, your lungs tore apart with the loudest scream you had ever let go of.

Joel saw realisation dawning on you, your eyes a window to your instantly broken soul. He cradled your face so you would only look at him. You almost wrestled with him, trying to get up, but his arms kept you bound to him.

The void in his chest grew bigger and bigger with every screech and cry you emitted, breaking him down until tears spilt over his waterlines. This couldn’t be happening ― losing another child. One he had only started to love; one he had let himself wish and hope for. One he promised he would protect at whatever cost. The idea of a family with you, snatched away in the blink of an eye.

He had tried getting to you the moment he saw Laney approaching you, tried to attack her, but the two men had tackled him to the ground and beat him almost to death. Only got a tiny reprieve when he saw you kill Laney before one of the attackers struck him in the head. Then Joel’s instincts kicked in and didn’t simmer down until they were both dead.

Joel had been so focused on eliminating the last two threats, he hadn’t stopped to check on you ― his survival instinct too strong to ignore. Now hated himself for it, for letting Laney get to you, do this to you.

Because of his ineptitude and tunnel vision, you had miscarried. He had not been able to protect you, this baby of yours. Just as he had not been able to protect Sarah almost two years ago. He was a motherfucking failure.

But he couldn’t break, not now when you needed him the most. He had to be strong for the both of you, because your pain was much, much greater than his.

“Baby, don’t look,” he begged you, palms framing your face while his thumbs swept away your tears. “Please, don’t look.”

“J-Joel!” you wailed, your arms draping around his trunk and burying your face in his coat. “No… our baby…”

His hand landed on your crown, pressing you gently onto his chest, his dead heart breaking a tad more.

Joel pressed a kiss on your forehead.

There were no words to describe the loss, the grief for someone none of you would ever meet. Would they be a baby boy or a baby girl? What would they look like? Would have they taken after you or him? Would have they grown to be a happy, chirpy toddler? Their first steps, their first words ― so many firsts gone, firsts neither of you would ever witness.

You both remained there for what felt like hours, Joel hugging you tight, rocking you in an attempt to calm you down, calm himself down too.

Only when the bitter cold started to filter through your clothing, making you shiver, did Joel help you stand up. His arms slipped under your body, and he carried you to the car while you cried your loss in the crook of his neck. Made sure you were comfortable on the seat, put your seatbelt on, and jumped into the driver’s side.

Joel was a man on a mission. Not on a hunting mission―Tommy was dead to him―but on a mission to get you to safety so he could tend to you.

Little did it matter how much he was hurting. Your sobs had quietened down, your face tilted towards the window. On the reflection he could see the dried tears on your soulless eyes, but the moment they drifted down to your lap, you started quietly crying again.

He felt so damn helpless, the only thing he could do was to remove his coat and place it on your lap. He tugged at you again, embracing you without speaking a word. You hugged him back, silence lingering between the both of you, grieving together.

Time was a funny thing, because neither of you realised that darkness had begun to win over the light. With the night approaching, he needed to find somewhere safe to bunker down. After what felt like hours, he kissed your forehead and sat back up on the driver’s seat.

The vehicle roared alive, and Joel pressed the gas pedal like a man on death row.

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu

@smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille @harriedandharassed

@thepalaceofmelanie @eternallyvenus @theoraekenslover @vickie5446

@hiroikegawa

[orbch]

people talking about analogical and being like “their identities balance each other out really well” and im like NO KIDDING!!!! 😂🤣

anways heres an essay about their storylines and how they mirror each other

(everything im about to say is very mentally unconstructed and thought up in a 3am haze. and also i feel like all of my thoughts abt sasi are stagnant and surface level so please argue with me if you think im wrong..) (also these ideas have likely already been written a bajillion times. but let me do it anyway LOL)

^ with that being said i feel the need to set a definition on what makes sasi sides “dark sides” and “light sides” because like,, to me the only difference between them is the means in which they get the rest of the sides to listen to them

obviously.. none of the sides are actively trying to be evil. or trying to hurt cthomas on purpose. OBVIOUSLYY. because why the hell would they want to do that? they are all literally That Guy, and all of the sides have their own personal goals for thomas that they want him to follow. this is like. the plot. and very known information..

but remus, janus, and formerly virgil are the “dark sides”… like what? because janus manipulated and pretended to be the other sides because thats the only way he could get the others to really listen to and consider his ideas of self preservation and prioritization? and virgil would actively terrorize the others and thomas to get him to be anxious about the stuff virgil believed it was IMPORTANT for him to be anxious about? and remus. listen remus is a whole lot of “being awful for the sake of being awful” but evidently in DWIT he has a strong attraction to the idea of infamy and legacy. so even he is sort of looking out for thomas in. uhm. his own way i guess…

so obviously we know virgils storyline was;

purposely scare the others to get them to see situations from his point of view -> always get insulted and pushed away for being a “pessimist” (its his entire purpose) -> “duck out” and leave thomas and the others to discover the negative affects of zero anxiety -> only after that, finally become recognized as an important aspect of thomas

tw: mention of suicide [not in detail] (and on that note, i think its a little morbid that the light sides only fully realized virgils worth and objective after he attempted the sanders sides equivalent of suicide (which you can NOT convince me isnt what the concept of “ducking out” is. they are all metaphysical personifications of instinctual human traits. what the hell are they gonna do? become real and walk out of the house? bffr))

and whats logans journey?

be considered the [reasonable problem solver] of the group -> be placed in a MULTITUDE of situations where the range of solutions are emotions v. emotions v. emotions and suddenly be considered “cold hearted” and “uncaring” for your objective view points -> get excluded from discussions and ignored when you try and help in the only way you know how -> ???

i (and most of the fandom) fully believe logan (ESPECIALLY after WTIT) is going to start resorting to some pretty drastic measures to be acknowledged by the rest of the sides + thomas. some actions that are likely incited by a “dark side” (nudge nudge the orange guy nudge nudge). and if the harshness of the measures he takes in order to be listened to is all it takes for the rest of the dark sides to be considered “dark sides” in the first place. then uhh well… well!!!

but anyways yeah. yeah. logan and virgil kinda have mirrored character development and that is so fucking interesting. virgils path from dark to light and logans path from light to dark… sighhh.. good stuff

[charismabee]

I like STP swap aus in theory but I find how I've seen people do them a little strange (not bad tho they're still cool n stuff and I like them very much)

Like they're just... making the princess bird shaped without actually examining what swapping the Shifting Mound and Long Quiet's role in the narrative would mean. (Not meant to be negative)

Let's take the Narrator for example. In Slay the Princess he wants to kill the Princess because he wants to stop death forever. But the Long Quiet isn't death, he's stillness, lack of change. This completely changes the Narrator's core motivation. It can work though. Maybe he's in a world that has stagnated, no change, no innovation. It feels like rot, so he decided he had to find a way to be rid of it. Or maybe some other explanation. This would change his core world view, what he might consider a good end, how he acts a bit, lots of things.

Speaking of the good end, that's definitely not going to be an eternity of stagnant bliss, we literally just killed the personanification of stagnation. You could think around that too. Remember I the stranger route when everything was happening at once and it was the same as nothing happening? Maybe that happens. Without stillness the Princess is met with a barrage of constant change and stimulation, everything happening at once. The Princess could realise it is Nothing as much as it is Everything and that gets her out of it.

The Long quiet would be interesting too, because he doesn't change, it isn't in his nature to. Instead, he fractures. Perhaps instead of finding his multitudes you are shattering him. Breaking off parts of him so he can see them from the outside and know them. Once enough pieces of him have been broken off he will shatter completely and finally be able to see all of him, would talons pick up his broken pieces, would wings made of textured nothingness wrap around them and embrace them tightly? Would he reside on a hill of squirming hands or bodies, lost in the centre of the shifting mound?

Perhaps without a need for agency, or someone to make a decision the Voices would just exist as their own thing. First one that claims to be a Hero, who claims to have agency in their story (a part of reflected in her, the Long Quiet does not need to shatter to be able to see him), quickly joined by a Paranoid and terrified victim, an Opportunist Scammer, a Stubborn opponent. Different, but not changed. Not the one person molded into another.

Even the construct itself would be changed by who it is created to kill. Perhaps when the Princess first arrives on the path in the woods it is autumn, a sign of the seasons changing, there is life and death and nature and cycles, but on that 3rd Chapter, it is summer. The leaves are green and waxy, everything is preserved in a completely silent stillness. Maybe there is a horror in that no matter how you get there those silent woods are always the same, unchanging.

Unlike the Long Quiet, the Shifting Mound does change. She is naturally malleable. She has no need for voices because whatever action you take becomes what she would have always done. Perhaps her body changes, giving her new advantages, the body of a vicious Beast stalks towards the cabin, hunger tinting your choices through a cabin twisted to suit her needs. A goddess glides towards her temple, willing it to be large enough to fit her. A dainty Princess hurries to find her Prince charming in a fairytale cabin. The land twists under her will, whether she realises that or not, only giving resistance when too close to the 'monster' kept down there. She is change, it is only natural she causes it.

Even stuff like how to get rid of him would change, because can you actually kill the absence of something? The natural state of things before they shift? The shifting mound is motion and for everything to be in motion all the time means nothing can ever really happen at all. There is no fulfilment in anything you do if your opinion on what to do changes every moment you exist. Perhaps to truly 'kill' him she needs to make him smaller, change what cannot be changed to make the stillness that will be broken, the things to be changed. Perhaps he will break them out of there and thank her. Perhaps without a way to know himself he slowly fades into a nothingness, trapped in an eternity of stagnation that change herself refused to save him from.

It is still a love story, he is naturally inclined to help her, she will always love him, but things have changed.

Anyway this is just a dumb little ramble because I was thinking and it's nearly 3am so this is probably nonsense anyway. I do really like swap ideas they're interesting and stuff <3

[cybrsan]

Treasure — J.WY [Pt. 8]

SUMMARY: It has been a long time coming.

PAIRING: Waterbender Wooyoung x Non-bender F!Reader

RATING/GENRE: M ; angst, fluff, eventual smut ; ATLA au, enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

LINKS: Ode To ATEEZ Masterlist | Together in Harmony Masterlist | Cross-posted on AO3 and Wattpad

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Tap, tap, tap.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you ran away from the group and Wooyoung followed. The two of you have just been sitting on the floor in silence, the only sound being that of his fingers tapping restlessly against the stone tiles. The cadence of it is almost musical, or like a metronome keeping time.

You can tell that he wants to speak by the way he keeps looking at you and then looking away, but he is also trying to be respectful and give you the time that you need. 

The rhythm of his tapping is broken as he suddenly stops.

"Please, talk to me," he urges softly, reaching out to take your hand in his own. “What happened back there?”

“Is that really important? Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out a way to avoid becoming one of those Inkling things?”

“One thing at a time, Y/N.”

You swallow hard, unsure of how much you should share with him. You're torn between honesty and self-preservation, unable to voice the truth but equally unwilling to lie. So instead of answering, you raise your free hand and gently, very gently, run your fingers through the blue-silver strands of his hair, marveling at its softness. It’s something you have wanted to do ever since you first saw him.

He startles at first but quickly relaxes into your touch, letting his eyes flutter closed. You continue to run your fingers through his hair, the gentle motion seeming to soothe him. You can feel some of the tension leaving his body, his shoulders relaxing slightly. It's a tender moment, one that makes your heart ache with a mixture of affection and uncertainty about the future.

After a few moments of sitting in silence, you ask, “Woo, why are you guys looking for an hourglass?”

He sighs, his brow furrowing as he opens his eyes. You’re sure that he knows you’re diverting, but he lets you anyway. “You remember what I told you the night of the sand storm? About what happened between Hongjoong and I?” You nod and he continues, “Well, it has something to do with that. This hourglass is magic—it’s supposed to let you control the flow of time. He thinks we can go back to the day before he made the accusation.”

Your heart sinks. So they are looking for the Cromer. You try not to let the disappointment show on your face as you probe, “So… what? You think that going back in time will fix everything?”

“Won’t it?” Wooyoung questions, a vulnerable edge to his voice. You can tell he desperately wants to believe in this, that part of him needs to.

"Maybe." You hate the way his face falls, but you can’t give him a more definitive answer than that. Time is a difficult concept, especially when it comes to altering it.  “But do you really want to go back?”

“Of course I do!” he responds without pause. “It’s my fault that things turned out this way. If I can change it, why wouldn’t I?”

You take a deep breath, leaning your head back against the wall. You watch the balls of light flit around the ceiling beams as you attempt to collect your thoughts. Why are you trying so desperately to convince him he doesn’t want to go down this path? Is it to make your own chances of stealing the Cromer easier? Or is it something else?

"Do you really believe it's all your fault?" you finally ask. Wooyoung opens his mouth to respond but closes it again, seeming to really consider the question. “Like I’ve said before, Hongjoong knew your visions weren’t always accurate, yet he used you time and time again for his own benefit. He chose to make that accusation, knowing the risks, and then tossed you aside when things didn’t work out. He's as much to blame as you are, perhaps even more.”

"Is that what you think?" Wooyoung’s fingers tighten around your hand, the only indication that your words have affected him. You glance at him, finding his gaze fixed intently on you.

“That’s what I know. And you need to realize it too," you say emphatically, meeting his gaze with a determined one of your own. "You've been shouldering this guilt for far too long."

Wooyoung’s eyes glisten, his jaw clenched tightly as he tries to hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to break through. A single tear rolls down his cheek, tracing the contours of his face before disappearing within the folds of his shirt. He doesn't say anything, but the silence speaks volumes. Your words have made an impact.

“Hongjoong isn’t a cruel man,” he says, voice hoarse.

“I didn’t say he was. I see kindness in him. I see it in the way he cares for all of you, protects you. But power—and the stress that is often paired with it—has a way of twisting people.”

Wooyoung wipes at his eyes. "Maybe you're right. But even if you are, it doesn’t change how things ended up. It doesn’t bring back what was lost."

“What about everything you’ll lose if you do go back? What about…” You glance down at your intertwined hands, letting your sentence trail off as you swallow around the lump in your throat.

He follows your gaze, letting his fingers trace invisible patterns across your knuckles, his touch feather-light. He trails his hand upward, brushing over the pale silver of the scar on your arm, your permanent reminder of the sandwyrm encounter, and the look that crosses his face is so pained that it nearly breaks your heart.

“Us?” He finishes your sentence, the syllable so soft it is barely more than a breath escaping his lips.

His eyes are still downcast, focused on the visible reminder of the trials you've both faced. It's a complicated question and you’re grateful that he had the courage to voice it when you did not.

“We can find each other again,” he says, sounding so certain that it almost makes you believe him.

“But what if we can’t? We don’t know how the Cromer works. What if you don’t keep your memories when you go back? What if everything that happened just happens again? Or something worse?”

He stiffens, his fingers stilling on your skin, the unanswered questions hanging heavily in the air.

"I won't let that happen."

"But you can't promise that," you counter gently. "For all we know, it could change everything. I could still be indentured. Hongjoong’s punishment could become even more extreme than it was."

Wooyoung suddenly rises to his feet, pacing up and down the hall like a restless animal. The room suddenly feels too small, too confining for the magnitude of your conversation and the myriad of uncertainties that accompany it.

"I know," he finally says. He halts his pacing to lean against a bookshelf, running his fingers through his hair. "I know it’s risky. I know."

"But you still want to try?" Your voice comes out softer than intended, betraying the undertone of fear in your words.

You don’t know what the two of you are, or how you could classify your relationship with Wooyoung. What you do know is that you don’t want to lose him, or the others. For the first time since you were a child, you have a home again. You have people that care about you. Maybe that’s selfish, but you would be the first to admit you are a very selfish person.

He doesn't answer for what feels like an eternity but, finally, he pushes away from the shelf and turns to look at you. His gaze is unreadable, a stormy sea trapped under dark lashes.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” His shoulders sag with the weight of his indecision. "All I know is that I can't bear all of the regret and guilt I feel anymore. I need to be able to do something, to fix it.”

“The past…” you pause, trying to make sure you’re being mindful of the way you say this.  “The past is like a ghost; it haunts us. We all have regrets and mistakes we wish we could erase. But we can’t let our past dictate our future. We can learn from it, we can honor it, but it is not meant to be something that holds us back.”

You think of your own past, the way you have been letting it guide you and determine your path. The memories of indentured servitude, the fear of losing your freedom again, the scars you bear... they've all shaped you, yes, but they don't have to define you.

“We need to learn how to let go.” You hope the words mean as much to him as they do to you.

“You’re right,” he admits. “I understand what you’re saying. But understanding and accepting are very different things.”

“Different,” you agree. You stand and slowly approach him, stopping only when you're close enough to touch him. You place your hand on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm. “But not impossible.”

“Y/N…” he whispers your name like a plea, a prayer.

One of his hands comes up to cradle yours where it rests over his heart, and the other reaches out to caress your face, his fingers tracing the path of your cheek as if committing the feel of you to memory. His gaze lowers to your lips and you feel your breath hitch in anticipation. There's an unspoken question in his eyes, one that you answer by leaning into him, letting the space between you shrink until your lips are a hair's breadth away from his.

Before either of you can close the gap, a shout echoes through the halls. You and Wooyoung jump apart and, after exchanging a quick glance, both hurry towards the source of the commotion. As you round the corner, you're met with a tense standoff. Hongjoong is facing both San and Seonghwa, sparks flickering from his fingertips thanks to his barely restrained frustration.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Wooyoung says, rushing to stand in between the group. “What the hell is going on?”

“What’s ‘going on’ is that these two are cowards,” Hongjoong hisses. “After all the work we’ve put in, everything we’ve sacrificed, they think we should just give up.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Seonghwa interjects. “I just think we need to find another way.”

San scoffs. “Well, maybe Hwa isn’t saying that, but I am. If that makes me a coward, so be it. Hongjoong is right—we have sacrificed a lot. Y/N almost died. We’re in the middle of the most dangerous desert in the world, in some ancient library protected by some giant owl guardian that can turn into stone at will, hundreds of miles away from our homes and our loved ones. Enough is enough.”

“San has a point,” Jongho says. “The owl said we can’t take anything from the library, so even if the Cromer is here, it won’t be of any help to us. Unless we can hang out here until the next full moon.”

“Yeah, that’s not an option,” you interject. “We don't want to become Inklings, remember?”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow. "And so that’s it? We just walk away? Leave everything we've been working for behind?"

“Everything you’ve been working for—”

Yeosang puts a hand on San’s shoulder, interrupting him. “Arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

Seonghwa nods in agreement. “Joong, I understand your frustration, but we need to be smart about this. There has to be something or someone else out there that can help point us in a different direction.”

“There are no other leads,” Yunho says. “We’ve got to at least admit that. It took us months to even find out about Pandora, and then twice as long to track it down. In all that time, we would have heard about something else if it existed.”

“If our only option is to keep going or leave, I say we leave,” Mingi adds. “I have too much to lose.”

"But you're forgetting one thing," Wooyoung interjects, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes shifting between each person before finally resting on Hongjoong. "We aren’t quitters. We don’t just give up, especially not on one of our own. We should see this through until the end."

You feel a flicker of surprise that he’s siding with Hongjoong, but when you catch the look that passes between them, the way Wooyoung visibly brightens under the leader’s approving gaze, you realize that perhaps his decision isn't as surprising as you thought.

Siding with Hongjoong and Wooyoung might be your best chance to find the Cromer yourself. If they're determined to keep searching, you can use their resources and knowledge to your advantage. Plus, staying close to them will allow you to act quickly when the opportunity arises. You try to ignore the stab of guilt the idea brings along with it.

"I'm with Wooyoung. We've come too far to turn back now," you reiterate, your voice steady in the tense silence that has fallen over the room. “I know I have. San is right—I almost died for this. Hell if I give up now.”

"We push forward," Hongjoong declares, his tone final. But the fire in his eyes dims just a little, his voice softening as he adds, “But I won’t force anyone to stay. I value everything you have all done for me and if you choose to leave now, I won’t blame you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with the gravity of their implications. The room is silent for a long while.

Finally, Seonghwa steps forward. "I won't leave," he says, his voice firm.

San grunts, his brow furrowed in thought as he looks at Seonghwa. For a moment, it seems like he might argue, but then his gaze softens and he nods slowly. “Alright," he concedes. "I’m not happy about it. But I won’t abandon you guys, no matter what happens.”

"I second that," comes Yunho’s voice. "This may be hopeless, but we're a team."

Everyone else follows suit until all that’s left is Mingi. He sighs heavily, his gaze traveling from face to face. He finally relents with an exasperated groan. "Fine. I won't be the one accused of abandoning the mission. You guys would never let me live that down.”

The tension in the room dissipates slightly, replaced by a sense of renewed determination. Hongjoong nods, a small smile of gratitude on his face. "Alright, then. Let's get back to work. We'll cover more ground if we split up. Seonghwa and I will stay here and try to figure out a way to deal with the guardian. The rest of you should head out and try to find the Cromer.”

As the group disperses, you unsurprisingly find yourself pairing off with Wooyoung. You both head towards a section of the library you haven't explored yet, and he gestures toward a room filled with display cases.

“Let’s start here.”

You nod, heading toward the nearest case. The dust coating the glass is thick and undisturbed, a testament to how long it has been since anyone entered this room. You wipe it off with the sleeve of your robe, revealing the contents inside. Three pendants catch your eye, each etched with a distinct symbol: a crescent moon, a coiling snake, and a radiant sun. Alongside these, a tiara sparkles with precious gemstones. You imagine that this alone could have probably bought out your contract—too bad you didn’t find it before the deal you made.

Wooyoung moves to the cases across the room from you, his gaze raking over the worn items tucked neatly inside of each. An assortment of ancient scrolls, a detailed map of an unknown land, a statuette of some long-forgotten deity…

“It’s not here,” he murmurs, his voice echoing slightly in the otherwise silent room. He pauses briefly, his gaze lingering on an old scroll adorned with intricate calligraphy and faint drawings. He deviates from the mission momentarily to unfurl the fragile parchment. “Oh, Y/N, look—a waterbending scroll. It must be centuries old.”

Curiosity piqued, you abandon your own search and move to peer over his shoulder at the scroll. An array of swirling, complex lines traces out the forms for a waterbending technique you don't recognize. "Incredible," you breathe, your fingers itching to trace the ancient script.

“But it’s not what we’re looking for,” Wooyoung says, folding it carefully and placing it back into the case.

“Wait, you should try it out before we move on.”

His eyes travel from you to the scroll and back again. “We might not have time. It looks complicated, and I don’t know if I will be able to master it quickly.”

"Have a little faith in yourself," you encourage, your hand squeezing his for reassurance. “You’re an amazing waterbender.”

He brightens at your words, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile. He looks back down at the scroll with renewed determination and nods. “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

He uncorks the water pouch at his hip, the liquid leaping to his call and hovering in the air before him. Carefully, Wooyoung mimics the illustrated movements, the water weaving and spinning through the air. He struggles at first, sweat beading on his brow. But as he persists, his movements become more confident and, eventually, he perfectly matches the forms on the scroll.

The water lashes out like a whip before segmenting into separate sections and condensing into spheres. With a flick of his wrist, Wooyoung sends them hurtling through the air like liquid bullets, each one shattering against the far wall with explosive force.

Wooyoung laughs. “Holy shit. That’ll come in handy during our next sandwyrm fight, huh?”

You laugh too, a mix of elation and disbelief bubbling up from your chest. Without thinking, you run over to him, throwing your arms around him in a tight embrace. The momentum of your movement spins you both around, and as you come to a stop, your eyes lock. The air between you shifts, and before you can process what's happening, he's kissing you.

His lips are soft against yours, moving with an urgency that sends shivers down your spine. You feel his hand come up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. He threads the fingers of his other hand through your hair, pulling you closer as if he can't bear any distance between you. Time seems to stand still, the rest of the world fading away into the background.

It isn’t until the room shakes slightly and the sound of stone grinding against stone reaches your ears that you and Wooyoung break apart. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for the source, when you notice a beam of sunlight hitting a particular spot on the far wall. To your amazement, a hidden door slowly creaks open, revealing a secret chamber beyond.

"Well," Wooyoung breathes, his eyes wide with surprise. "That’s not creepy at all."

“We should check it out,” you say, grabbing his hand and attempting to pull him after you.

He resists, tugging you back into his chest. “You sure you don’t want to just stay here and continue this…?”

You take in the sly curve of his smile and the twinkle in his eyes and, as much as you want to give into him, you know that if you stay here you might miss your opportunity. “We can continue this after we get out of this damn library.”

Wooyoung chuckles, his breath warm against your cheek. "Fair enough. Let's go explore this creepy secret chamber, then." He intertwines his fingers with yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before leading the way into the dimly lit room. As you step inside, the grinding sound of stone against stone fills your ears once more. You both turn just in time to see the hidden door slowly closing behind you, sealing you in darkness.

You sigh. “Fantastic.”

NETWORKS: @kflixnet @pirateeznet @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet

TAGLIST: @nebulousbookshelf @ad0rechuu @seonghwaddict @sanniesbunnie @fruitcakebin @kickti @hwasflower @kibs-and-bits @wooya1224 @tournesol155 @ja3hwa @pocketjoong-reads @lovandr @yeoyeoland @huachengsbestie01 @baeksofty @deltamoon666 @yessa-vie @mlysalt @skteezcursed @vannabanana1995

[radioactivesweet]

Hello!!~ May I pretty pls, get more headcanons about Nyx!s/o?; Ares, Beelzebub, Loki and Tesla with a Nyx! s/o?~

(Just imagine Loki using his s/o to scare Zeus, I can’t— 💀✨)

Also, feel free to add other characters if you want ^ - ^

Ngl I'm enjoying this Nyx!s/o requests! Nyx is such a cool goddess! And yeah- Loki is definitely using her in his favour hahahah I won't add anymore character tho otherwise I'll end up posting this much much later

Ares, knowing your name and reputation - alongside the fact that his father himself was scared of you - thought you'd be as scary as you were described. Whenever your name was brought up in a conversation - which happened quite rarely - people who'd grow pale and start shivering, which scared Ares immensly, despite trying not to show it. You became a sort of boogeyman in his mind, the kind of creature you'd talk about to children to have them got to sleep. So when he actually met you and discovered you didn't appear to be that frightnening, he immediately warmed up to you, being the himbo he is. When you get close to each other, whenever he sees you, he lights up - which is kinda ironic if you think about it. Ares has his perks and self-preservation doesn't appear to be one of them. How he has become devoid of any fear towards you and instead showers you with affection is a mystery to you, but it's much appreciated. All the rumours surrounding you weren't enough to scare him away after all and he surely is one funny god to have around. Family dinner are quite funny too for you. Zeus tries to avoid them whenever he can and you can have the time of your life by frightening Zeus himself.

Beelzebub recognises how similar you two are from the first moment he met you. Both of you feared and isolated deities, whose name alone makes the earth tremble, associated with darkness and ruin, whose presence is dreadful and nightmarish. Frightnening and unpleasant, he knew he'd get along well with you. To each other though, you're both kinda warmer, despite keeping a certain level of detachement between you two. You know about Beelzebub's curse - and have seen many curses during your long life - and try to look for a solution to it, despite his resistance. Being an ancient deity gave you much more experience than his, yet helping someone who doesn't want to be helped is a difficult job. Despite everything, when you two are together, you have the certainty that nobody will ever dare disturbing you. On your own you are both terrying, together you are Heaven's worst nightmare.

Loki isn't scared of you, what he's scared of is Odin finally punishing him for one of his many pranks. You are actually the one who could save him from his miserable fate! Not even Odin would dare to punish him if it meant crossing your path. You silently checking on him is more than enough for Loki to do whatever he want without having to deal with the consequences - unless he angers you, at that rate he'd probably be annihilated, but he doesn't want to reach that point. He is mischievous, not stupid, and doesn't want to die either. At first, he has to admit it, Loki was a little put off by you. You were intimidating to say the least, but he already had his good share of frightnening deities to deal with. You can be sure he will never and ever pull a prank on you, even though he'd like to try once. It may be his last prank though.

Nikola is the child of light; you are the goddess of night. The bright scientist and the gloomy deity. Complete opposites, yet he is enchanted by you. Nikola, believing in the power of science instead of gods' doesn't really understand why you seem to be feared by others. He can see how you can appear a little intimidating but aside from that, he finds your presence quite pleasant! Nikola believes that thanks to you he may also progress with his experiments - he is quite interested in your powers too. He doesn't want you to feel like a guinea pig though, because he doesn't absolutely see you that way. You are someone he knows will be of help in his researchs and sees you as a beacon who could make humanity itself evolve. You are his partner and Nikola values a lot your opinions and beliefs. The fact that you are an incredibly powerful deity is a bonus he doesn't dislike though. Thanks to his light and your darkness, he knows you'll be able to achieve great things together.

[zhaliacain]

Huntikmas day 19- Random niche hobbies the team have with no basis in canon

Dante: Extreme mountain biking

So Dante is described as an extreme sportsman in the series and we see him doing a lot of crazy stuff like skiing and intense martial arts but we've all seen those mad videos red bull put out of extreme mountain biking and you can't tell me that's not something Dante would do. Particularly in the countryside of Germany there are a lot of trails so it may have been his first venture into extreme sports and even though he may not have the time for it, nor can he drag around a bike across the globe, its still something he's very passionate about. (This is just one of Dante's many hobbies, I've got a whole list of random stuff he does because he's good at everything)

Sophie: Crochet

Crochet is just magic knotting at the best of times but I reckon Sophie is one of those people who can read a book and crochet at the same time. She says it's a mental exercise, being able to process information whilst conducting another action with her hands that also requires concentration but really she's just a wizard. Leblanche recommended it to her at first as a relaxing hobby but she got bored doing just one thing and soon watching tv or listening to podcasts whilst she was doing it become too easy so she upped the challenge to reading.

Zhalia: Website design

This is definitely her side hustle, it's the perfect balances of coding, design and human psychology. It started out with just her trying to create convincing trojan sites for the Organisation but then she found it strangely enjoyable and she found a lot more she could be doing with it.

Lok: Wood-working

Not really out there, we see Eathon Lambert making his own puzzles in the show and Lok wanted to go down the same path. Solving a puzzle is one task, being able to design and construct them for others is another thing. It started with simple wooden shapes designed to fit together but whilst perfecting his techniques its led him to carving other items like figures or a phone stand. Now not only is he getting better at making custom puzzles, he can carve intricate gifts to give to others.

Cherit: Jigsaws

We know Cherit likes puzzles, but for him jigsaw puzzles isn't about the thrill of solving something complex, its about putting together a picture little by little and the satisfaction of having created something from a messy pile. People often challenge him to complete a puzzle with the pattern side down for extra difficulty but Cherit likes to see his creations as he goes and has one of those folder books and some puzzle glue to preserve his favourite works

Den: Tik Tok

Okay not actually tie Tok but that kind of short video, vine, blogging behaviour you see going round. He's not one to show of his dancing but I can see him doing instructional videos on what he's learning at the moment. He also does those reaction videos with his usual snark and he's very happy to give his opinion on weird posts he finds.

Harrison: Pro-tag

Do not even get me started on how pro tag fits into my Huntik au universe, it's a whole thing. The benefit of pro tag is that it's a team sport without having to actually work with your team mates whilst in the arena. Harrison often gets frustrated with others so this is an ideal way for him to build his people skills, and his training skills whilst also exercising some independence and not depending on others to include him.

[tala-bez-i]

At first sight Chapter Thirty-Three

(m!reader x Bonten!Haruchiyo Sanzu)

Fluff/slash/reader is male/cursing/BontenTimeline/drugs and alcohol mentioned/violence/blood/death

All characters that appeared in the Tokyo Revengers manga and anime belong to Ken Wakui.

Words: 4965

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

“Remember, Y/n, if anything suspicious happens, let me know right away.” Sanzu straightened your tie and smoothed out your light blue shirt that you had decided to wear today. 

“If something really starts to go wrong, I will do it. Please don't worry so much about me.” You caressed his cheek with one hand. "I can handle it. Besides, as I've said several times, I don't think Tsuyoshi has prepared any trap for me." You fastened your watch bracelet and took a sip of the weaker drink you couldn't resist. 

“How can you be so sure?” The man asked quietly as you put on your jacket. 

“I just am.” You buttoned up and walked up to him, cupping his face in both hands and looking into his eyes. “I have a gun just in case.” 

“Is this supposed to calm me down?” 

“Do you trust me, Haruchiyo?” You asked quietly, still looking into his dilated pupils, which you would happily let yourself drown in. 

“Y/n…” 

“We agreed that I should let you know if anything needed, and I will if the situation requires it.” You kissed him and gently ran your thumb over one of his scars. “Put me down a few houses away and I'll be fine.” 

Saitama. You remembered visiting the local parks with your sisters, although you were well aware that many of the events from that time seemed to blend into one. You couldn't put everything in chronological order, which really irritated you sometimes. Even old photos didn't help you. 

At first you didn't know why your uncle lived so far away from you, but only later did your mother explain to you that it was your father who left his hometown and moved to Tokyo. You always thought it was the other way around... 

You stood in front of the gate to L/n's family's property and looked at the well-kept front of the single-family house. Everything was just as you remembered. The building is preserved in a traditional style, although there are some traces of modernization here and there. The short trees and bushes were neatly trimmed and shaped, and the path leading to the house was decorated with flowers. Almost the same as yours... 

You rang the bell at the gate and after a while the door to the house opened and a man you knew well stood in the doorway. He beckoned you over and after a short while you were walking down the gravel path towards him. In both hands you held a white stuffed rabbit. 

“I'm glad you decided to come after all.” Tsuyoshi greeted you, his searching gaze sliding over your face. “I see that a lot has happened in your life since our last meeting.” 

"It's better now." You answered not very loudly and the man let you inside. “I brought a small gift...” 

"I see. He will like it.” Came the answer and as you changed your shoes for slippers, you were led to the living room, where you put the rabbit on the chair. “Yuuta is in his room upstairs. First, I wanted to introduce you to Ms. L/n.” 

You followed the man into the bright kitchen and saw a woman at the table who, at first glance, seemed to be not much older than you. You raised one eyebrow at your uncle, realizing the age difference between him and his wife. 

“Love, this is Y/n, my nephew. Y/n, my wife, Kiyoko.” 

"Good morning." You bowed politely. 

She smiled warmly and returned the bow. “I'm glad I finally got to meet you. Can I call you by your name?” 

"Naturally." 

“So, Y/n…” She walked up to you and pursed her lips as she looked at you closely. "Seriously?" 

“Seriously what?” You asked confused and the woman shook her head. 

“You definitely won't see the boy with these bruises.” 

For a split second, your heart sank and you were about to say something less than polite back to her when she grabbed your hand and started leading you somewhere. 

“We have to cover them all up somehow.” She said in a calm tone and as you walked through the doorway of the small room at the back of the house, your eyes widened in surprise. 

There were wardrobes in the room, probably full of clothes, and against one of the walls there was a dressing table filled with a large amount of various cosmetics. She didn't mean... 

“Sit here, Y/n.” Kiyoko sat you down on the stool and looked at your face again, muttering something under her breath every now and then. 

“Are you going to do some makeup for me?” You asked hesitantly, feeling the corner of your mouth twitch nervously. 

“I can handle it perfectly. You'll be surprised." She grabbed a fluffy headband from the dressing table and was about to approach you when you extended both hands towards her. 

"Hair clips." You said quickly and the woman looked surprised. “Hair clips will be enough... Please.” 

She shrugged and replaced the headband with two small hair clips before brushing your hair away from your face and pinning it up gently. 

"Thank you." 

"Okay." She grabbed a bottle and a pack of soft cotton pads and began to gently cleanse the skin of your face. 

You felt your cheeks begin to blush involuntarily and you were grateful that no one from Bonten saw you at that moment. You submitted to the procedure without the slightest protest and began to secretly look at her. 

She had short, shoulder-length, neatly arranged, dark brown hair, with a small gold clip with small green stones attached to it on one side. The ornament matched her small teardrop pendant on a gold chain. 

Her eyes were brown and, on her eyelids, just near the lash line, there was a slightly smudged line made with brown eyeliner. The eyelashes themselves were long and coquettishly curled, their color not much different from the eyeliner used for makeup. 

There was a hint of pink on her cheeks, which matched the woman's complexion perfectly and gave her a more youthful appearance. The petite lips were a natural-looking, light peach color, and you thought the entire makeup looked very neat and natural. 

Kiyoko was pretty and caught your eye, but you didn't feel uncomfortable about it. If your uncle fell for this woman, you were 100% sure it wasn't just about beauty. She had to be a good and intelligent woman, otherwise... 

“You keep looking at me, Y/n.” She laughed softly, gently applying concealer to your bruises. 

“Ah, sorry.” You answered her, suddenly feeling embarrassed, but the woman responded with a quiet giggle. “I didn't think my uncle would ever get married.” 

“Because he had no intention of doing so.” She smiled broadly. “I had to take matters into my own hands.” 

“Don't exaggerate. I still think the age difference is too big...” Tsuyoshi said as he entered the room. “I could easily be your father.” 

“Don't be dramatic.” 

"It's almost a 30-year difference... My parents had reservations about Kenzou marrying a woman 11 years younger than him..." The man began, but stopped and looked away when his wife gave him a short, meaningful look. “I'll check what Yuuta is up to. It got suspiciously quiet upstairs.” 

“Yes, very good idea, honey.” You felt slight embarrassment as you witnessed this little argument, but at the same time you felt excited at the thought of your child playing somewhere in the house. Just a moment and you will be able to see him with your own eyes. 

“Don't worry, Y/n. Men of the L/n family prefer younger partners. Even between my in-laws, there is about an 8-year difference.” She powdered your face and looked at you closely, assessing her handiwork 

“Yes, I remember... But I never thought about it.” 

“You were actually the first to break that pattern.” She laughed quietly, putting the previously used cosmetics back in their places on the dressing table. 

She was right. Emiko was your age, and so was Sanzu... 

“Tell me, Kiyoko…” You watched as the woman wiped her hands with a wet wipe. “Don't you feel like you're wasting your life with an old man like Tsuyoshi?” 

"Nope." She removed the clips from your hair and gently ran her fingers through them. “He's a wonderful man and, honestly, my first partner who can listen to me.” 

“I'm glad you're happy with him.” You said honestly, remembering how fond you felt for your uncle when you were a child. 

"Thank you. Come on, let's sit in the living room.” She headed for the door, and you followed her, glancing in the mirror as you went. 

You stopped when you saw your reflection and blinked a few times, surprised at how good a job the woman had done. Your face looked much better than usual, and despite the fact that you knew exactly where the bruises were, you couldn't see the slightest trace of them. 

“Come, come, Y/n. From here you can hear that your firstborn has been making trouble again.” Kiyoko smiled broadly, standing by the stairs and gesturing for you to come over. “Tsuyoshi never shouts at him, but you know how loud his voice is.” 

“He's only been with you for one day... What does that mean again?” You asked and stopped at the stairs, listening to the single words that fell from the man's mouth. 

“Sometimes they let us bring him here so he could get used to the surroundings. There was always a guardian from the orphanage with him, and once Yuuta felt confident, he started making trouble. He's adorable and we can't be mad at him. Yesterday, less than 10 minutes after arriving, he broke three flowerpots in Tsuyoshi's studio. He doesn't do it maliciously. He is simply bursting with energy.” 

You looked surprised at the amused woman and after a short while you heard the sound of children's feet running across the wooden floor. 

“Come here you little rascal.” The grown man's louder footsteps followed the giggling child, and the corners of your mouth turned upwards involuntarily. 

“I'll make some tea and you make yourself comfortable in the living room.” Kiyoko gave you a mischievous wink and disappeared into the kitchen. 

You stood by the stairs for a while, listening to some sounds, but apart from the child's laughter accompanied by a slightly amused male voice, you didn't hear anything else. 

You returned to the cozy living room and sat down on the comfortable sofa. You looked at the stuffed animal you had brought for the boy and smiled uncertainly. You began to feel the stress of the inevitable meeting with your own child, whom you had only seen in one photo, and you began to wonder if he was really as much like you as everyone said. You'd be lying if you said you didn't get into trouble when you were the same age as him, but... 

You shrugged. If a child, after such experiences, quickly began to act out and behave as if no harm had ever happened to him... Was it normal? 

"Yuuta?" You heard the woman call out and your heart skipped a beat again for a split second. “Come down, honey. You have a guest!” 

“I'm coming, auntie!” A still amused boyish voice replied and you froze at how carefree he sounded. Was that really your baby? 

Kiyoko entered the living room carrying a tray in her hands, on which she had a teapot with a floral pattern, four cups and a plate with various sweets. She set it on the coffee table and after a while Tsuyoshi entered the living room. 

“Blood from Y/n's blood. You don't know whether to strangle him or hug him." He mumbled and the woman stroked his cheek tenderly. “Wall needs repainting.” 

"Sorry." You mumbled, feeling embarrassed, remembering what you used to do at your grandparents' house. Your mother always had her hands full. 

Your uncle gave you a quick look and suddenly a laughing boy jumped into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you. His eyes, which were actually the same color as yours, stared at you as if the boy was seeing a human for the first time. His black hair was combed, although there were still a few stray strands sticking out to the sides. 

There were no bruises on his exposed legs and arms, and neither was on his sweet face, which made you happy. He was well-groomed and no longer seemed as small as in the photo. 

"Good morning." He said in an uncertain voice, bowing politely as befits a well-mannered child, and then his eyes fell on the plush toy. 

“Good morning, Yuuta.” You smiled gently and encouraged the boy to take the toy. “This is a small gift for you. I hope you like it..." 

The boy looked at his guardians as if waiting for permission, and as soon as the woman smiled, a wide smile appeared on the child's lips and his arms wrapped tightly around the white rabbit. 

"Thank you!" He said and sat down in the armchair, right next to Tsuyoshi. His eyes stared at you searchingly over the toy. "So..." 

“So…” You repeated after him, feeling more and more awkward, and Kiyoko clapped her hands gently, getting your attention. 

“For whom should I pour tea?” She asked cheerfully and Yuuta raised his hand first. 

He took the half-filled cup in both hands and blew slowly to cool the fragrant brew a little before taking a small sip. His eyes kept stealing glances at you and you reciprocated his interest, being careful not to overwhelm the child with it in any way. 

“Yuuta, do you remember what I told you with your aunt?” Tsuyoshi spoke in a calm tone, wondering which cookie to choose. 

"About what?" The boy asked, very carefully placing the cup on the saucer on the table. 

“About your dad.” 

The boy pouted his lower lip slightly and gave you a quick glance. He nodded and hugged the toy tightly again. 

“Maybe you'd like to…” Kiyoko began, but the boy blushed and shook his head vehemently, hiding his face behind the mascot. 

Your heart fluttered and you felt a certain kind of sadness begin to wash over you, but you smiled slightly, knowing that you had no reason to feel this way. The boy didn't know you and his reaction didn't mean he wanted nothing to do with you. It was completely normal and understandable. 

"How do you feel?" You asked after a moment of silence. “I heard you like to show off. I did exactly the same." You added quickly, seeing something like a flash of fear in the boy's eyes. 

Not sensing the anger in your tone, Yuuta smiled slightly and shrugged. "Sometimes..." 

“Do you like football?” 

“Yes, but I can't play it.” He replied to you, looking at Tsuyoshi. “Uncle said the garden was too small…” He shrugged again. “Mom's garden was bigger, but…” 

His face suddenly showed sadness and the boy buried his face in the stuffed rabbit again. “It's nice here.” 

“If you can ever visit me…” You started as if nothing had happened, popping the entire cookie into your mouth and chewing it slowly. You winked at the boy. “Then we will play football in my garden. It's bigger than your mom's." 

Yuuta's eyes widened and he looked at Tsuyoshi, who became slightly confused and looked at his young wife as if waiting for her opinion. Kiyoko laughed softly and gave the man a meaningful look. 

“You are the head of this family, not me.” 

"Maybe someday." The detective replied after a moment, and the boy bit his lower lip slightly, as if trying to hold back the smile that was already on his lips. 

After less than fifteen minutes, the boy began to squirm in his seat, clearly unsure of what to do with himself as the adults carried on a casual conversation among themselves, and Tsuyoshi nodded to him that he could go back to his room upstairs to continue playing. 

Yuuta jumped from the armchair, gave you a wide smile, which you now noticed was missing one white tooth, and fled the living room without saying a word. 

“He lasted a long time.” The man sighed, sipping the tea that Kiyoko poured for him. 

“It's nice, isn't it?” She joked, helping herself to some cookie. “After what he has been through in his short life, he quickly recovers.” 

“I'm glad his traumas don't dictate his terms.” You looked down for a moment. “I noticed that he doesn't necessarily eat sweets.” 

“Oh, no. Yuuta likes sweets, but he was just embarrassed to eat more around you.” Kiyoko laughed. “Although he doesn't despise fruit, which makes me very happy.” 

“He avoids honey melon like the plague.” Your uncle interrupted and you winced, remembering the fragment of the recording you had managed to see before Kisaki covered your screen. 

“It's because his stepfather and mother used this fruit to….” 

“Don't say anything else, Y/n. We understand." Kiyoko said quietly and you nodded. “Honey melon disappears from the menu.” 

Tsuyoshi sighed and put down his cup, muttering something unfavorable about Emiko under his breath. 

“Yoshi.” His wife grumbled, frowning slightly. 

"That's the truth." 

“I don't have a good opinion of my ex either.” You drank some tea. “The most important thing is that the child is now safe.” 

“These bruises…” Your uncle began after a while. “Any task or just a fight?” 

“You don't want to know and I'm not going to say anything.” 

“If you need help getting out of there…” 

“I don't want to change anything, uncle. I appreciate your concern, but I've been at this too long to just change it.” Your tone sounded a little colder than you were going for and you sighed. "Sorry..." 

"No problem." 

"Can I ask you something?" You looked up at the man, who looked more tired of life than he had a few minutes earlier. 

"Of course." 

“Aren't you afraid that Yuji will come here?” 

“He didn't do it after he run away, and I don't think he will do it now.” Tsuyoshi replied in a very confident tone. 

"Why?" 

“He avoids this house.” The man shrugged and leaned his back against the back of the armchair he was sitting in. “He never liked coming here. He loved his grandparents, but this house reminded him too much of his mother.” 

“What happened to his mother?” You asked, frowning slightly. “Dad never mentioned her…” 

Tsuyoshi bit the inside of his cheek, to which you raised one eyebrow and his eyes began to wander to the wall where several family photos hung in frames. 

“See, Y/n, boy…” He started after a while. “Yuji's mother was not entirely healthy. She was obsessed with my brother and her son. What she was doing was having a bad impact on their only child. At some point, Kenzou decided to divorce her, just for Yuji's sake." 

Kiyoko offered you a refill of tea, which you graciously accepted. 

“At first she didn't want to agree to it and wanted to get the child on her side. Damn, the boy wasn't even 9 years old at the time and he was completely terrified when he saw what his own mother was capable of.” Tsuyoshi shifted in his seat and his gaze hardened. “My brother forced her to sign divorce papers and after striking a deal with his friend, he sent her to a closed psychiatric facility.” 

"What?" You asked in shock, a thousand thoughts running through your head. "But..." 

“It was the best solution. Afterwards, your father moved out of here with Yuji and they lived in Tokyo. After a few months, he met Sachiko and decided to start a family with her.” 

“Mai was already born then.” You said quietly and Tsuyoshi nodded. 

"Yes, that's true. Yuji was terrified to see his father showering affection on a strange woman and he couldn't understand it. You see, Y/n, Yuji loved his mother very much, even after she could hurt him, and he didn't want his father to get involved with any other woman.” 

There was a crashing sound upstairs and Kiyoko laughed quietly, looking up at the ceiling. She stood up from her seat and patted her husband on the shoulder. 

“I'll check what he did.” 

“Dear God, how did my brother deal with you?” Your uncle muttered as the woman left the room. 

“He was hard on me, and besides, he had my mother.” You answered him calmly and shrugged when the man gave you a pointed look. "That's the truth. He kept me short.” 

“I know, I know... I can't do it. I guess I'm too old.” 

“You have a softer heart.” 

"Maybe." He sighed and the laughter of a child and a woman could be heard from upstairs. “Back to the topic... Yuji, despite hating your mother, loved his new little sister, Mai, very much. Only over the years did we realize that this feeling was not healthy and platonic. He was more obsessed with her than his mother was with your father.” 

“Wait a minute.” You shook your head, setting your cup down. You knew what the man meant, but you were starting to feel disgusted at the thought. “You don't mean to tell me that…” 

“Yuji planned to train her, not to use the word brake. That's why he guarded Mai so closely and didn't let you get close to her. He saw you as his competitor.” 

“Competitor? I was a child, and Mai was my sister!” 

“You see, Yuji had a different train of thought.” 

“God…” You moaned softly and ran a hand over your face. “Now I'm starting to understand everything... But... Why did dad let this happen?” 

“He didn't allow it, that's why Yuji only approached Mai when he wasn't around.” 

“Why didn't he tell him to get out of the house?” 

“Because he preferred to keep him by his side. If Yuji moved out, he could kidnap Mai.” Your uncle explained and you felt your blood start to boil in your veins. 

“They could have her back, damn it... He'd rather that bastard abused my mother and...'' You clenched your hands into fists. “Mai committed suicide.” 

"I know. This devastated Yuji and changed him completely.” There was pain in the man's eyes. “Understand, Y/n. He was my brother's firstborn son. He knew he was doing the wrong thing by keeping him around, but he couldn't completely cut himself off from his past. Kenzou was a strong man, but not as strong as he thought. After marrying your mother, almost every decision he made turned out to be bad.” 

You wanted to scream with anger, but suddenly you realized that you yourself were making bad decisions in the name of the love you gave first to Emiko, and then... 

“Yuji is unpredictable.” You said quietly. “What if he comes here after all?” 

“I believe he won't do it. Nevertheless, Kiyoko and I agreed to move. For Yuuta's safety.” 

You nodded and your uncle's calm voice surprised you. “I hadn't notice your car when you were standing at the gate. Now it's been standing outside the house for about an hour. Your partner in crime brought you?” 

"What?" You asked, looking up at him questioningly. 

“Someone is watching the house.” Tsuyoshi pointed to the window and when you discreetly looked out, you did indeed saw your car and Sanzu sitting inside. 

You checked your phone and sent him a text saying everything was fine and he didn't have to wait for you. You saw him reading the message, but he didn't move. 

"Yes, I'm sorry." You sighed, forcing a smile. “He's a little nervous because you're a detective.” 

"I see. Still... It's kind of funny. You are gangsters and he guards you like his property.” 

“Let's just say he's not just my partner in crime, as you so nicely put it.” 

The man looked surprised and opened his mouth to say something, but understanding appeared in his eyes and he closed his eyes in confusion. 

"I see. I dont have questions." He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I take it this is the boy you were jabbering about to your mother?” 

"What?" You felt your face start to turn red and Tsuyoshi nodded, reassuring himself at your reaction. 

"Never mind." He drank his tea again. “We will be moving to Utsunomiya within two weeks.” 

"Far." Your heart sank for a moment. 

"Yes. This is Kiyoko’s hometown.” Tsuyoshi admitted reluctantly. “But Yuuta will be safe there. Maybe when they catch my nephew... We'll come back here. That's how my wife convinced me to move.” 

"I see. So we have to get rid of Yuji.” 

"To catch. I know what you mean by get rid of.” You looked at your uncle and sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other. At one point the man sighed and looked down at his thighs. “Despite all the wrongs, he is still family. But I will understand and forgive you if everything ends with his death.” He added, seeing your outraged face. 

“I'm sorry, but I can't understand your feelings towards your brother's murderer.” 

“And I wish you never have to understand it, because first you would have to experience the same thing as your father and me. Your own tragedy and what your son had to go through is enough for you." 

Your phone started vibrating and when you looked at the screen, Sanzu's number appeared. 

“I guess he's impatient, huh?” Your uncle asked, getting up from his seat. “Come on, say goodbye to Yuuta.” 

You answered the call and before you could say anything, you heard the impatient voice of the pink-haired man. 

“I know how much you wanted to see your son, but how much longer?” 

“I'll just say goodbye. You'll survive." You hung up and went up the stairs to the second floor, where a detective was waiting for you at the door to one of the rooms. 

You looked inside and saw your child sitting politely at a low table and trying to write simple kanji characters on a white sheet of paper with a pencil. His expression was one of great concentration, and the movements of his little hand were careful and slow. 

“Ah, Yuuta…” Kiyoko said, seeing you in the doorway. “I guess it's time to say goodbye to dad.” 

The boy looked at you in surprise, sadness appearing in his eyes. "Why?" 

"I have to get back to work." You explained calmly and the boy jumped to his feet, dropping the pencil from his hand. 

"You can not!" He said with admirable determination. 

“Yuuta…” 

“You just came!” 

You looked down, not knowing what to say to him. You played out all sorts of scenarios in your head about your encounter with the boy, but none, literally none, played out remotely like the one life was writing before your eyes. 

The boy ran up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. The first tears appeared in his large eyes and you felt moisture begin to gather in yours as well. 

“Don't go, Dad!” He said, his lips starting to tremble. 

“Yuuta…” Your uncle spoke, gently placing his hand on the child's small shoulder. 

“I'll see you again.” You said, petting the boy's head affectionately. 

“You promise?” 

“For my life.” You said and hugged him tightly. “I will come back to you, son.” 

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

“Couldn't you wait a little longer?” You asked irritably as you and Sanzu drove back to your house. 

"Stop it." The other one grumbled, concentrating on driving the car. “You know his neighbor is a cop?” 

“I was safe there.” 

“But I wasn't.” 

“Then you could have left.” 

“And leave you alone? What if I disappeared and the police came to get you?” 

“Sanzu...” 

"Do not start." 

“You don't start.” You looked at him and, not wanting to argue with him, you lightly hit the back of your head against the backrest in resignation. You sighed. "Sorry. I know you're worried about me, but you need to trust me a little more." 

"I trust you. Not them.” 

“They will be moving to Utsunomiya. At least until someone deals with my stepbrother.” 

There was silence in the car for a long moment until Sanzu finally smiled at you. “So, you have to focus on work even more. You will eliminate him, and you will be able to see your son again.” 

“What if I want to see him before we solve the problem?” 

“Put it out of your mind.” 

“Sanzu…” 

“No. End of discussion." His voice was sharp and you looked at the man in surprise. “Listen, honey. Let's do it all properly, shall we? First Yuji, then your son.” 

"All right. But I will be able to call him, and you will not delete any messages from my uncle.” 

“Deal.” The man agreed after a moment and you let out a relieved breath that you didn't realize you were holding. "How do you feel?" 

“I'm sore, but I don't regret it.” You answered him, knowing what he was asking. 

"That's good." He stopped the car at a traffic light and looked at you carefully. 

"What?" You asked feeling yourself blush. 

"You look fine. Your aunt has a talent for makeup.” He murmured, lifting the corners of his mouth and his hand gently grabbed your thigh. “We need to be more careful about your face, love.” 

You laughed and his hand started to move higher, to your crotch. “Sanzu!” You moved higher in your seat, completely surprised by the man's gesture and he laughed, removing his hand. 

"Relax. I'll wait until we get home.” 

“Haruchiyo…” 

<PREVIOUS/NEXT>

[thanatologie]

since it seems to be the topic du jour this morning, the only worldstate for veilguard i have a strong opinion / have a default for - at least for this blog's canon i have very strong opinions about everything otherwise and no i will not apologize - is going to be the mortal vs lich decision.

mostly because it, as a whole, is the only thing that really effects emmrich's overall path. like...if minrathous is blighted he still reaches out to and makes friends with neve anyway. if treviso is blighted, the only thing that changes is that even with lucanis lashing out he tells him he's going to look out for him and spite, anyway. no matter who dies in the battle with ghilan'nain he's still going to grieve because they were a friend. he has his own opinions on things, sure, but overall he's there to act as support, as opposed to as a major piece on the board in a lot of it.

(there's nothing wrong with playing the support role, either. his generally being otherwise of the not having a personal horse in this race for a lot of things means he acts a pinion character, his role to support and bolster those who do doesn't change, it just has a different focus depending on those outcomes.)

but for him, personally (and for the purposes of this blog's worldstate), mortal vs lich is going to matter. on the one hand we still have a man who is still very, very mortal and squishable pushing on against his fear of death anyway to the very end. on the other, a veritable undead magical juggernaut who takes immortality as meaning invulnerabllity and charges recklessly ahead because it's like he thinks he's suddenly got superpowers or something instead of being held together with spit and magic and a little chewed gum.

(my guy, you are a literal skeleton, you are definitely not invulnerable or indestructible.)

(also yes i recognize it does make him scarily...like that, but c'mon, i'm right, i know i'm right, at some point he's going to bite off more than he can chew without any sense of self preservation because he's built this up in his head to such a large degree. hubris is gonna be his downfall, i said what i said.)

anyway, i don't think it comes as a huge surprise when i say i can roll with either one (since it's a thing that generally only matters to, like, me and/or a rook that's romanced him), but the default state in this house is mortal at the end.

[somethingpersonarelated]

Why the fuck does Akechi read philosophy and psychology?

Have this metapost when i’m supposed to be working on finals papers hahahahahhahahahah. Follow up to this post!

This is kind of a middle of the night rant that came from nowhere so sorry if it’s a bit jumbled or erroneous in nature. I've always been a bit bothered by people saying that Akechi just reads philosophy and psychology to appear smarter. It's definitely a PART of it, but I don't think it can be singled out to one specific reason.

Yes, part of it is to appear smarter. though, appearing smart has a purpose, and he's proven time and time again in the story he IS intelligent.

It is also a coping mechanism

yes i do mean that let me explain

I'll also be following up to this post with breakdowns of the books on that list I made so if that interests you stay tuned, but I read some Jung and immediately something popped out to me about the will to power. The will to power, as explained on page 30 of Essays on Analytical Psychology by Carl Jung, is the instinct that compels us to do self-preservation. Further on page 31, he writes:

"The discovery is made that the 'other' in us is indeed an 'Other'-a live man, who actually thinks, does, feels, and desires all the things that are despicable and odious.... A true man, however, knows that his most bitter foe, or indeed a whole host of enemies, does not equal that one worst adversary, that 'other self,' who 'bides within his breast.'"

Akechi has already faced himself by the time we meet him, but still struggles with justifying himself as seen in no more what ifs and mementos mission. Let's talk about it in mementos mission a bit more (chp 4.5):

His justifications always end in some acknowledgement that he some control of his circumstances, and as long as that is true he can carry forward with the path he has chosen to take. But the fact that two years later, even around people that are not Joker, he still has difficulties with his position, is interesting.

These philosophies provide a way of living. Or it's better to say, a way of thinking about living, a way of thinking about what it means to live (in the case of psychology). Akechi (presumably) grew up very isolated from others and struggles with conceptions of himself. It's very typical of his age group to have these concerns, but on top of that-he's got a job as a hitman. Not good for self-perception or self-preservation. He is both the normal man and the 'other,' and does not become the 'true' person until Hereward is unlocked. That's when I imagine he kills the last of his doubts and settles on a perception of himself.

Philosophy (and psychology), in a way, can provide answers to these questions in a way that is separated from yourself. Jung hits a point that goes straight through Akechi, and Aristotle implies that souls are moved, rather than souls moving themselves. Both of these points are addressed in Mementos Mission. The latter is visible through those pair of hands wrapped around his neck, he is both a puppet and yet resolves that he is not one.

When these ideas contrast, there aren't many things you can do about it except philosophize (I guess. you could talk to a therapist but akechi doesn't really have that or a good support network so). Akechi having a mix of both in his reading repetoire means he both looks towards understanding others and himself. But he has a much stronger emphasis on what it means to live for himself and for his cause.

tl;dr akechi doubts himself and partially looks to texts like these to solidify his view on everything he does. and he does it to get smarter/look smarter. he's unfortunately that philosophy/psychology guy

[hajimeshoe]

AIGHT SO!

This one is a special one!

So, if you've seen the lion king, you've seen how the lionesses stood up to Scar.

Especially Sarabi (shout out to my queen bro!)

So I had a thought.

Leona's overblot dealing with a female prefect who hadn't been afraid of him from the very beginning.

Stepped on his tail and was not fazed when he threatened her after thinking she was a boy (cause she hid her gender for precautionary reasons)

Stood up to him when he forced the little magical shift game upon Ace, Deuce, Grim, and Cater.

Basically, she was very outspoken when dealing with him and made her presence known.

Even when he overblotted, she showed no fear and stood her ground, still voicing her thoughts.

As she should 💅🏾✨️

OOOH!! YES! An outspoken MC would be one that Leona genuinely likes (Either romantically or platonically) because it's unusual for people to actually talk back to him. Ao3 has been going down a lot this past week and I'm ready to cry. I have stories to write on there. Also! Octopuses have no spines...or any other bones.

Leona with Outspoken Fem!MC

Leona's worst nightmare has come to life (Or just come to Twisted Wonderland)

He wants peace and quiet? Not if the Prefect is around

He was expecting the sole magicless student to be quiet and to know their place in this school, but that was quickly disproved on that fated day in the Botanical Garden

"Don't just leave your tail on the path, then!" the prefect had snapped. "While you're at it, go to YOUR room to sleep instead of sleeping in a place where all students are allowed to go!"

Aaaand, he grew an immediate dislike for her

The magical shift game against the Heartslabyul kids? Only hardened his dislike of her

"HARD pass," she had said. "Seeing as you're incapable of winning anything without cheating, or you wouldn't be letting one of your students injure other players."

And then she had the audacity to stand up to him during his Overblot, yelling about how he can't commit murder just because of a family argument.

"Not happening!" He had growled when Jack brought her to Savannaclaw, asking for her and her pet to stay there.

His greatest mistake? Letting Ruggie guilt him into letting them stay in his room.

Those two could not stay quiet for the life of them, managing to whine about everything and even dragging him headfirst into their squabble with Azul.

"You're a girl!?" He growled upon walking in without thinking to find her changing

She threw a dagger at him...how she got one? He had no clue

But finding out she was a girl changed a lot. After all, Leona couldn't throw hands with a girl, that went against everything he had learnt growing up

Does not give the Prefect his bed, even after finding out she's a girl...just wakes up to find her having trouble sleeping and tosses her in the bed while he takes the couch so he can sleep peacefully

Aaaand that just leads to teasing (Cue Leona google searching "How to get a human to filter their words")

Don't be fooled. He does enjoy having an herbivore that actually speaks up and argues back, no matter how annoying it can be at times. After all, he gets to argue for once when he's normally given his way on principle.

Octopunk overblotted. Did MC get some self-preservation instincts and keep her mouth quiet for once? Of course not.

"Get over it, Azul! Bullying is cruel, but it isn't a damned reason to repeat the cycle! Grow a spine- do octopuses have spines? Oh well, grow one and stop fucking whining!"

...Leona is ready to wrap this suicidal prefect in bubble wrap and lock them in a spare room. Savannaclaw dorm has plenty of empty dorm rooms.

Yes, she's grown on him like a leech

By time Winter Break rolls around, he's just glad to have the prefect out of his dorm and have a reason to get away from her for a couple of weeks.

After all he really needs a nap

And if he "dropped" a better phone than the one Crowley got her in Ramshackle before taking off, well, it's definitely not because he doesn't trust Jamil or Azul

Not at all

[lumiereandcogsworth]

favourite belle headcanon(s)?

oohhh my beloved girl….

these got long so i’m putting them under the cut 😁

one i think about all the time is how she kind of becomes a forever student. and by that i mean, once she becomes ✨royalty✨ she gets in contact with the headmaster and other professors at the university of paris and she just like. always studies there. i think her & adam live in paris sometimes too so she gets to be in classes occasionally. but she just CRAVES knowledge and wants to learn EVERYTHING. by the time she’s older she probably has like every possible degree you could get there. like literally i think she’s like a pokémon trainer; gotta collect ‘em all!!!!

and of course she’s always working on the education system as queen, trying very hard to get more schools built, create laws that mandate it for all children - INCLUDING GIRLS!!!! and she’s just. soooo involved in education. she loves studying and learning and she wants to make sure no one has to grow up deprived of it the way she was. (because not everyone has a cool papa who taught them as much as he could and encouraged them to read so much !!) so yeah just. all things education✨ i have a wip i need to revisit that’s set when adam & belle are first married and she’s back from spending time with her tutor and she starts rambling about all the things she’s learned and adam’s listening with heart eyes and then she stops and apologizes for rambling and he’s like no i love it tell me more !! and it kinda makes her choke up because no one’s ever loved her for that amazing mind of hers….🤧

another one i really love is that i think she’s very clingy/snuggly in bed. and i don’t think she realized how much she loved being held when she slept until adam held her and she felt so SAFE. i think because she’s always been so independent, always had to fend for herself, she just didn’t realize how much she actually liked having someone to protect her — even if there isn’t any actual danger while they sleep. just knowing he’s holding her, it kind of helps her to let her guard down. which she needs to do just as much as adam does!

when she and adam travel (which is very often) she keeps diaries of every place they go. it started with their honeymoon, when adam gifted her, on their wedding day, a journal to take note of their adventures. and she loves it so much that she keeps it up! she has DECADES worth of journals in the shelves of her study back home, by the time she’s older. she loves to make notes about the food and the people and the whether and the flora & fauna and all of it!!! she loves exploring SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!! her and adam usually have to do some kind of Royal Thing™️ while they’re anywhere, but they also take time to go off the beaten path and explore and meet local people and just dive in wherever they are. and i like to think that, in their universe, the Travel Diaries of Queen Belle remain very well-preserved throughout time, and are some of the coolest artifacts in french history 🤌

she love baking and cooking !!!!!! she doesn’t get to do it very often since being the queen and having a million other responsibilities, but it was always one of her favorite things to do both for and with her father. and she LOVES the giant ass castle kitchen, i just know she goes crazy in there at least once a week. it’s the most fun when she’s pregnant and having wild cravings. she makes insane concoctions that literally do not taste good but she loves them. i have another random little unposted scene of adam finding her in the kitchen, acting like a mad scientist cooking three different things at once, and adam gets suspicious and asks if she’s pregnant again lmao. she laughs and says she isn’t, she just happened to be reading a cook book recently gifted to her and she couldn’t decide which to try first so she’s making 3 at once!!!!!!!! (but not combined. THAT would definitely be the indicator of another little one)

speaking of her babies!!!!!!!! gosh what can i say about my mama belle headcanons? one big and important one that i have is that she elects to nurse her own babies. which, as you can imagine, is super uncommon for a QUEEN to do. i elaborate on it in This Fic, but essentially she just couldn’t bring herself to adhere to the tradition of a wet nurse. i think because she wanted to find a way to be closer to the mother she lost as an infant, she wanted to do everything her mother did for her before she died. i think her pregnancies, ESPECIALLY her first, were when she thought about her mother the most. because… that was the most time they spent together 🫠 her mother died when belle was only three months old!!!! and she knew, of course, that her mother nursed her. i just think she felt this deep need to honor her & connect to her this way. and adam was originally advocating for a wet nurse, purely thinking about time efficiency, how busy belle is and how much work time she’d have to give up to do this, but after hearing her lament her mother and cry that she couldn’t be here to help show her how to be a mama… he understood. he knows how desperate one can be to connect to a lost mama :( so he supports his queen and they never hire a permanent wet nurse for their children! (there was a temporary one for a FEW times they HAD to go on small trips when they had a baby and they just couldn’t take her or him, but it was only under that kind of urgent/dire circumstance.)

i think belle is an absolutely iconic and very involved queen, but early on i think she struggles with it a lot. one of my favorite things to think about for her is how like… she was an outcast in the village, but she’s STILL an outcast in royal society. like i think she had this secret hope that this new position in life would be the answer; that she’d finally find her place. and she does eventually! but at first it’s rough. adam believes in her wholeheartedly and he LOVES that she is queen, but the rest of their court doesn’t fully take to her as easily. it’s strange enough that she came out of the woodwork, not from royalty, not even from a prominent noble family as far as they can tell! but As Queen she’s so much more involved than any of them could have anticipated. the older court and council members recall adam’s mother and grandmother, both very inactive queens (because they were very abused and disregarded by their husbands…) and therefore are confused by this sudden shift (especially because they KNEW of adam’s delinquency prior to meeting her, so they can’t fathom how he’s changed so much and is so supportive of her) and the younger court and council members just have no idea how to respond. they’re all willing to play the part and respect their queen, but then she’s… actually in meetings and actually sharing ideas and plans and making decisions and it’s like ???

and not even to mention, her ideas are very ahead of her time and forward thinking — and they don’t care for that shit at all! it’s just all very strange. and french court people are gossiping little pricks and so people talk about her a lot, and she feels just as isolated and different as she did in the village. she struggles a lot with it early on. and adam does everything he can to support her and comfort her and believe in her. but he also takes a lot of the blame for how she’s treated, because he feels like it’s his fault for bringing her into this life. even though she obviously chose all of this willingly. so, it’s just TOUGH. but time does carry on, and eventually belle does have the respect of her court, at least the vast majority of it. she does find her place in the end, it just doesn’t happen as swiftly as she had hoped.

gosh, okay, one last note that i will make much lighter: she loves loves loves loves loves LOVES to read to her children. which is obvious, i know, but oh my gosh. she just loves it. she loves when adam reads to them too, but i think something fills her heart so completely when she’s sitting with them gathered on the floor, or she’s in bed and they’re snuggled around her, she’s just whisking them away to all these adventures. reading was always her escape, and i think she likes that, for them, it’s just a way to expand their dreams. she loves teaching them so much, she loves watching their little minds expand with curiosity and creativity. she never really expected to become a mother, because she wasn’t going to let herself settle in that village, so now that she IS one, i think she just loves giving them the whole world. she loves listening to them read, too. she loves listening to them talk and sing and play and laugh. she loves being a mama so much more than she ever even considered. i think because she always attached that kind of thought to being in a loveless marriage in the village she’d be stuck in forever. but there’s so much love between her and adam, it always multiples with each of their three little babies. and she didn’t have to give herself up for any of it. she gets to be a brilliant queen; a student, a teacher, a leader, while still being the best wife and mama (and daughter!!) to the ones she loves the most. i just love writing her happily ever after so much. i think she was really beginning to lose hope in that village, and i love how it all changed, and that adventure in the great wide somewhere is always right at her finger tips :”)

[tiredfoxtf]

Life series x HSR paths take 2, because I gen srs don't know how on evergreen Earth I came up with stuff I did last time. (part 1)

So it's redemption time, because I just might.

Grian Honestly my first thought is that he aligns so fucking well with Elation, specifically the Masked Fools. He *is* an agent of Chaos for the purpose of a pure joy and is a token prankster. Especially knowing that Fools as followers of Elation have a very different idea what Elation means to them. Knowing how Aha is aeon I think they would like Grian a lot. In that hypothetical scenario I can see Grian maybe going even more haywire for funsies. As for any playable paths, I would say, he gives me Nihility vibes. Especially with him always outliving or outright killing his teammates? Very Nihility of him. Watchers connection could easily be read as Order or Erudition influence, but it needs to be known, that Grian is just not the Order nor Erudition guy. To Grian rules are not more than an outline, which could not be farther from ideology of Order, also with his constant itch to start a resistance and the disrespect he has for any kind of authority (even the one he himself has!). Erudition is harder to disprove, because Grian is a very curious guy and genuinely loves to learn more stuff, but knowledge itself is not his target, it's more of "how much fun can I have with this knowledge" kind of vibe.

Scar Cringe hot take, but Scar has more connection to Order than he does to Finality, I rest my case. BUT, even more cringe hot take, he is a 100% an IPC member and a Preservation follower. His smooth talk, salesman pitch, well protected care for something he loves and the way he always strikes back when this something precious to him has been wronged. He plays his cards well, strategic, yet sincere, loving and understanding. This SCREAMS Preservation. He is too loose and laid back for Order and be honest, he won't go in that direction at all. His addiction to burning things down Can in theory pass as Destruction vibe, but I beg to differ and say that destruction in this case is a way to protect, preserve something he cares about. A "means to an end" which is ALSO a very Preservation of him.

Mumbo Idk if it's a me problem, but Mumbo is so incredibly hard to pin down? I have a two options: Nihility and Destruction. I'd say that two paths are kinda similar, neither of them particularly care for either material things or bonds. But I'd say that Mumbo is more of a Nihility, to him everything is pretty meaningless, he goes along as long as something drags him, his loyalty is fleeting, but not because he seeks to destroy it, but because he doesn't really see the point of following the same people. He doesn't seek a wide destruction, more like collateral damage isn't bothering him. He doesn't really care for life or death, he just plays the game until he is out.

Jimmy Ah, so the Emanator of Finality himself. /j I mean, he definitely has ties to it in some way shape or form. If you want to you CAN interpret him as emanator of Finality, but it's boring and lazy answer. I can Accept him as one of the Memokeepers of Remembrance, but I personally think he is like, one of the Family, so I Really believe in Jimmy the Harmony. For no particular reason (shoves away my Jimmy playlist that Literally has Sunday quote in it's description). :) No, but for real, he gives me a heavy Harmony energy. Of course, he has his times, where he displays a behaviour that isn't very typical for Harmony, but for some reason it's just makes my case stronger, especially with him immediately feeling bad for stuff and apologising.

Joel. Hunt, Hunt, Hunt, need I even say more? Relentless, obsessive, chaotic, wild -- Joel is such a strong Hunt display in it's RAW form. He even came up with his own rival, that he sees in Scott, that doesn't particularly harbours any strong emotions about him. When he chases someone he either kills them or dies trying. He is stubborn and will attempt same things over and over again. He breaks the walls with sheer determination, that's why he is such a strong Hunt display.

Scott Speaking of him, I believe Very strongly that he is Sunday of Life Series. In a sense that people would believe that he's a Harmony follower, when truly he worships Order. Otherwise, he ain't got that determination nor need to control everything and everyone, don't worry, I'm not stupid. I'm just sure he is following the Path of Order, rather than Harmony with a strong belief that strong will always feed of the weak, because that is the way of the Order and he does all that in his power to not be that weak feast for someone.

End of Part 1 here, because I got tired.

[drowxiv]

[30] What are their most healthy and most unhealthy coping mechanisms?

OOOO! For a second I was like "aww I don't know!" But then I thought about it for a few more seconds, turns out I've definitely written or drafted these already! I just hadn't consciously assigned the term coping mechanisms.

Viedyn:

Most Unhealthy - After a brush with death or a particularly shitty battle he'll feel numb and he'll seek out ways to "feel something." Sometimes it's a bucket of cold water or his lieutenant, which isn't awful but isn't great. Other times it's running his fingers over a flame, not enough to actually do any harm (going to that extent wouldn't occur to him) but it's still unhealthy...and also playing with fire. He tries alcohol but ends up abandoning that for one of the quicker methods above.

Most Healthy - he's an excellent strategist and he likes to have plans for everything. If he's under a significant amount of stress he sits down and works out plans to deal with that. Now, to be fair, he's still evil and he's still a Drow. So will all those plans align with "real world" sensibilities. Nope. But damnit he went about it productively!

Durafein:

Most Unhealthy - Aggression. During his time serving his house and for a while after the fall he deals with negative emotions by lashing out. He DOES have self preservation, he'll bite his tongue sometimes but as soon as he's alone it'll come out. If anyone's caught in that path they might catch some misdirected wrath. He eventually works through this and learns to direct his emotions better so they're serving him rather than directing him.

Most Healthy - Exercise! Viedyn instilled things in him like stretching and training but Durafein will really throw himself into this to cope with stress. He'll never push too hard though! He genuinely enjoys listening to his body and that eventually helps him sort out his mind.