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#but if i were to draw anything id use the same s/i and just the thought of someone misinterpreting my SEPARATE SHIPS. as like some weird

go-to-the-mirror · 1 year

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@a-mag-a-day

(taking the quotes from the official transcripts with all "John"s changed to "Jon"s because it's more reliable and... stuff. there's also cws at the top of them)

Anyway, this is mostly a stream of consciousness ramble as I listen to the episode, featuring being sad about Jon Sims, talking some more about how the fear entities work, some Lines that I am very eyes emoji towards, and Lorell St John defending.

Also here's a meta that I really like that is sorta related to this episode. Here is is on the wayback machine, and here is the previous meta.

"iT wAs SuPPosED tO bE a GlOriOuS dAY" sorry ive heard this ad so much-

I like Georgie, I just wish that she liked Jon. Like, I understand why she left, but it just makes me really sad, like couldn't she just give him a chance?

ARCHIVIST (weakly) That's a very good question.

HE MAKES A GREAT ENTERANCE! DRAMATIC BASTARD :3

ARCHIVIST Six... Uh, the others? T-Tim, is he...? ... Oh.

ARCHIVIST Honestly, I, I think I'm alright. (Georgie sighs deeply) ARCHIVIST I mean, that's... good, right? I- GEORGIE After a six-month long coma? No, it's not. This isn't how it's supposed to go, Jon. ARCHIVIST I- What? You'd prefer I was brain damaged? D-Dead? BASIRA Jon... ARCHIVIST What? BASIRA Georgie, could you give us a minute? There are some things we should probably discuss? GEORGIE (Irritated) Fine. ARCHIVIST Georgie, I- GEORGIE Jon, if this really is a second chance, please try to take it. But I don't think that it is. ARCHIVIST Georgie, I don't--! GEORGIE Take care of yourself. (The Archivist sighs and attempts to speak.) [Door opens and closes as Georgie leaves.] ARCHIVIST What about you? Disappointed to see me alive? Basira? BASIRA We can deal with it later. ARCHIVIST Yeah, okay.

HE WOKE FROM A COMA LESS THAN FIVE FUCKING MINUTES AGO-

Like, this is my worst fucking nightmare, two people I'm reasonably close with saying or heavily implying that they'd prefer I was dead what the fuck. Just the way he sounded like he was yk, making a joke asking Basira and she doesn't respond, and he asks again and she just says they'll deal with it later and-

WHAT THE FUCK ITS BEEN LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES. I-

[Image ID: A drawing of someone leaning forward in a chair, horrified. /End ID]

ARCHIVIST (The Archivist takes a deep breath) Statement of, uh... uh... Lorell St John, regarding, uh... (small chuckle) zombies. Original statement given 1st February 2015. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.

I remember I LOST MY MIND at that part, at him calling himself the Archivist, but I didn't message anything to my friend, and I didn't share it on my story, but I was VERY abnormal about that. Oh boy. Just um. OH BOY

People always used to tell me I was solipsistic. They said that I never really engaged with other people, never acted like they really existed or mattered, at least not in the same way that I did. And I suppose in many ways they were right. It’s hard to explain without sounding stupid. Obviously other people are real, obviously the, the way a building is real or my watch is real. They exist. If people weren’t real, I’m, I’m sure I would find them much less of a chore. So no, I don’t “not believe in other people”. I just find it very difficult to feel for others. I can’t understand them and they’ve always seemed… Well, there’s no tactful way to say it, they’ve always just seemed a little bit pointless. I know what my pain feels like, and I know what my joy feels like, but when I see those same things on the faces of my friends or my enemies, I feel… Well, that’s it, isn’t it? I don’t really feel anything

Like... same. Yk, low empathy. Just... makes you feel more distant. And it's fine, it's not a bad way to be, it's just a way to be. But... yeah I mean. Yeah. I relate to the statement giver. Lorell St John defense club. She did a lot wrong, but she isn't... a terrible person, she just did some stuff wrong. She hurt people, but like, she isn't irredeemable and... I like her. Like okay, if we're going to defend Jon even if he's hurt people knowing full well they'd be terrified, relying on them to be terrified, then I'm pretty sure we can defend Lorell for hurting people who she didn't think were people. I have feelings about her.

I like the idea that they are actually real but that her fear of them not being real manifested in something actually not being real and, in her mind, confirming that she was right, that she's the last real human out there.

There's a lot of stuff here that can point to different fears because Smirke's 14 isn't ,the end all be all, yada yada, gender. Maybe The Spiral, because she thinks she's the only one that can see them which could have led to her doubting her own perception of things, but she doesn't. Could be The Lonely, because she sometimes found herself alone, in a room only with those zombies, similar to MAG 108 - Monologue, which is similarly iffy on its placement in Smirke's framework. Word of God says it's The Stranger, which it could very well be, things that are not human infiltrating society, that's pretty Stranger. I have also seem the interpretation that they're The Extinction. Fear of humanity being gone, and something else in its place. I... I think that it's a mix of The Lonely, The Stranger, and The Extinction, but there are plenty of different interpretations, and the author is dead, so take its placement in The Stranger playlist as canon or not, your choice.

I first saw him in the street. It wasn’t difficult to guess what he was, half the people around him were just as hollow and soulless, but there was something else to him.

This could point to all the other "zombies" being just Lorell thinking they were zombies, and not actually being soulless. Perhaps.

Had he taken Norma’s self, her, her soul? Or had she always been a zombie, cramped into her little open plan desk, patiently listening to client complaints, and I just hadn’t noticed?

I can see why The Spiral could be an interpretation of this. Not trusting her own perceptions, could Norma have always been a zombie? Can Lorell trust any "real" people if she didn't notice that Norma was a zombie?

They’re all like that now. You’re all like that, I suppose. I have no reason to believe anyone will read this who would be any different, no reason to believe you’ll be able to read this, that you won’t simply stare blankly at this page before performing your response, your artificial opinion. There is every chance that I am the only one left, and the whole world has fallen to a soulless horde, devoid of life and feeling.

And here's where The Extinction comes in. Is she alone in like a different world, a domain of The Stranger, Lonely, Extinction, or whatever? Just surrounded by the empty shells of humans just like she feared. He fears manifested by The Fears, and turned into "[her] own private hell" (bonus points for anyone who knows where that's from). And that leads me on to the point of... well, Avatars aren't the only ones who can shape The Fears. Her fear of being alone surrounded by empty soulless husks seems to have manifested into being alone surrounded by empty soulless husks. I think that's really interesting.

Even so, thank you for pretending to care.

This line just makes me sad. She knows -- or believes -- she's completely alone, and the only interactions she can get are from things she knows -- or believes -- aren't human, aren't even alive, not properly. I'm just... really sad about Lorell St John. God, get her a hug, and a real life human friend, and some actual help from a real life human person... But it's too late for that, isn't it. Either they're not real, and she's in the real world, and she believes wholeheartedly that no one around her is real -- which is actually the better of the two situations -- or she's in a different world, surrounded by people who aren't people, and... well, her fear at being the last one left, her fear of the people who aren't people surrounding her, her isolation... well, I'm sure it's a feast for The Fears. I don't think they're likely to let her go any time soon.

It can be hard, though, sometimes, other, other people. Feelings. I-I’m trying to focus, trying to make sure I’m the same me as before, but how can anyone really remember that? How do you know you’re the same person that went to sleep?

Low empathy Jarchivist rights?

This gets me thinking about the whole teleportation thing, and not being the same person, just being killed and reconstructed exactly the same. What makes you you? Is it your memories? The actual, physical stuff that makes up your body? Is it something else? Is it just a feeling? I like thinking about stuff like that. Metaphysics is interesting.

ARCHIVIST I don’t… Music. Everything was wrong. Gertrude was there and then… dancing? I think? Then… pain, and I was somewhere else. Dreaming

You were somewhere else you say. Interesting. I'm sure that turn of phrase won't come up ever again. /s

To transcribe from messages to Jay Mapleejay (follow owl pls ty)

KILLING AND MAIMING "Somewhere else" EE And that's like his spooky dream hellscape Obviously you know, you've listened to the same podcast i have AND THEN LIKE OBVIOUSLY THE SOMEWHERE ELSE IN EPISODE 200 LIKE 👀UHH UH UH UH

So, that's interesting in a completely normal way.

(Oh funnily enough in an earlier message on that topic I said "I'm gonna make a tumblr post about this. At some point." so. yep)

Oh and some other thinking about the first 3 episodes about season 4 things:

what RIGHT did the first three episodes of tma [season 4] have to be: 1. Emotionally damaging 2. HAVE UH THAT??? THAT??? [referring to the somewhere else thing] 3. *dying in parallels* 4. low/no empathy character <3 she's just like me fr 5. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU DID YOU THINK YOU COULD GET AWAY FROM THE BRAIN THINKING HAHAHAHAHAH L

Jay said "relistening to tma is a form of torture /hj" and I have to agree tbh. I'm in emotional pain.

ARCHIVIST (Darkly) What did he do to Martin?

*points* GAY

Well, I guess we should probably let one of the nurses know I’m awake. I’m sure they have all sorts of tests to do, make sure I’m not a zombie or a…

Or a what Jon?

ARCHIVIST (Calling) Oh, or a cup of t- ... Okay.

AND HERE WE END, VERY SAD, JONS HAVING A BAD TIME, SOMETHINGS GOING ON WITH MARTIN, AND NOTHING IS OKAY! Perfect start to season 4 :) depression, the season.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma meta #the magnus archives meta #mag 122 #mag 122 - zombie #lorell st john #jonathan sims #tma spoilers #i have other thoughts on this but...#well #i will say them elsewhere and will not connect them to the tma relisten #yep #landscaping-your-mind-chapter-one #a mag a day

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payphoneangel · 2 months

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📝 Writing Patterns Tag Game 📝

Rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

Oooh how fun! Thank you for tagging me @shallowseeker 💞 I'm going to go in reverse chronological order to see how my writing style has developed as well!

Universal Donor When Sam applied to Stanford, he needed an ID, a permanent one. He decided to use Bobby’s address as his own, that was the only way he could know any papers Stanford sent would get to him safely, without Dad or Dean seeing. He crafts his fake drivers license carefully and delicately. Brown hair, hazel eyes, 5’11,” 150 lbs. He hesitates, for a moment, then writes “M” under sex. He pulls the license number off some freshly dead citizen of Huron, SD, as Bobby instructed. He looks again at the template driver’s license online, checking for anything else he’d need to add. At the very bottom corner, a little red heart sits before the word “DONOR.”

If I Believe You Dean pauses as he’s putting on his shirt, noting his body in the mirror. He’s wearing only his boxers. His eyes glance across the familiar rolls and splattering of tattoos. The freckles and the sunspots and the barest hint of wrinkles. Cas tells him he wears his age well. Dean tells himself he wears his age well. His eyes linger on his chest.

take my hand (hold on forever) Leviathan are so fucking loud. Tendrils wrap around Dean’s arm and waist, hoisting him off the ground. Dean plunges his knife into its side, and as a ‘thank you’ it howls right into his ear and sends him flying through the air. Landing heavily, he both hears and feels the crack of his chest before his head slams into the ground, hard.

there's no cell service in the afterlife Castiel draws in a pained gasp. He has lungs again, a mouth again. He opens his eyes, and the spinning floor of the dungeon welcomes him as he falls to his knees. He looks to where the brick meets concrete, the last place he saw Dean, the look of remorse and terror still seared into Castiel’s mind. Cas hears a thump behind him. He turns around.

Not Whole, Not Holy A simmering feeling of longing starts to well in Castiel’s chest. It originates in the deepest part of his core, radiating outward in waves and fading into a tingling restlessness in his fingertips. He lets out a pained sigh, rolling over onto his side. The sunset glares a bright orange hue into his small cabin through the window. He covers his face with his arm, shutting out the dusty twilight, and waits.

A Midsummer Night's Dean “Y’know, I think Timon and Pumbaa are gay.” Cas hums, considering. “Why do you think that?”

Prelude It was a straightforward order. Castiel finds the car in a small Midwest town, with only Dean inside.

Ask Me Why My Heart's Inside My Throat “Cas, you got your ears on? We got a problem we could use your help with.” Dean’s voice resonates deeply in Castiel’s Grace. With a thought he flies to Dean, finding himself on a weathered fishing boat on the East coast. The ocean slaps against its side. The sky is swimming with the promise of rain.

Spellbound It wasn’t like he planned for this to happen. Rowena held out her hand to Sam. “The crow beak, if you would.” He had every intention— good and pure intention— of following Rowena’s instructions. But when they were in the same room together, she seemed to know exactly how to move and talk and even blink in the most distracting way possible.

Long Black Cloud Coming Down Something was wrong with Sammy. Course, they had just salted a spec. It was a shotgun rockin’ dug out salt’n’burn. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him for looking worse for wear. But there was an edge to the way he hunched over himself in the booth. He was bent like a paperback, folded and frayed. He looked sallow. Dean worried his thumb against the side of the linoleum tabletop. Maybe it was just shitty diner lighting.

If anyone is interested in reading any of these, here they are.

Ah how fun to see them all lined up like this! I learned to be punchier with my intros as I went. My first couple of works start with big blocks of text, but I started playing around more with paragraph length by Take My Hand. And with the last two, I finally figured out how to write in past tense! Only took me 8 tries lol.

I think I developed a pattern for intros as I went: Short, punchy action/dialogue, followed by longer paragraph to explain the setting/situation.

It's interesting to see which characters/dynamics struck my fancy at any given time. I started with Sam Insanity, took a nice long stroll in the Destiel Enchanted Forest, then returned to my roots with more Sam Insanity.

Tagging: @kingflups @cutemothman @bloodydeanwinchester @kerryweaverlesbian and anyone else who'd like to play!

#vinny types #tag game #i actually had not reread Universal Donor in YEARS and I just did #bestie. you were insane for that one #Formatting wise it's def my weakest just bc I had the least amt of skills while writing it #but like conceptually I fucking cooked in that guy #holy hell #maybe if im stuck in my current WIP i'll mess around with those concepts more #do a lil rework

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thralloftimegaming · 1 year

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November Gamedev Progress

AHhhhhhh! Another month over!? I have no idea where it went :(

I hope you're all doing great! (Cross posted from Patreon; https://www.patreon.com/posts/74059613 please go there if you want to see all the images without clickign, tumblr doesn’t like the size :’( )

Calander

Changed the total number of Months from 13 to 12, added Seasons which last 3 Months. Seasons have weighted Weather so more Snow in the last one (Winter?), more Rain in the second one! (Spring?). Trying to come up with some other Weather events that wont be too disruptive. It was really foggy a few days ago so now I wanna try and code that X'D

Saving/Loading

This is the big one, what I spent most of this month working on;

I've set up a Save/Load system! I'll slowly give all the different major objects their own part but currently I've got Trees/Grass/Rocks/some system stuff all being recreated correctly in a loaded world!

So in this gif I start a game, save (note the debug come up), quit to title (lacking a title XD), then start a new game; it's a different map! Then I quit again and load the saved world! <3 <3 <3

Got the first batch of Buildings stored! Buildings that Craft Items and those that Convert them all set!

And also Benches and their tops work! This was an extra bit of challenge, since instead of just replacing a Bench with say the Distiller, I update it with a SubType, so I've added a check and a loop to the load code. If it creates a building with a SubType it will do a second go of the Creation code and it gets upgraded to a Distiller!

There's still more to do with the Save system, I've been taking it slow to ensure that I don't mess anything up. Saving the customisation of Buildings that are made out of multiple parts like Houses is gonna be a challenge. I have an idea of how to do it, it's just getting it to work will be a pain.

Also saving the ownership data, say for a Goblin and it's Home/Work, or a Pet and it's Nest. I can't save the object ID between games so I'll have to use the object type and it's coordinates.

LAST MINUTE ADDITION!

Got Buildings Saving their Carpets/Rugs, should be able to store the Wall/Floor colours and Building Part placements (like Beds) the same way! But I am tired, and hungry, so maybe for next months update? :S

Bugs

LOADS of little fixes here and there, such as;

Fixed a bug were Item shadow's were clipping underneath flooring and snow.

Snow and Flooring now use the -bbox_top so they have a lower depth priority, and I added an offset to Item's depth (forgot I had to add it to the bounce code!)

Fixed a bug where Dry Grass wouldn't be recreated when Loading a game.

Fixed a bug where Dry Grass wouldn't spawn on Beaches.

Fixed a bug where loading a game would make fully grown trees sprout a new one each time you loaded.

Fixed Tall Grass not spawning in Swamp Biomes.

Updated the Culling System to properly cull Buildings that are made out of multiple parts, previously it just didn't cull them. Now when the main part gets culled all the other parts get culled into a part list that later gets checked when the master is unculled. Getting this to work with the Save/Load system though is gonna be a PAIN!

Fixed a bug where Houses would move when you saved and loaded :S

Visuals

Set up Flooring to give you a slight visible y offset, so it's like you're actually standing on something higher!

[gif wont post] https://i.imgur.com/87neQlA.mp4

Makes it more distinctive to Paving!

OOoo! This is better!

[gif wont post] https://i.imgur.com/UOUdl8B.gif

Swapped the offset on Paving for one on Flooring, and adjusted the Depth on JUST Flooring, so now you can stand behind the raised floor! :D

Got Snow set up for working on Roofing, noticed some issues with my Roofing autotiling, so I think I need to remake that from scrap. :(

OK! Scrapped that Roofing because the thinner sections were giving me a massive headache trying to autotile. Made a much simpler one which was about all I could draw without tearing my hear out or the mouse out of the computer.

and it also works with snow! https://i.imgur.com/xiVyvDM.mp4

Might need to adjust the height a bit more, so trees and the statue don't clip through?

Adjusted the offset for drawing roofing, and changed the Create/Destroy selector to more accurately show that you are over roofing, looks better to me.

I also extended the height of the extra bit of Roof drawn on lowest so it connects with Walls, I might change that and instead put it as part of the Wall itself so it's like the wall is taller?

Lighting

I keep messing with them, I think this is better? Did some rework with how darkness works and layered up all lights so there's three levels of brightness from each source.

https://i.imgur.com/wFejNV4.mp4

All in all not a bad months work!! XDXDXD

(apparently the feet should be here by the 4th?)

Thanks as always to my supporters and to you all reading this.

I hope you all had a great month, keep being awesome everyone!! <3 <3 <3

#gameDev #indieGames #pixelArt #goblins #farmingSim #farmingRPG #rpg #gameMaker #townBuilder

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mediapen · 1 year

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okay i saw the post you reblogged about espn's lando "appreciation post" but can i also just say i find the timing of that entire post very odd? we've had races where he's been sick and has finished in the points, we've had a race where he was the only non-frontrunner to get a podium, but instead they choose a race where basically they know there's going to be a ton of controversy and hate? (and every comment on that post is hateful. i remember seeing it yesterday, scrolled, and not a single positive comment or even "get well" or anything). idk i know people have been recognizing how awful sky has been to lando lately, but as a north american fan, ESPN has been awful about spreading the conspiracy theories about what an evil bully lando/mclaren is for the past two years. they've been awful about spreading myths and misinformation about him. they've been awful about completely belittling every accomplishment he's achieved in f1 because "he's not a race winner." i'm probably overthinking it but ESPN has been absolutely awful towards lando and i don't think the timing of that post was accidental and i think they probably knew the kind of response they were going to draw when they made it, just like basically every other article/post they have made about him this year.

listen. THIS is the kind of conspiracy-adjacent shit we should be working on. everyone take notes. anyway i was just gonna say omg u right but they want humanities students to do proper research these days so i went digging and LET ME TELL YOU.

this is long. tldr; you're right and espn (and sky) TREAT THAT BOY LIKE S H I T .

disc.: this isn't a rehashing of mclaren drama it's not anti-dan/charles i dont care. this is all from the espnf1 instagram. i'm just Looking. speculating. enjoying.

anyways. exhibit a: this week's post. really truly every comment on it is vile. but is there a Pattern? what have espn said when he's been sick before? i scrolled back to spain and monaco when he was also sick - the only post is this (pre-race, id imagine) and the comments (143) are. well. much kinder than the instachirlie threats.

it's already 2am, i think to myself. i'm annoyed. let's do the whole season. what do i find? EVERY lando post (bar maybe... three?) is literally just pile-on bait and taking anything he's ever said out of context. which is like the universal Thing To Do to lando but whatever. they quote some random on how lando’s god’s gift as a discussion post (29.9k likes, 753 comments); they quote max on how lando's made to look in dts ('[like] a bit of a dick') - although max is defending him, it's just another invitation to a steaming shitpile of comments (380). even when they praise lando, it's designed to generate controversy (and it does! 1036 comments). they quote lando's joke about his basketball helmet and merc's bouncing (281 comments), which also. yeah. lol. for contrast, the non-baity basketball driving an f1 car generates 34 COMMENTS. what do you do for a living? 91k likes, 110 (overwhelmingly nice) comments. lol

then there's the danielbait. lando's used as the poster child (literally) for a shit day out for mclaren - meanwhile, dr gets used in posts about upgrades for the team. this is similar. if he’s mentioned in the same BREATH as daniel it’s unfailingly to villify him or show him eating shit lol. or it's the corden stuff, which is the most neutral content all year because all the comments are fuck james corden. we can debate The State of McLaren elsewhere but really truly every espn post is danielprop. across 3 days in august they posted domenicali saying there would be no racing in russia and SIX daniel stannie defence posts (one of which is a blatant invitation to the girlies to say fuck you lando) and NOTHING ELSE. they want dr on their comms team sooooo bad. next!

what else is there, user mediapen?, i hear you cry! don't worry! here are the landoposts i judge to be neutral. all two of them.

here's lando on carlos' win, which is met by a predictable mix of ‘carlando 🥹’ and 'sAyS tHe MaN wItHoUt A wIn.' and here's lando talking about the online abuse he's received, some of the responses to which are, naturally: ‘says the nerd. grow up’; ‘lando nohoes’; ‘woke generation man 😂.’ otherwise, the comments are surprisingly okay.

NOW THEN. what has lando done this season, aside from securing 7th in the wdc standings? why, he was the only best of the rest driver to get a podium, of course! what did espn say about that? fucking nothing! except here he is in the cool down room. congrats lando.

lit review over. now, discussion. the thing about the lando appreciation post is that, unlike almost all other espnlandoposts, it doesn't come with an obvious invitation to stir shit. he just looks miserable and the colouring is dire. however, the special kind of people who live on instagram instinctively do that shit unprompted, and the timing AND content are questionable. a social media admin is surely gonna know the state of The Discourse on any given race day. as to the question of whether it's all deliberate: there’s massive engagement with all these landoposts (which is what they're angling for!), so we’re toeing a line between two cynical positions here (fuck lando specifically vs. a brand knowing how to rile up instagrammies).

i think. like. if it wasn’t so pervasive i could dismiss it, and if the tv comms weren't so... Like That, it'd also be easier. but genuinely EVERY landopost is designed to provoke. why would this one be any different? like i'm normal i don't think they engineered a instachirlie pile-on but also their entire track record in terms of their use of lando has absolutely zero regard for him as a person. he's literally a tool for engagement and a villain in the danielstory why would they care if his tumby hurted and he shidded everywhere lol.

&&i’m not even going to start on invisible man carlos but as i went though i did look at every post with him in out of interest because i am like a stupid helpless little moth to a flame. my thoughts on espn instagram carlos content are: actually more sympathetic than i expected. very fucking sparse. as an outlet it's just much more interested in stirring for engagement and carlos doesn't Serve on that front if youre not a tumblr girlie

#answered #<- tagging this answered as if i answered it at all. sorry im vewy sleeby #and re:your follow-up ask obviously i wanted to answer this idc that it’s speculative but i’ll delete it if you want me to!

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thegreenmetblue · 10 months

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@professional-benaddict tagged me there and i love this so here’s mine 😌💖

i can’t possibly choose between my two favs so it’s gonna be peter parker and tony stark.

Ask Game about your fictional fave/s!

1. How did you discover your faves?

I discovered Tony while watching Civil War but didn’t really had my coup de foudre yet.

It happened when my parents made me watch Far From Home. It actually was the way Peter mourned Tony that made me watch the Iron Man movies.

And then obviously I became obsessed with both of them.

2. How long have you been a fan of your faves?

3 years. Ive been obsessively a fan for 3 years.

3. Do you write for your faves? (E.g. AU's, Drabbles, Fan Fics.)

Yesh, they are the ones I wrote the most about actually!

4. Do you like what is canon about your faves?

👁️👄👁️

I wouldn’t even know how to properly answer that, so i’ll go with a simple no.

5. Tell some of your headcanons of your faves.

Fix iittt- Tony comes back from the death after Endgame, NWH never happens, they both live happily ever after. Boom, my endgame.

I actually like the words they canonly live in, without the fact one is dead and one is forgotten from the whole universe.

6. Do you draw for your faves? (E.g. Fan Art)

Yes, a lot. I wish I could do small comics about them.

7. If your faves are portrayed by several actors, who are your fave portrayers?

Well, Tony will only and forever be Robert Downey Junior. No one else can be Iron Man.

My Peter is Tom Holland. Because Im in love with him.

8. Are you more into Books/Comics/Films when it comes to your faves?

If we take fanfictions out of the picture, Im more into the movies.

9. Quote anything about what your faves has said.

First sentences that come to my mind were

Tony : “Earth is closed today.”

Peter : “But if everything, it’s kinda your fault that Im here… Okay I take that back.”

10. Quote your favourite line of your faves!

Tony :

“No amount of money ever bought a second of time.”

“There's one thing you can never take away from me: I am Iron Man.”

“Everyone wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn't always roll that way.”

“United? Unity isn't about being the same. It's about working together. What you can't calculate, Ultron is that our differences are our greatest strength.”

Peter :

“When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.”

11. Ever made a edit for/of your faves?

I made a video about them, for a friend’s bday.

12. Songs you associate with your faves?

Tony :

Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift

Dancers by Virginia Man

Happiest Year by Jaymes Young

Mercury Man by Sickick

Protector by City Wolf

Back in Black by AC/DC

Hymn For the Missing by Red

Peter :

Clementine by Halsey

Cool by Troye Sivan

High Hopes by P!ATD

Karma by Taylor Swift

Sunflower by Post Malone

Hold On by Chord Overstreet

Two of Us by Louis Tomlinson,

You’re on Your Own Kid by Taylor Swift

Starker :

Avant Toi by Vitaa & Slimane

Hayloft II by Mother Mother

In Case You Don’t Live Forever by Ryan Stewart

Loves Me Not by Kate Grahn

Seventeen by Troye Sivan

Star Song by Sally Sossa & Lil Durk

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

Tolerate it by Taylor Swift

Rät by Penelope Scott

13. If your faves were real, do you think they'd like you?

Peter would definitely like me, yeah. Idk, it’s just a feeling. I think we’d great friends.

For Tony, Idk, Id love to think he would but I would maybe be too in love with everything he does, that would probably annoy him at some point.

14. Amongst your faves who do you think are you? (E.g. You have 5 faves, amongst the 5 of them you think of yourself as fave no.3)

Im definitely Peter. We’re really alike.

15. Do you know your faves origin story?

Yess ofc. Im in awe with Tony’s. That man is just a freaking genius.

16. In 1 word describe your faves's aesthetic.

Peter : Nerdy

Tony : Philanthropist

17. Are your faves famous on A03?

Yes. Have you looked a them ? Duh. Also please Ao3 come back, we need you.

18. Ships that you like with your faves?

Them together. It’ll forever be my safe place.

Not against Pepperony and Spideychelle tho, but that’s all. Otherwise I get jealous.

19. Are your faves well known?

Definitely, me and my students have the same Spiderman and Iron Man clothes, bags, shoes at school.

20. If your faves have a fandom, what do you think about the fandom?

I love the MCU fandom, I love the universe, I love the movies and its been my safe place for three years now.

Natasha and Bucky are my babies.

21. Describe yourself using something your faves have said!

“I just wanted to be like you.”

Because I have a lack of self confidence and of will of living and I just idolize everyone bc I wish I could be like them.

22. If you would feed your faves something, what would it be?

I’d feed them love and cuddles because they definitely need some.

23. How do you see yourself in any of your faves?

I see myself a lot in Peter. Idk- just his way to talk, to move, to think. He’s just… so me. The Peter most people write in Starker fics also makes me think a lot of myself.

Tony makes me think of myself by his irony, self degradation skills, alcoholism, panic attacks, little depressing stuff that makes me identify to him.

24. Ever taken a break from your faves?

Nop, not since I started worshipping them, Im the worst. They still make me feel at home.

25. If your faves were to have a crossover, who and which character would they have a crossover with?

Mmmh, I see them well with Derek and Stiles for some unknown reasons ?

Or in the HP world bc Hogwarts AUs never get old.

Bonus: Anything that you'd like to tell your faves

Tony : I hope you find your peace. I hope you know that your sacrifice saved us all. I wish you were there, alive. But now, every time I look at the stars, I can see you. You’re my hero.

Peter : I remember you. I remember you and you’re not alone. Im here.

Tag some people to join in!

@sinditia @starkly @muse-of-gods @peterrparrkerr @kira-starker @laylasan-art @starkerscoop

#leah rambles #tag post #💖#peter parker #tony stark

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kurjakani · 2 years

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do you have any art tips? your art really inspires me, and I was just wondering if you could share your secret /lhj

HEAA MWAA IT MEANS A LOT.... KISSIES....

I think a lot of my work comes from being inspired by OTHERS and OTHER THINGS so, ur on the right track!!!!! A big part of the art process for me is STUDYING literally everything, it's what I enjoy the most.... just looking at light and shadows irl, looking at how clothes fold, and managing to fall in love w it all :') if u have smth u love, take some time off just to stare at it and try to figure out what makes it so special!!!! I was very frusturated w my own art (well i still tend to be but) bcs it looked even more stiff, and the lines were not... working for me

Its fine linework...... does its work.... iys cute!!!! Id also likw to try more detailed thin lines one day again! But it didnt work bcs my understanding of weight was still very weak.

Here is some work by CLAIRE WENDLING. I.mean loOOOK AT THAT LINEWORK. JESUS. also their anatomyis SO GOOD. All of the odd awkward angles, makes everything feel not... natural but naturalistic, raw and good. Theres angles and a weird rythm of un-detailed spots vs very detailed spots. After a g e s of working on loosening up my arm and loosening up anatomy and trying 2 think of weight while drawing, Ive gotten here.

I still have stiffness in my work, but.... yk. Its a little better. I play w hands more, play w flat areas, w more jiggly lines... u.dont often see my lines on their own but i also use softer, more textured brushes that are a bit more similiar to pencil strokes.

Idk ig my advice is jusy stare at things and try.to figure out what makes tjem so great. Also recognize that art takes SO MUCH TIME. Compared to how small my development is, the first image & the latter images r years apart, and the difference in the subjects brought up here is SO.MINIMAL.

Ig more.than anything just...... find what makes.art enjoyable for u also???? Ik my method.might not make some happy.... for someone maybe drawing the same quitar makes them happy endlessly.....!!!!! And thats what they should do!!!!!! God i lov art i hope u do too....

#ask #anon

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corvidae-syscourse · 2 years

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The Scientifically Taboo: Cultural Practices' Overlap with Modern Medicine

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The medical community has always been wary of cultural overlap when it comes to viewing disorders and treatments.

This reflects in the OSDDID community, and even diagnostic criteria.

Because so much about OSDDID is still unknown within the research and medical community, it is more open to appropriation.

Despite what many believe, plurality began disordered, and has remained disordered. Many are hesitant to discuss the key differences between true plurality and faux/cultural/therapeutic multiplicity.

---

FAUX:

The idea of distinct areas of personality and various early personality models are to blame for some of the confusion.

The idea of a personality model has been around for a long time, with various people pitching different ideas along the way. Some of the most popular of these include:

Sigmund Freud's psychodynamic theory (id, ego, superego)

Allport, Odbert, & Cattell's 16 personality traits

Costa, McCrae, et al.'s five-factor model

Jung's introversion/extroversion + Eysenck's neuroticism/stability

Bandura's social-cognitive theory

The infamous Myers-Briggs Type Indicator

By dividing the idea of personality into different aspects instead of recognizing it as fluid, people will begin to divide those aspects further- typically inadvertently- as an excuse for behaviors.

This is where singlets and western "tulpamancers" come into play. No, that wasn't your "aggressive side", you were just being a prick. There is no such thing as these personality divisions outside of the disordered, and more modern personality models reflect this.

---

CULTURAL:

When it comes to religious practices, people begin to get touchy, unaware of where to draw the line.

In Christian "possession", the hearing of voices is explainable by AVHs*, and the trance-like state by a number of things (sleep walking, personality disorders, etc.) Not to mention the mass hysteria when it came to witch trials and possession. Often times, in old stories of possession by a demon in Christian history, there would be a failure to mention that the fear of possession was an epidemic, a craze, a fad. Exaggerations of symptoms may be caused psychosomatically or hyperbolized by other people who view the "possession" as a threat.

Outside of Christianity- such as in paganism or Buddhism- the idea of possession was viewed a little differently. Some "possession" was wanted, invited via ritual. In Greek mythos, the idea of possession relates to what we now know as illnesses, such as epilepsy or mental disorders of various kinds. In cultures that were forced to convert to Christianity, the "possession" often refers to a belief or connection to a "demon"- a god or deity that was part of their original culture. Most modern- and even some ancient- religious and cultural systems acknowledge that mental or physical illness is typically the root of so-called possessions.

---

THERAPEUTIC:

For some, being "multiple" is just a form of therapy. By mentally dividing personality traits and emotions, one can begin to see where certain issues may lay and begin to fix them.

Sometimes, it's just easier to ignore the whole picture and instead pick apart the brain until you find where the problems begin. This type of therapy method may be helpful for those who are more prone to guilt, shame, or those with poor self-image; for it reveals that it is not them as a person that is "wrong" or "bad", but a small part of them that has been changed by mental or physical ailments.

---

CONCLUSION:

Stop de-medicalizing plurality. If you are part of a culture who believes in possession states or use distinct parts as a part of therapy, please do not claim to experience multiplicity. You are experiencing something entirely different. It's not bad, worse, or "lesser", but it is not the same experience.

I am aware that anything touching on boundaries between the scientific and the cultural is highly controversial. These are just my views, and I am in no way representing traumagenic systems as a whole here, but trying to impart important information that will hopefully help you understand why it is important to separate plurality from culture.

---

AVHs = Auditory Verbal Hallucinations

---

Editor's Note: Someone else must've written this because I don't remember doing it, which is weird cuz I'm the only one that tends to write these sort of things.

#system #traumagenic system #did #osdd #syscourse #did system #plural system #tw syscourse #anti endo #anti endogenic #idk who wrote this

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doom-nerdo-666 · 8 months

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Something i once mentioned in a post about DE's art style and tone is how "nerdy" the game is: Like the pop culture references and whether or not people were turned off by things reminding them of Disney or He-Man, but could've been okay with references to Conan or Spawn even if they weren't original Doom influences like Aliens.

Or the fact that something like killing the Spirit with the Microwave beam is an 80's Ghostbuster reference but you still have an aesthetic with modern trends like the demons' chitin features.

Because certain id titles are "fantasy and sci-fi mix" but they look different and partially because of influences.

That's why Q3 and even Champions are interesting, because they can present a variety of characters from different settings fighting against each other.

Hunter for example is the way she is because she's inspired by Simon Bisley's Full Cirkle, which is also a more obscure reference compared to other stuff that usually influences other id material.

And in a way, this can also lead to why Q3 and QC feel different.

It's the thing with nerds making games where sometimes they wear their influences really hard and we don't always notice because they pick something less convinient, which is a contrast to portrayals of nerds in pop culture being centered around Star Wars and Marvel/DC comics.

I remember someone's tweets being "the reason why Halo/WoW aren't what they used to be is because the original devs were inspired by Aliens/Akira/Warhammer/old novels/etc and the new ones are from people that grew up with the MCU".

I always thought the word "uninspired" was a weird way to describe something since technically "anything is inspired by something else, right?".

Then i realized: You look at certain popular games and their influences are either obvious or at least specific as if the developers had ideas of what they wanted to be influenced by.

Like things they liked and wanted to put in a game because they choose to do so.

That's probably why some people think stuff already looked AI generated before AI art was a thing: There's this idea that a lot of game concept art either has the same basic influences or just subscribes to vague ideas of "sci-fi and fantasy", which is why certain trends persist.

And with game studios being bigger, you may have a clash between a director with a clear vision and an artist who draws things as according to a certain standard that doesn't come off as specific.

DE still has memorable designs but i can see why people think it's weird that a game that tries to pride itself with 80's and 90's references still has modern looking elements.

And in a post of mine about classic Doom's art style, a recent edit mentions a lesser known movie somehow influencing the Cyberdemon's face.

#quake #quake 3 arena #id software #art style #opinions #trivia #flawed analysis #analysis #doom #doom eternal

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wurmeatworld · 10 months

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As an artist, I think ai art is a very complex issue. Yes it can be used as a tool to advance creativity, but capitalism ultimately twists it so that it is not used ethically.

I like some ai generated memes. Its really funny to watch Joe Biden banter with Leon S Kennedy, or watch deepfakes of Preminger singing Lady Gaga. But I feel like the same humor could be achieved without the use of ai. You could splice together lines ala ytp or animate Preminger singing. It just requires more time and skill, and thats really the draw of ai. Ai helps a greater pool of people do things they normally couldnt do because it cuts out the work.

The capability to expand what people can do and create is good! I once followed a disabled person on tumblr who made ai art for personal use because his disability meant he couldn't draw. Ive also used ai art generators in the past, back when the results were super uncanny and whacky, to generate funny images or interesting eldritch horror-y art. If ai art wasn't built upon so much stolen art, that'd be a completely beautiful thing. Id love to donate my art to an ai program that only trains on explicitly donated work. I think thatd be really cool. But most people Ive seen making ai art and ai art generators are tech bros who only care about end results and money instead of appreciating the intent, technique, and artistry that artists pour into their work. And of course, not giving two shits about us getting paid.

Ive seen people make ai to intentionally copy the works of particular artists. It's almost indistinguishable from their art style, and to me, that feels insulting. These artists put so much work into their art, only for someone to churn out much more art in their style, and faster. Copying art you like has always been a thing among artists, to pay homage to creators and to learn new things by studying, but these ai art pieces that explicity train on an artists work and replicate their style feel... really hollow. Wheras among most artists, their replication comes from a place of respect and admiration, and requires truly learning and following the techniques an artist used, ai art just pulls from already existing assets with no real direction to guide it except a simple prompt. Theres no respect for the artist here, just someone who wants more of an artists work but doesnt actually care about the artist themself.

The amount of labor you need to create ai art vs regular art, and how ai art steals work from artists, is a discussion all on its own. This doesnt really have an easy black and white solution because of capitalism. In a world where we wouldnt need money to survive, it wouldnt really matter that ai art takes less effort to make because it wouldnt infringe on artists livlihoods. But as it is, and especially in our "quantity and familiarity over quality" consumerist culture, the attention it takes from artists can cause loss of revenue, and people offering ai art commissions only hurt artists more. The most popular areas of the internet already arent great platforms for artists, even though were forced to use them. Our culture doesnt really value our work, and most artists offer their work for ridiculously low prices just to sell anything at all. My pixel art commissions are $9. $9 for hours of sitting at my computer, working and shaping and reworking the pixels until theyre just right. Color, position, everything has a lot of time, care, and skill put into it. I wish I could charge double what I pay, but I have an extremely small platform, so Im forced to charge barely anything at all. If we did not need money to survive, it wouldnt be that big of a deal. But we do. So it is.

And as things stand, even disregarding the problem of capitalism, theres just too many harmful ways ai can be exploited because theres barely any regulation. The deepfaked nudes, the easy misinformation, etc. I personally dont think regulation will be enough bc the base problem is caused by capitalism, and tbh I think media literacy plays a huge part, but there still needs to be. Its just an incredibly dangerous technology as it stands right now.

Also worth noting, is how algorithms can easily lead to radicalization. A study came out showing that new tiktok users who watch certain "gateway" content will gradually be shown more and more extremist stuff. (Source: x *) Especially on social media sites, which are designed to promote controversial posts because theres more engagement, this can lead to someone potentially becoming part of a hate group. I bet theres ways algorithms could be written to prevent this, but everyone wants money, so its probably not gonna change anytime soon. Consumerism is a bitch.

Also, algorithms promote the most commonly accepted ideas, which causes bias and can cause social and scientific progress to become stagnant at best, and actively harmful at worst.

Basically, ai needs to be better regulated, capitalism sucks, and ai art is a whole can of worms. I feel like humanity needs to keep ai art on the highest shelf until we can work out the ethical dilemmas we already have.

(This was originally a comment I left on this video, but I put a lot of thought into it so I thought I'd repost it here. Please watch the video, it brings up more ideas on ai and is just a fun watch)

*Its a youtube video and the info is compressed and presented quickly, but sources are all linked.

#ai art #ai art generator #ai #anti capitalism #capitalism #artists on tumblr

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jtprojects · 1 year

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Snake Game with JavaScript

Blog Post 2 – INTP-362

INTRO

Hello! If you came here after reading my first blog post (not necessary but it would be funny if u wanted to see my struggle) welcome back! It’s nice to see you again! If you diDN’T read the last blog post (the disloyalty smh /lh) hello! Nice to make your acquaintance!

If you aren’t aware what I’m doing here (tbh same life is definitely,,, A Thing™ for sure), I essentially ventured out to learn about game development in JavaScript (a coding language, often paired with HTML and CSS if you weren’t aware which is completely fair). I have previously had experience with JS in terms of website development but never really for game development. For the sake of this post and the catered audience, I’m just gonna assume that you know JS and HTML and CSS and all that jazz. If you don’t, my sincerest apologies (/s,,, kinda).

(The title of the game and display of the current score would be what is controlled by html and css while everything in the black box would be controlled in js)

MAKING DECISIONS

So, first thing I had to figure out which IDE to use. Now this wasn’t too hard of a choice, as I already have multiple different IDEs with options for JS, html, and css (by multiple I mean 2, the accursed netbeans and the modern and sleek vscode). For this project, due to its simplicity and familiarity, I chose vscode (I was gonna give a whole outline as to what vscode is but I’m not getting paid to do that so no thank you).

After getting my IDE decided and figured out, I had to find out what game I wanted to create. Of course, as I am overly ambitious (which I must admit is one of my fatal flaws) My initial idea was “hey, why don’t I make a short, simplified version of pokemon or a fighter game like mortal kombat or smash?” y’know, like a fool. While these goals may have been achievable if I had multiple months to do this and no sense of procrastination, it simply wasn’t possible to pull off unless I wanted to neglect my studies and focus solely on the game.

After hitting that miserable realization, I made up a list of games that I could make in the amount of time given and the amount of motivation I had inside of me (which,,, is not a lot actually). My list eventually came down to these games:

Snake

Pong

That one offline dino game on google

Tetris

and Flappy Bird

Now all these games were doable, however, when it came to applying the things that I already knew, I would have to choose snake. As I had learned previously (not in the last blog post tho) how to control the movement of a shape based from keyboard input and object collision and everything of the sort, snake seemed like the easiest option to me.

HTML

After creating the project, I immediately created all the files and game them appropriate names (tho they deffo could’ve been better but eH ‘twas a lapse in judgment). First thing after creating all the files was to set up the html page.

Just like any html page, I included the basic tags. The DOCTYPE, meta tags, title, a link to the css page and a script to the js page, a header with the extremely (/s) original title and a body with a div to show the current score and a canvas to allow me to draw in (canvas being the only new thing that has anything to actually do with my game).

CSS

Now I won’t bore you with the css details as most of it iS just setting the font, font colour, centering elements, placing elements side by side, and all that jazz hOWEVER, one thing that ig is really cool even though it’s not my original code bc in no way, shape, or form am I this cRACKED at css, would be the title.

(It’s the text colour animation effect on https://alvarotrigo.com/blog/css-text-animations/ )

DISPLAY WINDOW

Now here’s where it gets into the fun bit. The first steps to actually be able to do anything would be create the display and context. (Just for a little bit of unnecessary context, the code being presented is not in order of the actual project it’s just been copied and pasted to show you what I want you to see like those illusionists or something)

First thing we must do is create a grid in our minds. In this imaginary grid, each square is 25 pixels by 25 pixels, which has been assigned to the blockSize. Next we choose the dimensions of the display, I chose 20 blocks x 20 blocks. Then, as I had been taught in the past, we create the variables that are meant to hold the display information which is the width and height of the window and the context of the page just so that we can manipulate the window.

In the update function (the function that reruns every time the setInterval tells it to. This is the thing that I talked about last blog post that allowed for either a higher or lower fps.) we set the background colour as black using fillStyle and we draw the rectangle (square??? a square is a rectangle right?? geometry was rough) using fillRect. The first 2 values are the x and y of the top left corner of the display while the next 2 values are to set the actual size of the window.

Now, you may be like “hey, my guy, respectfully, you talked about display and setting the height and width and context and setInterval and actually drawing the window, but what about all the stuff in the middle? The change direction and foodRando and everything?” and to you, loyal reader, I say hush. It will all be revealed in good time impatient child.

DRAWING THE SNAKE

Next, we draw the snake.

Now just like the display, we get the X and Y of the snake head (obv not hardcoded bc we dO want it to move unlike irl). Next thing we add into the update function (don’t let the screenshot fool you this iS still the same update function as the last one). We also get the colour for the snake (I went fancy for this one and decided to do a hex code instead of just like,,, ‘green’ even though both would’ve produced similar results) and update the x and y of the snake based off of some things that will be talked about later on. We then continue to use fillRect again to draw the head of the snake.

Now the next bit is a bit more complicated then everything else shown previously (but if u know coding then its genuinely not that bad lmAO it just looks a bit spooky). In the for loop, we essentially create the variable i (you’ll see this bad boy a lot) and cycle through all the entries in the snakeBody to draw the rest of the body of the snake that way the snake’s body isn’t a fixed size. And can be increased depending on the entries in snakeBody.

Next we have the for and if loop that’s placed before the snake display. The for loop is used when the snake is moving. Basically, every time the snake moves (and especially when the snake is turning) it allows the current section of the body to get the placement of the piece in front of it and replace it and moves down to the head which is placed using the if statement right after which is able to move (mostly) freely that way u can get those crisp 90 degree angles when your snake moves.

DRAWING THE FOOD

Finally, the last drawing piece, would be the food.

Just like all the parts before this, we start with initializing the variables that are to be used when finding the placement of the food. In the update function, we do the same thing we did as before, we set the colour using fillStyle and fillRect to place the food somewhere in the window.

Now finally, for the part that I told you guys to wait for, the meaning of foodRando. What foodRando does is that it finds a random place on the window using Math.floor to ensure that the number chosen is rounded down to a while number and Math.random to find that random place. The for loop is to ensure that the x and y coords of the piece of food isn’t inside the snake otherwise it reruns until it lands in an empty space. This is ran every time a piece of food is eaten and when the website first launches.

MOVING THE SNAKE

And now we talk about the other part of displayScreen that you were (or were not idk I can’t tell… or can I? No I can’t don’t worry you’re safe for now).

The next thing after being able to draw all these components to the window was to figure out how to actually move the snake. This is there the changeDirection comes into play. Inside displayScreen, we have an event listener which listens for when the user’s finger lifts off of an arrow on the keyboard, specified with ‘keyup’. Once that action takes place, the event listener runs changeDirection which takes in an event. in this event, we determine which key was pressed and move it according to the key that was pressed by changing vX and vY which is just the velocity. -1 in the Y variable means up while 1 means down. In the X variable, -1 is left and 1 means right. For both, 0 means just not moving.

But what is the && for? If you recall from all those years ago (it’s okay grandparent I get it ‘back in your day’ or whatever) the snake can’t go from going up from going down immediately, same with left and right. This is because, if the snake were able to do that, it would just eat itself (and break its spine which isn’t really the best but who am I to judge) and immediately end the game. The && is meant to prevent that from happening. It’s a check to basically say “if you wanna do this, first we gotta make sure you ain’t doing the forbidden move”.

SCORING AND GAME END

Lastly (if you’re still here, hOLAY I’m barely even still here lmAO how do you dO it what is the sECRET?), dealing with collisions that cause the game end and keeping and increasing score.

For this last stretch, we state the variables for keeping score and ending the game, score and gameEnd. If you recall from the very beginning in displayScreen and in the html, there was some part with score in it. document.getElementById(“score”) is taking the variable from the js file and displaying it in the html so the reader gets some sort of validation beyond their snake getting longer (firstly, haha innuendo don’t look too deep into it. secondly, talk ab parental problems or something lmAO just like me frfr).

Next in the update function, we have the first if condition. In this condition we’re just specifying that, if gameEnd, the variable used to tell if the user has lost or not, is true, we end the game and restart using history.go (that’s something new that I learned I am but a tiny child) the page to allow the user to play again. The next if we have is to recognize when the snake has become fed and increase it’s size (like chickens to the slaughter) and increase the score. Once we have done that, we rerun foodRando, generating another piece of food.

Finally, we enter the game end conditions. The first if statement is used to identify whether the head of the snake has hit the wall (like the tiktok sound or something idk). The for statement after that is recognize that if the head of the snake hits another part of the snake, that means it’s game over. For both, it recognizes game end by changing gameEnd to true and then sending an alert to the user (with a kinda mean message I’m sorry but not really) informing the player that they had lost the game.

CONCLUSION

In the end, this game was fun to make! I think if I were to go back and restart the game or add additional features, I would include things that I wanted to but was too overwhelmed to add like a menu where you can choose your display settings or maybe just a whole different project as this one seemed a bit simplistic and easy :P. While coding I realized just how similar this is to java or any coding language really. Truthfully, the only difference would be that of drawing the shapes and figuring out logic behind collisions and the syntax but everything else: the if and for statements, the functions, and logic behind everything is still the same. I think that was why I would’ve appreciated if I took on a harder game or task but, in the end, it was pretty fun to play with.

THE FINAL PRODUCT

Now since you’ve all stuck with me for so long, here’s your reward: a gif demo of the actual game being used :D (if you want access to the full project, I have my github linked :) pls don't judge my abysmal snake skills).

#programming #coding #codeblr #javascript

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yeojaa · 3 years

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( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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misterghostfrog · 3 years

Photo

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed.

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin.

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick.

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air.

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him.

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?”

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #punk martin #fic #art #fanfic #fanart #ghostly doodle #ghostly doodles #Jons a mess!#and Martin has cool fashions #ghostly scribbles

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urlocalnctstan · 3 years

Text

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚄𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 - 𝙹.𝚂𝙶

• Candy Hearts Collab - @127-mile

Prompt : “I came to say goodbye.”

Genre : Angst, Fluff, kinda Slow-burnish?, Slice of life, highschool + college AU

Pairing : Sungchan X Reader (Ft. Jeno)

Warning(s) : mentions of bullying and injury (like one scene only), unrequited love, mentions of slight anxiety, hormonal shifts, language, minor character death

Writing nets : @kdiarynet @k-dinernet @kpopscape @czennienet @neoturtles

Taglist : @eh-ovo-nctu

WC : 9.7k

Summary : What people hated the most is the very word ‘goodbye’. However, it’s the very word that becomes something that you yearn to hear from Sungchan for years.

→ Playlist [recommended]

The sound of the rain was supposed to calm you down, not make you even more anxious and sweaty and you sat with your legs firmly pressed against each other, hoping to fill in the lack of company you were feeling amongst the swarm of people who perhaps shared the same dreams, same aim as yours. Public places as trains, trams, bus stops; you always thought they portrayed as the perfect definition for the word ‘sonder.’ Each individual having a life pretty much as complex as yours — sometimes a little less or sometimes a little more. It fascinated you.

“Do you think the trip is worth it?” Lee Jeno, your best friend of quite a few years puffs his cheeks as he stared dubiously at the red and white poster he held. You took a peek at it, the amount of times Jeno had been pestering you if he should really give up the money he had saved for PS5 as a sacrifice for this trip, it was safe enough for you to say that you had every words printed on it memorized. Well, maybe not every words but the main stuff at least.

“Lee Jeno,” You sharply gawked at the male sitting beside you, earning an ugly grimace from him. “Stop it already. I don’t know about you but I ain’t passing this chance.”

“Wah, what a nice friend I got.” You failed to notice the dramatic eye roll he makes before shoving the poster in his backpack, the one he had been using since the first day you had befriended him. Was it 5 years? 6 years?

“Are we five years or six years?” But I met him on that bookstore down my neighborhood, that was like spring of 2017 and now it’s 2021.

The male let out a snort. “If I am a five year-old then you are definitely still inside the womb.” Even though he was smiling with that ‘innocent eye smile’ the evil smirk sheathed beneath went unnoticed by you. No sooner had he opened his mouth, a fresh harsh smack landed on his arms that were clad in a filmsy material of cotton and thus a silent yelp of pain escaping from him as he grabbed the area which was starting to sting with each passing second. The smack, albeit meant for him, you were unable to ignore the similar stinging pain in your palm, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. But you made sure to show absolutely no signs of distress; it was somewhat a matter of childish pride for you.

“Change your career aim from a perfumist to an assassinator will you?” If it were the campus grounds, you two would have already been latched at one another throats; both metaphorically and literally.

“I will gladly not.” You huffed at the male whose eyes held a scornful gaze, now even more annoyed or perhaps, as you would think most of the times, he was just exaggerating. You found yourself mindlessly scrolling through your gallery in search of the recent notes from Mr. Kim’s classes. Until you stumble across something you had been long avoiding, a forlorn fragment from the former days of your high school.

“Here lies the proof of my utmost love and affection, always devoted to my only Y/N.”

It was a picture of you smiling way too bright, cheeks and nose flushed red while being squished by the only male in the frame as he pressed a peck against your cheek. His neck was craned to the side, ripe ears clearly visible in the small Polaroid film. As much as you hated to admit, your heart would still make flips and turns whenever you run into something that reminded you of him, your very first love and first heart break—Jung Sungchan.

Jeno was too busy in his dreamland as he dozed off with his head resting peacefully against your shoulder. It was no new news that the lad had been immensely in love with you ever since the first time you saved him from getting bullied back in 9th grade. However, you were always too busy with your academics and extra-curricular activities and thus clearly drawing a line of only being friends. Nothing else. It happened when Jeno had finally mustered up the courage after excelling in his Maths Olympiad, where he made a bet that if he indeed secures a place in the top 5, you have to abide by anything he wishes for. But he wished for your love, something you were not really capable of doing so; especially at that time. You did not have the heart to say no when Jeno jogged up to you, his eyes transforming into crescents as he smiled wide. “I did it!” His words came out rather breathy, possibly because of him running to you, and maybe because how hard he could feel his heart thump against his ribs when he noticed the proud grin on your face. Without wasting any moment further, Jeno lets go of the white banner of achievement he had been holding, his hands now focusing on yours. You could almost feel the slight tremble and the wetness of his sweaty palms, but before you could even say anything he beat to you by saying, “Go out on a date with me. Only one.”

There were numerous times when you felt guilty about turning down Jeno. At times it had you baffled that why a guy like him would ever bother liking you so much. Jeno was incredibly talented; gifted with unfair boon of genius traits in both academics and athletics. His little version of him always demeaned his abilities, often failing to notice that how much more he was rather than just a quiet kid who loved coding and maths. Maybe perhaps that was the very reason for him to face the bullying, at least that’s what you thought when you first noticed him getting cornered by some stupid idiot dipshits from your class during recess. Jeno’s ID card lay discarded on the ground, as Kihyun grabbed its owner by the collar. You could not understand his reason for not fighting back, and thus being a silent spectator was never your thing so you decided to butt in. As much as you equally hated and liked one thing, boys seemed to get kinda wary of your presence. Especially boys like these who were already in the blacklist of the teachers. It did not take them long to pick their asses and run from the site when you glared them with a threatening gaze, a single word from the class president and they would get suspended yet again for the umpteenth time in the year. You crouched down to Jeno’s level, carefully handing him his ID. You did not bother asking him if he was okay, of course he wasn’t. His face showed signs of previous injuries, the purple hues of bruises slightly fading beside his jaws. You still don’t know why but you felt the need to protect him from his solace, thus leading to this inseparable bond of yours.

But that was a version of him that was long forgotten. Jeno had become the star and face of the school in the last years of your highschool. Acing various quiz competitions, Olympiads, getting highest grades, being the captain of the soccer and basketball team; you were sure God really had His favorites.

You were not surprised when Jeno brought you to your usual favourite—candle shop. It was a hidden gem in your hometown, a small secluded shop located just a few miles away from the metropolitan. Not everyone was aware of its existence until that one day you decided to act rebellious for once in your school life. Of course dragging Jeno into this so called rebel act with you. The date was rather casual, just two friends messing around with wax and chemically named perfume essences. The shop was owned by a lady close to your grandma’s age, and it still makes you wonder how on earth was she able to keep up with the hollering you two were making. No matter how much you convinced yourself that maybe you could give the boy a chance, and perhaps feelings might grow on you later on; you could not make yourself cloud your rationality with the uncertain possibilities. You confessed every single thing that had been on your mind and Jeno just calmly listened to everything you uttered. You could clearly see the expression of hurt washing over his face, but he knew you. He knew that once you had made up your mind, there was no going back. The night did not cause any indifference in your friendship; it bloomed with each passing years of your middle school and then highschool. You two had become the infamous bestfriends, the once timid boy then all buff and handsome and the once spotlight lover girl then buried in her textbooks to pass the college entrance exams.

Throughout these years of teen, the candle shop had become a constant place for anything to you both; sadness, comfort or just enjoyable times. Until that one day when you met the grandson of the lady who owned the shop. Make a guess who it was.

When people spoke of their first heartbreak, you always cringed at how they exaggerated. Technically you never experienced one, so it seemed ridiculous to you that how was it possible to a simple break to cause others this much pain. You were shocked, no scratch that. Using fancy words, you were utterly bewildered when you saw the new transfer student—Jung Sungchan was the name, standing on the makeshift podium of your classroom. Thank God the architects decided to stick to keeping the height of the room above eight feet. You had changed drastically, contrasting your previous bubbly persona, you had become more reserved. It was just you being ambitious about something you had grown to like, and after some backstabs from your friends, you did not feel the need to have so many around you. Just Jeno being there for you was more than enough.

It would be a lie if Jeno did not sense the subtle looks you had been sending over to the new guy, but he was in no place to object you. It had only been a few moments of Sungchan’s arrival and Jeno already sensed his position in your life being threatened. He knew you were a saint who always looked out for others, and something about his presence made Jeno feel wary. Jeno did not need any of the privileges he had, all of it he owed to you after all. It was you who brought the best out of him, and in the end if he has them all but not you, it wasn’t clearly worth it to him. You preferred unpredictable things; it was what he learned about you in all your years of friendship. How you would always choose mystery thrillers over typical rom-coms, how you would always vouch for the new dish in the menu every time you both visited the local barbecue house. And he knew it was impossible to be one like that, it was just typical Taurus things (as he would like to blame) that made him too practical, too predictable for you. But, you never thought like that. It was just that even though you wanted to, you couldn’t make yourself grow romantic towards the boy you always shared your oreos and ramen with. He held a dear place in your heart and life.

Sungchan was immediately welcomed to the family, the girls already swooning over his good looks and amazing grades. Plus icing on the top, he was the half-brother of the infamous Jung Yoonoh, the heartthrob of the whole school, from juniors to seniors. While Jaehyun was the typical definition of being that one dude we always see in rom-coms who is loved and admired by all for his too humble personality and ethics, Sungchan on the other hand was more of a quiet one, often too shy properly open up his orginal self around new environment. Despite that, he was naturally amiable just like his brother, a trait that perhaps ran in the Jung household. Unlike Jaehyun who was presumably born with good brains, Sungchan was a hardworking one. Sungchan tried to settle down the queasy feeling he had been feeling ever since he moved back here, now that Jaehyun was always busy in Seoul with his medical degree someone had to look after their aging grandma. Sungchan was never really a part of any group, so leaving behind his school back in the city was not that painful for him. The atmosphere of the whole campus was pretty soothing; the bushes of neatly trimmed trees, big huge playground and the ochre shaded building. He liked all of it, and to top it all the uniform was really his style: solid crème and dark maroon combination.

When Sungchan stood awkwardly in the middle of the classroom, clearly clueless as to where he would be seating since all the seats were occupied, a soft voice called out his name rather eagerly. His eyes scanned for a while until he saw you; dark hair tied up neatly into a ponytail with a pencil in your hand as you waved him to notice the empty seat beside yours. Sungchan smiled at your sweet gesture, his out of place feeling now subsiding into the warmth of the possible blooming friendship.

“Hi there, I am Y/N.” You chirped, wiping your left hand before bringing it out for him to shake. Sungchan froze for a while before he realized what he was supposed to be doing. “Oh! And this is Jeno!” You turned slightly towards your best friend sitting just behind you with his famous eye smile.

“Hello, I am Jung Sungchan.” He returned the gesture shaking both your and Jeno’s hand. Whilst Jeno had the feeling of roughness and athleticism in his, your hands were warm and soft; it felt nice he thought. That was the first impression of yours to him: ball of sunshine. And your impression of him? Reserved and unpredictable; a combination that only meant chaos and imbalance.

Sungchan side-glanced at your fumbling state. Seating next to him you in the front row, you skimmed over your not so pleasant looking notes that you had scribbled anxiously in the prior night. Public speaking had never been a big deal for you once you get adjusted to the audience after going up on stage. However, it is the pre anxiety session that just always riles you up.

“You know,” Your head whipped a bit too fast to your liking at the voice belonging to the only male that sat beside you. “I’ll show you a trick. Here.” Sungchan proceeded to softly place your trembling hands on his, cautiousness apparent with every move he made. Even though you both had been seatmates for the last three months, you never found yourself involved in any sort of skinship with him; something that was really common for you and Jeno. The look of fluster was way too obvious when Sungchan softly rubbed various shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, you were unsure if he was actually helping you ease from nervousness or just increasing it further. It had quite been a while since you had your hands caged in his, both of you completely unaware of the looks you had been getting from your senior teachers seated in the neighboring row. The moment was cut off when your name was announced from the stage by a senior, requesting your presence to commence your speech. Sungchan slowly lets go of your hands, mumbling a soft ‘best of luck!’ with his hands now fisted as an act of verbal encouragement. You eyes wandered around the crowd for a while before locating your best friend who sat miserably beside the homeroom teacher, really closing to dozing off before noticing your presence and copying Sungchan’s gestures.

The bus paused, Jeno still deep in his slumber despite the harsh jerk of the vehicle stopping in its tracks. You sighed, he must have probably been gaming the whole night with his roommate Donghyuck again. You nudged softly at first, the lack of response later than causing you to shake him vigorously by his toned arms that barely fit in your palms. Jeno instantly sprinted up with wide eyes before softly muttering a curse at your cruel way of waking him up.

“I was definitely right about you being a torturer in your previous life.”

“Sure you were. Get your ass off the bus now.”

You parted your ways with Jeno on the campus ground, him heading to his coding facult while you headed towards the chemistry club room. Apparently a newbie was supposed to come today from the US. It was odd you assumed since US had much better facilities for students majoring in chemistry. You glanced at your figure on your way to the room, wondering if the ripped jeans were a good choice as a first impression. You just disliked the idea of leaving off bad impressions, even if you are never going to meet the person again until your next life. Jaemin, another close friend of both you and Jeno smiled widely at your entrance, waving his hand as he pointed the seat next to him enthusiastically. Jaemin and you were basically clones of each other, the leos inside of you both shinig at its best whenever you two are together.

“I don’t understand why move back here from THE United States.” Jaemin dragged out the word, scoffing silently as he handed you a cup of iced Americano. You were about to sip before pausing. You could not have possibly risked your stomach again after that one fateful day when you tasted ‘his type’ of iced Americano. This dude legit gulped down eight espresso shots with a satisfied hum, horrified looks painted on your and Jeno’s features as you both just stared at him in utter shock.

“Please not the poisonous drink.” You eyed the male suspiciously, who scoffed at the nickname.

“Of couse not little baby.” Jaemin cooed with his lips puckered and an annoying high pitched voice, purposefully pinching your cheeks a bit harder than he usually does.

“You little moth-”

“Hello guys, I am Sungchan. Nice to meet you all.” Your heart dropped at the familiar tone of voice. He isn’t possibly back again after leaving without any traces, without a single goodbye, is he? You did not dare to look at his figure standing in front of the table, awkwardly shifting in your seat while Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Hello, Sungchan.” Sulli, your senior by 2 years and also the president of the club greeted him warmly. “I hope you like it here because adjusting to a new place might be hard at times. Oh, these are your classmates; Y/N and Jaemin.”

Sungchan immediately looked in your direction at the mention of your name, his eyes equally wide in surprise mirroring your previous reaction.

“Y/N?” He called out in a rather unsure tone, just like his movements the cautiousness was also present there. “It’s been……a while….”

“Yeah, indeed.” You had a visible change in demeanor, Jaemin finally grasping the tense situation before jogging up to the male.

“Hi there, I am Na Jaemin. You can call me Nana if you want.” Jaemin put his hand out as a formality, to which Sungchan politely complied. “There’s a seat there you can sit.” Jaemin was luckily wise enough to occupy the empty seat beside yours without knowing the turn of events. He motioned Sungchan towards the seat diagonal to you, sensing the discomfort in your posture he assumed it was best if Sungchan sat somewhat further.

Concentrating on the yearly planning for the club was harder with his presence; Sungchan unable to hide his obvious lingering gaze on you. Jaemin would cough every now and then, signaling the male to focus on the club president’s instructions instead of you. But as his usual self, Sungchan pretended to not notice the clear hints, continuing keep his eyes locked on yours. You were barely able to note down some important events, knowing that Jaemin certainly cannot be trusted with his short time memory. After that president bids her farewell to everyone present in the room, you take it as your cue to just flee as soon as possible from his reach.

“Y/N, wait!” Sungchan was quick to grab you just as you were about to exit by the door, the sudden halt in movement causing you to stumble back into his embrace awkwardly. You were definitely embarrassed, your back pressed against his chest in a weird manner as you straighten yourself again. You scrunched you nose to hide your embarrassment before asking him.

“What is it now Jung Sungchan?” You were not meaning to snap at him, but the bitter memories of the past seemed to get the best of you.

Sungchan slightly winced at your cold tone, but what else could have expected after all the pain he had caused you. “I…I do..I mean like I..”

“Sungchan, I have my classes. Gather up your thoughts and then talk.” With that you turned on your heels, not even bothering to take your bag that you left on the seat you were prior sitting. Jaemin observed the scene quietly, his minds finally connecting the dots. Jung Sungchan, the boy you would always cry about whenever you got drunk, the boy who left you with nothing but memories of him. Jaemin thought it was best to not let out his inner frustration towards the guy who was now standing motionless in his tracks, lost in his trance as he gaped towards the door you had just left. Jaemin passed by Sungchan without a word, instinctively grabbing your bag as he made his way to his next class.

Sungchan stood dumbfounded, numerous thoughts racing in his mind. Why did I have to be so foolish? He thought. How can I blame her when I was the one who broke the promise first?

Summer 2017

It was getting pretty boring for you at the library; usually some of the classmates bickering would give you some sort of silent company as you scribble down the notes. But for some unfound reason you seemed to be extremely distracted. You let out a long annoyed huffed, hands stretching in weird directions as you rested your head on the wooden table. It struck your mind there might be butts of nails pointed out and you didn’t want to get yourself a shot of tetanus, so you lazily glided your hands across the surface before returning back to your half laying position. It didn’t take long for you to zone out, mind running through various scenarios of university life, jobs and perhaps marriage? You blushed at the thought, just like any other teen you were also low-key always looking forward to your wedding.

“Are you asleep?” You shot up startled at the sudden voice, eyes immediately widening as you realized the owner. Sungchan had a smile with his lips pressed into a thin line, casually pulling out the empty seat beside yours as he made himself comfortable on it.

“Good to know you’re not. I need your help.” Sungchan wasted no time rummaging out a stack of sheets from his backpack, pressing them against the wood with a loud thump. You slightly winced at the loudness since the library was extra quiet today, the sound thus bouncing off more.

“You know if it’s literature, I suck at it.” Your mind took you back at that one time when you almost got yourself a C on the mentioned subject, chills running down at the memory.

“No, no.” Sungchan waved his hands softly chuckling. “It’s actually chemistry. Judging as a seatmate, I believe it’s your best sport.”

You happily nodded at the male, pleased that you get to help him with something that was under your specialty. Sungchan took a notice of your happy state, equally pleased that it was you that would be helping him.

“Tell me, what can I help you with.” You took the fat book from his hold, skimming over the contents page before highlighting the topics that were extremely important for the semester.

“I think hybridization? I just can’t seem to get how it works!” Sungchan’s voice levitated suddenly out of frustration, momentarily catching you off guard. Sungchan seemed to notice your amused look, shyly rubbing the nape of his neck with a little shrug.

“You know this is the first time I’ve seen you frustrated.” You commented, eyes fixated on the pages even though they were being extremely reluctant to rather focus on the fussy male. “It’s pretty easy you know. Look.” You explained him cautiously and slowly, how the overlapping of the orbitals occurred not realizing the proximity that seemed to lessen drastically. You whipped at his direction to see any signs of confusion, only to be met with a pair of dark orbs that stared at you intently. As embarrassing as it may sound, you gulped loudly. A bit too loud than you had intended to.

Sunghcan took notice of the situation you both blanketed in as a wave of déjà vu washed over him. He cleared his throat loud and awkward, half to lessen the embarrassment you were feeling and to poorly hide his own. You both were looking everywhere but each other, too dumb to maximize the close distance instead of acting like awkward cats.

“What are you both doing?” a deep male voice jerked you back to reality, upon turning you saw it belonged to Jeno. When did he come here?

“She was explaining the hybridization shits.” Sungchan huffed, slowly settling back to his orginal position. “I asked you so many times though…”

“You know chemistry is not my cup of tea.” Jeno shrugged at the male, a lazy smile playing on his face. “You wanna stay for b-ball practice today?”

“Not sure, I’ll see to it mate.” Sungchan did that fist-bump with Jeno, the two casually mingling like old friends as you stared idiotically at the scene unfolding in front of you.

“Since when did you both become Damon and Pythias?”

“Y/N, please not again your alien languages.” Jeno rolled his eyes before taking the seat beside, sandwiching you between both the males. “Since you happen to be tutoring a clown, an addition of another clown won’t do you any harm.” Jeno smiled at you, his doe eyes disappearing in the process.

Sungchan held back his snort, looking over both of you, he was happy. Though he was not as close to you as he had become to Jeno, he still considered you somewhat a close friend of his. Being seatmates with you and Jeno, it was inevitable that he soon became a constant in your life. Did I tell you that the candle shop was owned by his grandma? The shop if anything, had become this secret spot for you three. Study dates, random chills or just lazying around, the candle shop would be the first name that would pop up in your mind.

With a blink of an eye perhaps junior year passes. Maybe that was how last years of highschool were. At one moment you barely just got promoted to a new class, and at another, you’re yet again getting promoted to higher one. You sat under the dull moonlight, a thin cardigan that was gifted to you by your dearest friend’s grandma. When Sungchan invited you and Jeno at his, his grandma had knitted this cardigan for you and a beanie for Jeno. The gesture was so sweet that it completely melted your heart, she was the living definition of wholesome for you.

It was maybe that one day when you three decided to stroll the spring fair of your neighborhood, when you both finally came clean to your feelings. Jeno was always the one pointing you out that how you should just be a woman and confess. “It doesn’t always have to be the guy that says I LIKE YOU!” This what we he said before disappearing into the hives of crowds, leaving you waiting for Sungchan at the front of the public toilet he was finishing his business in. Pretty awkward right? Where else does anyone get to see a girl waiting for her crush in front of a public restroom. Sungchan came back outside, shuffling out his handphone before furrowing his brows at the text he just received. You immediately understood it was from Jeno. You had no idea what came over you, it felt like the adrenaline in your system decided to flood your nervous system, not even aware of yourself just launching at the dude with a chaste kiss on his lips. He was completely taken aback by the sudden feeling of your lips on his, it took him a while before responding you back with the same enthusiasm. You broke first from the kiss, not realising your fists crunching his prior perfectly ironed shirt. But he did not mind it all, a shy smile playing on both of your faces. The rest of the night was spent with your hands laced in his, just like another high school sweethearts of the time.

You smiled at the memory. Sungchan had a cigarette lit between the tips of his fingers, the tobacco smoke slowly poking your nose but not strong enough to bother you. With a deep sigh, he took a puff before blowing it own again in the air, a cloud of smog dancing around his figure.

“You should quit it, it’s not healthy.” It had already been a year since you became friends and six months since you became more than it, but there were times like this when you still found yourself nervous and wary whenever you are talking to him. You snuggled yourself into the cardigan, hugging yourself to minimize the tinges of frostbites. Sungchan was considerate of your discomfort, whenever he smoked, he made sure the cigarette was at least 2 feet away from you.

“Take this.” Sungchan handed you another thick layer of clothing from his bag, his initials “J.SG” written big and bold. Without much thought, you accepted his kindness, and Sungchan had high tolerance to cold anyways unlike you who would shiver to death in the most usual temperatures. You figured Sungchan decided to dodge the topic you brought it, and you figured it would be better to not bring it up for a while.

“Where do you plan on going for college.” Sungchan spoke while rubbing the shortened cigarette on the bricks of the roof, swallowing the remaining water from his bottle throwing a strawberry gum inside his mouth. You figured he was now free from the reek of tobacco as you scoot closer to his form, opening your arms within the jacket for his to snuggle in as well. Just like Jeno, skinship was no new news for you both too, however; it always had your heart racing like crazy. You both remained cozy under the warm embrace of the jacket, and you prayed Sungchan would never listen how your pulse was acting up.

“I don’t know. Perhaps SNU? I mean only if I get accepted...” You trailed off, propping your chin against your bent knees before glancing at the boy. Then it struck you, what made him ask this sudden question, what made him smoke three cigarettes straight despite having yearly break for a whole month. “Will you be going to the US as well?”

“I don’t know...” Sungchan deeply sighed, his lips forming a small pout as he indulged in deep thought. What if he actually happens to leave for America? Your heart clenched at the thought, mimicking his sighs you rested your head against his shoulder.

“You know,” You stared at the sky, it was dark and clear with no signs of stars. The feeling was unsettling. “Wherever you go, we’ll always be there for you.” Your eyes shifted to the illuminating lights from numerous buildings that replaced the absence of the twinkling stars in the sky. The ominous feeling soon dissipated into relief. It was as if the universe telling you, we just have to look out for the good sides instead of dwelling on the bad.

“I know.” Sungchan smiled, one that was both happy and sad. He rested his head on yours, joining your company of gazing at the scenery. “I know.”

“Just...” there was hesitation laced in your tone, Sungchan was quick to notice it as he looked at you, nodding for you to continue. “Please don’t leave...not without a goodbye. Promise me that.”

“I promise you.” Sungchan held your cold hands in his warmer ones, a firm assurance making your heart swell in both hurt and adoration as you kissed him again.

You both never really made it official, despite the kiss at the fair. It was perhaps the uncertainty that held you both back. Sungchan’s future was not in his hands but his family’s; just like his brother, he is supposed to make his family shine bright. It was one of the major reasons why his parents let both the brothers two years of freedom on their remaining bits of high school. ‘All parents want the best for their kids,’ that’s what you would always say to him whenever you meet him at his roof; him smoking while you offered his physical comfort.

The senior year passed within a whim, the fright of entering into adulthood descending upon all the students as they remained buried in their textbooks. Maybe it wasn’t the case for everyone, but it did apply to you and your friends. You remained occupied with you daily extra classes for chemistry while Sungchan had biology and Jeno had mathematics. You three would meet up in periodic breaks, catching up with small talks before returning back to your respective schedules. It was nothing but hectic, and soon, the candle shop returned back to being just another isolated shop in your hometown.

Graduation day was filled with smiles and congratulatory phrases from different individuals, throwing your grad caps in the air felt like as if you were throwing away a significant part of your life, ready to embrace a new version of you. All the parents stood their with proud grins, delighted at their children’s achievement to their dreams.

“Congratulations!” You chirped, receiving bone crushing hugs from both your males before an elderly voice called for you.

“Y/N! Jeno! Sungchan!” It was your mom, waving excitedly to grab you and the males’ attention. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” You all resonated together, happy and delighted.

A series of furious knocks jolted you awake from your sleep. You figured it might have been your younger brother, probably wanting your help in his homework.

“I swear to god Y/b/n!” You let out an ear piercing shout, groggily rubbing your eyes from deep slumber.

“It’s me. Jeno.” You heard how breathy his voice sounded, it was coated with urgency and hurt. You heart dropped but you prayed to the Heavens and God, you prayed that it should not be the very thing that you had been dreading so much. You shot up from your bed, not even bothering to make yourself look presentable before whipping the door open to meet with an equally dazed and riled Jeno.

“It’s Sungchan. He...” Jeno beathed out a deep sigh, before handing you a lilac envelope, the initials J.SG written in bold. You failed to feel the tears pooling up, threatening to fall anytime. Jeno glanced over you sympathetically, with shaky trembling hands, you took the the paper.

You don’t bother to closer the door, Jeno soon taking his leave as he thought it would be best to give you some space to absorb it all in. The tears had started to stream uncontrollably when you saw the picture that came with the letter. It was one of the many pictures that you took on the night of the fair; the day you had confessed, the you had your first kiss. It was a polaroid of you holding him lovingly in an embrace, him shyly placing a kiss on your cheeks with the words ‘Here lies the proof of my utmost love and affection, always devoted to my only Y/N’ scribbled on the white frame. Your hands fished for your cellphone, frantically dialing his number as you waited for him to pick up, hoping that he’ll soothe your anxiety by saying he did not leave, that he was still in town and you were just being delusional.

But every time you dialed his contact, you were being forwarded to the monotonous tone saying that the number was currently unreachable. Your chest squeezed in pain, he had promised you. He promised you that he will come for a goodbye at least. He had promised you that he would never leave you clueless and hurting. All you ever asked for him, was just a goodbye; perhaps a source assurance for you to wait for his return.

You wiped the tears with the edge of your sleeves, opening the the piece of folded paper.

‘Dear lovely Y/N,

You might resent me when you receive this letter, and I certainly don’t blame you for that. I am not the best with words, I am clumsy and unexpressive but I hope that this piece of scribblings makes you understand all my feelings, my thoughts and emotions that have been haunting me from the day I first saw you.

You know I that I am very much aware that I do....hold some handsome genes.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at this.

‘However, unlike all, as typical as it may sound, you stood out. You lazily laid sprawling across your desk in deep slumber, completely unaware of the chaos of classroom. I wish I was that carefree like you, indulged in her own world and comfort bubble. It attracted me a lot.’ You got up from the floor, eyes still glued to the piece of paper as you shut your door locked. Your hands still went to dial his contact, but only to be forwarded to that damned robotic voice.

‘I wanted to be like you, not bothered by the constant pressures of coming from a prestigious family. Did I ever tell you my dad is the Director of Myeongsu Hospital?’ You gasped at the sudden information. His dad was the director of the one of the most prestigious and renowned hospitals of South Korea. It was too overwhelming for you to process, but you still found yourself continuing.

‘It was inevitable for me to act like just another teenager, not for me but for my brother too. I always blamed him for being so selfish when he just left me alone when he came to grandma, I failed to realize that it was some sort of comfort gift from our parents so that we’ll devote ourselves to build the family’s name for the rest of our lives.

Even though I wanna blame them, I don’t think I can because they had the same fate. It comes with a price when you’re born with a silver spoon, and I guess I had to pay mine when I left your doorstep last night. I...I was a coward. I know I should have just come up, hug you and kiss you for the last time. But I just couldn’t. I was too scared.

I was scared that the moment I’ll see you, my guards will crash down. These two days were really hectic for me, I made up excuses when you invited me at yours because I was afraid of losing my balance. I knew that only a glance at you would be enough to make me change my mind and revolt against my parents, my fate. And you have no idea how much I wanted to do so, you have no idea how I’ve spent endless of sleepless night where it is the only thing that would run on my mind. But you tell me, would it be really worth it? I did not want you spending the rest of your lives with swarming paps and reporters, publishing reports and articles of how you managed to tarnish the heir-in-line of the prestigious hospital. No I could never do to that someone I love so dearly. I could never in a thousand years do that.

You know every time I picture you in your grown-up self, I can only see a strong and confident woman thriving in her career, a woman that is so powerful but still has a heart of gold. I know that you’ll be an amazing person, inside and out. I wasn’t really planning to express my love and admiration for you like this, I hoped to do it in person, but perhaps, maybe that’s how the stars planned it out for us. Fate is extra cruel in my case don’t you think?

It would be extremely selfish of me to ask you to wait; I am not even sure if I would ever return because my father would be opening another branch in US. And well, I am not sure what plans he has for me.

So please, if you ever find it in your heart, I hope you will forgive me. And even if you don’t, please don’t ever feel guilty about it. You have all the right to do so and I most certainly deserve your hatred. I love you so much, Y/N. You’re my first kiss, my first love, and you’ll always hold this irreplaceable place in my heart.

With Love,

Jung Sungchan.

You felt your world crashing down, a part of you wished that this letter never ended. The only remain from him had also come to an end, and you were not sure how you would be able to cope with his absence for the next years of your life.

Present

“Sungchan is back?” Jeno widened his eyes in shock, the information seemingly unbelievable to him. “He really is?”

“Yes.” You monotonously replied, numerous thoughts battling at the back of your head. Jaemin cleared his throat, a sign for Jeno to not bring up the topic for a while. Jeno eyed the male in confusion before finally getting the hint.

“You’re lucky you don’t get to have Mr.Suh’s classes, he’s just hot and it’s frustrating. And that’s coming from a straight dude like me.” Jeno slurped on his smoothie loud and sound, probably to annoy the other male as he was well aware his distaste to people making sounds while eating.

“Y/N.” a voiced called out from behind, and you instantly knew who it belonged to.

“Sungchan. Oh my god!” Jeno shot up from his seat, immediately embracing the old face from his past. “How have you been man? You just disappeared...”

“I am so sorry.” Sungchan looked at Jeno with pleading eyes. “I know I have absolutely no excuse for my act and I am just so sorry, Jeno and Y/N.” Sungchan looked at Jeno who silently urged him to talk to you.

“Y/N, please talk to me. I don’t expect your forgiveness but please. Atleast curse me, hit me just do anything. Please.”

You whipped your head to find Sungchan crouching down to match your seat level, a sigh escaping from you as you stood straight from your seat.

“Guys, I’ll be back.” You gripped his hands before dragging him alongside the canteen corridor.

Jaemin looked over his friend who stood staring at the way you just took. And expressionless look was painted on his features, causing Jaemin to shake his head and sigh. “You know man,” Jeno changed his attention to the male speaking, fixing his glasses. “If I were you, I would have just held her back. You’re extremely strong, I could have never done that.” With that Jaemin patted his friend’s back, a silent assurance that if he needed a shoulder to cry or to simply lean on for comfort, he’ll be there for him.

A mixture of feelings were erupting inside you, you were furious but happy. Sad but grateful. You scanned the halls for signs of any empty classroom and upon finding one you just shoved the male inside it.

“What’s so funny about messing with my feelings?” You already tears welling up, your vision blurry as you sharply glance at the male with a frown on his face.

“Y/N, I would nev-”

“You left me,” you utterly hated at how pathetic you sounded at the moment, harshly wiping the tears streaming down your cheeks. “You promised me that you won’t leave without showing up one last time, but you did. You fucking did.” You knew it was not something under his control, but you couldn’t help but pour your bottled feelings.

“Please...Y/N...listen..to me...Please..” Sungchan lost his composure, his voice breaking as he stepped closer to you. Seeing how you did not flinch at his approach, Sungchan captivated you in his embrace, something that he had been yearning for ever since he parted ways. You felt the wetness of his tears on your head, melting in his longing embrace you found yourself hugging him back. You missed him so much, his scent, warmth, presence. Everything about him drove you crazy, you were still dazed to believe if he was actually back for real or is it just one of your numerous daydreams.

The rest of the days went as usual, but only with the addition of Sungchan back again in your life. Although you had long forgiven him in his heart, you decided to not vocal it out. As heartless as it may sound, you wanted him to make up for the pain he caused you, and he indeed did. Jaemin was skeptical in the beginning at the idea of another person joining you small group, he had come to liking the idea of you guys as trio and was more comfortable like that. But he saw how your eyes lit up every time you about him when you were newly friends with Jaemin, how Jeno would always drunk talk about the times they passed as seatmates bothering the hell out of you. So Jaemin broke his exterior cold composure on the fourth day, finally accepting the banana milk from the new male as a form of bribe for his addition to the group.

Sungchan worked harder than deities; always making sure to get you Americanos before your classes, taking extra notes for you whenever you felt sick, tolerating your extremely drunk self and even dropping you back at your dorms safely. He had mentioned how he finally mustered up the courage to stand up against his fathers, that he wanted to do something else rather than working in the medical field. Even though he had still yet to decided his desired career, Sungchan decided to just follow his intuitions which ended up him taking chemistry as his major and thus landing in the same institution and same class as yours. And not to mention, he was beyond grateful for it.

A month had passed with his arrival, the awkwardness amongst everyone long gone and forgotten. It was as if he never left you. You were never over him, so his all time sweet gestures was making it harder for you to maintain your cold act.

“I happened to attempt making kimbap? But I am not sure if they are edible..” Sungchan trailed off as he hesitantly hands you the small metal box. You almost laughed at how cute but messy they looked, his failed attempt at giving the rolls eyes and lips with sesame seeds and ketchup was beyond adorable. You took the box from his grasp, a smile playing on your face as you looked at him. Sungchan upon noticing your grin, rubbed the nap of his neck shyly, his ears and cheeks mirror the shade the of the ketchup. You took a bite from one of the many rolls he made, a hum of satisfaction escaping your lips as you relished the tangy sweet taste. It was perfect, just how you preferred it.

“It’s pretty good.” You licked the stain of ketchup from your fingers, failing to notice how the male blushed harder at your subtle act. “We have Mr.Lee’s class, so I believe we should hurry up before it’s too late.”

On the night of the annual university carnival, Sungchan confessed to you. At least not in front of a public washroom this time. With the constant aid of Jeno and Jaemin, Sungchan was able to plan out a pretty dramatic confession for you. You were completely surprised when Jaemin called you out of nowhere, frantically asking for your presence to a specific classroom. You feared if the dork had committed some sort of treason explaining how dramatic he sounded, so you rushed without giving any second thoughts. However, when you saw the trail of roses with candles adorning the edges, you froze. It had the same scent both you and Sungchan had invented; the sweet scent of lily with tinges of tangerine to it.

A flustered looking Sungchan steps out from the dark, his hands rest behind his back as you cautiously scanned your face. When he saw no signs of discomfort, Sungchan slowly jogged to where you stood, his hands holding a bouquet of lilies with a small note on top of it.

“I know I have made tons of mistakes, hurt you so many times. But I still want to test my luck.” Sungchan got down on his knees, holding the bouquet with his head hanging low. “Y/L/N, will you allow me to be your man? Will you be my girlfriend?”

A shit eating grin spread on your face, slightly giggling at how adorable he looked. “I thought you’d never ask.” You took the flowers, a soft smile adorning your lips as you lock eyes with an extremely surprised Sungchan. “Of course Sungchan.”

“Of course? For real?” Sungchan couldn’t believe what just happened, he was half expecting you to flat out reject him at how inconsiderate he had been. But you accepted his apology, accepted his love. Sungchan stood up, his heart squeezing in delight and adoration for you. He cupped your face gently, as if you were a porcelain doll that would just break if not handled carefully. You saw how his eyes shone with love, sparkling brightly on the soft light from the lighted candles and you swore you never felt so much before for anyone else as much as you felt for him. Sungchan closed the proximity, his nose slight touching yours as he rested his forehead against yours, the smiling never for once leaving his face.

The tension was building up with each passing second, the sounds of your heavy breathing being the only silence breaker. You got impatient, the feeling of his lush lips got you being greedy as you closed the distance standing on your tip-toes, momentarily catching him off the grid before receiving the same attention back. You gripped on his shirt, too unbothered to break the kiss despite losing your breath. He paused for a moment, panting before pulling you back under his spell. The bottled feelings and emotions of longing and pining for each other were poured into the this sweet shared moment of yours. You were grateful that the whole building had no signs of any lurking students and professors, what was supposed to be a innocent make-up kiss soon transformed into a heated one as he held you by your waist, pinning you against the wall with his lips still attached to yours.

You pulled back for the heavy make-out session, almost earning a whine from the male before you soothed him with you words that came next. “I love you.”

Sungchan felt his already beating heart pick up its pace, becoming hastier that he was low-key afraid if he might face a stroke anytime. With a loving grin, he looked back at you who was still caged in his arms. He tucked the stray of hair brushing across the sides of your face from the soft breeze entering the windows, the illuminating yellow hues from the candles making you look like a dream. A dream that seemed unattainable to him until this very moment.

“I love you so so much. Thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance to prove myself, to allow me to show you my feelings, Y/N.” He was breathless, he felt so many emotions at that moment when you glanced at him loving. He was afraid his pulse might stop any moment, so he kissed you back, but now filled with passion and desire. And let’s just say, one of your fantasies were fulfilled that night.

The news of his grandma passing away came after a few months when you both had officially started dating. Both the Jungs were extremely close to her, so when Jaehyun took her back to Myeongsu Hospital where he was currently the chief of neurology, her condition was inevitable. Jaehyun hoped that maybe she might get to spend more time on earth under his care, but he too was victim in the cruel hands of destiny. Sungchan rushed to your dorm, bloodshot eyes as he told you the news. You found yourself sobbing alongside him, tenderly keeping him embraced in your warmth as you shared his pain. You knew her personally as well, all the moments spent with her were a profound favorite part of teen years.

“I wanted to meet you before I leave for Seoul. I came to say a goodbye.” Sungchan sniffed, his hands wiping away the streams of water rolling down your face. You smiled at his concern, mimicking his actions you brushed his sweaty bangs away from his forehead before placing a soft peck against it.

“It’s okay. Don’t tell me goodbyes anymore...for I know you’ll always come back to me.”

Epilogue

Sungchan fumbled with his tie nervously, bile reaching up his throat as the worst scenarios flooded his brains. His eyes frantically looked around for help, making a bow-tie was just not his cup of his. A breath of relief escapes his lips when his eyes landed on his closest beloved friend Jeno. Jeno stood leaning against the door frame, an amused grin painting his sharp features as he walked to the struggling male.

“Bro...” Sungchan huffed pleadingly, a pout forming his eyes.

“Yes bro.” Jeno flashed him an eye roll, before having the same eye smile again as he fixed his friend’s tie. After all, it was a big event for him.

To say the least, you looked breathtaking in your white laced gown. The simplicity of the dress made you look more elegant, it enhanced your natural beauty and Sungchan couldn’t just tear his eyes away from your form. It was supposed to be the bride’s day, but to him you shone the brightest.

“You know it’s me getting married, but the new comers might assume it’s you considering how you are gaping at y/n shamelessly.” Jaehyun hissed to his best man, earning a scoff from Sungchan.

“Hyung, let me have my moment! Please.” Sungchan whined but was careful to tone it down, only to receive a slight nudge from the groom who chuckled at his antics.

The wedding was glamorous, elegant, anything that could be named as a dream wedding. Sungchan remained glued beside you the whole night, a proud grin on his face every time he was asked about the lady whose arms laid locked with his. With a smug look, he would rub on their faces that you were his girlfriend, especially exaggerating to the males who seemed to had their eyes on you. You both enjoyed the silent company of each other, the soothing sounds of the wind replacing the absence of music as Sungchan drove you back to your place, hands still intertwined. When he came in front of your shared apartment, he fidgeted in his seat nervously; fishing out something from his coat.

You figured it was another one of his endless gifts, so you just smiled with your back resting against the cushion seat of the car.

“Sungchan, you really need to-”

A throat seering stopped you in the midst of speaking, your eyes widening when you realized what the purple velvet box might contain. Sungchan let out breaths of nervousness, blowing out some air out of his lungs to lessen the feeling of anxiety as he looked at you, eyes as genuine as ever.

“Y/N, I don’t believe in fancy proposals as you know. It is an intimate moment for us so I want it to happen in the presence of only us.” Sungchan stuttered in the middle as he opened the box, revealing an extremely gorgeous but simple plated band with a small stone adorning the top perfectly.

“So will you marry me?”

You stared at the male dumbfounded. Your eyes refused to believe the scene in front of you, hearts doing numerous flips and turns and it was just hard to explain all the feelings you were feeling. Sungchan had always been the one for you, and even though not everyone gets to have a happy ending with their first love, you were beyond grateful that you had happened to fall in the rare probability.

“I...OF COURSE. OF COURSE I WILL.” You yelped in delight, shoving your hand in front of his face as he just laughed while placing the ring on your finger. It fit perfectly. You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him with your overpowering passion and love, not realizing how if continued any longer, you guys might have to pay a fine for parking on the wrong side. So without wasting any time further, you both hauled yourselves to your apartment, refusing to break the contact of your lips molded perfectly together on your way. In short, let’s just say ‘sweet innocent kiss transformed into a heated one’ yet again.

I went completely overboard with this. I am so sorry if it didn’t turn up as you had expected it to, and honestly I am not completely pleased with it either. I felt like it could’ve been better in terms of expressing emotions. However, improvement is a never ending proccess and im still learning. SO TO WHOEVER WHO HAPPENED TO MAKE THIS TILL HERE. I LOVE YOU SODIJMS YOU DONT KNOW HOW MUCH IT MEANS TO ME.

Feedbacks and criticisms are always appreciated! Please care to leave them as it may help me potentially grow as a writer. Thank you for sparing your time to read my piece of work.

with love,

Hana.

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boldlyanxious · 3 years

Text

Escape

Part of meet cute Mondays

Marijon series

My masterlist

Marinette made herself comfortable in the bizarre location she had been using as an escape from her now hectic life. It was not just one thing that was causing more stress than she could handle but the increasing strain of all the other little things. Before her focus had been on school and relationships with friends and family with becoming Ladybug and protecting Paris as an additional occasional responsibility. Even if there were several akuma attacks in one week Marinette could manage to refocus and make up for any shortfalls at another time.

But once she became the Guardian, all the lesser stresses seemed bigger and the responsibility felt heavier. When the battles against akumas were easily won or far between she could almost breathe easier and the burden felt lessened. But the times when the struggle took more energy and she had to hide her identity while seeking out new allies Marinette just needed a break. Even a few minutes of solitude away from the cares of Paris and miraculous misuse.

So that is what she asked for. She called on Kaalki to help her.

She spent a while looking around the first time. She found no way in or out of the structure but there were several locked rooms and a lot of statues. She wondered if perhaps it had been planned as a museum before it was locked up and abandoned. Whatever had happened it was exactly what she needed today. Her parents were already at home asleep and she was miles away from all her troubles. She quickly set herself up in the creative space where an unfinished statue and a few paintings were with a selection of art supplies.

It was definitely quite a bit later when a voice woke her. She knew she likely had a matching pressure mark on her face to the one she could see on the back of her hand. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until she saw where she was instead of in her bedroom. She looked at the boy before her and rubbed her eyes trying to remove the confusion.

“Who are you?” the boy asked. “How did you even get in here?”

Marinette tried to force her tired brain to focus on the English. Marinette wasn’t fully fluent when awake but she was working on learning it since some of the fashion schools only taught in English. She sat herself up and looked around, noting that she was not transformed which would probably make for a far less awkward explanation.

“Hi, I’m Marinette,” she said, enunciating carefully.

The boy continued to just stare.

“I’m sorry. I will leave.” Marinette said. “I thought it was vacant.”

“I said how did you get in.” he repeated. His voice now had a bit of an edge to it.

“I didn’t do anything. I just needed to be away. I fell asleep while I was drawing.”

“So you just happened to wander into a secret base in the middle of nowhere because you needed a little ‘me time’?”

“Secret base?” Marinette looked around again. “Is that what you call your studio?”

“There is no way you could have opened the door. Who is helping you?”

“This is all a mistake.”

Marinette was backing away from him as he moved closer. She eyed her sketchbook and supplies spread out where she had been working. Her backpack was on the floor nearby. She couldn’t even grab it quickly and try to disappear and she wasn’t sure whether the kwamis were in the bag or hiding nearby. They would know to do anything to avoid revealing themselves unless there were no other options.

Before she could even try to think through other options he lunged and captured her wrists before she could react. She must still be suffering from being woken in the middle of the night. She may be known for being clumsy but she usually made up for that by having quick reflexes. He moved the chair to face away from the table that had her things and turned her around so she was sitting in it and he held her hands in one of his, tightly.

Marinette struggled and yelled at him in French and English. She kicked her legs and grunted but only managed to succeed in moving the chair. He completely ignored her while he went through her things. He flipped through her textbooks and checked her school tablet. He read her name and school off her school ID card. He even looked through her sketchbook and finally found her phone that had been under the open cover of the sketchbook.

He was quiet for a few minutes while he read through her messages. Marinette however was not quiet any of the time. She demanded he let her go and leave her things alone.

“So what is happening in Paris that you need to use such a deep cover and break in here?”

“I’m not undercover. I’m under stress. I just needed solitude.”

“Well I guess you found it. But there is no way a 15 year old human was able to get in here on her own. Who are you working with.”

“Human? You look about the same age and human. Maybe I got in the same way as you.”

“You didn’t.” he said matter of factly.

“Were you watching? You didn’t even know I was in here.”

“The key weighs half a million tons.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“For you.”

“No, I definitely think you are making it up. You are either trying to keep me talking because you need a reason to talk to me or you are waiting for reinforcements.”

“It really does weigh that much. But I do like it when you are talking. You have a cute accent. But I’m also fairly certain you are evil.”

"I'm not a villain like Hawkmoth. Besides maybe you are the evil one. You woke me up and trapped me here so you could twist all the skin off my wrists.”

He looked down at where his hand held her wrists. He wasn’t holding tight enough to bruise but her twisting and struggling had turned the skin an angry red all around. Marinette hissed as he ran his finger where it was red.

“Who is Hawkmoth?”

“The famous villain of Paris.” Marinette’s tone clearly suggested this was information he should already know. “He uses negative emotions to turn regular people into evil minions to do his dirty work.”

“Never heard of him.”

“You should get out more. So you now know everything there is to know about me. Who are you?”

“Superboy. Notice the distinctive symbol.”

“I guess. It just looks like an S. Isn’t your identity supposed to be a secret? Why aren’t you wearing a mask.”

“No one ever recognises me. Besides, I didn’t think I would need to be hidden in my own secret base. No one should be able to get in.”

“Guess I’m just special.”

“I need to know how and why.”

“Can you let me stretch for a second first? I fell asleep at a weird angle. You can block the door. You are clearly faster and stronger than me or I would have already gotten away.”

He stood up and released her but watched her carefully as she moved around and different angles to stretch and get blood flow to return. She moved about and collected all her things into her bag. She set it down and then pointed out to the main foyer.

“So are those statues out there Superman and Superwoman?”

He looked over at them considering how to explain his grandparents from another planet to the girl who had somehow magically appeared there. He turned back as she said something in French. But it wasn’t in time to see what happened. She was no longer in the room. A flicker of light disappeared barely a second later. He would definitely have to report all of this to his father after he finished the task that brought him here in the first place. He probably wouldn't be happy he allowed her to escape.

Marinette collapsed onto her bed exhausted. It was after 3 in the morning. She would have to worry about the ramifications of what had just happened later. She didn’t know what could happen having Superboy know so much information about her as a civilian. She was relatively sure he had not seen either kwami and hopefully not even the portal, but she could never have him know how she got in and out of his fortress.

Next: Detected