#bomber balloons

[decodedchara]

Figured i haven't posted the baby boy here. Still love this piece to bits, and shall spread the love here too. MIGHTYYY

#bomberman #bomberman jetters #jetters #mighty #bomber balloons #your usual Cry appreciating the best character

[whataboutfractions]

#bomberman jetters #bmj white bomber #white boy balloon kindness #as a side note love how clearly you can see the selective finger articulation here

[stimwyrms]

Every Single Kirby Character Stimboard: Balloon Bomber from Kirby’s Air Ride

credit:

💣 🎈 💣

🎈 💀 🎈

💣 🎈 💣

#kirby quest #black #multicolor #bathbombs #bath bomb stim #bathbomb stim #slime #calligraphy #balloon popping #balloon stim #kirby #balloon bomber kirby #stim board

[arolesbianism]

Opened dst for the first time in a while and was jump scared by a bunch of new Abby skins earlier and proceeded to unravel a bunch of shit to get the ones I was missing and god knows I would have unraveled more if the printing pod alchemy engine skin was weavable </3

#rat rambles #starve posting #oni posting #I also started a new world just to see the new skins in action and check out the new stuff #but yeah olivia I miss you already I wish I could see you in every game #Im glad wendy isnt in other games thatd be scary british blond boy jumpscare #they should put abby in oni just have her be there and be silly so I can look at her #cmon oni devs you wanna make an abby skin for smth soooo bad it could be like a balloon skin just lemme see my lil guy #ohhhh what if sticker bomb skin.... #I wonder how hard itd be to mod in more stickers for sticker bombers I cant imagine itd be that hard compared to other stuff #not that itd be easy with my piss poor programming knowledge but still #what if I could put png of wilson in there for my dupes to slap onto things that'd be so scary #I'm glad oni doesnt reference dont starve in game tho I think it needs to be it's own thing #I do deeply appreciate the unused email log with one dr. will higgs though #like to imagine hes making the classic unseasoned ice meatballs loved by the constant dwellers #not counting warly hes seasoning them and using real ingredients #or at least trying to

[loveshotzz]

My name’s Elvira, but you can call me tonight

steve harrington x eddie’sbestfriend!reader

Tongue Tied

summary: A Halloween party, Brenda, and teaching Steve that shotgunning isn’t just a trick guys use to kiss girls.

wc: 2.9k

warnings: My blog is 18+ fem!reader, slight jealousy, and a little insecurity if you squint, fluff, weed smoking and mentions of drinking.

<- 🎃 chapter one | mini series masterlist

Tina’s ‘witches brew’ was maybe just as bad as the music she picked, but Steve Harrington was staring at you from across the crowded room.

You’d only ever seen Top Gun once, and in all honesty you didn’t even need to watch it to know that he looked better than Tom Cruise. The brown leather of his bomber jacket fits snug across his broad shoulders, and tappers tight around his waist. It’s half way zipped up, revealing the white shirt underneath and the aviators that he’d walked in wearing dangling from the collar. The weight of them pulls the fabric down enough to catch a glimpse of the dark hair that covers his chest, and your throat dries up at the thought of him shirtless. His Levi’s are light washed and well worn, a soft outline of where he usually keeps his wallet dangerously close to where your gaze wants to linger. The black combat boots he wears somehow make his feet look even bigger, your thighs press together under your dress.

His eyes roam the length of your body the way you hoped they would when you decided to dress up as The Mistress of the Dark herself. Your plunging neckline begs for his hungry gaze, and you push up your chest to encourage it. A thick black belt hugs tight around your waist, accentuating your curves in a way that has you feeling more confident than normal. Especially when you catch the way he bites his bottom lip in a smirk, darkened eyes lingering on the fake dagger resting against the softness of your tummy. Wiggling your long black nails at him, you can’t help but relish in the fact that a simple wave makes the former king of Hawkins cheeks flush the same shade of red as your lips.

It had been four days since that night with Steve. A whole 96 hours and the boy across the room from you has occupied your thoughts for every minute of every single one. It was becoming a real problem, but yet here you were at a Halloween party you’d already said no to because you knew he would be here.

Robin’s very obviously telling a story next to him, her hands moving wildly as she gets more worked up with whatever is happening in it. She’s too focused on the way Nancy’s giggling in front of her to notice that her best friend isn’t listening, the full weight of his attention making your insides warm.

Is this what it’s like to be one of those girls?

Steve chugs the rest of his beer, throat bobbing with every large gulp before wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He holds your gaze even when you see him say something to Robin who waves him off, lost in the oldest Wheeler’s big blue eyes, and the first few steps in your direction is enough to send your heart into overdrive.

You almost lose sight of him when he starts to cross the makeshift dance floor in the living room, his wild auburn hair the only thing staying in your line of vision. It’s a mess of dancing bodies, and orange and black balloons already starting to lose their luster falling from the ceiling.

His eyes meet yours in the crowd and you feel the heels you can hardly walk in start to carry you closer, stepping over the empty cups and streamers that litter the floor. His smile widens, and you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed when you feel your cheeks push up doing the same.

It’s when Steve finally makes it to the edge of the crowd, stopping just a few more steps away from you when it happens. When she happens.

Brenda.

She’s dressed as Madonna, her perfect blond hair teased just right, giving it more volume than Steve’s even on his best day. Black fishnets cover her toned legs, with a matching tutu that leaves little to the imagination stopping just above the curve of her ass.

The corset she wears gives her breasts the kind of push that you know is the reason for Steve’s blush when she steps in front of him. Perfectly manicured pink nails dragging up his chest before her palm flattens just underneath where his sunglasses hang.

His eyes flicker between the two of you, a nervous laugh leaving his mouth at whatever she’s saying. He scratches the back of his neck when he responds, and it makes her throw her head back in flirty giggles before her fingers start playing with his jacket zipper.

The sting of rejection is harsher than you thought it’d be, and you hope he can’t see the way it wipes the smile clean off your face. Girls like Brenda always seemed to be the boy’s kryptonite. The urge to find your best friend is what keeps your feet moving, almost like that was your plan all along. The joint you stashed away earlier in his jacket pocket calls your name, and you don’t look at Steve as you walk past the two of them, even when you see his hand reach out for your wrist.

It’s just Steve anyway.

You keep telling yourself that, hoping that it will ease the slight lump in your throat. An anger bubbling just under the surface turning the heat in your stomach into something more like lava, a volcano bubbling, just ready to explode as you try to convince yourself that you don’t have a crush.

When you find Eddie in the next room, his tongue deep in his girlfriend Cece’s mouth on the couch, and you can’t hide the bitterness that drips from your tone.

“Make sure to get some oxygen so you don’t pass out, Jesus Christ.”

Your rude interruption makes them both pull apart with a loud smack, the fake blood he’d sloppily smeared down the corners of his mouth almost gone leaving a pink stain on his pale skin instead.

“What’s your deal? Can’t you see I’m a little busy.” Eddie’s gaze narrows into an annoyed glare, “Aren’t you supposed to be doing the same thing to Harrington.”

“That’s not why I came,” you snort, crossing your arms and it makes him raise his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Bullshit.”

The two of you stare each other down, unwavering, it’s only when his eyes flick towards the dance floor that he sees the cause of your sour mood. The hard lines on his forehead soften before he rubs a ringed hand over his face with an exasperated groan. Cece wraps her arms around his waist tighter, hearts taking over her pupils when she gets a front row seat of her boyfriend being your best friend.

“Here,” he sighs under his breath, pulling open his jacket to pluck out the perfectly rolled joint inside his hidden pocket. He holds it out to you in a peace offering.

“Thanks,” you mumble as you take it, giving him a weak smile before tucking the cone in your belt next to your lighter, “Go back to sucking each other's faces off, sorry to interrupt.”

Your joke makes her giggle, and Eddie grin in the kind of way that's contagious.

“He’s an idiot,” the metal head tries to comfort, “Honestly, he’ll tell you himself.”

“I’m fine.” You keep your expression as unreadable as possible, but you know it's futile to try and hide from him, “It’s just Steve.”

It’s colder outside than when you first got here, and you don’t have nearly enough alcohol in your system to keep you warm. Goosebumps rise on the inappropriate amount of skin you have showing for the season, making you wish you’d grabbed your jacket. The breeze rustles the leaves that refuse to let go or their brittle branches, mixing with the muffled bass of the music inside, while your heels make a hollow thump against the wood of Tina’s back porch.

Pulling out the joint and your lighter from your belt, you take a seat on the top of the stairs that lead to her backyard. There’s a shiver that runs down your spine as your thumb flicks the wheel that brings the flame to life, a temporary heat warming your face as you spin the fat end over the fire to burn it evenly. The earthy smell hits your nose, shoulders already relaxing before you take the first toke. Bringing it to your lips, you tuck your lighter back inside your belt, leaning back on your palm to look at the clear night sky above you as you inhale your first drag into your lungs.

It’s just Steve.

When you exhale, your eyes stay trained on the white wisps of smoke that shades the twinkling of the stars behind it and you try not to think of Brenda’s pink nails running through his hair. Your next hit is much bigger. The music from inside gets louder, making you jump when you hear the sliding glass door open. Straightening up, you turn around with a glare ready for whoever the intruder is, only to be face to face with the boy you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t like.

“Hey, there you are.” His smile is easy, and you hate that it warms you like the sun just from looking at it.

You raise your eyebrows in acknowledgment, hollowing out your cheeks taking another drag before bringing your gaze back to the sky. His boots sound heavier than your heels against the wood, some steps making the deck creak under his weight. The silence is thick with words on the tips of both your tongues, but neither one of you is willing to break it first. He sighs awkwardly out of his nose, rubbing his palms against his thighs before taking the seat next to you. Your knees knock together, and the heat of him so close sends another shiver down to your bones.

“Jesus, you have to be cold. It’s like 40 degrees outside.” Steve doesn’t hesitate to start shrugging off his jacket, and you clock the movements from the corner of your eye.

“Steve, no, really I’m fine,” you try to protest but he doesn’t listen, thick tan arms coming into view.

“Please, I can hear your teeth from here,” he chuckles, standing up to drape the leather over your shoulders, and you try not to stare at the way the hem of his shirt rises up revealing a dark happy trail.

It feels like he’s everywhere when your shoulders slot into the warm pockets where he just was, wrapped up in him just like on your couch. The spice of his cologne clings to the fabric on the inside, and you have to fight back the urge to bury your nose into the collar and inhale.

“Well aren’t you gonna be cold now?” You ask, finally daring to meet his eyes, taking another hit.

“Nah, I’ll be alright.” He winks with the kind of confidence that makes your face hot, clasping his hands together over his spread knees making your shoulders bump.

“So, Top Gun huh?” Giggling, you finally earn a Steve Harrington eyeroll.

“Look, I didn’t have to buy anything okay. I wasn’t even going to come tonight, until I heard,” he stops himself, pink dusting his cheeks and you don’t think it's from the frost in the air, “I’m surprised you’ve even seen it, doesn’t seem like your type of movie.”

“What’s my type of movie, Steve?” You grin with a cocked brow, letting the end of the joint rest against your bottom lip, the heat from before blooming deep in your gut when he tracks the movement licking his.

“I don’t know,” his heavy gaze makes your throat bob, “You tell me.”

You don’t think you’re talking about movies anymore.

“Isn’t Brenda going to be looking for you?” You tear your eyes away from him, taking another hit to seem nonchalant. The loud snort you get in response makes you jump.

“Brenda? No, I’ve been dodging that girl for months.” Running a hand through his hair, he dares to snatch the joint from between your fingers like he was some kind of professional or something. “Is that why you ran off on me in there?”

“I did not run off!” You huff, ducking your head inside his jacket to glare at him from over the top of it, “Why would I do that?”

Vulnerability softens Steve’s features when he looks at you tucked into his coat like it’s always meant to keep you warm.

“I don’t know,” he repeats quietly, “You tell me.”

Too scared of rejection, it’s his turn to look away bringing the joint to his mouth in an attempt to take a hit. You watch him hollow his cheeks, impressed for a second until he opens it to exhale and blows nothing out. A giggle slips past your lips that breaks the tension, making him groan loudly trying to fight his own smile.

“Look, I’m still new at this okay.” He sighs, a breathy laugh escaping him with a shake of his head handing it back to you. He’s only a little embarrassed, too enamored by how cute you look giggling at him.

“Hey, the confidence was there, you just gotta work on the technique.” You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, something sweet dancing behind your eyes when you scoot a little closer. “Do you want me to shotgun it for you?”

It’s Steve’s throat that bobs now.

“Aren’t guys supposed to do that to girls? I mean, I’ve seen Eddie do it at a few parties…” he starts, eyes going wide when you scoff at him.

“Wow, your feminism is showing.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, it’s just like in movies - I’m not saying girls can’t - wow this is not coming out the way I want it too, I’m just going to shut up now.” Steve stammers, running another nervous hand through his hair, blowing out an exasperated breath before meeting you

with sheepish eyes.

“Are you driving tonight?” You ask, looking up at him from under your lashes, bringing the joint to your mouth.

“No, for once.” He gives you a lopsided grin that makes your head spin.

“Good.” Turning your body towards him, the confidence you’re trying to hang onto wavers being this close again.

It’s just Steve.

He looks nervous as you feel, but tries to hide behind a quiet laugh, the amber of the beer he drank inside lingering on his breath. The warmth of his palm finds a home on your fishnet covered thigh that’s revealed to him by the side slit of your dress, fingertips pressing into soft skin. The heat behind his stare makes your body buzz as you inhale the last little bit of the joint into your lungs, beckoning him closer with a hum, and a curl of your long nails you snuff the rest out on the stairs. Surely Tina won’t mind.

“Really?!” Steve half whispers, half yells but the whites of his teeth show giving him away.

The corners of your mouth twitch as you lean forward catching the way his gaze flicks down, and how the view makes the gold specs inside his eyes darken. Resting your hand on his cheek, the stubble tickles your palm when your fingers spread out, your thumb coaxing his chin down to open up more for you. His long lashes flutter when his nose bumps with yours, heads turning just enough for lips to brush for a second and you feel the blunt ends of his nails dig into the holes of your fishnets.

You release your hit, feeling him steal the air from your lungs, his hand daring to move up your thigh to your waist where he tugs you even closer. He holds it in for a second, both of your eyes meeting down the bridge of your nose but neither of you pulling away.

Do it.

When he exhales there’s hardly anything left, but you take it anyway, your fingers finding their way to the hair at the nape of his neck. He squeezes at the dough of your hips, in a silent plea to put him out of his misery and just when you think you’re about to show him mercy the sound of the music getting louder and the sliding glass door opening makes you both jump away.

“Hey! - Oh shit! Sorry Harrington, I didn’t know you were out here.” Eddie tries to apologize profusely with his eyes when he sees the glare you’re shooting him. “I just sold the last of my stuff and Cece’s ready to go, so if you still need a ride?”

Your best friend looks at Steve begging him to take the opening to hopefully spare his life.

“I didn’t drive tonight if you can actually believe,” Steve laughs nervously scratching the back of his neck, “or obviously I’d love nothing more for you to stay.”

He says the last part softly, just for you more than pleased when he sees you try and fight the smile from taking over your face.

“Maybe next time,” you look at him from under your lashes hoping that he picks up the fact that you want a ‘next time.’

The blush that turns the tips of his ears pink tells you he does. He watches you get up and start to shrug his jacket off, shaking his head as he stands up to stop you.

“Keep it tonight, honey. It looks better on you anyway.”

-> chapter three

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington thoughts #steve harrington series

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

aftermath, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: The aftermath of the break-up between you and Jeon Jungkook, navigating the various stages and finding out that easy isn't living.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; it's what you think it is but also not; mentions of alcohol consumption; anger turning into angst; slow burn; yes, there are a few Taylor Swift references; smut (fem reader, heavy making out, breathplay, hair pulling, slight D/s dynamic, handjob, nipple play, edging, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - ex!JK x ex!reader, switches between Jungkook’s POV and yours, ft mystery man (less mysterious if you Google his name lol), yes, he was chosen for story reasons

--

“Stop staring at her.”

Maybe if he stared long enough, he would burn holes into the back of your skull and you would finally fuckin’ notice he was right here.

Maybe.

“Dude. You’re being creepy.”

You were smiling at your phone screen. Why the fuck were you smiling? What was there to be smiling about? Furthermore, what did you need to look so good for? Oversized black bomber jacket with balloon sleeves and an overpowering ruffle at the shoulders. Short slinky dress with red-orange flames screen-printed all over. Black thigh-high heeled boots. Fuck, who the hell were you trying to impress? The person texting you, hah? Why did your hair look so effortlessly in place and why was your makeup so sultry with that red stain on your lips and smoked-out liner? Hm?!

Jeon Jungkook chewed on the left side of his lip and watched you walk up to the service counter, ordering a…

“Lemon cake and hot green tea. No sugar in the tea.”

“Bro, just get up and talk to her.”

Jungkook felt knuckles whack the back of his head and turned around to the annoyed face of Park Jimin, who was nursing an iced coffee and glaring at him. Oh. Right. He was supposed to be catching up at with his friend, not going all National Geographic at his ex-girlfriend.

But what were you so happy for?

“Didn’t you break up with her? What’s your problem?” Jimin questioned, confused.

His teeth involuntarily slid back and ground bone-to-bone, eyes narrowing at the questions. Jungkook wanted to tell Jimin to shut up, but then your voice came back to him, if you want to react less emotionally, you have to take the time to sort through your initial reaction and the other options. So, instead, he picked up his lukewarm coffee and tapped the bottom edge against the table, thinking about the other, less emotional responses he could have.

“Yeah.”

Mmm.

Eloquent.

Came out a little gruffier than he wanted, but too late now.

Jimin frowned. “You never said why. I thought you were head over heels for her.”

He clicked his tongue and restrained himself from looking back. You would pick a table further away from the counter. Perhaps near the window. But why were you here? You used to come here with him. Conversations and dates. Who were you meeting? But if you were meeting someone, you wouldn’t have ordered before they arrived. Hm. Then there was the whole situation with the way you were smiling at your phone.

Like you were amused.

Playful.

Fuck.

“Hello? Earth to Jungkook, do you copy?”

He blinked hard and bit on his straw, not sulking but sulking. “S’nothing.” Great, he was mumbling now. Surefire sign you’re upset, you always reminded him. Everyone can tell. Just say it. “Actually, that why I wanted to talk to you.”

Those bright eyes and full lips turned into little circles. “Huh?”

Jungkook cleared his throat and glanced at Jimin under his hair. Furrowed brows and balancing his long, tattooed fingers on the lid of his ice coffee, not wanting to ask but asking anyway, because his ex-girlfriend seemed to be fucking fine visiting the places they used to visit and smiling like she was cool with not being with him anymore and that sucked, but it was easier to be mad than sad. He didn’t want to be sad in front of people.

Especially in front of people he was close to.

Especially in front of you.

So, Jungkook stayed mad.

“Did you hook-up with my ex or not?”

Jimin blinked at him.

“Hah?”

Shit.

-

You cut into the lemon cake, chewing thoughtfully.

A quick look at your nails and, shit, you should really repaint them before they started looking too rough. Two weeks was about as long as you could go before the nail growth was somewhat unbearable. This was about halfway through week three. Good preparation and high-quality polish could only get you so far before life eventually wore the manicure down.

Sigh.

Today was the first day you had decided to walk out and do something by yourself that wasn’t work, grocery shopping, or… wait, that was it. You had no other reason to go outside. Ack. You had another bite of cake. Been a while since you had this taste.

Your phone hummed on the table.

With your left ring finger, you checked your messages. And then you paused, because instead of reading a text, you were looking at a soundwave.

Voice message.

You reached over to your cup of hot tea, taking a sip and letting it scald you.

Breathed in and breathed out in a calm hiss, thinking.

Chewed on cake.

Ugh. You didn’t want to be that girl. But what were you gonna do? Almost eight billion people in this world and you were going to be hung up over one? One? And, anyway… In terms of too fast or too slow, you never knew what could happen, right? You hadn’t known with him, and you wouldn’t know with this one unless you started actually talking to him instead of skirting around with surface level shit. You hated that, so you shouldn’t do it. Your brain prodded you annoyingly with thoughts. Don’t be a hypocrite. Stop fucking around. Argh, okay. Okay. Fine.

You reached over to your phone and let it hover over the play button.

Wait.

Maybe you should listen to it in the car.

Yeah.

You put your phone back down and resumed eating and drinking.

You weren’t avoiding it. Okay, kinda. There was no point in dancing around the issue when you were by yourself. Get to the point. You came here specifically because it used to be your favorite café and it still was. It had nice memories attached to it, but then you stopped visiting it after… him. And for what? Did you combust from reminiscing? No. You were eating cake and having tea like you always did. The snack was just as tasty alone as it was with a partner. You were talking with another guy and you could bring him here eventually if you felt like it.

Maybe you should have been mad or sad about the whole Jeon Jungkook thing, but at this point it was just wasted energy and you were tired.

Tired of not feeling like yourself, tired if feeling like you couldn’t do things because you were reminded of him. So what? Everyone had good and bad. He wasn’t that bad of a guy. Faults were faults, and you had to decide if you could live with them or not.

Or he could decide, and start a dumbass argument.

Honestly, that was what you were most salty about. Yes, it was your nature to fight fire with fire, but you shouldn’t have. At least not so explosively. You were glad Jungkook hadn’t met your teenage self, that was for sure. Still, you had that habit of not mentioning when you were experiencing a bad day. Of course, they happened and without reason, same shit, different day. Those sorts of negative thoughts came in waves, after all. Mostly you didn’t want Jungkook to hover over you and try to make you feel better, because he would do so, and, if what he tried didn’t work, then he would be depressed and then it would begin, the endless cycle of you feeling like crap, him feeling like crap, so on and so forth until you felt better so he could feel better. Same shit, different day. Tiring. So, sometimes you didn’t mention bad days, but if he caught you on a bad day and acted emotionally, which did happen, it ended…

Poorly.

Jungkook was a passionate guy.

He thought a lot too.

Some things could be fixed, but some things got burnt to a crisp and then there was nothing to salvage.

Ugh.

You should have kept your temper more in check. Ah, well. You knew that now, but now was too late and you had no cake left, just a bit of hot tea and a voice message from a guy who wanted to know you.

You know what.

You actually wanted to know him too.

He had a cute smirk.

You neatly cleaned up and tossed the packaging, walking out with the paper cup, going back to your car to listen to that voice message that contained an alarmingly deep voice that surprised you with its sexiness. Well. Well, then.

Time to burn it up, maybe.

-

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Okay. Okay, he had two choices. Let sleeping dogs lie or poke them, which may or may not result in the positive outcome he wanted. It probably wouldn’t, because you were fire and burned everything in your path, and while that could be a good thing, fuck, a very good thing, but this…

This wouldn’t end well for him.

Mostly because Jungkook now realized, after finally speaking to Jimin, that he was wrong in thinking that you were sneaking around and trying to sleep with his best friend, when in actuality you were contacting Jimin repeatedly and being secretive because you were planning a grand event that included all his friends and a big party for your boyfriend’s birthday, but then he beat you to the punch and broke up with you before anything could come to fruition.

So, yeah.

You were probably really pissed at him.

Jungkook wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to set him on fire.

Ugggggggh, me, you stupid dummy!

He was sitting on his couch and slowly sinking to the floor, mentally berating himself for his pride and his overthinking, because of course Jungkook wouldn’t have thought like this if, as Jimin pointed out, he had some insecurity about her leaving him for someone else – and, unfortunately and infuriatingly, Jimin is damn right, because Jimin was kind and sweet and not nearly half as brash or annoying as Jungkook was.

Or thought he was.

And you could get anyone.

Anyone. With that body, that gaze, that confidence? No one would stand a chance. He hadn’t and he was fine with that, until he went and fucked it up, and now he knew you could go out and do whatever and whoever if you wanted, you just had to want to. And, obviously, you went out and visited your favorite café. Without him. To top it all off, you had smiled at your phone, clearly texting someone.

Shit.

Jungkook slapped his hands to his face and groaned, his ass at the edge of the couch and two centimeters away from collapsing to his abstract black-and-white living room rug that you had picked out when he moved in after he nagged you saying that he was bad at interior design and needed help, but secretly he only wanted to annoy you into making decisions for him.

He should… say something.

It wasn’t going to end well.

Fuck!

He hoped the person you were talking to was not cute. You liked cute more than handsome, he knew. You liked cute faces, deep voices, and diligent, hardworking people who knew who they were and weren’t easily swayed in their beliefs.

Which he was everything he was.

He just had the wrong belief and went way too far into the deep end without putting his pride aside and straight-up asking, thus leading to him being single and, now, angry at himself. For someone who thinks so much, you act too fast, you used to tell him with a laugh, mostly referring to his aggressiveness when playing video games.

Jungkook sadly plopped onto the floor for a good while, thinking about what he had done.

-

You were horny.

But, also, you were trying to change, so you weren’t about to coerce this guy that you were barely getting to know to drop his pants. Although he probably would. You were pretty convincing when you wanted to be and there were some telltale signs signaling that you two had some shared… interests. Yeah. However! You were trying not to go that route for once in your life.

It was pretty difficult.

He had sent you more voice messages. He even sent one he considered embarrassing, where he was singing, which would have been cringe as hell except it turned out to be the complete opposite. The stark contrast of his sweet, angelic singing voice and his deep, sultry speaking voice was shocking. Unreal. Was it possible to fall in love from just that knowledge? No. Was it possible to find your heart racing and imagining indecent things?

Possible?

Yes.

Did that make you a degenerate?

Maybe.

Hence why you simply made a comment about his talent and how impressive it was. You did not, in fact, mention the sudden intense desire to march over to wherever this guy was, rip off his shirt, and run your tongue all over his chest so you could hear the varying tones of the delicious noises that he would surely make as you teased his skin and who-knows-what-else. Mostly what was stopping you was that you hadn’t asked to see him in person yet.

Anyway.

Now you were stuck with the age-old question – jack off or distract yourself?

Or keep talking to the new guy?

No. You couldn’t do that. You were trying to change, and that meant not basing the foundation of a relationship on sex and good conversation. The latter, fine. The former? Apparently got you in trouble, apparently made you a problem, apparently was not good, and you didn’t used to care about that stuff until you lost him.

Stupid love.

You sighed and plopped down on your bed, frowning.

Your phone was laying on your pillow, having a nice nap.

You knew you should probably talk to someone about it. Anyone. But you avoided it, because you didn’t want to put Jeon Jungkook in a bad light to anyone, ex-boyfriend or not. You simply avoided everyone’s questions until they all died out and left you alone. Then you spent countless nights, much like this one, analyzing why you felt the way you felt about that thing that seemed to invade way too much of your life.

Jungkook accusing you of cheating on him.

You used to think, ah, I don’t overthink things, but even if you didn’t actively think about it, you found yourself holding back, not doing things that you would normally do, all because what if someone misinterpreted your intentions? What is there was just something about you that implied such a thought? It would have been easy to brush off if it was some random, but the person that you had thought you would spend the rest of your life with had accused you of lying.

The one thing you hated most, lying.

Which you had been doing at the time, but not about what he thought it was.

Which made it a harder pill to swallow, which made you stubborn, which made you not say anything or bother correcting him with receipts, because fuck him, fuck Jeon Jungkook for accusing you of cheating, fuck him and his, I’m breaking up with you, and you bluntly accepting it and leaving.

Ghosted him.

Didn’t even bother asking for an explanation or reconciliation.

Be the bigger person, yeah, that was what all the self-help books and podcasts said, but honestly you didn’t give a fuck. How the hell were you going to go on, living with the knowledge of Jeon Jungkook accusing you of lying, the one thing you hated most in this world? Who cared what his reason was? Who cared what it all meant? Not you on a bad day.

You winced.

Nothing you could do about that now.

The only way to make things different was to act differently in the same situation. If you were going to see someone new, you couldn’t just seduce them and drive them to the brink of insanity so that they were begging to fuck on the first meeting. You already did that.

With Jungkook.

And we know how that one ended.

So, you were doing the whole meet-a-guy-on-a-dating-app thing, switch to texting – probably too quickly but whatever – and slowly build up to a first meeting.

Slowly.

It had been a week and he was sending voice memos of him singing and maybe you were already shamelessly flirting.

Okay, you were trying and that was the point. Also, he was making it too easy and being too cute with his reactions. Being able to hear the sheepishness in that deep voice, mmm. And he simply couldn’t refuse you when you prompted him to switch to speaking directly instead of text. He did whatever you asked, not questioning it.

Maybe you should call him.

Hm.

Your hand found its way to the pillow where your phone was having a serene siesta.

You wanted to, but there was something that was holding you back. It would be easy to be blind about it, but you had to be honest with yourself before getting to the serious playing around. You didn’t need to bring up a picture of new guy. You knew exactly what he looked like – and that was the problem.

Born in the same year.

Muscular with a cute face.

The same height.

Seriously sexy when absorbed in their interests and adorable as fuck when flustered.

Able to be flustered easily by you, the intoxicating fire.

New guy didn’t have tattoos though. Not any that you could see in his photos, anyway. Mhm, you can sit here and pretend all you want but there are too many similarities to him and Jeon Jungkook, missy. Your brain had a point. Maybe this was what having-a-type meant. Or maybe this screamed rebound, which is exactly what you didn’t want it to be, so you were holding back.

But new guy was so.

Fucking.

Cute.

Pairing the combination of his loveable demeanor with the contrast of how built he was and that was the lethal combination right there. Plus, it was obvious he liked you. It would only take a little push. You flicked your wrist and unlocked your phone with your fingerprint, immediately bringing up the last thing you were doing. His latest text, saying he was off to shower, but promising he would be back after. Your phone normally vibrated to notify you, but this time it didn’t have to.

In real time, the voice memo popped up.

You played it.

That distinct deliciously deep voice shyly murmuring, “I’m back.”

He was only sending it because he knew you liked it. You could tell by his tone. Hear the hope in it. Well, shit, you could have all these dumbass overthinking reasons to not do something risky, or you could answer the hint of anticipation in that bated breath.

Don’t, your brain said.

You ticked your head. The call button was right next to his name.

You pressed it.

“Surprised?” was your greeting.

-

Maybe you weren’t making headway. Maybe it wasn’t that serious. Maybe you were in for-fun mode, out to break hearts to protect yours. Not that Jungkook would know, because he was standing in your favorite place in the world, and you weren’t here to answer his maybes.

He jumped as the intercom buzzed and scratchily announced that the leftover bread from the bakery was being put on flash sale. Most likely because it was going to expire today.

Yes, Jeon Jungkook was standing in the savory snack aisle of your local grocery store. A lot of people preferred the sweeter snacks – that was him, he was a lot of people – but you wanted the salty ones, which meant you and him never had to fight for snacks. He would eat all the candy and you would be chomping on seaweed. Harmony.

Until he fucked it up.

Yes, we get it. You’re an idiot. Move on, me.

But Jungkook couldn’t move on, because he was moping and picking up the last bag of shrimp chips like it was the goddamn Holy Grail and hoping your communications with mystery man were not going well. Well, he didn’t know if it was a man but it would hurt more if it was and his mind was conjuring worst case scenario to terrorize him. Or guilt him. Or both.

He clutched the shrimp chips like they were his lifeline and shuffled out of the aisle.

He didn’t even really like them. Well, he did. He would eat any snack. They just tasted better when they were with you because you loved them and used to talk about how you ate them a lot as a kid. Jungkook used to tease you for not liking candy enough. Were you even a kid? And then you’d put him in a chokehold. A real one, not a metaphorical one – although you had him there too.

He shouldn’t have taught you that. Was a bad idea.

Well, he couldn’t even be regretful about that anymore.

Sigh.

-

Where the fuck were the shrimp chips?

You were staring at the label that indicated they were discounted. Right there, in glaring red ink. They were clearly sold here. You reached back, feeling around for that familiar packaging. You would recognize the ridge of the shrimp chips right away. Nothing but the turtle chips. Fuck! Who the hell bought the shrimp chips? You squinted at the cart of the old lady at the far end of the aisle.

Was it you, lady? Hmm?!

Before you could harass said old lady, she leisurely rolled off to the next aisle.

Fuck.

Not that you would fight the elderly for shrimp chips, but maybe you had put people into a headlock for less.

Not maybe, you had.

Anyway.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have come after dinner. Damnnit. You marched out of the aisle and searched the endcaps, hoping that perhaps there was a spare bag left behind or possibly another display. Nope. Sad times. What else were you craving? You came all the way over to your local grocery store to get a familiar nostalgic snack, only for them to not have it, therefore you must purchase something random so the cashiers didn’t think you’re a weirdo for leaving empty-handed.

Not that they would notice.

Or care.

Hm.

You were about to collect what was left of your shattered expectations and get out of there before you stopped, seeing a colorful display with a poster of a joyful marshmallow standing under a starry sky, beside a tent and a campfire. The stacked boxes under the brightly saturated sign indicated the product contents of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows – a s’mores kit.

Was…

Was the marshmallow going to roast himself as sacrifice?

Or… was the marshmallow going to eat these s’mores?

Before you could debate the ethics of the vaguely cannibalistic nature of this marketing tactic, you remembered Jeon Jungkook’s favorite dessert was s’mores. In fact, he nearly caused a fire on your gas stove in his desire for said sweet treat. There was a lot of yelling and smoke and throwing open the window to your next-door neighbor staring wide-eyed at you as the smoke alarm blared.

You recalled gasping that you burnt the rice and scurrying away.

What? You weren’t going to throw your boyfriend under the bus.

Er.

Ex-boyfriend, now.

You reached out to the box. A fun activity for the family, it said. You didn’t have a family. Just you and some what-ifs. You held the box, feeling the weight. It was substantial, but not that heavy. Get it together. What were you going to do? Freak out every time you thought about Jungkook? Come on. He doesn’t deserve that. The best thing you could do was have a good opinion of him, despite him being a little shit.

Hey.

You meant that in an endearing way.

… Yeah.

You sighed and tucked the s’mores kit under your arm. This was how life was. People were too complicated to fit in neat little boxes and situations were too convoluted to have a correct or right resolution. You would probably feel even shittier if you tried to act on emotions and get into his face about it. You had to take the L. Eat the damn s’mores and maybe think about finally meeting the new guy. The conversation had been nice and fluid once you got him talking about himself, something he had been reluctant to do because he didn’t want to seem arrogant.

You had asked him if he was.

He had replied with, “Maybe a little?” The self-doubt in his response had made you laugh, as if he wasn’t so sure himself. But the whole point becoming someone’s potential one and only was bragging about yourself, so might as well lay out everything you got, right?

You didn’t even like sweets.

Maybe the new guy did, though. Maybe you should try to like them a little more.

You bought the box of s’mores and went home.

-

Normally, people cried into wine or chocolate, but Jungkook was crying into a bag of shrimp chips.

Okay.

Not actually crying, because then he would ruin the shrimp chips, but pretty damn close to sobbing into the crispy snack while watching the latest popular drama and wondering what you were doing. Hopefully you were happy, doing stuff you loved. Cute stuff, like watching cat videos or those home renovation shows you seemed to have great interest in. You told him you wanted to learn about houses so that you would have knowledge when buying one with him. Smart. So smart. Oh, man, why were you so smart and why was he a dum-dum? That’s not fair, Jungkook. You’ll handle all the interior design stuff because you’re artsy, oh, wait, I’ll have to narrow down the options so you don’t buy seven different diffusers. He chomped away at the shrimp chips, sniffling at the memory.

He was being lame.

Also, a little self-centered, because this was not all about him. You had been in the relationship too and technically you were the one who was hurt. He should not be the sad one sitting here on the floor in front of his television and stuffing his face with shrimp chips as he watched the male lead and the female lead go through some misunderstandings. He should be thinking about how he could be a better person.

Jungkook frowned.

Were shrimp chips gluten-free?

He checked the label.

Yes. Whew. His doctor had warned him he shouldn’t have gluten late at night, as it would upset his stomach. Step one into being a better person, take care of one’s personal health. At least he was doing that right.

Right-ish.

Back to chomping away.

Maybe you were happier without him. That would suck, but at least you would be doing well. What more could he ask for? Besides rewinding time and boinking some sense into his own head. Something to ask Doctor Strange once they would inevitably meet. It would be awkward to ask for a favor right away, but what’s the worst that could happen? Utter chaos of the timeline and disruption of subsequent timelines connecting the various multiverses?

… On second thought.

Jungkook wondered if the female lead would just tell the male lead that she already liked him. You wouldn’t have a problem saying something like that right away. It was very cool of you, always being the first to admit how you felt. Never hiding anything.

It was at that moment that Jungkook choked on a shrimp chip and starting hacking up his lungs.

He had to punch his chest to gain some semblance of breath back. There was a lot of wheezing and scrambling for the water bottle on his coffee table. Ugh. His throat felt all fucked up.

Hmmmm.

Did you throat feel like this when he rammed his dick into it? He never asked. He had been too busy feeling good and ascending to the heavens to ask questions. He should have been more thoughtful on that front. Maybe if he had been more considerate…

You had a vibe going on here, me, and you just ruined it by thinking about sex.

Oops.

Anyway.

Back to watching drama and crying over shrimp chips despite one of them trying to end his life.

-

You opened the box of the s’mores kit and the graham crackers were all crushed.

“Fuck.”

You could roast marshmallows and top it with melted chocolate and graham cracker powder?

You struggled and made do, realizing with a quick taste test that, yes, this was too sweet, but you had tea and resilience, and your never-say-die attitude reminded you that you could do anything, including making a very messy but possibly innovative dessert. If you added some yogurt, would it become a s’mores parfait? Hey. That could be a thing… somewhere.

Well, it was a thing here in your kitchen right now.

At least you didn’t start a fire.

-

“Maybe you should do something.”

He stared off into space and answered hollowly.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Park Jimin dragged out exaggeratedly. “Talk to her? Maybe your ship has sailed, but at least you could get some closure. For my sake.” He muttered the last bit under his breath.

Jungkook did not want to hear that his ship has sailed. He wanted to hear that the ship was right here, docking to the port. Or… something like that. Whatever. Anyway, Jimin was doing a shit job of helping him figure out how to repair the gaping wound in his chest. Talk to her, yeah, like that was gonna solve anything.

Psh.

Jungkook pushed the food around on his plate. A surefire sign he was feeling like shit. He always ate. Few things could stop him from eating.

“Are you dying? Why are you disrespecting your dak-galbi like that?”

On second thought, Jungkook shoveled it into his mouth. Food comas were a thing, right? Maybe he could eat himself into a stupor. Maybe he could induce an actual coma if he consumed enough alcohol and food.

Only one way to find out.

“Oi, don’t eat that fast, are you trying to give yourself a stomachache? Oi. Jungkook!”

-

You woke up.

Heart racing, world swirling, touching your face, and there they were, tears, uninhibited by logic anymore, blurry faces and that kind of anger that was more sad than angry, but fury won, because you didn’t want to show that you were sad, burying it deep inside until your dreams broke through your subconscious and replayed it for you, the yelling, the throwing of cushions, the snatching of the keys and the furious tossing of your shoes on and then running, running, you shouldn’t have ran but you did, you ran and ran and ran and cried into the wind just like how you cried into your pillow right now and for what, for nothing, for something that was over and dead, over and dead.

It was fading.

Fading.

The memory, and now your tears, curling into your pillow, suffocating yourself in cloth, trying to close it out, breathing nothing and seeing black, in, out, in, out, until your lungs felt like they were burning.

You threw your head up, gasping.

Face dry.

Not a chance that someone would catch you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

Not that anyone was here except you.

You were still someone though.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

How could he think I was lying when I hate lying most in this world?

And no one could see you cry, no one could see you fall apart, no one could think that they had any power over you, because you weren’t weak, you couldn’t be made a fool of, you would rather tear it apart yourself then let someone else think that they could get to you.

You ruined everything, me.

And maybe you did.

Maybe you did and now what? Nothing. Nothing but bad dreams and an empty bed and shuddering breaths as you wiped your eyes with the duvet and pretended your nose wasn’t stuffy, sliding back down to the silence, breathing quietly, he used to be right here and now there was no one but you, but you were someone and not a chance that someone would see you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

You were someone.

And there was nothing anyone could do about this aftermath, nothing to do about you yelling irreversible things and him yelling irreversible things, both of you tearing apart what you built together like it was nothing, over what?

Pride.

Fear.

The usual suspects.

There was no point in asking why no one fought for anyone because everyone was wearing masks of mad and secretly sad. Yeah, you could die on this sacred ground. You could. That would be real fuckin’ easy. But easy wasn’t living. You didn’t pick easy when you picked Jungkook, and you didn’t pick easy when you walked away either.

This limbo wasn’t you.

You sighed.

Breathed out.

Held your breath for thirty seconds.

Easy isn’t living, me. Just go on a damn date.

-

You are a dumbass, me.

He was too full and too drunk and a blob on his own bed. Jimin tried to convince him that he needed someone to take care of him, but Jungkook just pushed his hyung out the door and bade him good night. Jimin kept urging him to talk about it, but Jungkook was, he was talking to his head every second of every day and it wasn’t doing anything but giving him a headache, and now he had a fat headache and a bursting-at-the-seams tummy.

Oof.

So now he was a blob.

Hopefully he wouldn’t throw up.

He felt around and found the water bottle by his bed. Okay. At least he had water. There was a packet of hangover meds in his nightstand drawer. For emergencies like this. Jimin had reminded him that he couldn’t keep doing this to himself, but joke’s on Jimin, Jungkook knew he could. Had been and quite frankly was thinking about sulking to his heart’s content, maybe even until the end of time, because everyone was telling him he couldn’t, so stubbornly he continued.

Out of principle.

Something like that.

Okay, maybe Jungkook was secretly seriously considering gathering his courage to speak to you face-to-face. Maybe. It was all his fault, after all. For not believing, for making up a narrative that tore you and him apart, all his fault for burning that bridge you two built together, and for what, for nothing but pride and fear and wasn’t he getting a little old for that?

Jungkook sighed, feeling far too sober and reasonable.

Should have drunk more.

Maybe you didn’t need the closure, but he wouldn’t know unless he asked, and he was done assuming, done thinking he knew what was what. It was clear that he didn’t. He didn’t even know if he needed closure, but the aftermath still stung even now, scorched by the everlasting fire, and maybe he was stupid for thinking some silly little words could do anything for this situation, but it was something, right, and something was better than this nothing, nothing but a bad signal flickering weakly, couldn’t connect because there were too many walls separating you and him.

Jungkook knew exactly where your apartment was, and could confirm that there were probably many walls separating you and him right now.

If you were in your apartment, that is.

You had to be. It was the middle of the night.

He should be asleep.

Jungkook resumed his blob form and waited for his dreams to take him.

Or nightmares.

That was not a choice he could make, unfortunately.

-

First dates were difficult because you had to chose the one outfit that would represent you. In the off chance that you only ended up meeting this person once, you felt that your clothes had to give off a distinct impression of who you were. Similar to that age-old question of, if you were a ghost and stuck with one outfit forever, what would you want to wear?

Morbid, but effective.

Something you could live by.

Oh, yeah, me, also perhaps you should try to impress the new guy.

You didn’t want to admit it but the truth was the truth – this was less about him and more about you and taking responsibility for whatever came, good or bad. Because, yes, maybe it wouldn’t turn out well, maybe nothing was meant to be, maybe you were driving in the metaphorical fast lane and accelerating way too recklessly, but it wasn’t like you to let up on the gas, and the only way to found out if there was any chance at all was to put on some damn clothes and just do the damn thing.

That how you were before…

No. You were someone before him and you’re someone now.

It wasn’t fair.

But life wasn’t fair, life was complicated and maybe even a little immoral sometimes, and that was how it was so you got dressed. White cropped t-shirt. You look so good in those, even if they’re simple. Big black hoodie with a cheeky-looking ghost in the back, peeking up with a mischievous little smile. I love oversized stuff on you. It makes you look so small and cute. Short black skirt, pleated, with a chain hanging off the hip. You hooked on a little keychain of a tuxedo cat to the top of the chain, something for you to know and maybe for others to find out if you took off your hoodie. I’m glad you like wearing short skirts. You have great legs and I love looking at them. Thick thigh-high black socks to block out the cold. Aw, man, sucks that it’s getting cold now but you have to protect those precious legs. You would wear your heeled boots with the big silver buckles shaped like moons. Thick soled and heavy, ah, like mine.

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

Your fashion is nice because you always match me.

You could hear Jungkook’s voice even though he wasn’t there and you just had to stand there and accept that life wasn’t fair and that you would hear it for a while until you forgot the sound of his voice and it wasn’t fair that you still couldn’t decide if you actually wanted to forget it or not.

But nothing changed if you only stood still, so you walked over to your front door and put your shoes on. Checked your black bag with a frowning smiley face icon printed on the front and slung it over your shoulder, safely tucking it by your hip.

Paused.

Glanced at the hooks by your door and picked up the thick maroon-colored scarf, lopping it around your neck as you opened the door and walked out, holding your keys in your hand.

-

Who the fuck is that?

Now.

Now, Jungkook was fully and completely aware what he was doing was wrong, even if his original intent was perfectly sensible. Completely normal. Nothing wrong with what he had initially meant to do but shit got sidetracked the second he spotted familiar legs and a black hoodie, with a cheeky ghost printed onto the back, that’s the one, and was that a man walking next to you, dark-haired and handsome, kind of close, turning his head and laughing at something you said, something Jungkook couldn’t hear because he was a block away, staring wide-eyed with his legs moving of their own accord.

Wondering what this guy had that Jungkook didn’t have.

That white sweater didn’t do much to hide the broad shoulders and muscular frame. Clean blue jeans and a very nice smile, eyes that crinkled up when he laughed, covering his mouth. It wasn’t fake. Jungkook had hoped it was a fake laugh but it looked genuine as fuck and now Jungkook was stalking his ex-girlfriend on his way to her apartment to have that talk that Jimin kept telling him to have, the talk to get out all these pent-up feelings, but now he should just turn around and try another day.

But life wasn’t fair.

He wanted to say he was simply too dumbstruck to stop himself, but Jungkook was pretty sure it was sinful jealousy that was giving his legs the strength to follow at a block’s distance.

He wanted to tell himself something comforting, like she has terrible taste but the guy was pretty good-looking actually, or he doesn’t seem that interesting but you seemed very invested in what he had to say at the intersection, so interested that you two missed the crossing signal, or he can’t make you laugh but you did, you laughed and he laughed at the missed signal and it looked like a scene of out a movie, two adults holding insulated cups of some warm drink and shyly smiling over light sips in between conversation.

And the creepy ex-boyfriend squinting at the scene from a block away.

Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.

You started crossing and Jungkook jogged to catch the light just before it changed.

This was really stupid all around, but he didn’t care. He wanted to know if this new guy knew your affinity for green tea and lemon cake yet. He wanted to know if new guy liked your oversized hoodie and skirt, because it was one of his favorite outfit combinations on you. He wanted to know how you felt about new guy, because new guy looked like he had an impressive personal best at the bench press, and Jungkook wanted to know if it was better than his, not that it mattered.

But it mattered.

Jungkook avoided the streetlamps that suddenly turned on, trying to stay out of the light. He didn’t know how recognizable he was in his massive black parka and black jeans with rips at the knees, but he wasn’t chancing you suddenly turning around and recognizing his knees.

He made sure his face mask was on securely before pulling the hood over his head.

New guy put his hand on your head and Jungkook almost skidded to a stop as a different hand fluffed your hair.

You playfully swiped at new guy’s hand and now Jungkook was close enough to hear that deep laugh at your reaction.

You used to take Jungkook’s hand and put it on your head and when he asked what you were doing, you simply told him that you liked the reassuring weight.

How did I not get it?

Jungkook watched as both you and new guy stopped, realizing you were holding his wrist.

In slow motion, you reluctantly let go and dipped your head, apologizing.

New guy waved his hand, apologizing himself, bowing even.

Night was falling, falling.

You beckoned, indicating that the walk should continue.

Jungkook followed and watched you talk to this man in front of your apartment complex. He tried to sort out the feeling, because there was a part of him that hadn’t given up yet, and another part that saw that life wasn’t fair, and the last part him thought maybe this right in front of him was meant to be and maybe his part of your fairytale was over.

The man leaned over and deliberately kissed you on the cheek, politely not going for the lip kiss.

He waved and stepped back, back in the opposite direction, but Jungkook was on the other side of the street now, circling, coming from the other way as he watched new guy wave to you and you wave back, yelling at him to be careful and watch where he was going.

“Kim Gunhak! You’ll trip if you don’t turn around!”

And this Kim Gunhak almost did, catching himself and looking sheepish, giving you one last smile before turning around.

You waited until he was too far away to make out and then headed into your apartment complex.

Jungkook fought with himself, unsure what to do now, wondering what was right.

-

You had only just taken off your shoes when your doorbell buzzed.

The intercom was in the hallway, but you were right next to the door, so, instead of checking it, you opened it, expecting a confused delivery person who was looking for your next-door neighbor around the corner or a neighbor inquiring about a lost dog or maybe even some drunkard who had the wrong apartment, literally anyone but the person who was standing at the entrance of your front door.

Jeon Jungkook.

He looked very sober.

His cheeks were pink from the cool night.

You thought you would have something to say, something vengeful and witty and spirited with fire, but your eyes connected with those big brown ones and suddenly you were staring at him and he was staring at you, frozen, couldn’t speak, afraid to jinx it, feeling like something otherworldly was happening right now, impossible that Jeon Jungkook was right there, someone you had known so well not that long ago, but now his eyes were flying saucers from another planet.

Unrecognizable, the feeling in those eyes.

You remembered crying and that hurt.

But easy wasn’t living.

Sometimes living meant you got hurt.

You remembered every detail on his face, from his dark eyebrows to his black hair, longer now, to those expressive dark brown orbs, to the shape of his pink lips accented with a silver ring, to the mole underneath them. Little details that you loved about him. You remembered you should be mad at him. You felt like maybe you should be.

But, like ashes, there was nothing but smokey remnants after enough time passed.

Jungkook spoke first.

“I’m… sorry.”

It was cold and you should close the door, but you were stuck, transfixed by his words.

“I know you hate those words, because actions mean more than I’m sorry but…” He sucked in a shaky breath and helplessness looked right at you. “I thought of a thousand actions and none of them can take back what I thought was true, because in that moment I betrayed you, the moment when I left myself believe in something that I made up in my mind more than I believed in you.”

He looked like he was going to cry and you hated it when Jungkook cried because then you felt like crying, like you had made him cry even if it wasn’t directly about you, but this was about you.

“When I realized I could be wrong, I didn’t want to admit it.”

Pride.

“By then I said some shitty things and you were already out the door.”

Fear.

“You said I was too stubborn and headstrong for anybody, even you,” you breathed, every memory scored pain, burned into your brain.

Jungkook shook his head. He didn’t try to come closer even though you could tell he wanted to. He didn’t cry even though you could tell he wanted to. He didn’t stop his lip from trembling because he wanted you to see that he was honest, that he didn’t want to hide even though past him would want to.

“I’m sorry. You always told me to be aware of my initial reaction so I could sort through the other options and react less emotionally, but I failed you, and I failed us, and I know I shouldn’t say this, but I wish I could take it all back, the first thought about you and Jimin, and everything after, because if I just said that very first thought out loud instead of holding it in, I wouldn’t be watching you live life without me.”

Your thoughts whispered to you, cruel and unfaithful poison seeping.

It's my fault.

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Jungkook was being unfair to apply what you said to this situation and maybe he wasn’t. It was hard to tell and hard to know the answer. The funny thing about life was that there was usually no answer. There was only shit that happened and acting on too little information too much of the time. Maybe it would be apt to feel anger now, because Jungkook gave you the obscure hint that he had seen Kim Gunhak walk you home, perhaps just the kiss on the cheek goodbye part but it was spying all the same, and yet, instead of anger, you felt something else.

Relieved.

“You saw my date drop me off?” you asked quietly.

Jungkook looked away, ashamed.

“Yeah.”

Now.

Now you saw it was pointless.

Your fault. His fault. Who cared whose fault was it? You could spend all day and all night and all the time thereafter trying to decide whose fault it was, but at the end of the day the earth beneath you and him was scorched by an imperfect love, and it was fine to walk away. It was fine to tell him that he could walk away too, fine to walk away from the ashes of this fairytale.

You can walk away from our fairytale, Jungkook, me.

He raised his head, making eye contact with you again, taking a deep breath.

You gazed back.

Saw flecks of what could have been, lights still alive in those big brown eyes.

Pride.

Fear.

Not a chance that someone would catch you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

“I…”

The usual suspects holding you back.

“I… told myself I could do anything,” you said, not breaking eye contact and you saw he believed that you could; he always did. “I only had to put the effort in. Meet people and open up a little. Even if it was fake it ‘til I make it, and I almost made it.”

The world was blurry and cold, all around.

“Almost.”

Not a chance.

“I almost did, Jeon Jungkook, but then you had to go and apologize.”

The tears came down, and Jungkook instinctively reached out to wipe them away, but then he stopped, suddenly afraid. You stepped back and wiped your cheeks yourself, surprised at that suddenness. Was this what getting older and growing up meant? Allowing yourself to be in touch with your emotions?

Mortifying.

You stared at him, almost accusingly, and it was all falling apart.

“I’m tired of trying to figure out who was wrong.”

Everything was all wrong.

“I’m tired of trying to rethink every little thing, all thanks to you.”

Painstakingly re-wiring every thought so all those little things didn’t remind you of Jungkook, giving in sometimes to the memories and feeling aghast that both of you had dropped the lit match onto the bridge you built together, burning it, burning it all down.

“I’m tired of missing you.”

You didn’t want to be that one, but you grabbed him by the front of his parka and shook him hard, out of frustration and that thought that no one should catch you crying over a boy, of all things, a silly boy who had made you laugh and loved sweets and your fashion and had always eagerly listened to you talk about whatever with stars in his eyes like you his everything, and so you refused to cry in front of him so you could always look cool and tough and not affected, but now you shoved your head into his chest and cried, cried about how you couldn’t be the person he thought you were, a person worthy of his love, because the truth was deep down you were weak, deep down you were made a fool of, and deep down Jungkook did have power over you since some part of you stupidly hadn’t given up yet. If you had been worthy, why would he have any reason to question your faithfulness? You must have done something wrong. The unknown had eaten away at you all this time, prevented you from crying and prevented you from trying to reconcile, and here Jungkook was beating you to it, so the least you could do was be honest and cry.

It was the worst, letting yourself cry.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you to him.

You pushed him away, glaring, fiercely rubbing at your eyes with the bottom of your sleeves.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Shook your head, stumbling back into your apartment, swinging at the door and missing, your red scarf falling from your neck, falling, falling, warmth slipping away.

“Don’t try to make me feel better when all you came here to do was to heal yourself.”

“I didn’t come here to heal myself.”

Jungkook bit his lip, looking guilty, following you inside, but only a step.

“I came here to try and get you back. I was going to fight that guy with my bare hands.”

Your tears paused, blinking hard to clear your vision.

“What?”

His eyes shifted and he sucked on the inside of his cheek, frowning slightly. “Well, if this was a movie, I would fight him, but it’s not, because it’s unlikely you would take me back after I beat up some poor guy.”

“I would kick your ass,” you snapped, annoyance clearing the sadness. “Not to mention Gunhak is a workout maniac, as much or more than you. He wouldn’t be beaten by you so easily.”

Jungkook pouted.

You froze.

The moment hung in the air, a stillness with too much meaning.

“Well, I would already lose anyway,” he mumbled, glancing at you. “You were always my weakness.”

Those big brown eyes and you noticed his ears were red, his cheeks were flushed and even his fingers were scarlet. This moment was a choice, a moment to stop and consider the options, but all you did was follow your instinct, reaching forward and grabbing his wrist, pulling him to you, ignoring his wide eyes and confused squeak, pulling and closing the door, cutting off the cold, and now it was just you and him, you holding his cold hands and rubbing, closing your fingers around them, not knowing if this was a bad decision or not, probably, but what made a decision good or bad?

No answers.

“I hate you,” you muttered. “You watch too much drama and memorized all the good lines.”

Your gaze flickered to him and Jungkook pulled a face, looking remorseful again, except this time he seemed less sure of his guilt.

“Sorry?”

You bit your lip.

“You’re stubborn and headstrong too, Jungkook.”

He nodded, not denying it.

“But you’re my good influence,” he chirped lightly.

Then he winced.

“Were. Were my good influence.”

Corrected himself, tone pained.

Heart racing, looking at your world, holding onto Jungkook’s hands, and he stepped closer tentatively, warmth and memories, and the line of having a possibly uncomfortable conversation tomorrow was not crossed yet, not yet, and you squeezed his hands, those big brown eyes asking you if the impossible was possible, and you didn’t dare open your mouth, because the real answer was that you didn’t know, he didn’t know, no one knew, nothing was meant to be, everything was impossible until someone made it possible, and maybe that those someones could be you and him.

You tilted your head.

Familiar breath.

“You can tell me if you like him more than me,” Jungkook whispered shakily. “I’ll probably cry, but I’ll understand eventually.”

The tips of his hair touched your forehead.

“Can you shut up, Jungkook?” you hissed back. “Just shut up and close your eyes if you want me to kiss you.”

Flecks of what could have been, lights still alive in those flying saucers, and his lashes lowered, casting darkness over the stars in those big brown eyes, closing them.

What are you doing, me?

You kissed him.

-

He should have accepted what was, was, but Jungkook couldn’t and now you kissed him and his brain reminded him that you could be the one to break his heart this time, but Jungkook told his brain, I don’t care, and kissed back, trying not to cry all over your face. If this was your revenge arc, Jungkook would gladly be part of it. He had kinda been a shithead. He could understand the audience perspective.

Also, you were kinda hot in your revenge arc.

What?

Jungkook had told you many times before that he loved your legs.

You let go of his hands and placed your palms on his cheeks, exhaling into his mouth, and he never said it before, but he loved that shit, it got him inappropriately hard inappropriately fast, something about the heat and the calmness of your sweet breath that drove him crazy.

He did love sweets, after all.

“You’re so cold.”

Your kiss on his cheeks, his gasping mouth, grazing his lip ring. Soft, plush, perfect lips murmuring against his skin, familiar and sensual and comforting, and he was seconds away from crying, so instead he drew in a shuddering breath, falling into the more R-rated thoughts because if he didn’t let arousal take over, he was seconds away from becoming a motionless, emotional puddle on your hardwood floor and that wasn’t how he wanted this to end.

Yes, Jungkook was relying on sex to keep himself mentally stable.

Sorry, you’re too sexy and I want you too much.

“It’s cold outside,” and his reply came out a little more childish than he intended, too breathy and shivery, it was just so nice, so fucking nice that you were kissing him again, tracing his ears with your fingertips, loving caress, pulling him closer.

Your smile against his lip ring from his silly response.

“I’m warm. Touch me,” you breathed against his chin, hot and heavy.

Okay, maybe Jungkook knew all nice lines in dramas, but you knew all the lines to the porn videos.

Not that he was complaining.

His hands finding your waist and your teeth sinking his lower lip and he whined, the sting of pain coursing through him, a sharp detail of reality proving that this was no dream. His fingers curling into the thick fabric of your hoodie, grasping for your body, warm and getting warmer, yanking you closer. Your tongue tracing his skin, your hands framing the sides of his neck, stripped honesty vibrating in the millimeters of air between your faces.

“I always liked the sounds you make,” you purred, wisps of breath from your formation of words dancing between his trembling lips. “Like you’re desperate for me.”

“I am,” he found himself admitting. “I always am, please, breathe in my mouth, please.”

A ripple of surprise, but you wasted no time, covering his lips with yours and sighing into his throat, making his eyelids flutter and his whole body shiver, and if this was the last time then Jungkook was just going to leave it all on the table, all the things that made him feel good, he wanted them, all the things he remembered you liked, he would do them, like letting go of your hoodie and sliding his hands into your hair, turning your head to kiss your ear and suck on the space right under it, tongue and lips and teeth, your hitched breath at his touch, he missed it, the soft scent of your hair products filling his nose, he missed it, he missed the taste of your skin and the way you impatiently yanked his clothes off, cleanly unzipping his parka and pushing it off his shoulders, forcing him to let go up your head and just dump it on the ground, kicking off his shoes to a different directions, persistently keeping his lips on your neck and letting the fervor take over, insistently pushing you deeper inside your apartment.

He missed it, the way you enjoyed him.

“Can you–”

But you didn’t complete your irritated request, abruptly shoving him into the wall and making him gasp, and then the next thing he knew he was pressing his head to the wall and moaning as you bit down above his collarbone, running your tongue along that sensitive skin, your nails dragging down the sides of his neck, leaving lines of wanton fire.

“Too many layers,” you growled, tugging at the collar of his long-sleeved gray shirt even though it was the only layer separating you and him, but you were right, he agreed that it was too many layers, and Jungkook hastily yanked it up and over his head, tossing it to the side and then you bent down, your hands splayed over his right shoulder and the left side of his hip.

Pink tongue sliding out.

Licking up his chest.

Watching him as you did it, causing blood and pleasure to rush to all the right places.

He moaned, loud and pornographic.

You cocked an eyebrow.

He reached out and pulled at your hoodie and you made it crumple to the floor, then body to body again, face to face, kiss to hungry kiss, his hands going up your white crop top and under your bra, whining deep in his chest as you exhaled into his mouth again, thrusting your tongue into his lips when his fingertips brushed your nipples.

You backed off a little, taking your tongue away.

“D-Don’t stop.”

You paused, searching his eyes.

He hadn’t really confessed it before.

“It’s hot,” Jungkook panted. “When you do stuff like t-that.”

He squeezed your breasts to help get his point access but also for comfort as you scrutinized him, uncertain if he was sincere or not. Fair enough.

“Like what?” you asked, prompting him to clarify.

Heart racing, hot all over, adrenaline and fear fueling his pleasure, because there was something wonderfully dangerous about this territory. He had some inkling, but before he didn’t really bother to ask too much. You always did what you wanted to and naturally it leant to a certain power dynamic, but you never asked to take it further than sporadic, fleeting moments. And, well, Jungkook had never thought about how it would feel to admit out loud that that part of you it turned him on.

It would feel embarrassing, and yet he was enticed by that rush.

Aroused by it.

“When you treat me like you own me.”

Your eyes on his, not breaking the gaze.

Reaching up, running your fingers though his hair, sending tingles down his spine.

“Do you want me to own you a little?” you murmured.

He reached up and closed your fingers around a fistful of his hair.

“Maybe a little more than a little.”

You tugged.

The sting of pain, moan tumbling from his mouth, his hand falling, circling your waist.

Closer.

“I can take more,” he whispered to your lips.

You pulled and closed your hand over his erection fighting his jeans and Jungkook felt his whole body electrify, bucking his hips to your fingers and seeking your lips, but there was no kiss, only a controlled stream of breath to swallow, and the groan bubbled up in his ribcage. Alive. Raw pleasure. Intoxicated, driven by ferocious need, his fumbling hands undoing the button of his jeans, forcing down the zipper, everything being pushed down, and then it was your hand to his hot, taut skin, flicking your wrist by his head to deliver a shot of pain and a stroke of pleasure from the other, torn between the two sensations and the lightheaded feeling of your forceful breath pushing the air out of his lungs, forgetting that he could breathe from his nose, didn’t want to anyway, living was only living when it was on this hazy thin oxygen from your exhale.

Yes, Jungkook was pants down, shirtless, letting you jack him off and pull on his hair as you breathed into his mouth.

That was not how he thought this conversation would end but he was not taking any second of it for granted, rubbing your nipples, kneading your breasts, making sure you felt pleasure too, but the thing that seemed to make you smile most was the sounds he made, so Jungkook upped the desperation level in his tone and tucked his hips back slightly, changing the angle of your stroke.

“Fuck, yes, lower, closer to the head, fuuuuck, right there, a-ah…”

And you knew it all, the right pressure, the steady build up from slow to fast, until you had to focus and simply clutched his head, digging your nails into his scalp, panting against his shaking lips, fast and intense pressure consuming him, chasing the glorious high, closer and closer and closer.

He pinched your hard nipples and rubbed the tips, moaning unashamedly and probably too loud, keeping his lower body rigid so you could control the pace, your name tumbling out of his mouth, deep, needy, looking down to watch your hand firmly wrapped around his stiff cock, the head dark red and pleasure throbbing up his torso, you’re so good, fuck, you’re so fucking good, your breasts in his hands, perfect, groan pitching to helpless whine, almost…

You stopped.

“Fuck!”

His entire body jerked as you squeezed and simply froze at the very last second, at literally the singular point of almost no return and you stopped, and he was too far gone to be ashamed of the pathetic whimpering he was doing now, gripping your hand around his twitching length and nonsensically begging you to continue, but the moment was gone and, by the look of your devious smirk, it was all on purpose.

Fuck!

In his horny-induced haze, Jungkook attempted his best puppy eyes.

Your hand slid down his head and traced his jaw.

“I’m not gonna let you cum on the floor,” you teased.

He pulled a pout. “Come on… It’s not like floors can’t be cleaned.”

Your grip pulsed around his cock so hard he nearly gasped in pain.

“You’re not going to last if you cum once before pussy.”

Okay.

You were right, but the truth didn’t make Jungkook happy.

Not until he was balls deep into you, condom wrapper falling from his hand, you taking the moment to stretch your legs over his torso casually, adjusting your hips under him, and then he was deeper, surrounded on all sides by silky wet warmth that pulsated around him, so good his head involuntarily tipped back, his hair trickling his shoulders as he slid out a little and then back in.

Oh.

God.

He was very happy now.

“F-Fuck… I hate this position… you f-feel too fucking g-good…”

“It’s just missionary.”

He jerked his head down to see you smirking at him. Looking smug fully naked, juicy thighs flush to his abs and your body was essentially folded in half as he leaned down, sucking in a breath as your pussy clamped around his length, slow and controlled and every centimeter gripped tight like his dick owned money.

“You have the most control in this position,” he puffed.

“You wanted it,” you hummed.

Jungkook squinted in mock suspicion. Then he gave up on the act rather quickly.

“Yeah, I want you.”

Slid out and back in, shuddering.

“I don’t want anyone else but you.” Pleasure snaking through him with every thrust, breathless, slow and deep at first, but gradually adding power, harder and rougher, smacking hips to crotch, erotic electricity all over, his hair falling over his eyes, looking down, staring into yours. “I know I’m balls deep right now, but you have to believe me.”

You reached up.

And.

Patted him on the cheek.

“Jungkook, we can have the deep talk after the two minutes it takes for you to finish. I promise,” you assured cheerfully with a smile.

Hey!

He scrunched up his face and glared at you. “Excuse me, I last longer than two minutes–”

You planted your hands onto the mattress and thrust up into him. He choked at the sudden slingshot of ecstasy that pierced through him and his entire tirade about how he was going to last way longer because you technically edged him which was very mean by the way, yeah, all that was instantly forgotten as you tightened your jaw and all around him, creating an insane pace that his body immediately followed, too much carnal instinct and not enough sanity, the sound between you and him suddenly louder, wetter, rhythmic smacks and panting gasps, your mouth opening and your pink tongue licking the air, hint of a smirk at the periphery of your lips, and Jungkook felt like he should be mad about that, but it was turning him on more, fuck, he felt his cock twitch as he watched that agile tongue writhe, teasing sin, he was doomed, he was one of those freaky people that was into this stuff now.

That was what he got for admitting the truth.

Your hand shot up and you tangled your fingers in his long hair, gripping his head to get the leverage to fully fuck him from below plus add the aching pain of your nails digging into the scalp to the torrent of sensations ransacking him right now.

He groaned and his eyes rolled back, the orgasm slamming into him.

All over him, shooting out all over his nerves, potent pleasure so powerful that his hips bucked and shivered, only pure will allowing him to continue thrusting, but it appeared you had been holding back, oh fuck, skyrocketing his shivering orgasm to uncontrollable crashing waves from every throb of your walls, the slickness between your bodies painting onto his inner thighs and crotch, your name torn from his throat, low and hoarse and raw, drowning in the most concentrated bliss he knew, drenched in sex and sweat, wishing it was forever.

It always ended too soon.

Fuck.

-

“Um.”

You sat in front of him, wrapped in blankets as he was wrapped in his own cocoon of blankets, watching his lips twist and shift, looking uneasy.

“I’m super serious,” Jungkook finally settled. “About starting over. I mean, I know we just…”

“Fucked like a bad porn storyline?” you offered.

He winced, shifting his eyes. "Er. Yeah."

You dropped the jokes. “I’m serious too. Let’s start again. I learned my lesson. No more surprises.” You sharply poked his knee through the blanket. “But you have to talk to me. Whatever it is. Even if you think I don’t wanna know. Uncomfortable or not, better sooner than later. And I will do the same.” You nodded, more yourself than him, promising to hold yourself to it. Kept your gaze on him so he knew you were serious about doing so. You took it all in, messy black hair, big brown eyes, dreams of what could be. You and him could make the impossible, possible.

You and him only had to put the effort in.

“I wanna know everything about you, Jungkook.”

There was real worry reflected back at you. “What if it’s not good?”

You shrugged. “I already knew you weren’t good. I went on one date with one guy and you were already stalking me.”

His brows furrowed in indignation. “Hey, I happened to stumble onto your date by chance!”

“Oh, yeah, and by chance you followed us all the way to my apartment?” you countered.

His jaw flapped. “W… W-Well…”

You raised your eyebrows. Both of them.

Very high.

He puffed one cheek and looked away. “I just… hadn’t decided what to do…” he mumbled. “Or how serious you were, because if you were super serious, I wasn’t going to talk to you…”

You blinked in fake disbelief.

Jungkook muttered something like, I meant I wasn’t gonna try to sleep with you or anything if you were dating another guy... Mmm. You poked him. He shifted his eyes. Then ticked his chin at you.

“What about you, huh? You did it too.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t start dating you only because you’re cute, you know.”

He blinked in confusion.

You shrugged. “Fucking is important to me in a relationship. You always wanna fuck me. That’s what I want. Especially now that you admitted that you want me to own your ass in bed, making you even more appealing. Mmm. We have to explore that more.” You nodded sagely, greatly satisfied with your decision. “Therefore, I will talk to Gunhak in the morning.”

Jungkook sputtered, cocooning himself further into the thick blankets, slowly turning red. “That’s… W-Well… I wouldn’t date you unless I thought that you were the hottest woman that’s ever existed...”

You cupped your hand around your ear. “Pardon? Jeon Jungkook, are you saying that you’re shallow?”

“I’m not shallow, don’t twist my words!”

“I can twist something else–”

“Stop, t-that’s scary, don’t come under here! Hey!”

--

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

[weirdmarioenemies]

You know, all this time I never realized that Bomberman had Enemies! I thought it was just all those Bombers Men blowing each other up for sport. And I love those Bombers Men, they are very cute, but wow! Enemies! I love those! Enemies are my friends. There have been sooo many enemies over the course of the franchise, but here I will be talking about the originals from the very beginning! For the sake of consistency, I will be using the artwork from Bomberman Party Edition, since that was sadly the most recent time they all got official art for the same game. Here they come! Some creatures!

BALLOM

Ballom is The Enemy. The first one! It is very simple. It is really just a balloon, sometimes with a string, sometimes not. Watch out for this one! Ever try to kill a balloon before? Don’t let the media fool you, you need a bomb to do it. Ballom actually appeared before all the others in the very first game, called Bomber Man, where it was the only enemy! This game was localized in Europe as... Eric and the Floaters. It sounds like a band name! A real Yoshi’s Island style localization choice. This is not a Bomberman game anymore. It’s an Eric game.

I do not think this is what balloons look like

ONIL

Already we have reached my favorite one! Onil is a blue onion sort of thing, and I am really just a sucker for creatures that are vegetables. It is so cute! It’s almost not recognizable as an onion most of the time, with its tip looking like a dollop of frosting rater than actual onion skin, but the original sprite does a pretty good job of communicating Onion. As you can see at the beginning of the post, its name was originally localized as O’Neal, which I think is very funny. That’s a Last Name right there! This onion was named like a Fortnite character!

DAHL

Dahl is a sort of barrel of a thing! Finally we reach a thing that would more reasonably require a bomb to destroy. Look at its little face though! I feel bad talking about destroying these things with bombs. I don’t have much to say about Dahl, it’s a barrel, though it is a very cute barrel. I can’t think of THAT many other cute barrels.

MINVO

Minvo is a little boring. I’m sorry. But it’s just a Face! Sometimes it is a very inoffensive-looking face, while sometimes it is showing a few teeth, but still just a Face. They don’t do anything all that interesting either. However!

In some 3D appearances, they are not a sphere, but instead shaped like a sandwich cookie! Maybe they have been cookies all along! They even have Filling!

OVAPE

Ovape is a funny one! Originally, it was basically a smiley Pac-Man ghost, which is cute and funny, but not very unique. When allowed more detail, though, it often looks more like an octopus, and not just any octopus, but a hot dog cut into an octopus shape!

You know? Yeah! I don’t know how intentional the resemblance is, but it is very cute and fun.

DORIA

I love Doria! It is some kind of Substance, or perhaps an amoeba, and I love a simple cute blob. It is often seen in this weirdly flat-looking shape, like it was spread on an invisible piece of bread! I would not eat it! Doria moves slowly, but it is slippery and smart, chasing Bomberman while avoiding bombs. Very impressive for a brainless (I assume) blob!

PASS

Here we have our Token Mammal! Pass is a tiger who forgot the rest of itself at home and hops around as a head lump. It almost feels like Minvo, but with an actual design! You’re lucky you became a cookie, Minvo. Pass is fast, like a real tiger, and is able to Pass right through certain solid blocks, which real tigers cannot do. Only snow leopards can.

PONTAN

Another face? Kind of! But not completely! Pontan is a COIN, so more interesting than just a face, and spins around flatly in its animations. They are the most dangerous of the original enemies, and their design does nothing to reflect this! That is funny. Like Pass, it passes through some blocks, but it also hunts you down! If Pontan finds you, you will learn that it can indeed be used as currency. One Pontan is enough to buy you one Death!

Some, but not all, of these enemies would have the privilege of appearing in a Mobile Match 3 Game with the release of Bomberman Chains, and boy! They look weird! All of them! Ballom looks like Chris Griffin. Onil looks like it just woke up at 3:26 AM to go to the bathroom. I cannot say I Like any of these designs here, which is a shame because I think they could have all looked especially cute in Doodle Aesthetic, like Bomberman himself does! But I am glad this happened, it’s funny.

These have been just a few of the many funny little creatures specifically designed to be obliterated by explosions. Thank you.

#bomberman #ballom #onil #dahl #minvo #ovape #doria #pass #pontan #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

[fatehbaz]

The link between warfare and technological innovation has been well documented [...]. World War II was a particularly intense crucible of technological change, and the repurposing of military technologies and industries in the forging of a new post-war consumer [economy] is crucial [...]. Processes of technological bricolage turned the machines of war onto the natural world as global powers competed to cement their economic and imperial hegemony. In Great Britain’s post-war “groundnut scheme” in its East African territories (1946–51), this collision of nature, military hardware, and technical expertise was part of efforts to both produce more fats for the British diet and to demonstrate to the world (most importantly the United States) that, through a newly energized science-led developmentalism, British colonialism still had a “progressive” role to play in the postwar world.

The aim was to produce millions of tons of peanuts across Tanganyika using the latest methods of advanced scientific agriculture. The environmental conditions in the north, where the scheme was to begin, were known to be especially trying, not least the dry climate [...]. But faith in the power of mechanized agriculture was such that any natural limits were thought to be readily surmountable.

The groundnut scheme was to be, as its Director put it in an interview with the Tanganyika Standard, a “war” with nature, and an “economic Battle of Alamein” waged over some three million acres by an army of colonial technicians -- many recruited from military ranks -- and local laborers, for many of whom the scheme represented their first entry into the wage labor market.

---

But it wasn’t just the rhetoric of war that was repurposed.

Lancaster bombers were kitted out to survey and discover “new country” in East Africa for agricultural development. [...] [T]ractors and bulldozers from military surplus stores in Egypt proved unable to tackle the hard ground and tough vegetation, so the planners turned to a novel solution: repurposing surplus Sherman M4A2 tanks. The Vickers-Armstrong factory in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne set about rearranging key elements of the tanks’ construction [...]. The tractors, christened “Shervicks” for their hybrid origins, were [...] thought to be particularly suited to large-scale earth-moving and to the kind of heavy duty “bush clearing” that was required in Tanganyika.

Officials sought to dismiss concerns that large-scale bush clearing would have wider environmental consequences, using the well-worn colonial trope that any observed changes in local climate or erosion patterns were due to the “primitive” agricultural practices of the locals, not to the earth-moving practices of the colonists. 

Albert Walter, who had directed meteorology in East Africa since the 1920s, had been appointed as an advisor to the scheme and warned the other technical advisers of the low rainfall levels. [...] As the plants continued to wilt in the sun, Walter’s dense network of rain gauges made for an ideal field laboratory [...].

The stakes were high. As John Rosa of the Colonial Development Corporation put it in a letter: “Our standing as an Imperial power in Africa is to a substantial extent bound up with the future of this scheme. To abandon it would be a humiliating blow to our prestige everywhere.”

The only option left was to try and bend the weather itself to the scheme’s will, by seeding the clouds for rain. The scheme was nonetheless abandoned by the British government before charcoal burners could be lined up to seed clouds upwind of the growing area. But the experiments carried on under the aegis of the local colonial government and its meteorologists.

“Balloon bombs” (photographic film canisters tethered to weather balloons) and a repurposed Royal Navy flare gun were used to target individual clouds when the burners proved imprecise. [...] The rainmaking experiments lived on too, as a reference point for those who, to this day, seek to engineer the skies.

The scheme itself has survived as a cautionary tale of governmental hubris, but it is instructive too as a case study of how technologies of war have been turned against other foes.

---

All images, captions, and text by: Martin Mahony. “The Enemy is Nature: Military Machines and Technological Bricolage in Britain’s ‘Great Agricultural Experiment.’“ Environment and Society Portal, Arcadia no. 11. Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society. Spring 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[usafphantom2]

NORAD head said Chinese aircraft may start operating near the US this year

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 13/03/2024 - 09:00 in Military

U.S. Air Force General Gregory M. Guillot, the new head of the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) and the U.S. Northern Command (NORTHCOM), warned lawmakers on March 12 that Chinese warplanes could start operating near the U.S. Air Defense Identification Zone (ADIZ) as early as this year.

“Fortunately, we have not yet seen Chinese aircraft operating near our air defense identification zones, but I think this will happen as early as this year,” Guillot told the House Armed Services Committee in his first testimony in Congress since he took office as NORAD and Commander of NORTHCOM in February. "This shows a general concern I have about China's growing capacity, not only with aircraft, but also with ships and even submarines capable of moving further away from China and getting closer to our coasts."

Air Defense Identification Zones are buffer regions that extend beyond territorial borders, covering airspace hundreds of kilometers from the coast that nations use to track approaching aircraft. NORAD tracks aircraft using a network of satellites, ground and air radars and combat aircraft, and all aircraft entering or leaving U.S. airspace from abroad must be identified in advance.

Russian fighters and bombers regularly enter the U.S. ADIZ, without entering U.S. or Canadian airspace. Occasionally, NORAD sends fighters to intercept these aircraft and escort them out of ADIZ. In February, NORAD reported three occurrences of Russian aircraft operating in the Alaskan ADIZ.

Russian aircraft then enter the Alaskan ADIZ.

The entry of Chinese aircraft into the US ADIZ, however, would mark an expansion of the reach of the People's Liberation Army. In recent years, the ELP has entered ADIZ around the island of Taiwan hundreds of times, sometimes sending dozens of planes in a single day, in movements that observers warn that they may be probing Taiwan's defenses or inducing them to a feeling of complacency.

U.S. and China aircraft have been dealing with each other in the Indo-Pacific - the Pentagon revealed in 2023 that Chinese aircraft have made more than 180 risky interceptions of U.S. aircraft in the last two years, surpassing the total incidents of the previous decade, increasing concerns about China's unpredictable and increasingly provocative behavior.

At the same time, Chinese surveillance balloons entered U.S. airspace five times in recent years, with the Pentagon losing several at the time they occurred, before one of them crossed the entire U.S. continental territory in January 2023, eventually being shot down after a few days.

The Chinese balloon shot down in January 2023.

Guillot told lawmakers that NORAD has taken steps to better identify objects such as spy balloons that may have gone unnoticed in the past, filling the "domain knowledge gap" highlighted by his predecessor, General Glen D. VanHerck.

"First of all, my predecessor... advised that the radar sensitivities be adjusted, which would allow better detection of objects of low cross-sectional section of the radar, slow movements and high altitude," said Guillot, adding that the system, however, introduces some confusion due to the receipt of more data.

"Secondly, when our operators see intermittent hits that in the past would generally be attributed to the weather or other phenomena that would cause an inconsistent hit, they now continue to track them with more care and consistency to ensure that it is not a balloon or some other phenomenon," Guillot said.

"And the third is a better recognition of dominance among the other combatant commands. As we get the JADC2... the ability to share data from one combatant command to another, instead of stopping on a black line on a map that divides the regions, we can now share that information electronically in a transparent way to increase our consciousness even further away from our backs.”

JADC2 sensor network.

Still, Guillot said that the surveillance systems of NORAD and NORTHCOM need more investments, calling radar beyond the horizon (OTHR) and the long-range discrimination radar (LRDR) as their "main priorities".

The Missile Defense Agency said in January that an LRDR missile defense system in Alaska is almost complete and will start operating at the end of this year. Both the U.S. and Canadian military have invested in the OTHR, with the U.S. Air Force planning to build four OTHR for NORAD and NORTHCOM. Guillot added that Alaska will have an OTHR. As the process is still at an early stage, he stressed that keeping the program on track is essential.

“This would give us capability against cruise missiles, traditional airstrips, as well as hypersonic weapons,” Guillot said. "Keeping this program on track is NORTHCOM's number one priority, due to the large capacity it would bring."

The Long-Range Discrimination Radar (LRDR) at the Clear Space Force Station in Alaska includes a multiface radar designed to provide search, tracking and discrimination capability in support of internal defense. The LRDR complex also includes mission control facilities, power plant and maintenance facilities.

Guillot added that hypersonic weapons pose a greater threat than intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) due to their ability to fly at lower altitudes and maneuverability.

“The hypersonic weapon is probably the most destabilizing weapon we face now,” Guillot said. "They shorten the detection time and the fact that they do not follow a traditional ballistic track means that they are very unpredictable and the area of uncertainty is huge, based on their speed and manoeuvrability. That's what makes them a challenge not only to detect, but also to track and eventually defeat."

Source: Air & Space Forces Magazine

Tags: Military AviationNORADPLAAF - China Air Force

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Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. He uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

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[gusty-wind]

Mindy Robinson@AmericanAFMindy

2h·

We have a corrupt, dementia patient for "president" that no one's allowed to question the "election" of that:

• Refuses to close the border to illegals, child sex traffickers, and gang bangers.

• Is actively funding this invasion using our tax money to do it.

• Won't stop inappropriately touching and sniffing children.

• Can't walk up or down stairs.

• Is appearing at political rally's where the general public isn't allowed anywhere near him.

• Can't speak or form a coherent sentence.

• Has a crackhead son he laundered money through.

• Who was installed by a Deep State that got caught censoring private companies to skew an election to his favor.

• Set up election protestors on J6 with federal informants they refuse to prosecute, a pipe bomber they refuse to look for, all while arresting veterans and MAGA grandmas that walked through an open door.

• Was installed with the help of a corrupt FBI that lied about the incriminating laptop being real.

• Is STILL protecting the elite pedophiles on Epstein's list.

• Blew up a pipe line that they bragged about before it happened, while simultaneously bitching to us about the environment.

• Allowed Chinese spy balloons to cross this country multiple times.

• Refuses to prosecute Fauci for the crimes against humanity he committed with Big Pharma.

• Left trillions in military gear and weapons to Islamic terrorists in Afghanistan.

• Whose administration accidentally drone bombed little kids, that no one even got reprimanded for.

• Is desperately trying to start a new world war to distract from everything his controllers have done.

• Is still employing mail-in ballots for a reason that no longer exists, on riggable machines they refuse to address.

• Is constantly pushing for abortion as a "right" when it's not, while actively trying to strip honest Americans of their 2A constitutional rights.

• Keeps lying about how great "Bidenomics" is like we don't have fucking eyes.

• Keeps pushing transgenderism, drag queens, and the sexual butchering of children for profit in the name of wokeness.

• Allows a corrupt FDA to continue to allow poisoned and carcinogenic additives and chemicals throughout our food supply.

• Hired 87,000 IRS agents to nickel and dime tax payers while allowing Congress to inside trade and profit off of bribes from lobbyists, corporations, and PACs.

• Won't stop sending money to be laundered to Ukraine.

• Refuses to help Hawaiians or Ohioans with their (not so natural) disasters.

• and now he's been caught flying around illegals to station all around the country for some kind of replacement or attack...

Am I missing anything?

Is anybody going to stop this crazy train and do something about this insane bullshit?

#the great awakening #war is real

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Fuck now I can't stop thinking about them taking Steve out to celebrate him for being an M.V.P for so many games and ensuing their victory at the top of the ladder, and first, they fill him with sports water and protein drinks like always until he's swollen and sloshing because they can't break the tradition, and only when they know he's in that empty-headed place he loves where he can only think about the pleasure and the sensation, that they take him out for a night on the town and pour alcohol down his gullet until he really is drunk on the feeling, and he's so used to swallowing everything they give him without hesitation that he doesn't even know that he's moved from shakes to booze. They drag him on a pub crawl and he gets more swollen, drunker, more clumsy and less coherent as the night drags on, and they play and prod and fondle and tease him all night and all he can do is enjoy it. I imagine after an entire season of the ritual his skin would be stretched from all the liquid and he'd be plump from all the protein shakes, and I can't even begin to imagine how much he'd enjoy it.

Origin and back for seconds

Fuck yes, they take their MVP out for a victory lap!

And all of Steve's hyped, rowdy teammates tease him the entire time that they're gonna roll him between bars, he's so round and sloshing and too heavy. But what actually ends up happening is two, three, four, or more guys around Steve's big, wide body at all times. It takes way too many of them, considering that they're peak athletes, strong and sturdy, but... Steve is big. Really big. So, it takes more guys to hold onto his arms, take handfuls of his fat, or tug at his indecently tight clothes to make sure that he stays on his feet as he stumbles uselessly around the crowded bar, bumping into everyone because there's nowhere where his fat ass fits. He knocks a few people over just by hitting them with his round, uncontrollable gut a few times like a bowling ball hitting a pin.

He's huge.

Steve waddles, stumbles, and burps obscenely, drunk on all the beers he's had, so full of bubbly alcohol. Bright red in the face, breathing heavily from all the hands on him - intentionally [his teammates] and unintentionally [strangers scooting past him, scoffing at how fucking out of control and tubby he is, who let the pig in here?].

His team doesn't roll him between bars, though. Instead, they're holding him up straight or they're pushing and shoving, hands hotly all over his plush body. Against his lower back (what used to be the small of his back, now nothing about him is small, he's got back rolls forming after a season of reckless, forced indulgence, piling the pounds on, getting so swole), his wide, jiggly hips, his monstrous ass, and his dimpled thighs as they try to squeeze him into an Uber. They're not done celebrating yet, but Steve is too tired lazy to walk a couple of blocks to the next bar so... they make do. Shoving, pushing, and wedging Steve in. Licking their lips when Steve hazily moans, out of it, then burps.

It just fuels them more, cracking jokes about how he should keep doing that - keep belching, gotta make him fit in this fucking car, deflate his balloon gut a little. But it doesn't do any good. He's too big. Too full. Too sloshing and drunk. There's no helping him. He can't get smaller. He can't go back to sensible consumption. He's hooked. He needs this. Fuller. Fatter. More. Humilation and praise and, just, the attention.

When he finally pops into the backseat, unsticking, only one other guy fits in the back of the car with him, and he spends the short ride groping and fondling Steve's thick fat while offering him sips of more alcohol from tiny nip bottles that he stashed in his bomber jacket just for this. Gotta keep your gains up, Rogers. Can't be slipping, you're not off the clock yet.

Steve's gonna get stuck in the next Uber when they go to the bar after this bar, the indulgence unending. That, or, they're gonna have to order the next tier up. Get a bigger fucking car just to fit Steve in it. Fuck it, maybe they don't even put him in a seat next time, maybe they order a fucking big-ass car, maybe a van, and shove him in the back like the big, round cooler he is. He's an object, he doesn't need to be buckled in! Plus, if he's in the back, untethered, the team can pile in the front and listen to him slosh and groan and roll around in the back, loving the sensation of it all - lost in his fat, lost in how full he is, lost in all of everything he's had shoved down his throat swirling around inside his drum-tight gut.

#ask #mylevisdontfitanymore #belly kink #text #bloating #weight gain #steve rogers #chubby steve #fat steve #objectification

[whataboutfractions]

#bomberman jetters #bmj white bomber #balloons: the redux

[inbabylontheywept]

The Condom Bomber

The crux of the story is Brother Dean. Brother Dean was…is…a hate preacher. Red or blue, everyone agreed on that. His origins and his motivations, those were a little more mysterious. Different groups had their own legends. I had a class with a guy that was part of the campus pro-life movement, and the tale he gave me is the one that I give the most credence to. According to him, Brother Dean had started out as a “normal” pro-life preacher. He’d gone around campus, led parades, given speeches… And then he’d gotten punched in the face.

This led to a lawsuit against the school. Something about failing to provide adequate protection? The main result was that he got something like half a mil. Half a mil is an incredible amount if you’re still working, but he’d tried to use the money to fund a sort of pro-life career, and it had just… trickled down. Ten years later he was running dead low on funds, and had taken to the particularly dumb strategy of trying to get punched in the face again. You know. For economic reasons. It had become kind of a vicious cycle: He’d started off saying some objectionable shit to try and goad someone into taking the punch. The worse the shit he said was, the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, and the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, the less he had to lose by saying really objectionable shit. Throw in two years of living on ramen, and he was so desperate to get punched that he was quoting the Westboro Baptists. If you know, you know. The pro-life group, to their credit, hated him the most out of anyone. They viewed him as the ultimate sellout, someone who was actively making their positions and beliefs look worse by the day, solely for his own enrichment. The other conservative groups held him in the same regard. The rest of the campus hated him for simpler reasons. It would be difficult to find anyone more detested anywhere else on site. Brother Dean’s antithesis was the Trojan Warrior. TW was a normal student by day, but maybe once a month or so he’d don his hoplite armor and roam around, handing out free condoms. Trojan condoms. It was kind of his shtick. Between the costume, and the whole character that he had going on, most people didn’t really recognize his alter ego. I myself am pretty good with faces, so one day I noticed he was behind me in the foodcourt and decided to thank him by paying for his smoothie. Small tangent, but if you’re looking to get good stories, buying lunches for interesting people works like magic. TW decided that he was going to thank me for thanking him by giving me something like 10 feet of condom roll. I was mortified, aggressively single, and on SSRI’s. He was not sure how many of those were permanent. I wasn’t either. He wound up giving me just a handful, and said that if nothing else, they could probably be used as water balloons. I accepted. Who doesn’t like water balloons?

I finished my lunch with the warrior and left, considering targets for the "balloons". I passed by Brother Dean near the main commons and had my lightbulb moment. I spent a few minutes watching him from a distance, trying to find the optimal angle to get him without getting caught on camera (he always had someone filing in the background, it was a necessary thing for his hopeful future lawsuit). The time delay was useful for helping me realize that it really wasn't worth it. The sun had been bearing down so hard that the glue in my shoes had melted, and getting him wet would be a favor that day. 

So, mildly disappointed, I shelved my dream and left. 

A week later the monsoons hit. I left one class and ran to a campus computer commons to try and get some shelter and study between classes. Just before I got through the door, I saw Brother Dean, umbrella in hand, setting up his speaker and mic. He wasn't technically allowed this far into campus (the commons were owned by the city) but he'd gone to where his audience was and security was probably holed up somewhere cozy. I could hardly blame them. 

I made it up to the second floor and started studying when the mic picked up. All glass buildings are not very soundproof. He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was outside a library, under a balcony, and-

And I had condoms. Water balloon condoms. 

And he was under a balcony. 

I put my laptop away, pulled out my condom roll, and went to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how big a condom could actually stretch, so I just kept filling it until it was about the size of basketball. Maybe a smaller watermelon? And thus armed, I waddled my way out into the halls. I cannot emphasize enough just how unsubtle this was. I was cradling this big, overfilled condom like some sort of phallic ghost baby, and it was so heavy that I sort of had to squat as I went. People saw me. Lots of people saw me. I passed by one room full of computer science students, all learning C++, and three of them waved at me. And I waved back in that my-arms-are-full-but-I’m-excited-to-see-you-too way, where you jut your wrist up a little bit and flap your hand around excitedly. I did, eventually, make it to the balcony. The building’s high ceilings made the second-floor thing kind of a misnomer: I was easily forty feet up. I scooched my way to the edge, and the view I had… it was perfect. Brother Dean was directly underneath, thank God. If he’d been even seven or eight feet out, I’m not sure if I could’ve shotput the condom-bomb far enough to hit him directly. Better yet his cameraman was only a few feet away from him, far too close to catch any action going up 40 feet above. I managed to wrestle the payload onto the balcony, and with a gentle push, I sent it and Dean to destiny. I realized that I’d made a mistake almost as soon as the condom began to fall. You know that sound that bombs make in cartoons, that long drawn out whistle? The condom made that sound. I had a second education in the seriousness of my mistake when the condom hit Dean’s umbrella. It did not pop. Of course it didn’t pop. I had no experience with condoms, I swear to you, I promise, I did not know how much they could stretch. You can fit your whole leg into them. You can fit them over whole park benches. A gallon and a half of water was nothing compared to that. It broke Dean’s umbrella. It hit the top, and it snapped the stem like a twig, and then-

Violence. Unspeakable violence. It clipped Dean’s shoulder and stretched down to his knees before recoiling back to its original shoulder height. It did not bounce. It floated in space, no wasted energy in the collision. One hundred percent of the kinetic energy, all 3300 Joules of it, were discharged into this sad wretch of a man. He did not collapse. There was no time for that. He rotated on his axis. It was as if the hand of God had reached down and grabbed him about his waist, only to twist. In a fraction of a second, his head filled the space where his ass had been and his ass filled the space where his head had been, and then his cheek, carried by the shuriken motion of his body, slammed into the pavement with a noise like Shaq slam dunking a porkchop. Maybe wetter.

He did not move.

I panicked.

I want to make it clear: I did not mean to assault this man. I meant to get him wet and embarrassed. But I also have to confess that this was a beating. Mike Tyson himself can only put about 1600 Joules into one of his punches, and if he hit me I would bounce off five walls before I fell. I would not wish 3300 Joules upon anyone.

I walked into the building and sat myself in the back of the C++ class. The people next to, to my immense and eternal gratitude, did not question why I was wet.

A minute later, Brother Dean stormed into the building with his microphone.

He yelled. He screamed. He hollered. He informed the entire world that he had been assaulted, with a condom, by someone on the second floor. I was ecstatic that he was alive. 

Every person in that class knew who had brought this hell upon them. Every single one of them knew it was me. And if I’d done this to someone else, some Steven Crowder, some Ben Shapiro, someone would’ve thrown me to the wolves. It would have only taken one person in that room of sixty. But Brother Dean was hated by everyone, literally everyone, and so the entire class sat in silence.

Some of that silence was gleeful, and some of it was bored, and some of it, a very small amount, was directly disapproving, but even the disapproving silence carried an understanding. A note of, “Yes, yes, that was very irresponsible, and you should not do that again, but who could blame you? Something needed to happen. Not that something, but…something.”

Security could be given grace to ignore the man when it was raining, and he was just outside the building, but they were not given such grace when he was inside with a microphone. Just a few short minutes later, a golfcart pulled up, and he was summarily marched out. There was maybe a minute of silence after that before the professor announced that his class was not open to visitors.

I left. He’d made his point.

It was a few weeks before I saw Brother Dean again, and his black eye still hadn’t healed all the way when I did. He was, however, still preaching the same old things as always. Percussive maintenance works better on vacuum tubes than human brains. I will say that he definitely made a point to stay away from balconies after that. And the next time it rained, I actually went out to watch him put his speaker and his mic into the back of a wagon and wheel it off the campus.

It appeared that he’d developed some opinions about the kind of weather he was willing to preach hate in.

#writing #writblr #creative fiction #the last tag is for legal reasons #college stories #biography #memoir #hijinks

[theworldofwars]

A view of the huge balloon hangar at Gontrude which sheltered the bombers of the staff crew of Kampf - Geschwader No 3, the "England Squadron". The hangar remained undamaged by Allied bombing at the end of the war.

#ww1 #world war 1 #The First World War #history #historical photos #war history #battlefield #british army #wwi #The Great War #1918 #1917 #1916 #Veterans #remembrance day #alberta canada #canada #1914 #france #belgium

[pinkhairswagtourney]

40-49?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? a few things come to mind: - forty fights within the first week of my freshman year - senior prank gone wrong , they were supposed to throw water balloons at everyone but some dumbass decided to throw rocks - someone called in a threat and we got evacuated to a megachurch 41. last person you texted? my friend , we might hang out today since we're both off work :3c 42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? i can live without pants pockets , i've had to for the last twenty four years . but a jacket without pockets ... what's even the point !!!! 43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket, or bomber jacket? this is really tough !!! i'm torn between hoodie or cardigan , but as long as it's massively oversized i'll wear any of these 44. favorite scent for soap? lavender , honey , cherry 45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy, or superhero? sci-fi all the waaaay 46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? i can sleep in whatever tbh but i prefer the baggy t-shirt + boxers combo . if i'm cold i'll wear pj pants but i run hot so that's not super often 47. favorite type of cheese? i'm white are you kidding me , all cheese is the best cheese /j no but fr . i love gruyere , sharp cheddar , feta , and blue cheese ^ - ^

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? answered here ! 49. what saying or quote do you live by? "water off a duck's back" and "the grass is greener where you water it"

ask game

#ty for asking !! <3 #ask #anonymous

[thesketchyheartist]

02/19

Masaki- Barefoot Gen

Barefoot Gen was an interesting film. I actually saw a video clip of the bombing on social media before, but I didn't know it was from this film.

All the tragedies in this film reminded me of The Jungle by Upton Sinclair because every time something finally good (or something that isn't a bad thing) happens, something worse comes along. Both have the newborn baby killed towards the end, which finally drives the terror and despair the main character has been trying to fight back the whole time. In fact, both main characters promised themselves to stay strong during their darkest moments for that one innocent person, only for their purpose to be taken away when they look away.

I do think there are some good intentions in the film. Throughout the film, Gen remains barefoot even when we know the ground is far from clean of debris and glass shards. This reminds me of his stubborn attitude to fall into despair even when he knows the road is paved with pain, and his carefree and immature behavior as a child to continue to live with happiness and not prematurely grow up. Bringing Ryuta into Gen's life was a way to remind Gen of his old happiness.

Also, the animations focusing on singular nameless characters as their bodies melted in the face of the bomb really hit how terrified people were when they were killed. First, a young girl holding a red balloon to symbolize innocence, a dog to show how even wildlife who had as little connection in the war as a little girl, an elder who was not high command, and even throughout the film we never see the bombers' or the leaders' faces to show how disconnected and how little they were in the victims' lives. We only got to see the doctors and the clean-up soldiers as they were there for the victims. We do get to see the dead bodies lying around the street and in dark places I'm sure the people thought would be good to hide as a shelter. And during the film, people couldn't help but wonder how one bomb changed so much. Should Hiroshima have been hit with a regular much tamer bomb, hiding in the water basins or in a closed room might have been enough but no one was safe.

In addition, Gen's mortality or "plot armor" was not impenetrable. It was a miracle Gen's flesh did not melt when an adolescent girl who was just inches away from him did not survive the initial blast. But, we do see him lose his hair until he becomes bald, and his own family dies around him. We can assume Gen and his family were definitely living on the edges of the city, but the fact that none of the living family had any burn scars is either proof of plot armor, or hypothetically animating burn scars might be tough, but I don't think that would be true.

-02/17/24