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toji-girl · 2 months

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obsessed | t. fushiguro

synopsis: You were super grateful that you could buy off your landlord with your used panties when late on rent until he wants more than just the discarded fabric.

wc: 1.9k

tags: 18+ ONLY content + explicit smut: minors and empty blogs DNI + fem reader + dark content + repost from my old blog + not beta read + pervy! Toji + male masturbation + teasing + nipple play + dirty talking + degradation both receiving + unprotected sex + backshot + dry humping + switch you and Toji + pussy job + cum play + impact play + maybe femdom? I don’t know but adding in case + dubcon in the end but I promise you do want it + any missing tag lmk! + feedback such as comments and reblogs are helpful

AN: I almost want to make a few parts to this...like a series?

Another plastic ziplock bag full of your used underwear was placed at Toji’s door, thankfully you always disguised it to look like a regular package, however, no one knew in the apartment building that you had to pay your rent with your panties.

You looked around and made sure no one was looking as you went back to your apartment feeling your skin crawl with disgust at yourself liking the fact that he was going to jerk off with them later.

Your landlord was incredibly attractive, and that’s something you couldn’t deny as much as you wanted to, it was impossible, the way he fills out those t-shirts makes you shiver wondering what he looked like naked?

That stupid smirk he always wore when he saw you only got wider whenever he saw you around the apartment.

“I didn’t receive my payment, where are my panties?” He asked leaning against the other mailboxes catching you one morning, he looked bigger in the cramped area of the boxes lining the walls, which in turn only made you feel much smaller.

You flipped through the useless papers before looking at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“You mean my panties? Are you wearing them? I was going to gather them up before my shift at work, and I gave you two extra pairs last week. Why are you asking for more?” You asked clearly annoyed.

Toji stayed silent with that famous smirk, the scar lifting up when he leaned into where you could smell the minty gum he chewed on earlier, his lips almost brushing against the shell of your ear.

“We made a deal, and I expect you to keep up on it. Yeah?” His hand coming down to play with your skirt.

“It was only supposed to be for a bit, not this long. Why don’t you go bug some of the other tenants?”

He hummed like he was thinking about it before shaking his head. “They’re all paid up, plus none of them are as pretty as you are.”

His finger came up grazing your neck making you almost squeak, because dammit, it was hot the way he made you feel this way, his large palm was bigger than your face, and you shrank back looking at him feeling warmth crawl between your legs and up your neck.

You watched him frowning trying to throw him off, the last thing you needed was for him to know you enjoyed this, gripping the envelopes in your hand knowing you’d be a little late to work but if he wanted your panties, you were going to give them to him and maybe this would be the last time, what was only supposed to be for two months at max has now stretched into six.

Almost everyone could hear you stomping up the stairs to your door where you pushed it open heading straight for your bedroom, as much as you hated to admit it, knowing Toji was a little pervert like this and only for you set a switch off in your head because you were perverted like him.

You formulated a plan quickly while setting your last pair by his doorstep before heading to work.

It didn’t take long for Toji to come knocking on your door later the next night, he was needy for you, and it sucked that he had to depend on you to get his orgasm. He rapped his knuckles against your door waiting for you to answer and when you did his dick throbbed harder between thick thighs.

You wore a see-through robe, and a sultry pink laced set that complimented your skin and body, Toji whistled through his teeth stepping inside your apartment unknowingly setting the trap and kicking the door shut behind him. “Wow, is this how you greet all your guests?” He asked tugging on the bow you tied in front.

“Only certain ones, but tonight was meant for a special someone, a date if you must. I have your last package.” You told him seeing the immediate look of disdain on his face, then jealousy made his lips pucker almost as he slid his hands in his pockets.

You turned to head to your room feeling him grab your wrist gently before you were pulled into him. “A date? I don’t think he could easily please you, someone of your caliber.”

“My caliber? What do you mean by that?” You asked genuinely curious letting his hands caress your back and hips and waist lifting your robe up to snap the band of your panties.

He chuckled pressing his lips against the shell of your ear making you shiver. “Someone who pretends not to like my teasing, putting up a bitchy front knowing that you’re a pervert, just like me.” He nibbled on your lobe making you curl your fingers in his shirt gasping softly.

His hand now sliding down your back to squeeze your ass before playing with your thong pulling it between the globes more and kicking your legs apart with his foot letting you staddle his thigh pretty much at this angle, Toji took his sweet time in feeling you up letting you dry hump him now.

“I am not a pervert, I don’t get off on by sniffing panties.” You told him grinding on his thigh and reaching your hand down to cup his bulge with a slight moan, because again dammit, you were now letting him do whatever it was as you gave him the same treatment sliding your hand in his boxers.

Toji groaned as you stroked him before pulling your hand out and pushed him onto your couch, he landed with a soft thud spreading his legs and putting both arms behind it watching you slowly remove your robe and letting it pool around your ankles. “This will be our thing, no more panties.”

He nodded not really believing you, there was no way you were going to leave him alone after this, just as much as he’s obsessed with you he can tell you want him just as bad, so he watched you slowly strip moving your hips until you were naked with your panties balled up in your hand as you lowered down until you were sat in Toji’s lap.

His hands landed on your hips squeezing them between thick fingers and leaning in to kiss your breasts, Toji wrapped his lips around your nipple sucking it in his hot mouth letting you rub your bare pussy against his jeans before you were tugging on his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

“Such a slut for cock, aren’t you?” He teased squeezing your tits and pushing them together kissing the spilling flesh from his thick fingers, his tongue laved every inch almost as you rutted against him moaning and panting while trying to pull his dick free.

It was adorable how quickly he fell for it, all he needed to think was he was going to get his dick wet, and in a way, he was but not the way he originally thought. You grinned down at him prying his mouth open with your fingers hooked in the corner of his lips.

You shoved the lacy thong into his mouth. “Such a slut for my panties, aren’t you?” You sneered down at him running your fingers through his hair, you panted due to the temperature in the living room and the work you put into rubbing your pretty cunt against his dick.

Toji wanted to feel you hot and tight around him but you were in control this way, keeping his cock pressed flush against the lips of your pussy now rubbing up and down looking at him.

“You really can’t help yourself. A dirty boy who gets off on jerking off with used panties? You’re so disgusting.”

His eyes went cross at your filthy words, usually, when people get called stuff like that they’d shrink away and even tear up, but no, Toji just proved you right nodding his head and sucking on your underwear like a pussy drunk frat boy who’s felt a cunt for the first time.

You could feel the tip of his cock press against your hole and as much as you wanted the relief of him fucking you, because you knew it would be big and you weren’t proven wrong it wasn’t time to throw your own plan overboard so instead you just continued to give him a pussy job.

His fingers dug into your hips helping you come so close to his own release watching you wither on top of him as you held his shoulders shuddering feeling your pussy throb wanting to suck him in, instead you pulled your panties from his mouth letting them fall down to his lap.

“There’s your final payment, now I don’t want to see you again asking for them.” You told him watching him pant and lean back shaking his head with that infamous smirk.

He grabbed your panties stuffing them in his pocket and looking at you. “I won’t be the one asking for anything, you’re going to be the one coming to me when you need to be dicked down, I saw that look in your eyes. You wanted to fuck me.”

You tugged on your robe glaring at the older man rolling your eyes. “If I did then I would have, I don’t need you-”

Whatever else you were going to say before you were bent over the arm of your couch, you could feel Toji resting his cock on your ass before rutting against you holding your hips and aiming himself at your fluttering hole pushing in and you pushed back letting him.

Your feet slid against the carpet as he buried himself deep, all the way to the hilt with a long drawn-out moan, your name melted off his tongue like butter in a pan as he spanked your ass gently, his hand going downward in motion. “So much talk for someone who just takes dick easily like this, I just slid inside this cute pussy of yours."

The flesh of your ass stung slightly but it only melted into pleasure that buzzed feeling him split you open on him, his dick thick and long made your toes curl then he rubbed fast circles on your clit grinning down at you grinding yourself against him like a dog in heat.

You hated yourself for wanting him to fuck you like this, and you hated it more that he was right.

“You have a small dick!” You hurled the insult at him while panting gripping the couch for dear life.

Toji smirked and threw his head back howling with laughter as he picked up the pace angling his knees to go deeper, his leaky tip kissing your cervix in this position. “Yeah? Then why the fuck are you panting and mewling like a bitch in heat?”

You hate him, the way he was able to make you feel and how you enjoyed it, the way his hands roamed all over your body squeezing and groping as he fucked you hard and fast from behind, his balls swinging as he put one foot on the arm of the couch holding your hips now.

It was brutal the way he bullied your cunt, not with any care in the world as you arched your back moaning his name begging to cum again which only made him chuckle as he felt his own rise up, he pulled out jerking himself off using your slick as a lube to cum on your back.

He panted and rubbed it on your skin as if it were lotion while he watched you sag on your couch, your legs almost giving out as he petted your back with a smirk. “You look good covered in my cum, I’ll see you later I’m sure.” He said with a grin patting your ass.

After you heard your door click shut did you realize that maybe, Toji was right, you’d be crawling back to him.

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topguncortez · 2 years

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Baby On Board- B.Floyd

pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader word count: 6k (its a long one) type: angst warnings: top gun shit, child birth, near death experiences, cursing. synopsis: being placed on a top secret mission weeks before his wife's due date was not what Lt. Floyd had imagined married life would be like.

note: thank you so much for 600! it's crazy how much this blog has grown in such little time! keep sending in requests!

She was his highschool sweetheart. From the moment Bob laid eyes on Y/N their freshman year of highschool, even with braces and acne and a ridiculous haircut, he knew that she was going to be his wife. She was perfect, smart, popular, kind to everyone and he was. . . well he was just Bob. A dork, a nerd, sweet and kind and too pure for this world. He could remember how badly he was sweating and shaking as he approached her lunch table, some cheesy valentine’s day card in his hand and asked her to the school dance. He thought he would get laughed at, but his heart filled with even more love as she pulled out a valentine of her own to give to him.

Bob had shocked everyone when he decided to go into the navy, including Y/N. They had talked about their futures, and Bob had briefly mentioned going into the navy, but he wasn't certain. So when he came home and told her he enlisted, she was shocked but proud of him. Her heart broke when he left for boot camp, and would wait by the phone or mailbox for a call or letter from him. When he came home with a buzzed cut, a bouquet of flowers and a ring, they both knew they didn’t want to be apart from each other. They got married in a small ceremony in his parents backyard, it was like a fairytale for both of them.

Both Bob and Y/N had agreed that they wanted kids. They weren’t ever too keen on actively trying for kids, but they weren’t doing anything to actively prevent it either. At first, they were going to let nature do its thing, agreeing that it’ll happen when it happens. But after two years of nothing, they knew that it was time for some intervention. It broke Bob’s heart when the doctor told them it was going to be nearly impossible for them to have a baby of their own. He watched as the light in her eyes diminished. She told him that she was okay, that it would be fine, but Bob could hear her crying in the bathroom when she thought he was asleep.

Bob stood by her side though, never leaving her. He held her hand in doctors appointments, when they had decided on doing hormonal treatments, Bob was always on track with timing, and keeping track of everything. When he noticed that her body had started to change, and her mood was different and her period was late, he went out and bought every kind of pregnancy test there was to get. He sat by her side on the bed as they waited for the timer to go off, and was the first to look at the results.

Seven months later, Bob and Y/N were glaring at each other from across the kitchen. Her belly had popped some weeks ago, and she was now supporting a nice round bump. She looked on the verge of tears as Bob had explained the document that was sitting in between the two of them. He was being called back to TOPGUN, something that he never thought would happen. The first time around, they had been married for only about a year, and Bob was excited to be chosen to go. He got permission to take his wife with him, and that was all he needed. Now, things have changed.

Y/N was not thrilled at all about Bob being called back. There was no other information on the document other than time and place to be. They had arranged on base housing for the both of them, but they both knew that Y/N couldn’t leave Lemoore. It wasn’t a good idea for her to be far away from her doctor, not when time was ticking away closer to her due date.

“Why can’t they send someone else?” Y/N asked, running a hand through her hair, “Can you tell them I’m pregnant?”

“Did,” Bob sighed, “Technically the baby isn’t born yet so I don’t get any sort of paternity leave. I would still only get 21 days anyway.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, of course he didn't, “There’s nothing you can do?”

“It’s non negotiable. You can come with-”

“Come with!? Bob, look at me, I’m the size of a water buffalo-“

“No you’re not-“

“Shut up,” Y/N said, getting angry. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and turned on her heel and left the kitchen in tears. Bob sighed, knowing the majority of this was caused by pregnancy hormones but it still didn’t make it any easier. He knew that there was a possibility of him getting a last minute deployment or special detachment, like this one, that could take him away from Y/N and his unborn child. He just didn’t think it would ever come true. Bob grabbed the sheet of paper and read it over again. Doing the math in his head, he should be back in time before Y/N has their baby, but it still didn’t bring him any comfort.

He pushed himself from his spot, walking to the freezer to get an orange crush popsicle for Y/N, and then walked down the hall. He found her sitting on their shared bed, looking out the window. Bob sat down next to her and offered her the popsicle.

“Thanks,” She murmured.

“I know it’s not ideal-”

“No, it’s not,” Y/N sniffled as she opened up her popsicle.

“You could come with. . .”

“Bob, I’m seven months pregnant. I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“It’s also not a good idea to have you here alone either,” Bob said and Y/N sighed, “At least, if you’re in Miramar with me, I’d be there in a matter of minutes if something happened,” He grabbed her free hand and intertwined their fingers, “Up here, yeah we are alone, but you’ll be even more alone if something happened and I’m seven hours away. It would bring peace of mind to me, if you came with me.”

“Well,” Y/N sighed, “Looks like we’re both going back to TOPGUN.”

Bob smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek, and then slid off the bed to kneel in front of her, both hands going to her growing belly. It always made her giggle at how Bob’s large hands could cover her whole bump, but it also brought her a sense of security.

“You, my little one, can’t make any surprise appearances while we are there, you hear me? You stay right in here for the next six weeks and we won’t have an issue,” Bob said to her belly, and got a small kick in return, “I think they understood me,” He said looking up at you with his lopsided grin.

“I’m sure they did.”

— — —

It was almost too hot to do anything, even by the ocean in Miramar. Y/N had told herself when she got pregnant, she didn’t want to be pregnant during the hot months, but living in California, it was always hot. The drive down had been awful, having to stop almost every hour so she could pee, or being constantly uncomfortable. Bob felt bad, knowing that she was only doing this for him, but he let her complain as much as she wanted to. Bob had heard that everyone was gathering at the Hard Deck, a local bar that he and Y/N had frequented the first time around at TOPGUN. Y/N had opted not to go with him, as she wanted to just stay in the air conditioning of their tiny on base house.

Y/N had done what she could to make herself comfortable while being in Miramar. She went grocery shopping, to the beach a couple times, met with one of the OB’s on base (which Bob had gotten out of training early to do), but for the most part she kept a low profile, trying to stay as cool as she possibly could in the southern california heat. Her favorite part of the day was when Bob would come home, and lay his head in her lap and tell their child all about his day. His eyes always lit up as he talked about the simulations and the dogfighting. He would get so animated about it, it was adorable.

Y/N knew bits and pieces about the mission. She knew it was dangerous, that there was a lot at stake. Bob didn’t want to worry her too much at this stage in her pregnancy, but she had kind of gathered that them all being called back meant that it was serious. She tried not to think of a world where Bob Floyd wasn’t alive and she hated it. But Bob reassured her as much as he possibly could that he would make it back to her.

The team didn’t know much about Robert Floyd, other than he was a WSO and Phoenix’s back seater. He was quiet, kept to himself, and would speed off after showering at the end of the day. Phoenix had tried to pry some information out of him, but got nothing more than his full name, where he was from, and where he was currently stationed. Bob didn’t talk much about himself, and Phoenix kind of liked that. He was different from the usual cocky, arrogant (hangman) pilots she was used to working with.

“So Bob, what do you plan on doing when you get out of here?” Phoenix had asked him, as they were headed to the trial run zone. It was day four of doing the trial course, and no one had successfully completed it.

“I bet he is going to have himself a cold glass of ice water,” Coyote joked and Bob rolled his eyes.

“Oh shut it,” Phoenix laughed, “I bet he’ll go home and watch the office or something.”

“I prefer ‘friends’ over the office,” Bob said, thinking of his wife’s favorite show.

“Alright, dagger 1 easing in, time starting in 3, 2, 1,” Phoenix said as she started into the simulation.

Bob looked down at his radar, watching as Phoenix and Coyote made the twists and turns of the simulation, feeling his body jostle from side to side. It never got easier, the more that they ran the course, it seemed to somehow get worse. His body felt heavier, his lungs felt like they would explode. He would find bruises on his sides from hitting the side of the cockpit at such forces. Bob eyed their time, seeing that they were keeping up a good speed, until he caught another plane on the radar.

“Oh no, it’s Maverick!” Bob said.

“What?! Where is he!?” Phoenix called out, and Bob looked around the clear canopy into the sky, trying to see if he could spot Maverick.

“Lost him in the sun!” Bob called out, “Coyote, you see him!?”

“Man, he’s on my tail,” Coyote said, “Line it up, Bob.”

“Roger!” Bob said, controlling his laser to line up the shot, except he couldn’t get control of it. He swore under his breath as he tried but it was no use, “Dead eye! I can’t get it to lock!”

“Dropping in blind then,” Coyote said, and tried to line up the laser the best he could.

Bob could feel when Phoenix shifted the trajectory of the jet, sending them into a steep incline upward. Bob fought against the Gs being pushed on his body as he tried to keep his eyes open and himself conscious. Maverick had somehow shown back up, and stimulated a dogfight with them, until they realized they had lost comms with Coyote. He had gone into g-loc, and Maverick moved quickly to line up a shot, sending a loud buzzing sound into his cockpit. Bob took a sigh in relief as they got Coyote back, but the relief was short-lived when Maverick called out the bird strike.

“We’re on fire!” Bob called out, looking to see the left engine ablaze.

“Extinguishing!” Phoenix said, flipping a switch, “Lost hydraulics, losing altitude, I-I can’t control it!”

“Right engine on fire! We’re gonna burn in!” Bob’s voice was filled with panic, as he felt their jet start to drop from the sky.

“You have to eject!” Maverick called, “Phoenix, Bob! Eject, eject, eject!”

“Fuck! Eject, eject, eject!” Phoenix yelled out, as she hit the button to eject both of them. Bob covered his head as the canopy shot off, and he felt himself get pushed out of the cockpit. The next thing he felt was his feet hitting the ground.

— — —

The last thing any military wife ever wants is a call from the hospital saying that their husband had been injured. When Y/N arrived at the hospital, frantic with tears in her eyes, a nurse had guided her down to the room her husband was in. She felt the confused looks and stares of the aviators in the hallway as she passed by them on the way to Bob’s room. She had even heard one of them ask who she was and another say they didn’t know. Bob was busy flipping through the tv channels when she got to his room, he looked over at her and smiled weakly.

“Hey baby,” Bob said and Y/N rushed to his side, as Bob engulfed her in a hug, “Shh, I’m okay, I’m okay.” He soothed her, while rubbing her back as she cried as she sat on his bed.

“Jesus Christ Robert, don’t ever scare me like that again,” Y/N said, pulling away from him, and wiping her tears, “What the hell happened?”

“Bird Strike, lost control of the jet, had to eject. Nothing but a couple bruises and a sore tailbone,” Bob smiled, and Y/N shook her head, “Are you okay?”

“You’re asking me that?”

“You’re the pregnant one.”

“You’re the one who just ejected from a plane at 500 feet in the air.”

“Touche,” Bob said, as there was a knock on the door. Y/N turned her head to see a brunette woman peeking her head in with a shy smile on her face.

“The guys said you had company, I hope you don’t mind me coming to check on you?” The woman said, looking between the two of her.

Bob looked at you and you smiled, “No, not at all,” He said, “This is Phoenix, the main driver,” Bob said introducing the two of them, “Phoenix this is my wife, Y/N.”

“Oh- wow, Bob never-”

“Stealth pilot,” Y/N smiled and held her hand out to greet Phoenix, “It’s nice to meet you. He’s told me all about you. You’re pretty cool from what it sounds like.”

“You flatter me,” Phoenix said with a slight blush, “How far along?”

“Eight months. Not exactly my ideal location to be in, but,” Y/N shrugged and Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her to sit back down on the bed, “How are you doing? I can’t imagine what it was like.”

“I’m okay, a little shaken up. I’m more concerned that Bob has hidden you away from us and made me suffer with the rest of the testosterone freaks out there.” Phoenix said and sat down in a chair by the bed.

Bob knew it was no use hiding Y/N from Phoenix, so he had told his pilot all about his wife, how they met, how he proposed, their wedding, their house, and even about their baby. Phoenix was surprised at how talkative Bob could be when he was talking about something he loved. She knew he could rattle off information about an F-18 and missiles and flight trajectory, but when it came to talking about his life, Phoenix was surprised. He had hardly let Y/N get a word in and Phoenix would laugh at how Y/N just looked at him.

Y/N would’ve liked it if Bob would’ve been able to stay home after having to eject from his plane, but the mission was still a go. It was only three days after the bird strike that he was packing his bags and headed to get on the carrier. Y/N had driven him to base, much to his dismay since he didn’t want her driving with her belly in the way. She tried to hide her tears as she put the car in park and looked at the daunting aircraft carrier.

“It’s only three days,” Bob said, looking at his hands, “Three days and-and I come home to you and our baby.” He placed his hand on her bump, feeling their little one move around.

“I know,” Y/N said, “Swear to God, if you don’t-”

“I will,” Bob said, cutting her off. He leaned over the console, holding her face in his hands and kissed her. It took her breath away, the type of kiss that is supposed to be a constant reminder. It left her lips tingling as he pulled back, “I’ll see you in three days.” Y/N nodded as Bob got out of the car. She saw Phoenix waiting next to her car and sent her a small smile and wave. Phoenix gave her a nod in response and hugged Bob.

Y/N let out a shaky breath as she watched the two of them walk towards the ship, “Three days little one, no sudden movement for three days.”

— — —

Y/N tried to keep herself distracted but she couldn’t help but stare at the clock, knowing that any second her husband’s plane would be taking off from the middle of the pacific ocean and would be flying towards a certain death. She knows that he promised to come home, but nothing is ever promised in this life. Y/N looked down at the hot mug of tea in front of her and felt a stray tear run down her cheek. She had gotten to the point in her pregnancy where she didn’t even know she was crying until the tear hit her shirt. She sniffled and placed her hand on her belly, just as she felt a cramping sensation.

“No. . .” She mumbled to herself and let out a shaky breath, “Please stop, don’t do this.” Y/N had been feeling contractions since Bob left. She knew that braxton hicks were common and had been feeling those since month seven, but now, these felt different. These felt stronger and she could feel her stomach dropping.

Y/N pushed herself away from the counter and slowly started making her way towards her bedroom. Laying down usually helped subside the contractions and the pelvic pain. Y/N paused as she felt the warmth of a liquid rushing down her legs as she stood in the hallway. She closed her eyes and clutched her stomach, hoping that maybe, just maybe this was all a dream and she had just peed herself in the hallway, rather than her water breaking. But when she opened her eyes at the feeling of a contraction, she knew it was very much real.

“No, no, no,” She felt tears in her eyes as she moved down the hallway towards the kitchen where she had left her phone. Her first instinct was to dial Bob’s number, which she did, but when it went straight to voicemail, she panicked even more. She gripped the counter as another contraction ripped through her body. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was not how this was supposed to happen. The next number she dialed was Penny’s, which the older woman had given to her after getting to know her at Iceman’s funeral.

“Hello?” Penny’s voice sounded through the receiver.

“Penny, I-I need your help,” Y/N’s voice cracked, “My water broke.”

“Oh my god,” Penny said, and Y/N could hear her get up and grab her keys, “Stay where you are, I am on my way. If you need to push, do it, don’t try and fight it.”

“I can’t have this baby alone!” Y/N cried.

“I know, I know, I’m on my way, just breathe okay,” Penny said and Y/N nodded.

Penny arrived after a short time, and helped Y/N get to the on base hospital. They had admitted her right away, and Y/N was thankful that Penny had decided to stay by her side. Penny had once been in Y/N’s shoes. Her now ex-husband had been on deployment when Amelia was born, and Penny was by herself in the delivery room, no family, no friends, just her and the nurses and doctor. Penny wasn’t going to leave Y/N alone, knowing very well she would’ve wanted someone to stay with her.

“Breathe through it, there ya go,” Penny said as she dabbed at the sweat collecting on Y/N’s forehead, “I left a message for Maverick and Hondo. I called in a favor from an old friend to hopefully contact the ship and get a message to Admiral Simpson.”

“I can’t have this baby without him,” Y/N cried, out of pure exhaustion. Even though her water broke, she was still going on hour eight of labor, waiting for her cervix to dilate and the baby to drop down even more. The nurses all shared a look, and Penny could read their faces. She had heard them say something to the doctor about being worried about maternal exhaustion.

“I know you don’t, but you might have to,” Penny said, and Y/N shook her head as another contraction hit. Y/N groaned in pain as she gripped the side rail, her knuckles turning white. Penny grabbed the white bucket next to her and placed it in front of her incase Y/N was sick again.

When Y/N felt her body relax, she let out a small cry and leaned back against the bed. Penny had hoped that the call she put in with her father would somehow reach the ship. She wished that Iceman was still alive, knowing he’d stop at nothing to get Bob from the ship and straight to the hospital. But all Penny could do was hold Y/N’s hand and wipe the sweat from her forehead. Y/N’s mind was wandering as she thought of the mission Bob was on, and prayed that he was alive and not dead somewhere in a European mountain range.

— — —

Life or death, Bob had seen the flash of death right in front of his eyes as Phoenix had navigated them through Coffin Corner. He felt his heart sink when he watched Maverick’s plane get shot down, and he felt like his heart stopped hearing Rooster go down too. Bob did what he could to comfort Phoenix as they flew back to the ship, placing a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off. They hadn’t been on the carrier long, when they heard that Rooster’s beacon had been turned back on, and Hangman had been instructed to go on the flight mission to bring them back.

The second Maverick buzzed by the tower, the tarmac broke out in cheer, as he landed and both of them had a large smile on their faces. Bob and Phoenix rushed over to Rooster, hugging him tightly. Bob had a bright smile on his face as he celebrated with his team.

“Lt Floyd!?” A voice called out for him. Bob turned around to see Admiral Simpson running towards him.

“Yes sir?” Bob asked, his heart racing slightly.

“You need to come with us right away, it’s a family emergency.”

Bob felt light headed as the Admiral’s words hit his ears. Bob had just escaped death with his team and now he felt a sudden rush of doom. Fanboy and Payback shared a look, confused on what the admiral had just said. As far as anyone knew, Bob didn’t have any family, Bob was a lone ranger. But the look on Phoenix’s face said otherwise.

“Go!” Phoenix said, pushing him towards the admiral. Bob stumbled on his feet but took off sprinting, trying not to let his mind go to the worse case scenario. Phoenix looked over her shoulder and noticed her fellow aviators looking at her confused, and sighed, “He’s married, and has a wife, who’s very pregnant.”

Hondo was waiting for Bob when he entered the tower, and relayed the information he had gathered from Admiral Bates. Bob couldn’t digest most of it, but what he gathered was that his wife was in labor and he was stuck on an aircraft carrier in the middle of nowhere after almost dying. Hondo directed him to the admiral’s office where they gave Bob some privacy to call his wife. Bob sat down in the chair, his hands shaking as he picked up the phone and dialed her number, something he memorized.

“Bob, thank god,” Penny answered.

“H-hey Penny, how is she?” Bob asked, trying to bite back tears.

“She’s getting checked by the nurses right now, I stepped out when I saw you call. She’s,” Penny sighed and looked down at her shoes, “They are worried about maternal exhaustion. She’s in hour 12 of labor, eight centimeters dilated and trying to fight it. She says she won’t do this without you.”

“She has too,” Bob said, feeling a tear run down his cheek, “She has to do this. And I swear to god, she will never have to do this alone again. I need to talk to her.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Penny said, and walked back into the room. Her heart broke seeing Y/N in such pain as she laid on her side. The nurse gave Penny a look, and she nodded, “Y/N, it’s Bob. I’m putting him on speaker.”

“Oh my god, Bob?” Y/N asked, her voice wavering in pain. Bob felt his heart break as he bit back a sob. He buried his face into his flight suit before speaking up.

“Hi babe,” Bob said, “This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

“No, not at all,” She sniffed, “God, why can’t you be here. Why now? They’ve been stubborn this whole time, but now?”

“I know,” He laughed, “But love, you have to stop trying to fight it, okay, you need to let them help you. It’ll only make things harder for you, for the baby.”

“Bob, I can’t do it,” Y/N protested and closed her eyes, feeling a contraction. Bob heard her suck in a breath and let out a whimper in pain. Penny grabbed her hand and helped her breathe through it. Bob wished so badly he could be there with her, all he ever wanted to do was be a father and he is completely missing it.

“She’s at ten,” A nurse said, “She keeps putting it off, she won’t be able to push.”

“Baby, you need to listen to them,” Bob said, sitting up straighter in his seat, “You need to do this okay. I’m right here, Penny is there. You need to bring our baby into the world.”

“No!” Y/N sobbed and Penny felt tears in her own eyes, “No! I won’t! I want to go home, let me go home!”

“You’re elevating your heart rate, Y/N,” Her nurse said, walking over to the bed and looking at the EEG reading, “If this continues we’ll have to do a c-section. Y/N, it’s time to push.”

Bob felt his heart stop. That was the absolutely last thing he wanted her to have to do. It was bad enough she was in labor by herself, he didn’t want to have her go under the knife alone. The nurses and the midwife started to move around, getting everything set up for delivery. Penny helped Y/N get to her back and sit up in the bed. The midwife put Y/N’s feet in the stirrups.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Bob said sternly, “You have to listen to them, you have to push, okay. I’m right here, I’m doing the best I possibly can.”

“This isn’t fucking fair,” Y/N cried, and gripped Penny and the nurse’s hand as she felt a contraction and what felt like the baby’s head dropping lower in her birth canal.

“I know,” Bob answered, “But you can do it okay, listen to the doctors.” Y/N nodded and Penny wiped her forehead.

The midwife looked up at Y/N and gave her a sad smile, “Alright, Y/N on the next contraction, I need you to push okay. You know your body better than any of us.”

Y/N nodded and let out a shaky breath. She felt the cramping of a contraction and sucked in a deep breath. When the contraction hit, she pushed, closing her eyes and letting out a groan. Bob closed his eyes, not being able to imagine the pain she was in. With every push that the midwife would count out, Y/N’s groans and cries got louder. He could tell as the time went on that she was getting more and more exhausted.

“Jesus Chrsit, I can’t do this,” Y/N said breathlessly as she leaned against the back of the bed.

“You’re so close, Y/N, I can see the baby’s head,” The midwife said, “Next one push as hard as you can.”

“You got this babe, come on,” Bob said. He heard the midwife tell her to push, “Come on sweetheart, push hard, you got this, come on love.”

“Crowning!” The midwife called out and Y/N let out a loud cry, “This is the hardest part, you are right here, you can do this. Give me a big push and bring this baby into the world.”

Y/N moved slightly, and beared down as she pushed hard, feeling a burning sensation as the baby’s head was pushed out of her birthing canal. She closed her eyes tightly, gripping on to Penny and the nurse’s hands for dear life. Bob was saying encouraging words but it was all drawn out as the pain subsided and Y/N felt her body relax.

“One more, give me one more,” The midwife said, “The hardest part is over, you can do it.”

“Bob,” Y/N’s voice shook.

“This is it, you can do it, bring our baby into the world.” Bob said.

She clenched her jaw tightly, she was surprised that she didn’t break her teeth as she pushed with all her might. It was like white hot pain, almost like breaking a bone, as she felt the baby being pulled from her womb. She let out a broken cry as she felt a weight being placed on her chest, a loud cry filling the room. Y/N’s hands went straight to the squirming newborn on her chest and looked down to see their big brown eyes. Her mind was so overclouded with stimulation that she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“It’s a girl!” She heard the midwife say and Y/N cried even harder.

Bob wasn’t fighting back tears anymore as he held his head in his hands and sobbed, hearing the cry of his daughter over the phone. This wasn’t how he expected the delivery of his rainbow baby to go. He always expected him to be right by his wife’s side, holding her hand, sitting behind her as she pushed, encouraging her, seeing his daughter the second she was brought into this world, being able to cut the cord. Instead, he was hearing her loud cries from the middle of the ocean.

“We’re going to weigh her and clean her up, then we’ll give her right back, okay,” The nurse said to Y/N. She was still so exhausted all she could do was nod, “Congrats momma, and you too, dad!”

Bob nodded, and wiped his tears, “I love you so much,” He cried out, his voice breaking.

“I love you too,” Y/N said.

“I’m going to let you go, okay, I promise, I will be there as soon as I get docked in Miramar. You need to sleep, you did so good, so good, I am so proud of you,” Bob said, knowing he was probably talking to her sleepy self.

“I love you, Bob,” Y/N said, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

They said their goodbyes and Bob hung up. He sat there with his head in hands for a bit longer, looking down at the ground. The events of the day started to hit him all at once, and the tears fell down his face uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking as he cried. He didn’t even notice Phoenix walked into the office. Phoenix’s mind went to the worst possible thing as she walked over to him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. Bob looked up at her, his brown eyes wet with tears.

“Bob-”

“I’m a dad,” He said, “I’m a fucking dad!”

“Oh my god!” Phoenix said, pulling Bob from his seat and hugged him. She pulled back from the hug and looked at him, “Is everything okay? Y/N? The baby?”

“A healthy little girl,” Bob smiled, “Y/N’s okay, the best she can be for having a baby on her own. But . . I’m a girl dad.”

— — —

She knew she had slept too long, even though she had been a mom for less than a day, she knew she still slept too long. Y/N groaned as she opened her eyes, squinting at the harsh light above her head. Her body was still sore, especially her lower region. Penny had been a godsend helping her through the night when she had to get up and pee or wanted to walk around. Y/N rubbed her eyes as she looked towards the small basnet that was placed by her bed, to find it empty. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked around the room frantically to hear the sweet voice she had been waiting to hear.

“Looks like Mom is up,” Bob said, walking over to his wife. Y/N’s heart settled back down as she saw the small bundle of blankets in his arms. He hadn’t even change18d bbout of his flight suit and it looked like he hadn’t slept in hours, but Bob still looked amazing, “You were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you but the second I saw her I knew that I-”

“It’s okay,” She said, her voice still gravely from screaming during labor, “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Bob said and sat down on her bed, “And you will never have to do that alone again, I promise.”

“Bob, I can’t ask you to give up what you love.”

“But I love this more,” Bob said, looking between his wife and his daughter.

“She looks like you,” Y/N said, “Those eyes are exactly like yours.” Bob smiled as his daughter opened her tired eyes, “She doesn’t have a name yet. I was waiting for you so we can name her.”

Bob studied his daughter. Names were something that the two of them had spent some time going back and forth on. Neither one was quite set on a certain name, agreeing that once they saw their child they would be able to know what their name should be. Bob ran his finger gently down her face as she yawned.

“Eleanor,” Bob said and looked at his wife, “Eleanor May Floyd.”

--- --- ---

taglist: @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @chaoticassidy @n3ssm0nique @teti-menchon0604 @hrandomthoughts @shizzybarnaclee @the-hottest-lieutenants @blindedbyyourgrace17 @bxwitched @multifandom-fangirl4 @lunamoonbby @bellamy1998 @ellabellabus @bl6ody @dempy @callmebymym @malums-trash-can @sugarmelonwater @milesrooster @thesithdiaries

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fallenlightsif · 9 months

Note

do the speak now (tv) album ask for this blog too 👀 i have to know what songs my blorbos relate to

Ofc anon 🙏

Mine: MC/Marcella

"Do you remember, we were sittin' there by the water? You put your arm around me for the first time; you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter; you are the best thing, that's ever been mine"

Sparks Fly: MC/Florian

"I'm captivated by you, baby, like a fireworks show; drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain; kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain; cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile"

Back to December: MC/E

"I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't; so if the chain is on your door, I understand"

Speak Now: Kira

"So don't say yes, run away now; I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door"

Dear John: Rowan

"But I took your matches before fire could catch me so don't look now; I'm shining like fireworks over your sad empty town"

Mean: MC @ their mom

"You, with your words like knives and swords and weapons that you use against me; you have knocked me off my feet again, got me feeling like I'm nothing"

The Story of Us: MC/E

"Oh, I'm scared to see the ending, why are we pretending this is nothing? I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how, I've never heard silence quite this loud"

Never Grow Up: Ezrah & MC

"To you, everything's funny, you got nothing to regret; I'd give all I have, honey, if you could stay like that"

Enchanted: MC/Florian

"There I was again tonight, forcing laughter, faking smiles, same old tired, lonely place; walls of insincerity, shifting eyes, and vacancy vanished when I saw your face"

Better Than Revenge: Ilaria

"Sophistication isn't what you wear, or who you know, or pushing people down to get you where you wanna go; they didn't teach you that in prep school, so it's up to me"

Innocent: Orion

"Did some things you can't speak of, but at night you live it all again; you wouldn't be shattered on the floor now if only you had seen what you know now then"

Haunted: Rowan

"It's getting dark and it's all too quiet and I can't trust anything now and it's coming over you like it's all a big mistake"

Last Kiss: MC/E

"I hope the sun shines, and it's a beautiful day, and something reminds you, you wish you had stayed; you can plan for a change in the weather and time but I never planned on you changing your mind"

Long Live: The Childhood Friends (Florian, MC, Marcella, and E)

"Hold on to spinning around, confetti falls to the ground, may these memories break our fall"

Ours: Orion/MC

"They'll judge it like they know about me and you; and the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do; the jury's out, but my choice is you"

Superman: MC/Cier

"He's not all bad like his reputation and I can't hear one single word they said; you leave, got places to be, and I'll be okay"

Electric Touch: MC/Julian

"I've got my money on things goin' badly, got a history of stories ending sadly; still hoping that the fire won't burn me just one time"

When Emma Falls in Love: Ari

"She won't walk away unless she knows she absolutely has to leave; and she's the kind of book that you can't put down, like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town"

I Can See You: MC/Cier

"I can see you waitin' down the hall from me, and I could see you up against the wall with me; and what would you do, baby, if you only knew?"

Castles Crumbling: Ilaria

"Ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off; and here I sit alone behind walls of regret, falling down like promises that I never kept"

Foolish One: Dimitri

"And the voices say, “you are not the exception, you will never learn your lesson”; foolish one, stop checkin' your mailbox for confessions of love that ain't never gonna come"

Timeless: Orion/MC

"That's when I came upon a book covered in cobwebs, story of a romance torn apart by fate; hundreds of years ago, they fell in love, like we did, and I'd die for you in the same way"

#answered asks #florian vasil #marcella dumont #e renaud #julian fortier #dimitri volkov #ari novik #orion morosov #rowan lozano #kira argyris #cier katsaros #ilaria thayer #ezrah rhys

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skyeslittlecorner · 2 months

Text

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hell~

After all this time, maybe I should finally introduce myself. Skye here, an overworked college student who came here just to scream into space about sexy demons. Ah, and writer. In my free time I write fanfiction and other little things because I want to get rid of my shyness and learn to write in English a little bit. Brief proofreading, mostly I put whatever is in my mind on paper. Keyboard. Oh, you know. Despite everything, I try to write for you as best as I can. Except I can't, but I'm working on it.

About blog

As you can see, the blog is dedicated to What in "Hell" is Bad? game. The game itself is 18+, as is this blog, so please include age information in your bio. Also, this place is not spoiler-free, although I always clearly warn about them and place below the cut.

What can you mainly expect here?

🧡 Fanfics, both longer stories and short headcannons

🧡 Lore and characters analysis

🧡 Thoughts or shortcuts from events and the main story

🧡 Admiration for Andrealphus out of the blue shh i'm not obsessed-

🧡 I don't repost much, if I do it's mostly other people's art

Asks and requests

Status: CLOSED

If you want to talk or ask anything, go ahead! DM or askbox, do as you please. The mailbox may be closed for requests, but it is always open if you just want to chat.

🧡 Simple headcanons and scenarios - up to 4 days

🧡 Longer scenarios or for more characters - 5-6 days

🧡 Legit fanfics (usually ~800-1200 words) - 7-10 days

Currently in queue: 38 I post replies to one or two requests each day. Not doing it in order because some of them require more work, but this way you can approximately know when I will post the answer.

Of course, the time may vary depending on my private matters, but I will keep you updated. Any changes will be in this post so you don't have to search a lot between other things.

UPDATE (25.03.2024)

Ahem, as you see... the queue is quite long. I'm asking for patience in advance, but I promise that every request will be answered.

Since I also write competition fics and Easter is coming, waiting for your request may take over a month (!)

Masterlist

WHB Mc Shuffle!

🧡 Rules

🧡 Draw list

#whb #what in hell is bad #introductory post #masterlist #skye's note

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eoieopda · 10 months

Text

menace (pjm) — pt. v

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 5/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Genre: Angst + Smut + Eventual Fluff Rating: M (18+) Word Count: 7k Summary: Some conversations are long overdue. AUs: Older brother’s best friend; fuck buddies that hate each other CW: Reader is AFAB & queer; sort of an omniscient POV?; the return of jeon jungkook; the consequences of their own actions; angsty bits but ending on a good note! A/N: This takes place immediately after the events of pt. 3! FYI, I slightly lessened the age gap between Seokjin and Jimin for plot purposes. The smut will return in the final part, so don't fret ✨ ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

When he left your house earlier that day — left you, at your demand — Jimin went home. He shuffled off to his bedroom, dropped like a stone onto his own mattress, and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

He was still stuck on the puzzle. Over and over, he replayed the moment he’d kissed you. It was a reflex, not a choice. The way you gazed up at him, starry eyed, from the cushions of your sofa didn’t leave him a choice. And even though he should have regretted it immediately, he didn’t — not until he watched your face warp, not until you pushed him away.

Staring mindlessly up at his ceiling, Jimin struggled to recall what the fuck this was all for — any of it. The distance, the hostility, the rules. The two of you had pushed forward so recklessly and for so long that the starting line was blurry. Everything was, and the harder he thought about it, the dizzier he got.

To ground himself, Jimin closed his eyes and pressed his palms flat against the bed. His fingers grabbed fistfuls of the duvet below, like he might go flying around the room otherwise. Pinched hard between his thumbs and index fingers, he ran the pads of them over the fabric. As he did, he closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deliberately.

What’s the point?

It took a moment, but he felt it when he bent one knee, foot flat against the bed. The point was actually a rounded corner, and it was pressing into his thigh through the lining of his pocket. Despite knowing better, he fished his phone out. Muscle memory guided him through to his mailbox; consistently shitty judgment clicked on the sole message he found there. The rest of him tensed, awaiting impact.

As a general rule, Jimin didn’t hold on to voicemails — if he bothered to listen to them at all. He believed that anyone who truly needed to speak to him would text him if their first attempt went unanswered. Otherwise, they’d blow up his phone until he stopped screening their calls altogether. But he wasn’t great with rules, as he’d recently learned, so there was one exception:

Jimin had no idea why he kept yours after all this time, but he did.

He played it every now and then; and every time he did, he asked himself why, never arriving at an answer. Self-flagellation was his best guess. After all, no good came from tear-soaked venom, especially not one year after the fact. Knowing better almost never meant doing better, however.

By now, he could likely recite it by memory.

You’re not going to listen to this, but I’ll say it anyway because I didn’t deserve what you did to me tonight, and you deserve to hear it.

You then take a shallow, shaky breath.

I’ve spent years — years — waiting for you to be brave. Followed you around like a fucking puppy, and for what? This?

The crack in your voice is smoothed over by a humorless laugh.

I’ve wasted my own breath defending you to other people when you’re not even there — and I wish I could swallow it all back down.

Then, the coup de grâce:

You are every awful thing people say about you.

For weeks, Jimin beat himself over the head with that last line until he could barely get out of bed. You knew him, knew how much something like that would hurt him — especially when it came from you. Still, you said it anyway, convinced that he wasn’t still the person you thought he was. Back then, two questions spun relentlessly in the back of his mind:

If you wielded that particular knife intentionally, did he really know you? Why would he bother with an explanation or apology when you wrote him off so quickly, so completely?

Groaning loudly, Jimin locked his phone and tossed it onto the mattress next to him just to scrub his hands over his face. It bounced and landed with a smack against the hardwood beneath his bed, but he didn’t flinch. He’d just have to add that to the list of things he’d fucked up lately.

Highest up on that list was breaking the rules of his own mind games. He wasn’t supposed to deviate. All he wanted to do — at the very start — was to hurt you back by proving you right. To finally meet your expectations for him, be every awful thing you said about him in that voicemail. At least, that’s what he thought he wanted. Now, he was left to question his motives.

Was he unwilling to let that anger go, or was he unwilling to let you go? If it was truly ever about revenge, when did it stop?

Jimin asked himself that question as if he didn’t already know the answer. It stopped as soon as it started: when twenty years’ worth of wondering were over, and he finally knew what it felt like to hold you, even if the circumstances looked nothing like they should’ve.

Fuck.

You should’ve punched him for what he did to you, but you didn’t. The realization hit him instead, so hard that his ears were ringing. It was never you that he hated and it should’ve dawned on him a long time ago that all he’d ever been doing was projecting. He should’ve known that no matter how much he hated himself, he loved you more than that.

He always had, hadn't he?

“Fucking idiot,” he growled to himself, swinging his legs over the side of his bed to stand.

Once he pushed himself to his feet, he grabbed his car keys and coat from the place he’d dropped them upon returning from your house. He snatched that fucking phone, too, before heading for the front door to make that same trip again. When he opened the door, he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide.

Seokjin was frozen with his fist raised to knock. It dropped back down to his side as soon as his surprise wore off.

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Got a minute?”

It was a mistake, agreeing to meet up with Jungkook for a boxing class. Following the morning’s events, you were still nursing a bruised elbow and, far worse than that, a slow-to-recover ego. Maybe the real problem was the bitterness that sat on the tip of your tongue and never left, no matter how hard you swallowed. Embarrassment, regret, some third emotion you had yet to categorize. One way or another, you were miserable.

You deserve it.

Exhausted and sweat-slicked, Jungkook sat down next to you on the bench you’d all but collapsed on to. To no one’s surprise, he was in significantly better shape than you; and unlike you, he still had the strength to move his arms. He pulled off his gloves, then he made short work of yours without you even needing to ask.

“I’m still not getting it,” he sighed.

The two pairs of gloves dropped onto the floor in front of you with a muffled thump that was louder than his breath had been.

“You’ve been fucking at an alarming frequency for a year, and you’re mad that he kissed you?”

You turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. Incredulous, you huffed, “First of all, what do you mean alarming?”

“I mean bi-weekly — at minimum,” he deadpanned.

This motherfucker.

The earnest, unimpressed look on his face prompted you to jab him in the ribs with your elbow long before you remembered your injury. When you hissed, he rolled his eyes. Then, nudging your shoulder with his, Jungkook’s tone softened. Gently, he asked, “What's actually bothering you?”

“He broke the rules.”

This caught his attention, and he paused. His hands fell motionless in his lap. “Oh,” was all he said. He now knew exactly why you’d been haunting the gym like some sick, sad, Victorian ghost for the past two hours; but judging by the way his brows knit together, he still didn’t have a clue what to do or say about it.

You scooted further back on your seat and pulled your knees to your chest, not unlike the way you’d sat on your living room floor a few hours earlier. Staring intently at the ground, you wondered if there was any way to disappear into the carpet — which someone absolutely should have vacuumed since your last appearance there, but clearly hadn’t. It was quiet for more than a few moments as you and your thoughts got lost in the crop circles of dirt amidst the fibers.

Eventually, you mumbled, “This whole thing went haywire. It was working so well for so long, and now it’s fucked.”

Jungkook leaned against the wall, head tilted slightly to keep his eyes on you. With the corner of his mouth hitched up, he mused, “Was it really working, though?”

You blinked dumbly back at him.

“Is it possible that you weren’t doing this to hurt him? That — and I’m just spit-balling here — you just wanted to keep him around, one way or another?”

The brick in the pit of your stomach was sinking deeper, and its corners were starting to jab you in weak spots you weren’t previously aware of.

Of course I wanted to hurt him. He hurt me first.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, in part to keep from snapping at Jungkook but largely because you wouldn’t know what to say if you did. He had a point, after all, and that was difficult to reconcile. Why else would you have kept at this little game for as long as you had?

That’s the worst part about a long con, isn’t it? It never, ever ends up the way you’d planned. The more time you invest in something, the harder it is to remember why you bought in to begin with.

At the outset, you’d absolutely wanted to bring that boy to his knees. You had every intention of letting him fall on his face from there. He was supposed to feel as invisible and unwanted as you did when you sat at that table for two, all alone. Like cellophane, transparent. You were supposed to stay detached; it’s why you had rules in the first place.

So, why did you keep it going? Why was it eating you up inside when those rules were broken, and you couldn’t? Did you start something, knowing in some hidden corner of your brain that you’d never want to stop?

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dropped your face into your hands and muttered, “Fuck.”

Jungkook, in an attempt to be comforting, slung his arm around your shoulder. His skin was as clammy as yours, instantly causing you to squeal, but he didn’t let you squirm away. Instead, he encircled you, pinning your arms to your sides in the process. He grunted through his laughter, “Let me — comfort — you — you fucking cactus!”

“Hands to yourself, swamp ass!” You warned, still wriggling.

The dangerous look you tried to send him was lost; it crumpled with your face as you laughed hard enough to make your abdominal muscles even more sore. You flailed, but as you tried to get to your feet, his arms constricted. He smiled in that signature Jungkook way — all front teeth and pursed lips — as if caging you in was child’s play.

You whined, “I mean it. I can throw a punch now!”

It took him next to no effort to subdue you completely, leaving you to wonder what the fuck those boxing classes were truly worth. Dejected, you had no option but to slump against him like a rag doll, panting and considering requesting a refund.

“For the record,” Jungkook sighed, “You’re just as gross.”

You scowled even though you faced away from him. “Shut up.”

He glanced down at you. In a matter of seconds, his smirk reappeared on his face. Flexing an eyebrow, he teased, “So, what’s first on your agenda when you get home? Showering or telling Jimin you’re in love with him?”

You knew he said it primarily to fuck with you, that he didn’t mean for it to bruise, but it did. Because, while it was true, that realization didn’t clean up the mess you’d made. It didn’t erase what Jimin did, either, which made things all the more complicated. He knew how much it would hurt — there’s no way he didn’t — and he still didn’t show up for you.

So, what?

What difference did it make if you loved him? You always had, on some level; and he didn’t feel the same. He never had. The only difference time had made was that now, you couldn’t remember how to let people in. You locked that part of you in a vault to keep yourself safe, and then you swallowed the key. Even if his feelings had changed, he’d never be able to slip past defenses you yourself didn’t know how to lower.

And if that was the case, why would he bother trying?

Jungkook suddenly released his hold around you. Startled, you glanced up over your shoulder at him just in time to watch his mouth curve upwards. Unintentionally, yours did too.

“Seems like there’s an overdue conversation to have, yeah?” He hummed.

You nodded, looking back down at your hands in your lap.

“Just — please, shower first. You are ripe.”

When you were nine, your parents enrolled you in dance classes at a local studio. They said that you had more energy than they knew what to do with, that a physical outlet for it all would be good for you. And even though Seokjin was fourteen at the time, he knew better. He knew that decision had nothing whatsoever to do with you.

The truth — which he was sure you realized now — was that your parents needed somewhere to put you on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

That year was the first in which Seokjin’s soccer team was worth watching. So much so, in fact, that they’d made it to the quarterfinals of a local tournament. He knew it, even back then, that it was meaningless; just a group of shithead teens vying for a trophy they’d sell at a garage sale the following summer. More importantly, he knew that kind of thought isn’t one a ninth-grader should have to have. Your parents didn’t seem to get it, so, he figured, someone should.

They were present for every practice — every Tuesday and Thursday — without fail. They cheered through all of them as if it was the final they were watching, not Seokjin running drills in a bright purple practice jersey. Then, when practice was over, they’d shower him with praise that a fourteen-year-old should’ve basked in. Every time, he’d have to cut them off and remind them of the empty seat next to his in the back of the minivan. Someone needed to notice when you weren’t around.

He was good at that, nudging them, even though he shouldn’t have had to be — and he only fucked up once.

On one drive home, he was too engrossed in his Nintendo DS to think twice when his parents asked him to choose between grabbing dinner with them and going home. Seokjin chose the latter; they dropped him off and headed out to whatever restaurant they’d chosen.

After an hour, he wandered to the kitchen to eat whatever the fuck he wanted to for dinner. His head was buried in the refrigerator when a loud knock at the front door scared him so badly that he smacked his head against a shelf, cursing loudly without any adults nearby to yell at him for it. Confused, he shuffled off towards the foyer, glanced through the peephole, and shoved the door open.

It didn’t make sense, Jimin appearing on his doorstep without calling first. That is, until Seokjin saw you clinging to Jimin’s hand with wet eyes and a trembling lip.

“Forgot my water bottle and went back for it, saw her sitting by herself on a bench outside the studio,” Jimin explained through gritted teeth.

He could’ve dropped your hand at any point after walking you from the studio to your house, but he held it still. “Hyung, she was out there for an hour.”

Seokjin was fourteen the first — and only — time he dropped you. Jimin, at just twelve, was there to pick you up.

Now, well over a decade later, it was Seokjin standing on Jimin’s doorstep. Though the two of them had grown significantly since then, the reason for the sudden drop-in hadn’t changed. Everything else aside, they would always have that one thing in common: You.

“Hyung, do you —” Jimin had barely said a word, and yet he was already stammering. If his eyes bugged out any further, Seokjin worried he’d have to clean them up off the doormat. “D’you wanna come in?”

The youngest stepped to the side, opened the door wide enough for the eldest to slip into the entryway. All the while, it looked like he was actively working to not shit himself. Thankfully, Seokjin had been inside more times than he could count, and he knew his way by heart: straight to the refrigerator to grab two beers.

He tossed one to Jimin, whose nerves nearly made him fumble it. The can smacked into his chest when his hands lagged behind, coming to life just in time to prevent it from free-falling to the floor.

“So,” Seokjin started.

He cracked open his beer without taking his eyes off Jimin, or letting a single emotion register on his face. It might have been a shitty thing to do, but he’d always loved watching Jimin squirm; and this was the most uncomfortable he’d seen his friend in decades.

“Anything you want to tell me, or should I just go for it?”

Jimin’s jaw clenched tightly enough that Seokjin could practically see the blood flowing through the vein protruding from his neck below. Clearly, he was trying to find his words. Lucky for him, Seokjin wasn’t known for his patience. He took over without wasting another second.

He sighed, “I always suspected that you were an idiot, but I didn’t know you were this dumb.”

Dead silence, save for what might’ve been all of Jimin’s synapses sizzling at once.

“No, seriously,” Seokjin snorted. Eyebrow raised, he lifted his hand and gestured to Jimin with his beer. “I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so concerned.”

Jimin’s forehead crinkled as he attempted to catch up. “I — what?”

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Seokjin dropped down into his usual stool at Jimin’s kitchen counter. Elbow to granite, he propped his cheek onto the heel of his hand.

Really, he hoped that years’ worth of friendship meant that Jimin could buffer a little fucking faster. The open-mouthed gawking indicated otherwise, to Seokjin’s dismay. Annoyed that his beautiful mind wasn’t being telepathically read, Seokjin groaned. “You think I throw that fucking Valentine’s Day party every year for — what, my health? My girlfriend only likes me half the time, man. Come on.”

Jimin simply blinked in response, like it was all his brain could manage.

“I’ve been trying to push the two of you together for years,” Seokjin huffed. “I’ve expended so much effort that I should be financially compensated, frankly, but that’s beside the point."

At the rate Jimin’s mouth was opening and closing, Seokjin could’ve easily mistaken him for a caught fish, gasping for air. Nevertheless, he persisted. "I even conned you into playing chauffeur this last time, thinking that maybe that would do it — and you waited another half a year to make a move? Babo.”

The confusion eventually gave way to something unreadable, though, right before Jimin’s hand raised. He landed a swift smack on Seokjin’s bicep with a growl before Seokjin could even think to brace himself.

“Are you kidding?” Jimin shouted.

Oh, you’re mad mad.

Jimin kept swatting, punctuating every word with a hit. “You’re — you — fuck!”

He gave up with a yell and slammed his fists down on the countertop, making Seokjin jump. Just as quickly, Jimin crumpled at the center, doubled over so that his entire upper body rested on top of his folded arms. His forehead dug into the knuckles of his thumbs, which curled around tightly clenched fists. Though Jimin had squeezed his eyes shut, Seokjin could make the educated guess that he was seeing red.

“First of all, what the fuck was that?” Seokjin scoffed.

In a flash, Jimin’s eyes cracked open. Instead of anger, there was something else buried there. Something sobering that made Seokjin’s stomach turn. He felt even worse when Jimin spoke again, sounding outright defeated:

“That shit you said about Chan and his sister,” Jimin grumbled, mouth unable to move fully with the way he’d slumped. “What was I supposed to take from that?”

Seokjin was at a loss, so he took a swig of his beer and swallowed it with a sigh. “What shit? I haven’t talked to Chan in — fuck — year or so now.”

Jimin stood up just enough to press his palms to the countertop, head still hanging while he leaned. “About me being lucky that he didn’t make me swallow my teeth?”

Oh.

Fuck.

Seokjin frowned. For as long as he could remember, his love language had been fucking with people. With you, with Jimin, and with Jungkook, once he popped into the picture. There was a silent understanding that his little pranks and digs were a sign of affection. If he didn’t mess with someone, it was safe to assume that he didn’t give a shit about them.

Until now, he hadn’t thought twice about that conversation with Jimin because it wasn't any different than every other conversation they’d ever had. Clearly, he’d struck a nerve he never intended to aim at. Goddamnit.

He grimaced. “You held off because of me?”

Jimin rolled his eyes, then he sank down on to the stool on the opposite side of the counter. Incredulous, he scoffed, “Was I supposed to see that as a green light?”

Seokjin didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He nursed his beer in silence, eyes downcast. Jimin, of course, had a point. Several, it seemed, because he continued, “You and your sister are adept at kneecapping people, whether or not it’s intentional.”

It was a direct hit, as far as Seokjin was concerned. He wasn’t the best at reading the room. On the other hand, you were always extremely sensitive to other people’s feelings. It was this consideration that prompted him to raise an eyebrow and ask, “What do you mean?”

Jimin swallowed hard. Whatever he wanted to say was visibly lodged in his throat, unwilling to budge. To help knock it loose, Seokjin — gently — smacked the center of Jimin’s back, right between the shoulder blades. His efforts earned him a scowl, but then an admission.

“Hyung, I fucked it up. Bad.” Jimin scrubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to hide.

Seokjin kept his expectant eyes fixed on him, silently pressuring him to keep talking.

“I blew her off a year ago because I’m chickenshit, and she still hates me for it. So, I’m sorry to say that the ship has fucking sailed — and then I capsized it — and now I’m drowning.”

Deep in thought, Seokjin turned his head away from Jimin to stare into the middle distance. He needed contemplative silence — or, if nothing else, to look pensive — but he found an out instead. Sitting on top of the counter on the far side of the kitchen was a toolbox. As he stared at it, the sound of Jimin’s ongoing melodrama gave way to gears turning.

“If I could talk to her, I think I could fix it, but that’s the problem —”

Blah, blah, blah.

Above all else, Seokjin was pragmatic. A schemer, always one step ahead. He raised his hand to cut Jimin off mid-monologue and asked, “You know anything about plumbing?”

Your drive home from the gym took twice as long as your drive there. Flying on autopilot, your eyes stuck to the road, and your hands went through the motions of turning the wheel, but your mind wasn’t in the car with you. If it was, you likely wouldn’t have driven past your freeway exit, not once but twice.

Unfortunately for you, your inability to focus only got worse as heavy raindrops hit your windshield. Before you knew it, the smattering evolved into sheets so substantial that the drum of fallout against the metal roof left you somewhere close to hypnotized. Mind otherwise blank to your surroundings, all you could think about was Jimin and the steps you’d have to take next.

Obviously, playing stupid games won you stupid prizes. If you kept it up, you’d shatter; and as far as you could tell, a clean break from him was the only thing that might keep you in one piece. You had to shut it all down, crawl back into your bunker, and wait it out. Resurface, maybe, when you stopped wanting him.

When it was safe.

After nearly missing your street, you managed to wind up in your own driveway. Despite reaching your destination, you couldn’t peel yourself out of your seat. The umbrella tucked into the side compartment of your passenger door could’ve gotten you to your front door without too much trouble, but the threat of getting drenched wasn’t what pinned you down. It was the fact that, once again, you were the butt of some cosmic joke. A bookend.

Your first night with Jimin looked just like this one. How fitting that the ending would be waterlogged, too.

Before you could sink into that pit of nostalgia, you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached across the passenger seat for your umbrella. It fought you on the way out of its resting place, snagging against the lip of the molded plastic and threatening to rip. With one last, careful tug, you freed it. You opened your door with your left hand while unwrapping the velcro band with your right.

The effort was ultimately useless. The rain pelted the pavement with such force that it ricocheted, like it was raining from the ground up. Your socks and shoes were soaked within seconds, squelching with every step as you scurried up the path to your doorstep. For once, the universe sided with you and allowed you to unlock your door on the first attempt, rather than the third.

“Motherfucker,” you muttered to no one as you skidded, dripping, over the threshold.

Dumping your umbrella next to your hastily discarded shoes, you tossed your keys onto their designated hook and made a beeline for the shower, shivering as the rush of air cooled your wet skin. As you went, you fought for your life against your soaked sweatshirt, which had all but doubled its weight on your trek in from the car. The combination of its heavy fabric and your laughably sore muscles had you panting before your feet found the tile floor they sought.

Of course, that was cold, too.

You hissed, “Motherfucker,” while slamming the door shut behind you. After chucking the remainder of your clothes in the general direction of your over-filled hamper, you bent down and turned the shower handle as far to the left as it could go. You might have ended up melting your skin off your body, but at least that chill in your bones would be gone.

You couldn’t put your finger on it right away, but something was different. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, you glanced between the shower head and the drain, like staring intently enough would reveal some sort of secret. Eventually, it clicked.

It alarmed you that nothing alarmed you. Aside from the stream hitting the floor, it was quiet. No groaning, no ominous clanking or sputtering — just water, unaccompanied, at the temperature you asked for.

“What —?” Your voice trailed off before you could finish talking to yourself.

For eighteen months, you sent consistent, increasingly angry, written notices to your landlord, begging him to fix whatever was wrong with your plumbing. At the very least, you wanted him to look into it and confirm you weren’t just hallucinating. He ignored you, time and again, until you’d given up entirely. Of course, he waited until then to do something, like it was out of the goodness of his own heart and not the result of your incessant nagging.

And — exactly as you expected — it took him no time at all to fix it. Less than the duration of your occasional cameo at the gym.

Unable to stop yourself, you rolled your eyes and scoffed as you stepped into the shower, letting the frustration evaporate with the steam. It left you with a sigh that bordered a moan, so surprising and genuine that you embarrassed yourself. “Oh, fuck.”

You’d almost forgotten what it felt like, showering with adequate water pressure and without groaning pipes. It was perfect. If you could have, you would’ve stayed there for the rest of the night, ignoring the consequences waiting for you on the other side of the door.

Maybe, you thought, you could watch it all slip down the drain — the dread, all those feelings you never consented to having. You could hide there and scrub yourself clean of the mess you’d made while trying to fix yourself. The hot water supply didn’t support your plan, however, and your hour of boiling yourself like a dumpling came to a tragic, increasingly chilled end.

Faster than you ever had before, you yanked a towel off the nearby rack, encircled yourself with it, and hopped out onto the bath mat. Unlike earlier that day, you intended to rip the metaphorical bandage off quickly. You wanted to thrust yourself out into the hallway before you could get too comfortable in the holdover warmth inside the bathroom. That intention didn’t get you far, though.

As soon as you turned for the door, you saw the note taped to the back of it. The moisture had made the ink bleed slightly, but the message was still legible. In handwriting you could easily pick out of a lineup, it read:

Hope I didn’t make it worse. Should I send the bill to your landlord? Also, you really need to find a better spot for your spare. Not safe! — J

Motherfucker.

Jimin was elbow-deep in dishes when he heard something resembling a thump.

At the rate the storm had kicked up outside, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the wind overturned his garbage can, or knocked a branch loose from the tree looming over his front porch. Whatever it was, it was muffled under the rush of water spilling out of the sky in waves. So, he shrugged and went back to scrubbing the pan he’d used to make dinner.

When the last remnants of his meal were washed away, he used the back of his wrist to push the faucet lever down. Without the additional flow of water, he heard that noise again — louder now, pace almost frantic. His brow furrowed as he pulled off his dish gloves. He hung them carefully over the faucet to dry, then he turned to investigate the source of the sound.

The closer he got to the front of his house, the clearer it became that the noise had nothing to do with the weather. In fact, if he had to bet, Jimin would’ve guessed it was Seokjin showing up unannounced for the second time that day.

“Hyung, I know you love me, but why are you —” Jimin started to whine as he flicked the porch light on and jerked the door open. “— So needy?”

He should’ve known better by now than to make guesses. It never, ever ended up being the Kim he expected.

Instead, it was you, dripping so thoroughly that you may as well have been melting. Your hair was windswept in every direction with wayward pieces of it sticking to your cheekbones. As much of a mess as you were, he couldn’t help but think that you looked beautiful this way, too. If it weren’t for that look on your face, he would’ve reached out to push some of those strands back, away from your eyes.

Oh.

You were crying.

Suddenly panicked, he opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“Why did you do it?” You demanded. The tremor in your voice didn’t match the scowl on your face. “I deserve to know why.”

His eyes widened, eyebrows rising steadily as he cobbled together a response. “Your plumbing is garbage and so is your landlord.” He held up his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry for letting myself in, but I didn’t think you would —”

“No,” you interrupted, voice cracking.

The fist you’d used to bang on his door unfurled slightly, leaving one finger to point accusingly at him. The gesture had him pinned in place, as if you were brandishing a gun instead.

“Why the fuck would you ask me out if you were just going to bail on me? Why — You didn’t even answer the phone.” You were one breath away from sobbing, but you pressed on. “You can’t do that and then do what you did today. You can’t. It’s not fucking fair.”

Before he could do anything — say a word, let you inside — you spun sharply on your heel to leave.

For once, he didn’t react too late. He grabbed your hand and kept you from slipping away. You paused, unsure of what to do with his touch, and refused to look back until his other hand landed gently on your shoulder. He couldn’t help the relieved sigh that slipped out of his mouth when you let him turn you back around.

You didn’t look up at him at first, which Jimin guessed was an attempt to hide away. Making yourself invisible wasn’t something you used to do on purpose, so watching you do it in real time made him ache. Try as you might, it wouldn’t work on him. He’d always known where to look to find you.

“Come inside?" He wasn’t above begging, so that’s precisely what he did. "Please.”

Your eyes lifted from your shoes to glance between Jimin and your car in his driveway. While he didn’t blame you, it stung like hell to know he’d turned you into someone inclined to run. He would’ve let it happen, if that’s what you wanted — dropped your hand and watched you go — no matter how much he wanted you to stay.

But you didn’t leave.

There was a microscopic nod, then you followed him over the threshold. Once the door shut behind you, Jimin let go of your hand so you could take off your shoes and jacket. He took the latter and hung it from the nearby hook, then he asked, “Do you want something of mine to wear? I can throw yours in the dryer.”

You shook your head, unwilling to let yourself be any more vulnerable than you had been already. You lied, “I’m fine.”

Jimin frowned, but he didn’t push you. Instead, he let you take the lead, falling in step behind you as you made your way to his kitchen. Unlike Seokjin, you didn’t take to rummaging through his refrigerator; you simply stood in the corner of the counter and held yourself with crossed arms.

Not knowing what else to do, Jimin took a seat on the opposite side and waited — for what, he wasn't sure. Some sort of sign, yelling, anything. All he got was quiet, save for the sniffling you couldn’t mask. You weren’t even looking at him.

Fuck it. Here we go.

“I can’t give you an excuse because there isn’t one,” he started. “All I have is an explanation, and even that’s shitty.”

This caught your attention. There was a small flicker of amusement in your eyes, though it was gone as soon as it appeared. It was encouraging, even if it was brief.

“You were right when you called me a coward. Fucking childish, too, but I’m not going to sit here and recite the laundry list of things I hate about myself because that doesn’t constitute an apology — that’s just bullshit, and I’ve put you through enough of that.”

Looking at the hurt broadcasted on your face made his throat tight, so he cleared it and prayed he could keep himself together long enough to spill everything he’d been holding back. To keep his focus, he fidgeted with the rings on his fingers. It wasn’t lost on him that the one he gravitated towards was the one you’d gifted him on his birthday several years prior.

There were pieces of you scattered over every surface of his life, his body included.

Fuck.

“Nobody that loves someone should treat them the way I treated you. I fucked it up — all of it — and I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, expression shifting slightly from hurt to something unreadable. With a shaky sigh, he added, “I should’ve said it a year ago, and I’m sorry for that, too.”

The silence that followed spread like smoke, clouding the space between you. Maybe that’s why he struggled to regulate his breathing. That, or the crushing weight of anticipation on his chest while he waited for you to react — to yell, to leave, to do anything.

To his surprise, what he got was a whisper.

“Why didn’t you?”

Jimin’s eyes switched focus from his hands to your face. He expected to find something accusatory there, but he didn’t. If anything, you looked almost expectant, like you knew the answer before you asked but needed to hear him say it. He didn’t want to — it seemed so trivial now — but he'd gotten sick of not giving you what you wanted, so he answered, “Your voicemail.”

You nodded slowly, thoughtfully, while you processed your response. A few more leaden seconds of silence passed before you finally spoke.

“I wanted to hurt you. I knew exactly what to say to do it, which is…” Your voice trailed off as you searched for your next words. “Unhinged." You shook your head quickly and amended, "No, it’s worse than that. It’s — it’s fucking abhorrent, that's what it is.”

Despite himself, Jimin couldn’t bite back his smile. He whistled. “That’s a big word.”

“You are being so unserious right now,” you scolded him. You scowled and put your hands on your hips like some disciplinarian parent — it was futile. Jimin could see you pressing your lips together to keep your laughter inside, clear as day. “Can you let me finish atoning, please?”

“Can I grab a dictionary first?” He countered with a smirk.

Instantly, your incredulousness washed from your widened eyes to your mouth, which fell open. “I swear to God —”

He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine, fine. I’m listening, okay? I swear.” You just glared at him, so he said it again. “I promise. Please keep going.”

You took a deep breath and spit the rest of it out quickly, likely expecting him to interrupt you again. “I wanted to hurt you, and there is clearly a part of me that is fundamentally unwell because I didn’t just leave it at that.”

This was a twist he hadn’t seen coming, and it left Jimin thoroughly confused. Head tilted and eyebrows furrowed, he asked, “You didn’t?”

“No,” you sighed. Sheepishly, you scrubbed your hands over your face. They lingered, intentionally or not, as if you were building another wall between the two of you. “I wanted to string you along, make you want me, and then cut you loose.”

Your head drooped, defeated. “I told you. Deeply unwell.”

Jimin was stunned, but not for the reason you seemed to think. His brain buffered, slowing his speech while he tried to process the situation. “You were toying with me?”

In a flash, your gaze snapped up to meet his. Bewildered was the only word he could think of to describe the look on your face. He couldn’t help it; he laughed, “That’s what I thought I was doing.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you wailed, throwing your head back.

Without watching where you were going, you still managed to successfully crumple onto a stool. From there, you deflated fully onto the countertop, limbs spread out and cheek flush against the granite. You muttered, “I hate us. I really do.”

Jimin mumbled in agreement, too stupefied to comment further. Several minutes passed that way, silently, as you each attempted to piece together the thing you’d — unknowingly, jointly — blown straight to hell.

“Jimin?”

You startled him for two reasons, the least of which being the suddenness of your voice in all that quiet. More than anything, it was your unexpected use of his name. His given name.

After a year of you calling him exclusively by his family name, Jimin was ready to assume that you’d forgotten what followed it. It sounded like a foreign language to him now, so much so that he had to pause to make sure he heard you correctly.

Barely audible, you admitted, “I don’t know why I am the way I am. And I don’t know how to do this — to want this. Not properly, anyway. Not yet.”

So, you did hear him earlier.

He didn’t necessarily mean to confess that fact with the rest of his sins. In fact, he was content to let it dissipate when you didn’t acknowledge it floating out there. He didn’t need you to say it back, or even feel it; he just needed to let it out of the cage he’d kept it locked in. And once he did, he pushed past it so quickly that he genuinely believed you might’ve missed it, but you didn’t.

You heard him, and you didn’t leave.

“Can we go back to the beginning?” You asked, sitting upright and turning your head to look at him fully. “We both have so much shit to work through, but I —”

“Hi,” he interrupted.

You blinked, caught off guard. Arm extended, he reached over the counter and held his hand out to you. Cautiously, you accepted it, smile spreading slowly when he shook it, and you finally caught on.

“I’m Jimin.”

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

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nona-meatgrinder · 2 months

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so who the fuck is nona and why are they in your inbox

nona is just a silly guy stuck in a void for committing mass crimes when they were younger. don't worry they arent evil anymore and just like chatting with people thru tumblr or appearing as a voice in ur head. they don't really have pronouns i just usually refer to nona with he/they but no set is wrong. fun fact their name litterally just came from spelling anon backwards.

tags and their meanings

🥩 lore = nona back story

🥩 chat = interactions with other blogs

🥩 sighting = nona asking other blogs

🥩 art = images of nona

🥩 aesthetic = images that nona would like/his "aesthetic"

🥩 mailbox = asks!!!!

🥩 rambling = nona just posting stuff

#🥩 ooc #🥩 lore

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poppubaburu · 2 years

Text

Noelle Holiday Blog and the unusual Blue Circle Pet.

✅Posted originally on Instagram.

🚫Please ♥️, 💬clean comments/compliments, and only 🔁 REBLOG from the original artist (me). ‼️DO NOT repost/claim any of these art as your own, such as an RP avatar, your PFP, or sell as your own. ‼️ Do not edit, trace, or put in a video ad, etc.———————————

✅ On Twitter

I love the fact that prior to in-game story of DELTARUNE Chapter 2 on DELTARUNE website, Noelle must be the one and only Lightner individual who would open spam e-mails in the junk folder of her computer (and later on, laptop) and gave care and attention to them; also minding to avoid links that would send her to anything explicit, scammy, and shady. Honestly, it’s a reason for her game and devices she uses to crash very frequently.

(me: reminisces how my Toshiba laptop went haywire full of malware and it crashed in 2004…wondered if it was Spamton’s doing. RIP that laptop. I always used MS paint to draw zodiacs and made it my Desktop wallpapers when I was a lot younger. And I had really cool rainforest pics and videos I did when I was at Costa Rica. X3)

Grateful and pleased a Lightner like her checks the spam folder of e-mails, Spamton, right before his Big Shot prime time, sent a Pipis (blue circle…egg…?). He valued her so much. She was his first Lightner he actually respected and I had a feeling he still (kind of) did in-game storyline (applies to both routes of gameplay).

Why did Spamton care for a Lightner deer highly as much as Queen did is beyond me; but I will say the theme of Light with Dark helping alongside each other harmoniously stays. He’s like Noelle’s needed lost uncle while Queen is Noelle’s needed lost auntie in some sort of sense.

He does this multiple times, sending his pipis with an attached code for Noelle to interact and care for in Cat Petterz 2 game.

In a Q and A on Twitter, Spamton revealed and reminisced about Noelle. He even went further to not invade on the personal privacies of any of the Lightners’ e-mails and browser history. He respects the confidentiality and makes good business of it. He calls it [charity], but I personally think it was a step for Spamton specifically to find what could’ve possibly be his true and REAL friend, but from a world beyond his own.

—————

Source: https://deltarune.com/bluecircle/

My artwork is also on my Twitter. and Instagram (@Pobbligood) if you’d like what I create and would like to support.

May they find each other in future chapters…maybe…depending how YOU played DELTARUNE so far.

Reblogs, replies with clean comments, and funny tags are always welcome, I DO READ THOSE.

Artist's Note:

I cannot stress this enough. Please, PLEASE reblog from the original artist (me) and DO NOT claim any of these art as your own, such as an RP avatar, your PFP, video ad, etc. I put effort on these and if you really want one; such as these arts, you can ask nicely through DMs, or commission me when it's open. Or you can go to my Patreon (will post those later).

—————

Also, my Spamton plush came in so fast, he must be scampering on all 4s to my mailbox at 200+ mph. He arrived 4 days after its initial launch and advertisement on Fangamer during the Spamton Sweepstakes weekend event.

My very first encounter with him upon his arrival is HE WAS STUCK IN MY MAILBOX for a brief couple of minutes. His BIG head was in the way!

He has a magnetic nose. I tested the magnetic ball chain bracelet on him. He can walk his pipis with his nose and the magnetic chain now.

#spamton #spamtonsweepstakes #deltarune spamton #addisons deltarune #deltarune #my art blog #deltarune noelle #noelle holiday #big shot spamton #spamton g spamton #deltarune chapter 2 #my artwork #deltarune characters #Hello? Is anyone out there? Yes. Good. We are connected #spamton sweepstakes

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morvantmortuary · 8 months

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today the tiny!morvants and I went to see a haunting in venice (very pretty mystery movie with a few good startles, fwiw), and while I was waiting around outside the theater, a very sweet woman saw them in their coffin ita bag and was very complimentary about it. I don’t think she was familiar with ita bags in general, bc she was asking me a lot about the pins and the bag itself, which was a lot of fun to chat about for a minute

(though I definitely started stammering when she was like “who are these guys? what are they from? 😄” and I was like “ahskdlguhhhhhhh they’re from a thingI’mwriting, I commissioned someone to make them for me :’D” bc how. do I even begin to explain *gestures at this entire blog*)

and she even took a picture of my bag bc she liked it so much, which was very sweet of her (but a little confusing for me ngl, just bc the only real theme to it without any context is vaguely ‘new orleans funeral’ ig)

then we came home and I found something hysterical (to me) in my mailbox

(nsfw in the most banal literal non-sexual sense of the word under the cut)

tiny!morvant bong rotation ft. a v confused maggie

I can’t smoke anymore bc every time I get too high I have a panic attack where I think I’m stuck in a time loop (long story), but I thought I’d live vicariously through the tiny!morvants when I found this etsy shop that sells little 3d-printed accessories a week before my birthday

for the record the one I got them was more appropriately sized, alongside some starbucks cups and a little frog for maggie to chase, but the shopkeep sent me this extra large (to them) bong as a bonus and it just made me giggle

I think the Morvants definitely smoked more when they were teenagers, but maybe don’t do it v often now bc a. weird things happen with Necromancy sometimes when you’re incapacitated, and b. stalking you keeping on top of their various pursuits, chain-related and otherwise, is a full time job that keeps them on their toes

(especially Maxi, bc he has a reputation to maintain in a small town that already thinks he’s a bit shifty and because he’s never embalming while stoned again after that one time when he was seventeen) (another long story)

anyway!! hope everyone is having a good friday, and shana tovah to those who celebrate!! ✨🖤

#the misadventures of the tiny!morvants #tiny!morvants at the movies #casual drug use mention #pot mention #and then rarae says

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knickknackoftheday · 2 months

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welcome to knickknackoftheday!

i dont feel as if my name is important here, but i use he/him. this is a blog that posts (daily) knick knacks, which i do try my best to source.

i use the term "knick knack" loosely here, haha. i do think that theyre different from trinkets and thingamabobs, but for the sake of this blog i'll be merging them.

please feel free to send asks! knick knack submissions will be posted separately (i.e., NOT posted directly from askbox)--please specify whether you'd like to stay anonymous or not, because i will put credits into submitted posts.

happy scrolling💕

#knickknackoftheday -- this wonderful specimen is now knick knack of the day! congratulations

#not a knick knack -- perhaps a post about the blog, or an answered ask? either way, its not the daily post.

#mailbox -- this is an ask!

#submission -- somebody sent me this knick knack, thank you!

#sourced -- i have a direct link to this knick knack and you can find it by clicking the text under the image.

#unsourced -- i looked high and low, still have no clue where this little guy came from.

#not a knick knack #☆#intro post #introduction #introductory post #blog intro #introduction post #pinned intro #introducing post #knick knacks #trinkets #items #objects #collections #collectibles #goblincore #goblin aesthetic #crowcore #gremlincore

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sytokun · 1 year

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Lay off your wannabe holy crusade. All you're doing is clogging up search results and I am tired of hiding your rants on social media so I can look at something that doesn't involve one dude screaming about how he is a victim of somebody else. Besides, can you actually prove that most of the anonymous asks came from seeker, or are you painting his face onto the vision of every anon ask that comes your way?

Let's dissect the two possibilities then:

I am right and it's Canonseeker continuing to be a cunt.

It's a different person sending me anon hate mail like a coward, i.e. still a cunt.

Wow look at that, it's still me, over here with my blog and an unspecified number of anonymous cunts who have made a video of fake screenshots to fuck me over.

Great moral compass. Definitely calibrated correctly. Definitely not victim blaming when you can easily go to Canonseeker and be an annoying bitch to the actual aggressor in this situation instead. But no, I committed the gross crime of... mildly inconveniencing your Tumblr experience, so I'm clearly more evil.

Are you... okay in the head? No backwards morals going on in that cranium of yours?

And if anyone thinks that Canonseeker is minding their own business and has stopped finding fault with me, here's their new Twitter @, fresh off the press:

My name's Aaron. This bitch be over here using my IRL name in their Twitter username. I know for a fact it's deliberate because they do this with other peoples' names too that they don't like.

Practice some self-awareness and imagine yourself in this position. Some fucking asshole took the time to make screenshots of you, trying to portray you as a racist and homophobe. That asshole, or a different one, loves using your name and others' in their usernames to passive-aggressively spite you, because you're one of the few people who care enough to treat them like the problem they are and call them out.

And now, either that asshole or some other asshole is now infesting your anon mailbox, much like you, and saying you deserve to suffer and you need to improve, instead of the actual pieces of shit who have been banned from multiple communities and keep coming back.

So congrats, have another Canonseeker post in your RWBY feed. You and every person are going to keep seeing them, because they're a fucking pest who is still in the community, and people like you would rather froth and flail over the one trying to do something about a known cockroach on the community than acknowledge the actual fucking problem.

And if it's not this cockroach, it's gonna be another one, and I would rather point out the cockroach and say the place needs to be fumigated than sit in this filth and pretend they don't fuckin' exist, mate. So you better get fuckin' comfy and think about who you're really supposed to be directing your anger to, and who's really the one making this community trash for everyone else.

#rwby #rwde #answerseeker #canonseeker

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crimsonfacets · 10 months

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XXX ( Creech chinhandsing to hear that TEA on Hades-- )

Send me XXX and I will share a nsfw headcanon about my muse. // accepting!

It's how you make the size count that matters ... NOT.

Size King. He's not polite about it either, he needs his men to have big 🍆 or he is straight-up kicking them out of the bedroom, OR making them chug a potion SKDFDSFK. He is VERY, VERY picky about this. He needs his insides re-arranged or he's just not having it, 'kay babe? Either size-up or get OUT of here, and suffer the humiliation of him making Pain & Panic Shame Parade you on the way out.

Yeah, he's awful like that.

#(( I HATE HIM SO MUCH SJDFJDF ))#(( THANKS FOR SENDING ONE IN FOR HIM AND FORCING MY HAND ))#creeeech #『 hades / hc. 』 ❝ let's get to business. ❞#『 blog / asks. 』 ❝ it came from the mailbox. ❞#mature //#P&P following some poor fool down the hall: 'SHAME! shame! such a shame! itty bitty! SMAAAAAAAAALL-'

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travelinglibrariansdesk · 3 months

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New idea for a blog

New idea for a blog: circulation assistant who enjoys talking about the books she checks in and out every day. I have no idea if anyone would find my opinions of books interesting: I'm mainly writing for me. Last fall, after the library hired me, I began keeping a list of good-looking children's books for my mother, who says she's going to start reading books to little kids somewhere, as soon as she's settled into her new apartment. The list mushroomed right away.

Can I start a blog this way? I'd love to keep notes on the books I see every day. For instance, today someone returned Jenny and the Cat Club, a book my grandmother used to read to me. So dear to my heart, little black cat Jenny with her red scarf and silver ice skates, and her wonderful friends. I'm overjoyed that someone is still reading it!

Also, a really funny edition of Frankenstein: Frankenstein: Annotated for Scientists, Engineers, and Creators of All Kinds. Worrisome, isn't it, to think that someone seems to want to encourage scientists to...um...duplicate Frankenstein's research? Not sure if that is what is intended by the title.

Just read an adorable book called It Came in the Mail. Little boy loves getting mail, so he writes a letter to the mailbox asking it to send him things. The first thing that arrives is a dragon. All the art is letter/postcard art, with appropriate and adapted post office stamps: "oversize" on the elephant, and "pearishable" on a giant pear.

Every day I'm amazed at the dazzling and creative art used in children's books. Yesterday I read a sweet Native American myth, called The Girl Who Loved Horses, a Caldecott winner from 1978 by Paul Goble. His Native American-style art is colorful and gorgeous, and sweeps across the pages in a way that suggests wild mustangs in motion.

The popularity of graphic novels has freed both adult and children's book authors from the either/or of "text" or "picture book". I nabbed a book today that I'd like to read called Trial by Jury Journal. I opened it to find that the story is told by all kinds of print media - the usual paragraphs, letters, newspaper articles, etc. I love creative flights like this. It reminds me of that beautiful series of books done as letters and postcards: Nick Bantock's Griffin and Sabine romance. I love the zing I get when I can connect two authors and think, I wonder if the older book(s) had an influence on the newer ones? Did Bantock's books pave the way for others of this type?

Update on Trial by Jury Journal: Good but not great. Kids will probably appreciate the character name puns more than I did - over several pages it wears a little thin (e.g., Anna Conda, Rhett Tyle). Still, the narration style keeps switching, which both keeps it interesting and develops individual characters. However, I think she could've gone further with the character development. They're not flat, but they don't have a full three dimensions. Still love the pen-and-ink art, reminiscent of Joseph Schindelman's original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Lemony Snickett.

Then there's Kaz Windness's If Ur Stabby, about a psycho anti-unicorn. Definitely NOT for kids under 12. A nice old man handed me the book the other day because (I think) his granddaughter had pulled it off the (presumably) adult graphic novel shelf, and he thought it might not be for children. Which it is NOT. However, the dark (one might say sick) humor of a depressed unicorn depicted largely in black and white is pretty funny if you've had a little too much princess literature, or the Pinkalicious series, come across your desk.

Just did a deeper dive into Stabby, who is apparently a graduate of Mother Goth Rhymes, which I can't put on hold right now because I have too many other books out that are overdue. (Just can't get myself to read enough. Very frustrating.) Fascinating stuff, though - "Stabby the Unicorn" is a meme, and apparently a game - "Unstable Unicorns", which would be a great name for a band, don't you think? But the game - "a strategic card game that will destroy your friendships" - is a little to manga for my taste. Even though they're "unstable", they're too cute and marshmallowy. More on that some other time, I think. Stabby is not manga. Original artwork - lots of curly, swirly letters and piles of skulls.

On a more serious, but still dark, note, I saw a book today entitled The Midwife of Auschwitz. My first reaction was YOW, this sounds horribly depressing. I was intrigued enough to read the blurb on the back, and it depicts exactly the story you'd expect of the title. However, I expect it would be an interesting take on the Holocaust, if you're in the right frame of mind. It turns out that among the atrocities the Nazis committed at the camps, they took the most Aryan-looking babies and gave them to German couples wanting children. Just like the Irish nuns and the evil folks in Before We Were Yours did.

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lifetrain69 · 4 months

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Hi. The Ask reply wouldn’t let me reply just to you, sooo here I am in Ask again; sorry! You have no mailbox, which is fine.

See, I used to write back and forth with someone from Sham 69, at My Space, wow, maybe 20 years ago. I don’t know what his name was, nobody used real names there, of course, but he could answer any and every punk question I asked him. I knew a lot—but he knew *everything*‼️

The first question I asked him was, who did “I Am The Fly”? Which he knew immediately, and then I could go buy it!

I remember they always played at Max’s (Kansas City) whenever they were in New York, which is where I live. And I could see them there, which was the favorite hang. Also, tons of clubs down there and the East Village, you know, disgusting CBGB and the like. But NO place was as nasty as CBGB! We only stayed for the shows, but Hilly had given me a gold VIP card, which was very cool.

Anyway, for some reason, a post you must’ve made, I followed you to your blog because who the hell else knows enough about punk now, NYC back then, and we were in the clubs when we were 15, and I’ve been a huge Ramones freak since RAMONES came out; I lived near all of—oh shit, there’s this video on TV with this black dude singing, “bootay, bootay” and I looked up from my phone cause: Who Was Playing The Clash?? But wasn’t the Clash at all, it was this black guy’s vid. Wow, well, cool, then. Must find out more…

Anyway, the Ramones lived all around me, Johnny Thunders two neighborhoods next to me, KISS a few neighborhoods the other way (never a fan, but was cool anyway)—you know Willy De Ville was sitting outside on the curb while JT was dying?! Sorry, I’m babbling, but who the hell else am I gonna talk to about: I get to your page and it’s all Sham 69, and I’m like, who the hell is THIS??

I had a music blog here several years ago, was gone a long time—dunno why I came back🤷🏻‍♀️—and now it’s full of these asshole kids, serious weirdos, and freaks, it’s a huge, nasty pit of garbage. So I was considering leaving again, when I made a few new friends—almost everybody from back then is gone, and then out of nowhere I find you. And you’re all Sham 69. It was kinda mind blowing in this environment outta nowhere.

Sorry if you’re younger, I mean obviously you’re not an “asshole” kid. But then you won’t know what I’m talking about anyway, in which case it would be so cool to today find someone else who knows Sham 69. And “back in the day” music possibly. From a 63-year-old punk girl. Woman? That’s weird. Oh well, you can’t take the punk outta the girl, and you can’t take the girl outta the punk.😎Oh man, this message is crazy!🤷🏻‍♀️

Oh! My name’s Lori. (Not to be confused with lorry! Sorry, but I used to work with a lot of Brits. They would send me all this Cadbury stuff I couldn’t get in the States, and I would send them all the American candy they asked for. Particularly Mallow Cups. Which I wouldn’t question because I liked them too! And your Aero bars were really good!🤣)

Ok, sorry to bother you, freak you out, sound like a lunatic, etc.🙀

Hi, wow that was quite a read lol. Not sure what your question is but I’m the original guitarist and co song writer for Sham 69, we’re still together and still playing.

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incarnateirony · 1 year

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Hi! I’m only asking this as an anon because I don’t really want my name out there. But just fyi, I totally believe u and I’ve gone through ur blog and seen that everything you’ve said has turned out to be true so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt when it comes to the Winchesters info. I’m pretty sure from what I’ve gathered through ur blog that u work in the industry, but not directly with Warner Brothers? So just wondering how you’ve gotten so much info about the Winchesters? It’s totally cool if u don’t want to answer, I was just curious. I’m pretty ignorant on how the tv industry works. And also, do u know how many seasons the Winchesters is supposed to go for? Or at least what they’re aiming for? And is it leading into something else like a sequel or a reboot?? I mean obvs they’re gonna reboot SPN eventually, but is this directly leading to it? I’m really enjoying the show so far so I’m just curious.

Frankly, it came by several angles. Initial sending went one way. Followup additions went by another source. The script for net4 draft was found publicly. Fandom proposed it was fake, but minding the initial send, and previously available information included like the arenas I've talked about--as well as basic info like when drafts are submitted or sent out for order--well. You recognize shit and can see the authenticity stamps, and when you have older drafts on hand, there's certain shit you can't fake.

So there's that. One thing I've been clear about: I am not from Vancouver filming. At all. If anything Vancouver was lowkey enemy territory of Atlanta, due to the whole... WB pickapart of TBS, the ship out to New York, the pedowitz installation and then bulking out shows to Canada. So like. On that front, it's like a blood walking into crip territory. Like I know the game but I am DEFINITELY outside my perimeter. So on that front. You keep your head low and you know how to navigate.

My SPN attuned sources are, by and large (with a few new exceptions) separate from my industry sources. I fully admit I weaseled my way through things for years. I made very calculated decisions that seemed minor at the time, often unnoticed.

I was ripped up into a shitstorm on day one that fell me into an ITK group of old. It quickly educated me on a lot of fandom issues and contacts and information. Then TAW hit, and I got ripped further up the chain and tapped for information and reports. And then TAW kept hitting, but you guys never found out, because I was busting my ass, you're welcome. All those squabbles with "Castiel's Angels" or Lineage weren't just silly fandom drama, that was playing Pin The Travis Hydra Heads. For about 3 years, every 3 months or so we had a travis incident, and I'd have to shove out new reports which, tldr, basically went to misha's legal team, and no, I'm not going to break down how or where.

You guys saw public bickering with front accounts of his. Maybe you even saw the doxxing website. Hell, maybe you're one of the unfortunate dozen or so people that ended up on it. But you know what? Big Scawwy Awmy Man Twavis only updated one person's listing to Armed And Dangerous. People stopped knocking my mailbox down. And that was AFTER he was already mad enough to Fuck Around And Find Out, because he was already blacklisted, because the dumbfuck pissed his pants on my facebook where facebook will helpfully first degree his bullshit to names like Hilfigers. Great job, douchecanoe, you played yourself.

throughout I also made outreach efforts. Yes, I did message authors. Yes, I do know at least two have followed my youtube for years. yes, I know several read my blog and even refer to my mythos meta. Yes, I stayed involved with Wayward, and author support, and listened closely to what they said or didn't say, and took my chances to speak with them, and be known to them, and be a welcoming face of the fandom that loves their theology as much as their fight for ships. To listen to their love for each other, to treat them like humans, to learn who they admire in the room, and how that room works.

And over that time, after giving that help, I was asked for other help. Like author mute lists. Or actor danger watch lists to give to their security company.

And again randos will be like RECEIPTS. bitch i don't care, i didn't screenshot me sending off the importable excel file, just fuckin' deal with it. [gestures vaguely at Mark P teleporting out and disappearing from cons at an increasing rate] dude's busy now. Totes coincidence. Nothing to do with a recent explosion. He and his lawyers assure you.

...Anyway.

That's separate from what I've told of myself in the past--I have innate Atlanta history. Really it's more of the gulf, I just talk about Atlanta most because that's where I got fired out towards and where the real engine is. Technically I got scooped up in houston, yeeted out to Atlanta and bounced around with various projects. I mostly hovered in the music industry but my personal work ended up market testing near to TPS, and via a fella i now call big bro that this fandom loves to deny exists, my pasty ass got adopted into a black entertainment community, by a long series of dominos I don't feel like re-unpacking in this post.

That said, if you review the long history of the fall of TBS to WB's vulture picking I've posted about, just shuffle me in there. I'm not gonna get terribly more specific but put a bullseye roughly in that ring of the gulf and that market, and assume the majority of my connections are there (with exception to a designer that moved up to New York and did some other work after I walked and an independently developed relationship with the Arrowstorm company by other means, so randomly, Also Utah, Because Life Reasons.)

Now look at the names behind Nexstar's leadership. Now look at TBS. Look at Dennis Miller, former creative under Ted Turner. Turner Broadcasting System. Look at Schwartz, talking about Tyler Perry nonstop. Look at the Assembly, look at all the stuff I been talking about, look at my talk about IAC, meredith etc etc [continues to gesture off in that direction]

Basically, the sources are many. The industry flow/stations/syndicates/affiliates/channel purchase/business/blahblah is like. One side of the lane. Make that column A. Column B is "holy fuck how did I get sucked up into this Vancouver clusterfuck LET ME OUT oh well might as well run some useful messages."

Also along the way I also do collect random shit. Sometimes fans just know I have a lot of info, and find something, and figure it might fit into the giant fuckin vault I'm hiding in the back and help us all piece out something. Like I won't lie, that happens a lot. Because sometimes you can have 95% of the puzzle but just the right pieces are missing, and someone trips and falls on the one that helps you figure the rest out.

No leaker or industry person ever has 100% insight just from a pipeline. It's something I talk about with people like Wiki, or Manchin back in the day. They get very overconfident with their new shiny badges and don't understand how their data is filtered, how most information is need to know, that the editing department doesn't get news about market testing, that the tech consultant doesn't get full modern scripts or advanced news on major elements that they're trying to keep tight, etc. But they all love to blabber to other equally unqualified idiots, which is how you get pipelines of "there's no market testing, (coffee runner) said so" "Berens has no intent, (coffee runner) said so." "The script is fake, (coffee runner) said so." Then like oops debunker proved it oops berens self proved it OOPS. OOPS THE PILOT AIRED AND THEY TRIPPED WITH THEIR OWN SCRIPT AND WERE EVEN LYING. WEIRD.

The older and more versed you are in the fuckeries of media, the more critical you are of sources, because even high sources can be limited in perspective from, say, the business angle you're coming from.

So I take a little from Column A, a little from Column B, I apply my compendium of industry knowledge and common sense, and slip in a little bit of Option C when it's slid on, and there you go, you have a self-critical and self-supporting 3-pillar structure to sort through extremely complicated truths in.

Beyond that, things like the filming I find is a mix. Like, IG exists. But I also worked in the area so I know which IATSE groups to follow even if people aren't technically listed yet, because they might free up on one job and wander in to replace a colleague in another, then of course there's the ones that you can find if you know the IATSE group. Like, the average fan doesn't give a fuck about the Electrician or Set Dresser, but I Fucking Do. So basically, take that as more "I know a few of these guys, trained a few of the guys that trained these guys, I know the neighborhood, I know how to waddle around and find shit."

Hope that helps.

(Congrats now you know why I he-haw at 2po's twice-badly-interpreted M&Gs that he self-proved as bullshit. amazing sources buddy.)

Oh and there's other random what the fuck hows, like eugenie's cousin being a friend of mine on a fluke, or the fact that i accidentally and unknowingly married sera gamble's second cousin and didn't realize it until I had to mail a package and shit my pants. Eventually you just get so tangled up in this shit you're like a fly in a spiderweb. I don't fuckin know why. My soul is attached to this show for some goddamn reason, there's no getting out. For a while I was the opposite of that LET ME IN guy. LET ME OUUUUUUUUUUUT. But I decided now that the battle is over and we won I'm just gonna lay on the floor while the assholes burn and take it all in. I done my duty and beyond.

#oh and just deadass #i forgot to include #some new and old folks are just #in the server 2po screams about #which makes it all very very funny.

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