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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

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mckaytriarchy-1 · 7 years

Photo

ADD 4 ARTWORKS THAT REPRESENT YOUR MUSE.

“You Have and I’ll Hold” by Margaret Jacobs

“Fiery Dance” by Andrew Atroshenko

“Quartet” by Aaron Jasinsky

“Pain” by Ryohei Hase

tagged by: stolen from @babydxhl

tagging: @doctorxdoom , @atlaswinged , @misshoodoolady , @yourneighbourjerry , @drorah-walks , @12thlevelintellect , @athenafire , @chaoticvictors , @mustscream , @fangedfirecracker , @algrimthestrong , @ltbroccoli , and pretty much everyone who wants to.

Note: All artwork is copyright of their respective artists.

#:yeah so there's not as much subject and compositional variety as I wanted:#:but I had to make due with four pics and I really needed the movement in Fiery Dance:#cw body horror #cw horror #:probably marvelverse:#:about:#:tess:#:art meme:

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godkilller · 3 years

Text

@izzabizz139

I wanna hear you rant about the Gin vs Hitsugaya anime fight bc I love seeing your pov and you clearly write better than whoever extended that scene :) pretty please

out of character. DON’T ENABLE ME SO MUCH !! No but I cackled when I first saw this ask because oh my god, clearly you saw a taste of my annoyance about the anime adaptation -- no, adaptation implies it was accurate, I’ll say the anime’s take was “inspired by” the manga’s quick run-in. I’ll start by saying this moment is supposed to be a bit important considering, via the audience’s point of view, THIS IS THE FIRST WE SEE OF TWO CAPTAIN-RANKED SHINIGAMI CLASHING. The only other captain-involved fight we’ve seen thus far in the manga is Kenpachi ( who is an outlier and should not be counted... no, I joke... but, still, Ichigo was not an equal to him, his sword was sliced through like butter. ) The whole reason I enjoyed this encounter between Toshiro and Gin was simply this; it wasn’t some fancy multi-chaptered fight. IN THE MANGA, THERE ARE ONLY TWO BLOWS MADE. One, by Toshiro, to begin the fight. The second, to end it, is Gin’s strike.

I want you to know that I’ve rewatched this specifically to answer this ask, and only due to this, as I wouldn’t have ever sought it out otherwise. HONOR MY SACRIFICE.

Read more for length. I’m merciful.

In the anime, they monologue at each other, and it’s mostly a combination of Toshiro making three separate death threats ( he starts this off by saying “I’ll kill you before Hinamori arrives” and then goes on rewording it each time, and then also repeats the death-threat he gave Gin prior to this conflict about “I’ll kill you if Hinamori bleeds” ) and then also Gin and Izuru talking about how truly powerful and amazing Toshiro is -- no, this isn’t me being bitter or petty, I literally shit you not, Gin has a line that is legit “AS EXPECTED FROM HITSUGAYA TOSHIRO, CAPTAIN OF THE TENTH DIVISION, A CHILD PRODIGY OF TH' SORT THAT ONLY COMES ALONG ONLY ONCE EVERY FEW CENTURIES. HOW VEEEERY DANGEROUS. YOU’RE SERIOUS, AIN’T YA?” like don’t get me wrong, love a good sarcastic little shit comment like that, but the amount of times the anime pumps Toshiro up like he’s their shinest new cash cow ( and he is, at this point, it is not even 50 episodes into the series and they’ve realized everyone likes him and he’s jumped to high ranks in popularity polls... earning him filler spotlights, and eventually his very own non-canon movie ) so everything coming out of Gin’s mouth feels like more bullshit than necessary. Izuru’s already literally monologued, internally, how powerful and amazing Toshiro is anyways. Why this ?

Not to mention that, prior to saying that long-winded shit, Gin’s haori changed length three times ( and once it was longer than his entire body by several feet, and no not in a ‘to show motion’ way ) and most importantly Shinso was drawn, consistently, at katana-length for the duration of their little spat where the following, too, happened: Gin frog-leaps after doing a backflip, Toshiro gives Gin two (2) haircuts, Gin ruins some floorboards and gives Toshiro at least one splinter in his arm, Toshiro whilst wearing socks lands on Shinso’s blunt edge and pushes the sword down with his footsie because that’s how that works, there’s another backflip somewhere in there that Gin doesn’t need to be doing, twirl, twirl, and ballet, Gin’s face elongates until his chin is bigger than his face, Gin spends ten+ seconds purely dodging very close strikes to his face as Toshiro is the only one making breathy growly and ‘tsuuaaah’ sounds, there is a brief moment of no gravity as Toshiro keeps hacking at Gin midair and Gin blocks it over and over again but they still stay in the air but they’re not standing or jumping or using reiatsu they’re just like, momentum-locked I don’t fucking know, Gin frowny faces as he blocks because like somehow this kid who doesn’t even have more reiatsu than him, whose arm strength should not be an issue, is like. making him nervous?? as sword sparks fly. if you know me at all you know I hate when they fuckin’ firework sparkler-ify swords clashing.

Anyways, all of this happens whilst Shinso is the wrong length and Gin’s hair is getting purpler by the second and this entire thing is somehow a big jack-off to Toshiro’s immense strength even though he’s screaming and wailing at Gin like a child and Gin’s just a vessel at this point to Enhance Toshiro, which, fine, okay, but at least be more accurate with it god damn. ANYWAYS,

THEY JOUST. They literally run at each other, swords centered, and run past / to the side of one another. Jousting. “Cause that’s how that works. No slashes, no cutting motion. Just swords centered, because the animators were like “no worries guys I know swordfighting basics that’s a legit pose” yeah it is WHEN STATIONARY. Not rUNNING IT DOWN.

And then Gin’s sleeve is cut, somehow, from the Jousting, because wow Toshiro wow wow wowowowow, and then Toshiro comes back and starts wailing at Gin again and Gin blocks it, again, and it’s all very annoyingly repetitive, and Gin’s frowning and sparks are flying and Gin’s using Shinso, the katana-length wakizashi I guess, with two hands because like I said, the animators knew basics and basics are “katana are used two-handed” like. Okay, you’re not wrong, but I cannot stress this enough: SHINSO IS NOT A KATANA. It’s shorter and meant to be used single-handed!!!! sTop!!! So then Gin rips off the tattered part of his sleeve and throws it at Toshiro, who swipes it away from his face using his Zanpakuto because that’s intelligent and a piece of cloth was definitely threatening enough to use your sword to bat it away ( btw, Hitsugaya wasn’t holding his sword with two hands at this precise moment, so he could have just... used his other hand ) and then Gin goes in for the classic “stabby stabby rapidly at you while the animation gets a little breather because we repeat this cycle a few times with flashy bgs and phew money made” ... WE ARE FOUR MINUTES AND THIRTY SECONDS INTO THIS FIGHT BY THE WAY. Gin does this for seventeen (17) agonizing seconds straight. Yes, I counted. That was sixteen and a half too many seconds for me, personally.

Toshiro somehow lassos Shinso whilst Gin is stabby stabby-ing with Hyourinmaru’s chain component. I say component like it’s somehow some type of beauty guru’s lipstick holder, but really am I that wrong ? When else has he ever used this feature ? Anyways, he lassos Shinso because yeehaw I guess, god I’m falling apart at this point can y’all tell????? I need a drink.

and so, because now Toshiro has Gin’s sword somehow trapped with chain even though it’s just looped around it, he backflips over Gin for a cool trickshot, no blow issued, just vibes, and Gin uses a big brain moment to tug Shinso and the chains slide off. okay now what. We’re past five minutes into this fight, nonstop.

SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD TIME FOR GIN TO PAUSE AND APPRECIATE TOSHIRO AGAIN! “I see, I shouldn’t have underestimated you, HItsugaya Toshiro” I’m starting to have a feeling Gin’s VA was told to just wing these lines because the amount of times he fills silences / Gin’s mouth movements with Toshiro’s long-ass name is astounding, he’s definitely drawing blanks here but he sure as hell knows one thing: that damn ice-boy’s name. He continues by saying “I suppose I’ll end up regretting it afterwards.”

Toshiro says that’s not enough, and it’s really dramatic and cool. His eyes even glow all icy and blue and pretty, like his flowy reiatsu. Aesthetic points were gifted entirely to Toshiro’s animations in this scene. Gin was finished in MS Paint and each new scene they had to draw Shinso from memory and try to remember what hue of purple his hair was at gunpoint. Toshiro lets off a big wave of reiatsu and then it vanishes, and he jumps up reaaaally high. like this guy’s flying. his eyes arent glowing anymore that’s sad. Bring Back Glowing Eyes For Strong Shinigami 2k21.

Toshiro releases his Shikai, and it’s badass, the sky darkens, Izuru looks distinctly more worried than usual, and Gin’s frowning with his teeth out like Bugs Bunny’s having a bad day, all is right in the world. Toshiro and his released Shikai have a nice moment for the Pics, and a big epic freeze frame blur moment happens with it all coiled and swirling around him. Wrow! ( click the ‘wrow’ it’s a link to my exact reaction ) Izuru narrates for the third time about how powerful Toshiro is, his reiatsu, his Zanpakuto being a deity who is only unlocked every few centuries. The strongest ice-type sword. Pardon the pun, but that’s... you could say, so cool.

It can even control the weather. So hey, next time it’s rainy, cold, icy, or snowing and you’re unhappy, it’s time to direct a big fuck you at Toshiro.

Gin dodges the first dragon, and blocks the second with Shinso because blocking water and ice with a sword makes sense right? This actually takes a solid amount of seconds as Gin cuts through the entire length of this ice dragon noodle. Things dissipate, and pause, too, to really drag this out. Surprisingly, this reveals that Gin’s made a boo-boo, his left arm’s frozen, which doesn’t even mean anything because Gin is right-handed, and Toshiro teleports himself behind Gin in true fighty fashion.

We have arrived at seven minutes and just under twenty seconds of this fight, and Gin turns, DOES THE UNTHINKABLE, gasp! He opens his eyes. His red, dull, evil, gray-eyebrowed with purple hair eyes, and shoots Shinso through its hideout spot behind his haori. This nearly takes off Toshiro’s eye and upwards of his head, but the little guy dives down fast. The rest happens in slow motion, supposedly, because it takes an eternity and people talk entire full sentences in its span of time.

Gin asks Toshiro if he’s sure he’d like to dodge that ( it’s a little late for that ) and says that Momo’ll die if he does. SHINSO SCRAPING ALONG AGAINST HYOURINMARU STRANGELY MAKES NOT A SINGLE SOUND. Mute. Even though before they had no problem animating and adding sounds to them smacking blades earlier. There are soundless sparks though, so there’s that. Yay. Can you tell how exhausted this’s made me? I need a nap.

Shinso is already more than halfway towards Momo, still unconscious, she most definitely has a serious concussion via Toshiro backhanding her midair consider she’s been unconscious for longer than ten minutes. Toshiro has time to get up off the floor where he dropped to dodge, realize with a shocked gasp, turn, shout her name, and watch as Rangiku arrives in a random glow of gold which never happens ever again and blocks the attack with Haineko. Haineko almost cracks on the impact, and continues growing in damage as Rangiku holds Shinso there, implying that she’s stopped it from reaching one-hundred sword’s lengths to pierce Momo. Yes I’m including that implication / note in here because we love to see Rangiku succeeding in life and being Not-Helpless, all while potentially damaging Haineko severely if it wasn’t able to hold him off. Yikes, Gin!

Rangiku threatens to join the fight if he doesn’t withdraw his sword. Gin smiles, withdraws it, and then Shunpos away.

Whatta mess. Oh, and the anime fight was pretty fucked up, too.

This is a long post, but here’s the manga version:

Toshiro leaps into the air,

This is where the fight actually starts between them:

And end.

Five pages. Two blows. Does not equate to ten minutes of non-stop fighting and monologues. Sometimes, and I mean this in the most unbiased way possible, less is more.

#[ out of character ] masquerade; hide your face #me: i wanna reply to things!!#also me with eyes glowing red: no.#long post #LOOOONG POSTTTTT...#4 pages.#of text.#im so sorry.

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cakesunflower · 5 years

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Starlite Motel [C.H. One Shot]

Summary: Nova’s not too happy with Calum. Maybe a night in some stingy motel room may change that.

A/N: this is 9k of some motel room fun to be honest. at some point i was like.....what am i writing but i kinda really like it so here we GO. also. i named the motel “Starlight Motel” and then i found that pic in the middle of the mood board and changed Starlight to Starlite hehe it was FATE

“It could be worse.”

Nova didn’t bother glancing at Calum after he muttered out the words, her eyes sliding over to watch him walk further into the room. It wasn’t the nicest of places, with a brown carpet and beige floral wallpaper and despite the bedding being a dark blue color, they still didn’t hide the lumpiness of the mattress and somehow added onto the bland setting. Even the single overhead light in the middle of the ceiling was pathetically dull, the room flashing brightly for a few seconds at a time due to the lightning accompanying the rain pouring outside. Still, through the thin drapes the bright colors of the neon sign of the motel poured inside. Otherwise, the motel room was dark and dull and had Nova’s stomach churning uneasily.

She didn’t even want to look towards the bed, a single queen sized one that she and Calum had to share because she knew neither one was willing to sleep on the floor. It was just their luck that the only motel they’d seen was almost completely booked, the only rooms available being two with a queen sized bed and one with two singles. Michael and Crystal took one of the queen sized ones, Luke claimed the one with the singles since no one was willing to share a bed with the six-foot-four blonde and Ashton calling dibs on the other. Which left the last queen sized bed room for Nova and Calum, much to both of their chagrin, because of course the two people who weren’t speaking to one another were forced to share.

The room didn’t look dirty, per se—it just had that dingy motel vibe that was reminiscent of a place people would come to for paid hookups or forbidden affairs. The cute name of the joint—Starlite Motel—sounded like a joke compared to the tearing wallpaper and rustic looking cabinets in the closet sized kitchen area to the right.

The sound of things thudding on the table pulled Nova out of her criticism of the disenchanting room, realizing it was just Calum settling the food they had on the table. Their group of friends was on their way home returning from spending a few days at Luke’s family’s beach house, only to be hit by an unexpecting storm that made it too dangerous to stay on the road. Fortunately, they’d been right by the Starlite Motel and decided to check in for the night, so they had their belongings with them along with road trip snacks. So dividing the food and drinks between three rooms, they would be sustained for the night.

Nova let out a breath, responding to Calum’s statement to herself with a mumbled, “Doubtful.”

He didn’t hear her and if he did, then he was content with ignoring her as he settled his duffel and backpack on the right side of the bed, silently claiming his side. His back was to the window on the opposite side, though he didn’t look at Nova as he unzipped his backpack and pulled out his laptop, dropping it on the bed and going about his business.

Nova was well aware she was lingering by the door, awkward with tense muscles and a tight throat. Things between her and Calum hadn’t been too good during their last few days at the beach, and the fact that they now had to share a room—a bed—was eating away at her nerves and made her silently curse Ashton for claiming the other bed in the other room. Nova would much rather spend the night listening to Luke’s snores accompanying the rain than being painfully aware of the warm body next to her on the same bed.

Letting out a quiet breath, Nova approached the bed as well, remaining on the opposite side as she lifted her own duffel bag to pull out a change of clothes. The shorts and shirt she was currently in were a bit damp, having been caught in the rain for a minute, and she was ready to change into some dry pajamas and call it a night. The quicker she was in bed, the less time she had to awkwardly pass in Calum’s company.

The tension was thick between the two of them, something that hadn’t really occurred during their five years of friendship, but Nova supposed that’s what happened when two people crossed a line they probably shouldn’t have.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower—d’you need to use the bathroom?”

Nova glanced up from where she was rummaging through her duffel, breath silently hitching when her light brown eyes met a pair of darker, more intense ones. She hated that she couldn’t read his expression save for the expectant look in his eyes, short blonde hair slightly damp with raindrops speckled in between the strands, his brown skin glistening a bit due to the thin sheen of water and black T-shirt tight against him.

He wasn’t even doing anything, just looking at her, and still Nova felt her heart pick up its pace despite her mind screaming that she was still upset with him. Dropping her gaze back down to her bag, Nova quickly responded, “No, go ahead.”

Instead of responding, Calum merely picked up his clothes and headed towards the bathroom. As soon as he shut the door behind him, Nova’s shoulders dropped with a heavy breath. She needed to change out of her somewhat wet clothes, but she figured she could just do it in the room, and waited until she heard the water running over the sounds of the rain pouring to peel off her clothes and change into pajama shorts and a black tank top, since it was the only clean shirt she had left. She stupidly had forgotten to do laundry before they left the beach house. Her movements were rushed, as if Calum would walk out of the bathroom despite having just gone in, letting out a relieved breath once she slid the comfortable shorts up her legs.

A prickle of annoyance shot through Nova’s brain as she realized that she did, in fact, have to use the bathroom, but was now stuck with having to wait for Calum to come out. It’s not like she could go into one of her friends’ rooms—there weren’t any hallways outside, of course, and it was still pouring and everyone’s rooms weren’t too close to hers. So instead, Nova was stuck waiting for Calum to get out.

She sighed, heart jumping slightly as thunder roared through the sky, and in an attempt to keep herself busy she pulled out her own laptop and camera from her bag, figuring that while she waited, she might as well get some work done.

Whether or not she was ready to scroll through any pictures she may have taken of Calum during the trip was another question.

*****

The scalding water threatened to burn off his skin, but still Calum stood under the showerhead, letting it wash over him like lava. His head was bowed, feeling the water seep into his scalp before he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to allow it to hit him in the chest. He’d already shampooed his hair and washed off the soap, at this point only standing in the shower to delay the inevitable act of leaving the bathroom. Call him a coward, but he wasn’t entirely ready to go into the room where Nova was currently in, instead opting to punish himself under the stream of hot water. He believed he deserved it, given the way he’d been acting towards Nova for the past few days.

But Calum couldn’t help it. He’d done something—something he didn’t entirely regret but knew had the potential to change things—and he was confused. And when Calum was confused, especially about his feelings, he had the destructive habit of shutting down. Of pushing people away. It was how he functioned, had often gotten berated by friends and family for behaving this way, and no matter how much Calum tried to better himself, somehow he always reverted back to the classic behavior. He was well and painfully aware that’s why Nova was upset with him, and he didn’t blame her.

And instead of trying to make it better, his stubborn silence was only making things worse.

Eventually, Calum decided to step out of the shower, reluctantly using the white towel provided by the motel to dry himself off before pulling on a pair of grey sweats and an old Queen shirt. He stood in front of the mirror stuck onto the tiled wall, using his hand to wipe off the steam to get a better look at his reflection. Blonde hair stuck up every which way due to his haphazard use of the towel, but even in the low light of the bathroom Calum noticed the newfound rosiness on his tanned skin, particularly on his cheeks thanks to the searing shower. He could feel the humidity in the small space, the exhaust on the ceiling slow to rid of the steam, and Calum gave a clench of his jaw before forcing himself to open the bathroom door.

The blast of cool air from the room was a welcome slap against his skin, the steam curling out into the room and before Calum could even take a step forward, Nova was in front of him. Her sharp eyebrows raised as she remarked, “You take forever.”

Calum’s dark eyes met her lighter ones, the pink and red colors of the neon sign outside that was quite close to the window washing over her. His gaze dropped to her lips briefly, pursing his own as he stared long enough to allow the memory of her lips pressed against his appear to the forefront of his mind. The mere image of kissing Nova had Calum’s muscles tightening as he lowly responded, “You could’ve just knocked.” He would’ve gotten out if he knew she had to use the bathroom.

Nova let out a breath through her nose, shoulders dropping slightly as she looked past him. Calum did his best not to let his gaze linger on her prominent collarbones, or any of the skin revealed due to the spaghetti strapped tank top. For a minute, he wondered if she wore that on purpose. Then he remembered Nova could wear whatever the hell she wanted for herself. He shouldn’t be concerned with it. Still, his chest tightened when her neck tensed after she sighed. “Can you move out of the way? Please,” she added as a reluctant afterthought.

Silently, Calum stepped around Nova, hearing the door click shut behind him after she passed him in a whiz of flowers and strawberries, a scent he was intimately familiar with that now twisted his stomach. Calum’s jaw tightened, teeth pressed together as he haphazardly draped his towel on the back of one of the chairs before dropping himself on his claimed side of the bed. They had been driving for about five hours when the storm hit, home still a good few hours away which caused them to find the motel. Still, Calum wasn’t tired as he propped the pillows behind him and reached for his laptop, turning it on as his gaze flickered to his right.

Nova’s laptop was open, and Calum couldn’t help but gaze at the screen as his eyebrows drew together when he caught sight of himself. It was silent in the room, the rain pouring outside, as Calum realized Nova must’ve been looking through the photographs she had recently taken, and his heart jumped to his throat when he saw the photos of himself.

While they were at the beach house, they went out to dinner one of the nights to a rooftop restaurant where one view was of the water and the other was of the city. Nova had asked them all to stand by where the city was a silhouette behind them, taking photos of her friends that were used to being her subjects. One of the pictures Calum was currently staring at was one of him, dark and a warm purple as he gazed out at the city in front of him, holding onto the railing and looking completely lost in thought when in reality, he’d been restraining himself from letting his gaze slide to the woman behind the camera. The woman who belonged in front of the camera was always hiding behind it, but that never stopped Calum from capturing a few snapshots of his own on his phone.

Under that picture, Calum caught sight of previews of more Nova had taken, eyes narrowing ever so slightly when he noticed most of the next few pictures were all of him. On the roof, around the house, at the beach—she’d captured him whether he was aware of it or not, and something about that had the knot in his chest loosening. She was so talented, something Calum was reminded of every time he was lucky enough to see the photographs she’d taken, and the fact that she’d taken photos of him were more beautiful than the subject deserved.

The bathroom door open, and Calum looked to the opposite left corner of the room to see Nova walk out, feeling a lump form in his throat. As she neared the bed, not really looking at him, Calum suddenly felt uncharacteristically awkward. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Nova tense in what he figured was embarrassment when she realized she left photographs of him on her laptop screen, hesitating before picking up the device and resting it on her lap.

As a feeble, dumb way of hoping to alleviate the tension, Calum commented, “That picture makes me look like I’m tryin’ to solve a problem or something.”

She scoffed lightly through her nose. “Really?” Nova responded before adding under her breath in a mutter, “And here I thought all you could do was create problems.”

For a moment, Calum thought he had heard her wrong, gaping at her in disbelief as he demanded, “Excu—what’s that supposed to mean?”

Nova didn’t even bother looking back at him, attention on her laptop as she snapped in return, “You know exactly what I mean.”

Calum pressed his lips together, muscles tensing as he took a breath because, yes, he knew exactly what Nova was talking about. He stared at her, at slope of her nose, sweep of her lashes, pout of her lips and curve of her jaw. He stared at the woman next to him, gorgeous and smart and kind and his friend who he knew he fucked up with. The guilt returned, as did every conflicting struggle he’d fruitlessly tried to push away, and Calum straightened his back.

“Listen, Nova, I know I—” He picked up her laptop, ignoring her protesting “hey!” as he rested it on his bedside before facing her once more, noting the indignant expression that washed over her face. “I know I upset you with what—”

“I’m not upset, Calum,” she interrupted, frowning in annoyance as she gave a shake of her head. As if she couldn’t deal with the proximity of them both sitting on the bed, she got off and stood to her feet, running her fingers through her long dark hair before facing him again. She was washed in red and pinks from the light pouring through the window. “I’m embarrassed. I’m angry. Because we slept together, you told me you liked me, and then next thing I know—you’re ignoring me like I don’t even fucking exist.” Calum’s jaw clenched as Nova shook her head again, looking at him in disappointment and disbelief. “I’m hurt because I never expected to be treated like that by someone who I thought was my friend.” Taking a step away from the bed, Nova jutted her jaw out briefly before saying, “You treated me like I was some random girl you fucked around with and never wanted to see again. So no, I’m not upset. I’m pissed.”

“I fucked up, alright? I know I did,” Calum spoke up, pushing himself off the bed as well as it separated the two of them, standing on either side. “I shouldn’t’ve ever treated you like that, and I’m sorry, Nova. I was just—”

“If you say you were scared, I swear to God, Calum, I’m going to punch you,” Nova cut in fiercely, a stern look on her face. Calum pressed his lips together, the excuse dying in his throat as he realized, upon hearing Nova’s words, how shitty of a reason that was. Just because he had been unsure about something, didn’t give him the right to treat his friend badly. And he hated himself for even doing so in the first place, because Nova never deserved that. She crossed her arms over her chest, fixing him with a berating look. “That’s a cop out and you know it.”

Still, Calum bristled, because the way he had reacted couldn’t be helped. “It’s how I felt, Nova,” he argued, voice strained against the control he was fighting to keep. But he was getting worked up—had been for the past few days since everything happened. All Calum could hear lately was the blood rushing behind his ears, and now the sound of the storm raging outside wasn’t helping the matter. He ran a haphazard hand through his short blonde hair, strands slightly damp before dropping his arm to his side like it was dead weight. “We crossed a line that we can’t take back and—”

“Is that what you wanna do?” Nova interrupted, eyebrows furrowing together in a frown that conveyed the very hurt she had been talking about. It twisted his heart uncomfortably. Lightning flashed outside, brightening her in a white before her skin was once again splashed in the reds and pinks of the neon lights. “Take it back?”

Calum wasn’t deaf to the disappointed hurt that was carried in her voice, blunt nails digging into his palms as a mild punishment for any pain he was causing Nova. And he desperately wanted to put her at ease, to let her know that taking it back was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. Because that first kiss with Nova made Calum feel like he could finally breathe as if he hadn’t been before. Being able to kiss and touch and taste her, to feel her nails digging into his back and the ends of her hair tickling his bare skin when she hovered above him and their bodies pressed together under the sheets, had been everything. It had been what he needed this entire time without realizing it.

And now that Nova was standing there, asking him if he wanted to take all of that back, Calum had no idea why he froze. Had no idea why he couldn’t just open his damn mouth and instinctively tell her that there was nothing to regret with what happened between them.

But he couldn’t. Even when the silence dragged on and the rain pelted against the window pain and Nova’s throat worked as she swallowed down the lump in her throat after blinking away the crestfallen expression that had taken over her pretty face. “Okay then,” she finally spoke up, her voice bordering on a whisper as she softly cleared her throat and walked around the bed. Calum’s eyes followed her, frozen in place as she neared him before brushing past him. His heart was drumming wildly against his chest, teeth hurting from how tightly he was clenching his jaw, watching as Nova picked up her laptop from his bedside before walking away. She didn’t turn to look at him as she approached the table where the food was, and Calum would’ve missed her what she said over the sound of the rain if he wasn’t so painfully aware of everything Nova said and did. “We’ll pretend it never happened.”

And before Calum could even argue, to shout and declare that he didn’t want to forget about it, Nova sat herself down on a chair with her back still towards Calum, earbuds in and laptop on as she moved on to do her work. She ignored him, just like he did her the past few days, and Calum was left standing by the bed hating himself for letting it get this far.

*****

Calum watched her as he stood on the shore, dark eyes keeping track of her floating body in the water. It was slightly cool where he stood, the salty sea breeze tickling at his skin, the bonfire he and his friends started a few feet too back to allow the warmth of the fire to wash over him. His bottle of beer was abandoned back by the fire where he had been sitting, hearing the chatter and laughter of his friends, the music playing, and the vague crackling of the fire over the sounds of waves softly crashing on the shore and around his bare feet.

He was mostly sober, only a few beers in and just barely feeling a buzz, which is why he stood at the shore keeping an eye on Nova. It was a terrible idea, her going into the water after taking a few hits from a pen that was too strong—fuck know what kind of weed was in it; the first time Calum took a hit, he couldn’t pick himself off the floor, and he was the smoker of the group. So he couldn’t help but keep watch as Nova just remained on her back, letting the water move her about, though she never strayed far from the shore. It was a bad idea, letting her swim in the ocean when she wasn’t sober. Dangerous. But his friend was a stubborn one on any given day—when she was inebriated? Even worse.

“Stop watching me like a creep and come on in. The water’s fine.”

Nova’s voice was a lazy drawl, melodic as it drifted over the waves and reached Calum’s ears. He straightened his back, watching her somewhat silhouetted figure change positions so she was no longer on her back, instead upright in the water and facing where he stood. Lifting his chin, Calum called back, “You should come out. It’s gettin’ late.”

It wasn’t even midnight yet, but Calum would prefer if she wasn’t high and swimming in the ocean. Maybe he could just drag her out of it.

“Don’t be such a downer,” she scoffed, the water lapping as she floated. Nova giggled at absolutely nothing in particular. “You know you wanna.”

Her voice took a sing-song turn, causing Calum to roll his eyes in exasperated amusement. Looking over his shoulder, Calum watched as his friends chatted away by the fire, not paying attention to the two of them at the ocean. He hesitated, feeling the cool water around his ankles send a shiver up his spine. Though, Calum wasn’t sure if that was because of the cold or because of the prospect of joining Nova in the water.

Calum could feel her challenging gaze on him from where she was, and for a moment he wondered if she’d picked up on his behavior as of late. If she knew that he’d been attempting to keep some distance between them, in ways he’d hoped had been subtle—like riding over in a different car than her, picking the room furthest from hers. Just small things to keep himself away from her because Calum wasn’t too entirely sure what would happen if he let himself get close.

Which was difficult, seeing as they’d always been good friends. And if he completely just started ignoring her then, well, that wouldn’t sit well with either of them. He was already doing a shit job at being a friend—but what was he supposed to do when being Nova’s friend wasn’t something Calum wanted anymore?

Maybe he’d taken too long to respond or move, because suddenly Nova was making her way over to the shore, rising out of the water as she approached him. The distant fire and high moon making her glistening skin glow, long dark hair wet and sticking to her while the dark blue one-piece she wore accentuated any and every curve she had. Calum pressed his teeth together at the sight of her, forcing himself to keep his gaze on her usually honey colored eyes that seemed too alluringly dark in the night.

She stopped in front of him, peering up at the blonde with eyes narrowing and a slightly tilt of her head. Calum could feel the scrutinization in her gaze, the thoughtful pout on her full lips bringing back the desire to kiss her as he clenched his hands into fists. “You’ve been avoiding me,” Nova remarked in a drawl, eyes meeting his as Calum’s throat worked. “Did I do something?”

“No,” came Calum’s instant, truthful response, pressing his lips together and sighing through his nose as his gaze flickered over her and out to the vast water. It looked dangerous in the night, not at all something he wanted to venture in. “No, you didn’t. You’re. . .” He trailed off, looking at her once more, picking up on the curiosity raising at her eyebrows as she looked up at him. There was a pounding in Calum’s chest, the sea breeze tickling his lungs and the sight of Nova tightening his chest. He admired her, for a moment, for all her beauty under the moonlight, absently breathing, “You’re perfect.”

Silence fell upon them, distantly hearing their friends and the music, though the waves crashing on the shore around them sounded thunderous. Calum didn’t regret letting the words slip, couldn’t keep his eyes away from hers, or from occasionally dropping to her lips. The space between he and Nova was closing gradually, neither of them too aware of who was moving yet not at all caring.

The salt in the air tickled at their noses and the light breeze had goosebumps rising on their skin, but the closer they got, the more they could feel the other’s body heat warming their own. And the closer they got, the more aware they got of their hearts threatening to burst.

“I’m high.” Calum blinked, not entirely expecting for that to come out of Nova’s mouth, leaning back ever so slightly as his eyebrows twitched into a confused frown. Before he could even question her, Nova took another step towards him, freezing him in place as her eyes remained on his. “I’m high, but I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing. So I don’t want you thinking I don’t know what I’m about to do.”

Before Calum even had the chance of questioning Nova on what she meant, the remaining distance between them was closed and he was feeling her lips against his, his lower lip caught between hers in a sucking kiss that instantly left Calum dizzy. And just like that, he was letting himself forget his attempts of trying to avoid Nova, and instead was melting into the press of her body against hers and cupping her face in his hands and tilting his head to deepen the kiss he’d waited so long for.

Calum’s eyes flickered away from the screen of his laptop, lips pressed together as he stole a look at Nova. He remained on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with his laptop in his lap, headphones in his ears as he barely watched a show on Hulu. He was deaf to everything but the show, though Calum doubted there was anything else to hear save for the rain on the windows and occasional thunder growling in the sky. Nova’s back was to him, but Calum wished more than anything she’d speak to him.

He knew he had fucked up. That night at the beach, after they’d kissed by the water, sneaking back into the house had been fairly easy and falling into bed with Nova had been a blurry tangle of limbs and heated kisses and orgasms that had both of them seeing stars—and it had been good.

Until the bit of panic set in and Calum stupidly decided to pretend that it never fucking happened. That he never gave into the desire that had been gnawing at his skin and that sex with Nova wasn’t just sex—it was so much more than he could ever hope to express.

And he was royally fucking everything up.

He had stupidly started the trip with trying to avoid Nova, and now it was happening all over again because he couldn’t figure out his own feelings and was, in the process, hurting Nova’s. The guilt and self directed anger sat heavily in Calum’s chest, his eyes glued to her back, and his jaw began aching from how hard he was clenching it without realizing. Calum had spent days ignoring Nova, and now that she was doing the same to him, the unease was twisting at his stomach relentlessly and all he wanted to do was talk to her.

But that wasn’t fair to Nova; Calum was getting a taste of his own medicine and he couldn’t handle it.

Before stopping to think about it, Calum closed his laptop and put it on the bedside, getting up from the bed as he could now hear the rain over his pounding heart, ignoring it as he quickly approached Nova.

He knew she could see him come up to her, instead choosing to keep her attention on her laptop, and Calum shook his head at her before announcing, “I don’t want to take it back.” He noticed her freeze in moving her finger over the keypad, his own throat working as he added, “I don’t want to pretend it never happened. Because it did, and I don’t regret it.”

At that, a disbelieving scoff escaped Nova as she finally looked up at him, sitting cross legged on the wooden chair and raising her eyebrows. The dull light of the room provided shadows against her sharp features, though they did nothing to hide the fiercely scrutinizing look she wore. “Really? You don’t regret it?” she repeated challengingly, looking ready to call him out on his bullshit as her long hair fell behind her as she continued to gaze up at him, not for a second believing Calum’s words. How could she, after how he treated her? “You’ve got a shit way of showing it. Because if a guy told me he liked me and I slept with him, I would assume that means we would try to make something out of it. But if he goes on to ignore me like I don’t even exist?” Nova gave a one shouldered shrug, looking cold and distant and pointedly up at Calum. “Then he’s just an asshole who would say or do whatever he needed to to get into my pants.”

Calum’s expression fell into one of incredulity, mixed with heated offence that Nova would ever think of him being capable to do something like that. His own blunt nails dug into his palms, gaping down at her as he felt as though he’d been slapped in the face. His chest stung from her words, a lot more than he thought possible, and while Calum knew he hadn’t treated Nova fairly, he still felt a boiling flare of anger burn at the blood in his veins. His eyebrows drew together over narrowed eyes, demanding through practically clenched teeth, “Is that what you think of me?”

He saw the way Nova’s throat worked, knowing that she was perfectly aware of the weight her words carried. “Hard not to,” she stole his breath by responding, neck tense as she tilted her chin. With a shake of her head, Nova scoffed, “You can’t expect me to sit and analyze your every move, Calum. We fucked and then you just stopped talking to me. This isn’t a game to me, alright?” She suddenly stood up, shutting her laptop and taking a step from Calum, a frown on her face as she looked at him. She hated how heavenly he looked even against the dangerous red lights of the sign outside. Nova swallowed. “I like you, which is probably stupid of me because of how you’ve been acting, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna let you treat me like crap because you can’t figure your own shit out.” She gave a shake of her head. “Stop being childish and do something about it.”

“I want to be with you.”

The words slipped out of Calum’s mouth without much thought, flowing past his lips so easily yet hanging between them like a dead weight. Those words had Nova pausing in her movements, brown eyes flickering to meet Calum’s darker ones that stared back at her unapologetically. And Calum. . . He didn’t regret letting the words out, didn’t at all want to take it back. He didn’t want any regrets, didn’t want to fuck up his chances with Nova more than he already had.

“I want to be with you,” Calum repeated, raspy voice stronger and purposeful, never letting his gaze waver from hers as he frowned slightly at his own stupidity for taking so long to let himself admit his feelings. “Not just for a couple of hours or for one night or just in this stingy motel room.” He watched the way her lips parted, lips he desperately wanted to kiss, as every word he uttered registered in her mind as he slowly closed the distance between them, taking a few steps towards her. Hesitantly, Calum’s hands reached up to cup Nova’s face, unsure if she would let him, feeling some of the tension from his shoulders ease when she didn’t pull away or swat at his hands and allowed his large hands and ring clad fingers on her skin. Her neck was tense, throat working, as Calum’s voice dropped a few octaves as he ducked his head ever so slightly to maintain eye contact. “I want to be with you for as long as you’ll let me, because I really do fuckin’ like you and I’ve done a shit job at showin’ it.”

Nova’s eyes stared into his, as if looking for any kind of sign that he was kidding, that he wasn’t as serious as he sounded. But she found no trace of hesitation, of reluctance in regards to the words he was saying—words that were completely taking her breath away and making her wonder if this was some kind of fantasy. But it was real, and Calum was serious, and Nova was struggling to find the right words in this delicate moment.

“Show it, then.” Her words surprised both of them, and for a second Nova wondered if she had actually uttered them as Calum stared at her.

It had only taken a moment’s consideration on Calum’s part, and that was only to make absolute sure Nova’s words insinuated exactly what Calum thought they had. But he’d easily picked up on the glint in her eyes. He felt the ghost of a smirk curling on her soft red neon light bathed face, under his touch, that told Calum she was daring him to prove just how much he liked her in his actions rather than his words in the moment. He wasn’t going to disappoint her again.

Ducking his head, Calum’s full lips met hers in a searing kiss that was far more desperate than any of the ones they’d shared that night. Nova’s response was instant, frantic, fisting the front of his shirt to pull him impossibly closer before her grip loosened and her hands slid down to the hem of his shirt. Satisfaction burned through Nova’s veins when her tongue trailed the seam of Calum’s soft lips and he parted them for her without hesitation, deepening the kiss as he felt her pull his shirt up, the kiss breaking only for a moment as Calum let her pull the shirt as high as she could before he grabbed the crumpled fabric gathered behind his neck and pulled it off completely.

In the half a second his shirt had obstructed his view, Nova had pulled off her own tank top, Calum’s breath gathered like a suffocating pocket of air in his lungs at the sight of her completely bare upper half, teasingly having forgone a bra. Both appreciated her decision, not at all patient enough to deal with something as obstructive as more clothing than necessary.

Their lips met once more, nipping and sucking as their fronts pressed together, heated skin on skin making Calum’s heart drum against his chest at the feel of the soft flesh of Nova’s breasts press against him. Their movements were fueled by impatience and unadulterated desire of being tangled together as Calum’s hands gripped at Nova’s hips and turned her before guiding her down onto the lumpy mattress of the bed, maneuvering themselves with familiarity and soft, appreciative breaths.

Nova was deaf to everything save for the pounding in her ears due to her quickened heart rate, could feel nothing but the heat radiating off of Calum’s body as he hovered over her, his warm ring clad fingers pressing into the bare skin of her waist while he pressed his chest against hers, leaving no room for space as his tongue easily took control over hers. She was even hyper aware of the cool metal of his rings on her fiery skin, of the pendant of his necklace resting in the dip between her collarbones. Her hands found his hair, fingers threading through the blonde strands and feeling the soft buzz of the shorter strands on the sides and back of his head since he had just recently shaved it once more.

Keeping her hands in Calum’s hair, Nova didn’t assert any control when his lips left hers, her own feeling deliciously swollen from kissing his mouth that was now trailing kisses up her jaw and down her neck. Nova’s eyes closed, head tilting to give him access to as much skin as she could, losing herself in the scratch of his scruff so much so that she didn’t even register his fingers toying with the hem of her sleeping shorts. Calum paid close attention to that one spot in her neck he’d discovered made her breath catch in her throat, lips and teeth and tongue working on leaving a mark in his wake as the soft, breathless gasps Nova was emitting played like music to his ears.

The blood was pumping in Calum’s veins, feeling the way Nova’s body was reacting to him as it spurred him on even more, remembering the first night they did this and vaguely asking himself how he could’ve been stupid enough to think he could push this away. That he could push her away.

His lips left a trail of fire in their wake, igniting Nova’s nerves as he made sure to mark up her neck and throat, her collarbones, even her breasts as he paid particular attention to them. Calum trailed down, down, down, eyes lifting to look at the purplish marks that would soon appear on her golden skin, which was currently bathed in soft reds and pinks, feeling himself harden even more at the way her neck tensed and chest rose and fell because of her labored breathing. Labored breathing caused only by Calum’s mouth, a surge of arrogant smugness coursing through him at the way her left handed fingers pushed her own hair back while the other remained tangled in his own as Calum mouthed along the hemline of her shorts—a wet spot right where it should be soaking through the flimsy material of the piece of clothing.

Looking at her laying there, breathing heavily for him with closed eyes and kiss swollen parted lips, had Calum’s grip on Nova’s hips tightening, fingers digging into her skin. She looked gorgeous, breathtaking—ready for this and ready for him on the bed of some random motel room with a sign way too bright right outside their window. But the red and pink colors provided a nice tint in their second story room, the thin curtains parted ever so slightly, the sound of the rain only just overpowering Nova’s breathing.

Calum looked up at her, head between her thighs and knees resting on the ground, husky tone practically purring smoothly, “Can I show you, doll? Will you let me show you just how much I like you?” Nova’s chest sank with a consensual breath, arching her back ever so slightly to push herself towards Calum. He smirked at her eagerness, one hooked finger pulling back the band of her shorts before snapping it back in place, enjoying the soft sound of it hitting her skin. Not as much as her little gasps, though. Turning his head, Calum mouthed at the inside of Nova’s thigh, purposefully scratching his scruff to her skin. “Gonna have t’use your words, angel.”

“Yeah.” Her response was instant, desperate as her right hand remained in his hair as she tilted her head on the mattress so her gaze could drop to look at him. To look at him leaning on the floor with his head between her legs and wishing so fiercely that he would just take her damn shorts off already. The sight of his short blonde hair already messed up thanks to her fingers, his naturally full lips pink and kissed, darkened eyes standing out against the red and pinks of the room had her heart going into overdrive and throat drying. He looked just as ready to move forward as she did, and the very thought of that was dizzying. His touch felt so familiar but Nova needed so much more of it. “Yes, show me, Cal.”

Much to her relief, her shorts were off right as her answer left her mouth.

Arms wrapping around Nova’s thighs, Calum brought her legs over his shoulders and fluttered more kisses along the inside of both her thighs, watching as she bit at her lower lip in impatience for him to get where she needed him most, her grip on his head slowly growing tight with every kiss he gifted her with. And Calum was nothing if not a generous giver, lips and tongue working at her core enthusiastically as he felt Nova’s other hand tangle through his hair as well, accompanied by the pretty sounds escaping her lips.

He kissed and licked and sucked, adjusting his right arm around her leg so he could use his thumb to rub at her clit in accompaniment of his tongue working her over. Calum’s dark eyes watched Nova; watched as she tilted her head back and parted her lips, listened to the whimpers and appraisals and moans she was making, and felt the way her body was reacting to him as he savored the familiar, dizzying taste of her that he was sure he could never get enough of. His fingers dug into her skin, the metal of his rings biting into her as he expertly brought her closer and closer to the edge.

The sound of his name falling from her lips, breathlessly and eagerly, along with any other noise she was making was overtaking the sound of the rain and Calum reveled in it. Loved the fact that he could make her louder than a storm raging on outside as he ate her like he was starved.

Even as her hands kept his head right where she needed him to be, her orgasm wracking through her body as her moans were joined in by the crude sounds of Calum greedily taking everything she had to give, he didn’t stop. His hooded gaze remained on Nova as his lips sucked at her sensitive clit, holding her down as she writhed under his grip.

Eventually, Calum let up, licking his smirking lips as his lean body slid up hers, feeling Nova’s hands slide to cup his cheeks as she leaned up to kiss him once more, the sounds of her moans as she tasted herself on his tongue firing up Calum’s body all the more. “Taste so good, angel,” Calum rasped against her lips, keeping his weight on his right arm while his left gripped her hip, chests pressed together. Their skin was heated; hot with desperation and desire as Nova’s hands found the waistband of Calum’s sweats, pushing them down as he nipped at her lower lip. “Can’t wait t’feel you ’round me.”

“God, yes, please,” Nova responded, her lips still pressed against his as she spoke, adoring the feel of his mouth on hers and the scruff of his chin and his body pressing against hers. Adoring him.

Their frantic movements never ceased as Calum assisted in ridding of his sweats, eyes catching sight of his wallet on the bedside table. Nova’s eyes followed his gaze, letting out a quiet chuckle as she rolled onto her stomach so she could easily reach for the leather wallet, Calum resting on his knees as she opened it and pulled out a condom. She didn’t even get a chance to turn around as Calum’s body hovered on top of hers, the pendant of his necklace grazing her back as his lips brushed along the shell of her ear. “Hands and knees, baby,” he murmured, grabbing the packet from her.

Nova released another breathless laugh as Calum brushed her long hair over her shoulder, every small and pressing touch igniting a newfound fire in her blood. “Bossy,” she teased.

Calum didn’t waste time in rolling the condom on, the curve of Nova’s ass pressing into him as he teased her slick folds with the tip of his cock. “’S how you like me,” he stated, not even a question, which only served to emphasize the arrogance he displayed in the bedroom that Nova found herself enjoying.

He pushed into her, the sounds of their appreciative groans mixing together as they savored the sensation of being so close, so intimately. His grip was tight on her hips, rings biting into her skin as the sound of rain rapidly pattering against the window was joined by Calum’s hips snapping against hers and groans and moans from both mixing together in inspired symphony.

Shit, he adored being this close to her, craved it for so long and had reveled in it that first night—and now it was even better than he remembered. Calum was pissed at himself for trying to push Nova away, his anger at himself only striving him to quicken his pace, losing himself in how skin was slapping against skin and how fucking good she felt around him.

He shifted them moments later, never relenting, right hand going from Nova’s hip to lay on her lower stomach and the other sliding up her front, his touch scorching her skin as it went. Calum pulled Nova up, pressing her back to his chest as ring clad fingers found her throat in just the right spot, hitting her in just the right spot as Nova tilted her head back on Calum’s shoulder as he put the right amount of pressure where it needed to be.

“Can’t get ’nough of you, angel,” Calum grunted, parted lips quirking into a smirk at the blissed out expression Nova was wearing, tilted his head to mouth hot kisses along her jaw. “Feel s’good.”

Nova’s left hand came up to grasp Calum’s wrist in a daze, feeling the cool metal of his bracelet in her grip as every time he pushed into her, her breath hitched and stars appeared at the back of her lids. He knew exactly how to hold her, knew her body so intimately already, and it was driving her crazy. Her skin felt hot with a thin sheen of sweat, obsessed with the cool press of his rings on her skin and finding it lucky that Calum was holding her up because she knew she couldn’t do so herself with how sinfully he was moving within her.

His words had a breathless smile tugging at Nova’s lips, focusing on forcing out words despite only ever being able to think of how fucking good he felt. “Realize what you’ve been missing, huh?” she teased in a gasp.

Calum tightened the pressure on her neck just a little more at her snippy comment, teeth nipping at her earlobe. She sounded heavenly, panting against him as he brought her to her second orgasm of the night, his own building up quickly as well, refusing to let go until she did.

Calum smirked, knees digging into the mattress, holding Nova tight against him and ready to feel the familiar bursts of electricity within his veins as they neared their release. She was all he wanted—he couldn’t believe he even tried to push her away. Never fucking again. “Can’t miss what’s mine.”

*****

Nova leaned against the doorway of the bathroom, arms crossed over her chest as her gaze remained on the bed on the other side, just a little to the left. She let herself admire Calum for a moment, leaning back against the headboard with the sheets gathered at his hips, head tilted back as he brought the cigarette up to his kiss swollen lips—thank God they’d lucked out on a room that allowed smoking.

The curtains were parted, the neon colors washing into the room even more. The rain had died down a bit, the relentless slaps of water sounding softer now—less muffled due to the window being open. The smell of rain and cigarettes mixed together in the somewhat dark room, adding onto the stinginess of the room yet remaining to be a combination Nova enjoyed. Wearing Calum’s shirt and being engulfed in his familiarly delicious scent only made everything seem more. . . Intimate.

“You gonna just stand there? Or you gonna join me?”

Nova rolled her honey colored eyes, though her lips quirked up as she wandered back to the bed. She climbed on at the end of the bed on her knees, smiling coyly as Calum’s hooded gaze watched her crawl towards him, the glowing ember at the end of the cigarette in between his lips like a beacon drawing her in. Instead of tucking herself into Calum’s side, Nova brought her right leg over his seated body and settled on his lap, straddling him in nothing but his T-shirt adorning her body and the bedsheets separating them as Calum released a cloud of smoke.

They openly admired each other for a moment, with Nova taking in how his naturally full lips were pink and kissed and how he hadn’t bothered to fix his spiking blonde hair after her fingers had their way in between the strands. And Calum’s lazy gaze drank in the darkening spots on the skin of her neck and throat and how pretty she looked in the red post-sex glaze of the room they’d lost themselves in.

“So are we gonna talk?” Nova spoke, parroting the words he had just uttered as she plucked the cigarette from between his fingers, bringing it to her own mouth and asking, “Or just sit and stare at each other?” before placing it between her lips.

Calum’s eyes were on the way her lips wrapped around the cigarette, briefly flashing to how pretty her lips had looked around him, before his brown eyes met her softer colored ones. His hands found her hips under her—his—shirt as his somewhat hoarse voice questioned, “Talk about what?”

Nova shot him a flat look as she inhaled the nicotine, feeling it familiarly burn at her lungs as she held the smoke in before allowing it to curl out of her mouth when she responded, “About what this is. ’Cause last time this happened, you didn’t handle the aftermath too well.” She reached her arm out to tap the cigarette above the provided ashtray on the bedside, watching as Calum’s lips pursed at her truthful words. “I need to know this time is different, Calum.”

“It is,” he insisted, voice firm and confident as his thumbs rubbed circles at her skin. Calum didn’t blame Nova for seeking reassurance, knew it was his fault she had to in the first place because of how he’d treated her after the first time they slept together. He just hated that he gave her any reason for doubting him in the first place because he was an idiot. “I screwed up before, but ’m not gonna make the same mistake twice, yeah?” His hands lowered just a bit, gripping her thighs as he sat himself up properly instead of slouching, feeling her ankles lock behind his back as he kept his honest gaze on her. Her natural scent that reminded Calum of apples still faintly clung to her, mixed with the nicotine, which he willingly inhaled as there was only a few inches of space between their faces. “I wanna be with you, whether it’s in this motel room or out of it, for as long as you’ll let me.”

Her heart was both flying within her chest while also beating rapidly simultaneously, a warmth spreading through her that was softer than the fierce heat that coiled at her stomach from before. Calum’s words rang with nothing but genuine honesty, his eyes never leaving hers as he spoke, making her stomach flutter and breath catch in her throat. Nova didn’t even want to think of how long she’d waited to hear Calum say something like that, to openly and willingly admit that he wanted to be with her. The fact that she was finally hearing it in some cheap motel room didn’t matter, so long as she got to hear them.

Left hand settling at the back of Calum’s neck, Nova’s fingers lightly threaded through his short blonde hair. She spoke breathily, the rain not loud enough for the sound to be lost. “So we’re giving this a shot?” she questioned, absently ridding of the used cigarette in the ashtray so her now free fingers could lightly play with the pendant of his necklace, long lashes lower as she watched herself do so. “You and me?”

Calum’s throat worked, unable to stop himself from thinking just how pretty she was. Pretty, smart, funny, kind, daring and everything else that made Nova the person she was—the person Calum was, he could finally admit, so hopelessly head over heels for. A warm yet fierce admiration that he wanted to hold on for as long as the universe allowed for him to, because while Nova was one of the best friends he could’ve asked for, she was so much more than that. So much more special and worth having in his life, and he’d be damned if he let himself ruin this. Not again.

“Yeah,” his husky voice replied earnestly, nudging his nose with hers so she could meet his gaze. Calum’s lips curled upwards in a fond, sincere smile as his hands gently cupped her cheeks. He softly pressed his lips to hers in a slow, gentle sucking kiss that Nova returned, and Calum felt the same shocks of electricity rush through his veins at the first touch of their lips. She woke something inside of him with every touch, and it drove Calum crazy in the best ways. How could he ever deprive himself—deprive both of them—of that kind of undeniably thrilling sensation?

He pulled away ever so slightly, foreheads and noses touching, lips brushing against hers as he murmured over the gentle patter of rain, “You and me, angel. What d’you say to that?”

Nova’s lips curled into a smile, a glimmer in her honey eyes that had Calum smiling as well because how could she not, when she was looking at him like that? And then she laughed, gleeful and melodic and easily making Calum do just the same as pressed her lips to his and mused in relief, “About time.”

tags: @crownedbyluke @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @softforcal @valentinelrh @hotmessmichael @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @c-sainthood @flannelpunkcalum @calumh-excess @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @cosmixcalum @invisiblexcth @empathycth @calteahood @hearts-to-the-sky @slimthicccal @cathartichaoss @calumhoodless @softboycal @calumculture @fucking5sos @soulmatecashton @babygirlcashton @rosecoloredash @inlovehoodx @dontjinx-it @wrappedaroundcal @monsteramongmikey @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @xhaileyreneex @cliffordcntrl @calistheloml @cal-pal-cuddles @gettingjillywithit @grittyisathot @ohhmuke @egyptiangoldhood @akacalciumhood @asht0ns-world @old-zeppelin-shirt @calumsmermaid @5secondssofssummer @5sos-stan4lyfe @calntynes @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @booklove-2 @isabella-mae13 @kchillout @lovelettercalum @checkeredcalum @saintcalum

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little-lily-w · 5 years

Text

The swim

Summary: a sleepwaking event gets Reader to the lands of Hell.

Warnings: Oh, God where to start? Rape, scary stuff, blood, knife-play, anal sex, oral sex (male-receiving), life-threats, mentions of murder, degradation, JUST please don´t read if you are triggered easily, please don´t. Stay safe.

Notes: Pennywise is not dressed as the clown (I couldn´t do it lol) and he doesn´t modify his face, he looks like the pic above.

Words: 3k

Plip plop, plip plop. The drops from the non-well turned off tap of the bathroom sink have you rolling from side to side on bed. The heat of summer time doesn´t help either, and despite the rain outside that´s supposed to bring some cooler temperature, sheets are wrinkled like a ball at your feet while your nightgown absorbs the slight sweat of your body. But you are, in a way, asleep; it´s just that it´s not as deep as you´d like to rest but not fully awaken to be conscious of your annoying environment.

- Y/N – a warm whisper calls from the distance. Your feet reach the floor and then your legs do the rest of the work to make your sleepwalking being to stand up – Wouldn´t it be nice to swim, Y/N?

You make your way to the bathroom, its squeaking door suffocating the words. Like if you have some kind of corporal memory or recognition of the familiar space, your hands go for the tap to turn it off. No more drops. You turn to the exit again.

- Why don´t you come swim with me?

Still barefoot, you walk to the frontal door and get out of the house, your shoulders now being hit by the rain due to the non protective thin straps of your nightgown which in a second gets completely wet and wasted. It´s a good thing that the heat of the pavement has been washed off or otherwise you would wake up with severe burnings on your soles.

- Little, little Y/N… - the voice chants like a melody – Come swim with me.

A small paper boat touches your toes and as a survivor of the rain, it continues the same path your walk in front of you like a guide to the drain. Stopping in the middle of the empty street, you lean down to face the dark mouth where the boat and some of the water get drowned. Darkness.

A second later, a pair of white painted hands appears in the shadows, fortunately or not, not enough to scare you and wake you up.

- Is this yours? – the fingers show you the boat like a magic trick – If you get closer I can show you more. Come, little Y/N, so you can swim with me. Don´t worry, we all float here.

Curiosity makes you crawl to the dark, half of your body entering the drain as the white hands grab your torso to help you slide in completely. Now you are being hold by the arms of something. Or someone. And carried to the deepest lands of hell.

- Wake up, wake up – a high pitched tone of voice echoes around the space. You blink a few times and move your head to the side, your cheek touching a moist bland surface. Mud?

-What…? Where am I?

Once you sit down, you are able to look around. The place seems like a grey walled room, with rubble everywhere and a water level that you know could reach your ankles if you stand up.

- Oh, God no. Hello? Hello?!

- Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb

but the lamb was a bit dumb

and it just went down...

Now the lamb may better run, better run, better run

before it gets to squirm and cry

BECAUSE OF THE CLOWN.

With widened horrified pupils, you watch the dancing silhouette coming out from the shadows and turn into a disturbing man´s face covered with a messy white and red make-up that is supposed to imitate the shape you could find in a circus clown but as if it´s been attacked by the rain. Two honey yellow eyes completely out of focus and shining under the black hair that falls a bit on the white-stained forehead.

- Shall I sing again?

Panting, you crawl backwards till finally you reach a wall and your terrified brain understands that you have to stand up, which you rapidly do and it allows you to run. Looking everywhere, you spot a passage and went straight to it, the water causing you to slow your movements as scared squeaking rats are heard with every four or five footsteps you make. But soon you reach a bifurcation and the maniac laughs behind you force you to make a decision.

Left.

You only walk half way the new corridor till the poor light becomes drown in the dark again and you are not longer able to watch backwards. Panicked, your hands grope the dirty wall to attempt to continue moving forwards but you don´t have a single idea of where you are. While your agitated sobs fill the space, a sudden flash of lightning strikes in front of you and clearly shows three old wooden doors with different bloody letters carved on them.

Not scary at all // Scary // Very scary.

- I´m coming to you…! It´s time to float…!

With a sweaty hand, you pull the handle from the first door. A tiny little white sheep appears in front of you emanating a sweet bleat.

- What? – but you don´t have time to ask. You make a step forwards determined to enter the room and at the same second, the animal transforms into a humane-shaped wolf with such a loud roaring that you slam the door close screaming. The second one is no better option. An enormous red balloon, almost like the size of a piñata, bursts in front of you, revealing a zombie-like woman that could have attacked you if you hadn´t closed the door as terrified as you did with the first one.

- Float, float, float – the crazy man keeps taunting you each time nearer and nearer.

You open the last door with a yell, ready to meet whatever monster it has inside but, to your surprise, you find a blonde man seated on the floor with tape over his mouth. You are about to close it, thinking the same thing with the sheep would happen now but the man starts making noises through his nose sounding like he needs help and soon you realize that his arms are tied behind his back as he struggles to get free.

- Oh, okay, okay… - you try to shush him as you take off the tape.

- Please, please untie me – he begs with desperate light blue eyes.

- I can´t! – you shout at him.

- Please, please, I won´t hurt you!

Hesitant and trembling, you touch one of his arms and immediately go backwards, scared of a brutal reaction. But he keeps struggling to free his arms so you take a deep breath and finally help him get rid of the ropes.

- Thank you – he says standing up.

- Who are you? What´s that?

- I don´t know. He is crazy. I´m Michael.

- Y/N

-I can hear you…! – the man keeps chanting now at the bifurcation.

You turn around to watch the corridor knowing he will appear in it in a second.

- We have to get out of here –you say, almost breathless.

- Yes, you have – a demonic voice sounds behind you and makes you turn just to find the angelic man transformed into what seems the face of the Devil, his turquoise iris have shrunken around the pupils, leaving them as two big black balls from where blue and purple veins are born like thin lines that cover his entire face.

- No… no! – you turn around again and start running but soon you are stopped by the clown man in front of you. No point in going backwards. Michael is cutting your only exit way.

- Dumber little lamb than I thought. She really believed that – the clown laughs.

- Please… who are you? What are you? What do you want? – you sob, looking at the hunters at both of your sides.

- The question here is what we are going to do with you. You are our guest, sweetie. Maybe, just maybe, if you are good, you won´t end up like the others.

- Others? What others? – and as soon as you ask that, you look down at your feet touching something solid. A skull passes by floating.

- We all float here.

Despite the scream that burns your lungs, Michael lifts your body and you start kicking the air while the two of them carry you to the grey place again. Once there, the blonde man throws you to the ground, but unluckily this time, it´s a part with concrete floor and you hiss in pain.

- Looks like we are gonna have a trouble-maker one. No time for that – the other man says and takes out a knife from his pocket.

- Wait, Pennywise – Michael stops him pushing his chest – I think she has changed her mind about being a bratty slut. Isn´t that right, sweetheart?

You nod eagerly, still trying to crawl backwards but again you reach a wall. The two men (or demons) get down on your level and Michael holds both of your arms behind your back while Pennywise swings the knife mockingly in the air at you.

-Easy now – Michael whispers in your ear hearing your pants.

The clown puts the knife under one of your straps as you watch the sharp edge close to your neck and with one pull, it´s undone. He does the same with your other one to then grab a hold of the bottom of your nightgown to cut it open in half, revealing your naked body underneath it.

- Please…, please don´t hurt me – you say in a miserable plead but the sharp point of the knife scratches slightly your stomach at the enthusiastic gaze of Pennywise. Suddenly, you feel a light cut at the side of your waist – No, no… - and another cut on the other side. You start to squirm in vain against Michael´s grip but the clown goes to the beginning of your thigh and slides the knife all the way down to your knee earning a loud pained scream from you – PLEASE STOP! - It´s then when you feel the mouth of the blonde guy suctioning the exposed skin of your neck, delighted at your suffering. Pennywise goes again for your other thigh causing you to yell in horror one more time – PLEASE DON´T! PLEASE STOP! – He is about to make a cut under your belly button but Michael does a sign for him to stop.

- You are gonna be a good little girl, aren´t you?

- Please stop – you whisper in response at Michael.

- AREN´T YOU? – Michael insists with a warning tone that freezes you.

- Yes – you answer and gulp.

- Good, turn around.

He releases your arms and you do as you are told. Michael takes his cock out of his trousers and grabs your neck to bring you closer to his face.

- If you bite me, you are dead. Do you understand?

- I do – you bite your lip as the tears fall down your cheeks.

- Now, now, don´t be so sad, darling – he says wiping them off with his forearm – This should be a treat. Good girls know how to be grateful.

- Thank y… - but before you can finish your faked gratitude, Michael pushes your head down to bury his cock in your throat, a loud gag echoing along the space. Your palms push his thighs uselessly trying to take it out but of course he is stronger and it´s not after he sees how your stomach jumps in a threatening puke that he lets you cough and take a deep breath. Back again on his cock.

Pennywise is sharing the same sadism, playing with knife that dances along your skin, enjoying your scared muffled sobs which reverberate against Michael´s skin and makes him groan in pleasure. Suddenly, you feel a hard spank against your bare ass and the blonde man pulls your head up, saliva falling from your mouth, connected to his thick shaft.

- That wasn´t teeth that I felt, was it?

- No, no – you hurry to reply, petrified. He slaps your face

- Focus.

He pushes you down again and moves your head up and down like a personal toy with no regards to your choking or your lack of oxygen every time he stays still buried past your uvula.

Pennywise continue smacking your cheeks, red handprints with remains of white make up appear on them very soon at his brutal strength. And although you wish this torture to end, you don´t have a single idea yet of what they can be up to.

-What a pretty little lamb you are after all – you hear the clown saying as he slides two fingers along your slit – But she is dry as a complete waist.

-Poor baby – Michael taunts you and scratches lightly your spine sending a shiver down it while he keeps ravaging your mouth.

- We are gonna have to fix that – Pennywise collects some of the blood that’s dripping down your leg on his fingertips and pushes inside your exposed hole; the moment he does so, you tense up but he doesn´t seem to care since he starts thrusting his fingers back and forth.

You push Michael´s thighs with more strength and you are able to let his dick out but before you can beg, he brings his palm to your neck, squeezing hard.

- Don´t worry. He knows what he is doing. And your body does too. Want it or not, but it´ll happen – and he is right because soon the clown gathers enough wetness to consider your pussy proper to enjoy. Pennywise occupies no time in entering you, a suffocated gasp leaves your mouth. And while you feel the stretching in your walls, Michael releases just a little bit the pressure on your windpipe for you to stay alive and spits on your tongue – Keep that mouth open. The blonde man stands up for you to get on all fours and fucks your throat again, this time faster, but stops to take his cock out, watching how your mouth close unconsciously - I said open! – another slap to your face and he goes right back in, destroying your throat for a few seconds and once again moving out of your lips, this time you resist the urge to close them – Good girl – he says and continues the sequence for his amusement.

After a few more thrusts, Pennywise sinks his nails on the flesh of your hips, holding himself back to not cum and causing you to scream. He pulls out and Michael does the same, moving also to the side while his fingers travel dangerously along your back and end in a loud smack to one of your buttocks.

- What a nice little thing we have here – he says licking his lips and you shudder.

Pennywise moves to the side to allow him space and Michael covers his fingers in saliva, pushing the index past your asshole. Aware of what he plans on doing with you, you try to crawl away but he grabs you with a painful fist on your hair to stop your silly movements. When the middle finger is inside too, your legs shake weak but your mind is fully conscious and unable to escape their desires. Michael stretches your rectum enough to create space for his dick but not enough to make it easier to you. Once the tip of his spit-covered cock gets inside, you start whining in pain and the dark-haired man leans down in front of you to move the knife close to your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut but with a savage pull to your hair from Michael, you are forced to open them again.

The member moves inside of you like you don´t have any pain receptors at all, going deep inside till it´s completely buried in your ass and coming back for his pelvis to swing and slam right back into you.

- Ah, the slut is so fucking tight in here – Michael says hissing to Pennywise, who is entirely focused on keeping you still with the sharp lethal threat against your skin, and at the man´s comment, he starts jerking in front of your sobbing puffy face – If we let her live, maybe you can enjoy this too tomorrow. What do you think, sweetheart? Do you deserve to live? Have you been a good whore?

- Please – you plead in a whisper, too scare to say anything.

- I can´t hear you – Michael insists.

- Yes, please, please don´t kill me! – you beg, Michael´s thickness filling you so much that you think you are going to burst.

- Then show us how good of a slut you are. Beg for our cum.

- Please, please, I want your cum.

- Say it fucking louder – Pennywise demands pressing the edge hurtfully against your skin.

- Please I want your cum, please!

The clown groans and grabs your jaw with thumbs that sink in your cheeks and the moment your mouth is open, you feel his warm liquid on your tongue. After swallowing it, Michael cums too inside your ass holding your hips with a bruising grip to keep you still right where he wants you till the last drop is emptied. Once he pulls out, he joins Pennywise who is still holding the knife against your jugular. You are crying and worn out like a mess, having being feasted by these two monsters like you were the last meal they could have and yet you don´t know if you are going to survive the night.

- Please…, I´ve done everything you wanted. Please let me go.

- Let you go? – Michael mocks you – Oh, sweetheart, that won´t be a possibility. But, our nature is so generous that we are not going to kill you. Get some rest. You´ll need it for tomorrow.

Pennywise releases your neck, putting the weapon back into his pocket and taking out the wrinkled paper boat.

- Smile a little, would you? You´ll have to be entertaining here slut or we are gonna get bored. Here, why don´t you start practicing with this? – he puts the boat on top of your head as a hat and slaps your face twice with a fake “cheering you up” motion – We´ll make you float again sooner than you expect.

#michael langdon #michael langdon smut #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård x reader #michael langdon x reader #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgård fanfiction #pennywise #it #pennywise smut

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andromytta · 6 years

Text

Claire’s Nightmare

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467038

SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 22 | andromytta vs. @otrera-kicks-ass

Prompt: Freddy Krueger

Ship: Claire Novak/Kevin Tran

Word Count: 10,200

Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood and Gore, Canon Typical Violence, Major Character Injury

Summary: Claire Novak goes to Hastings, Nebraska to investigate what she believes to be a werewolf pack eating it's way through Hastings' teenagers. What she finds is so much different than she expected, and her case leads her to an old house on Elm Street. The question is, is Claire Novak hunting Freddy Krueger, or is Freddy Krueger hunting Claire Novak?

Author’s Note: Special thanks to my beta, @vampamber, who I think is the only person who knows the Nightmare franchise better than me, and to @l8nit-l0vr for the fabulous aesthetic!

Claire Novak pulled her red Subaru next to the ramshackle house at 1428 Elm Street in Hastings, Nebraska. She chose this case because kids her age were being slaughtered by something unknown. It didn’t hurt that it was only a couple of hours from the Men of Letters bunker, and she could spend the night with Kevin Tran if she wanted to. But that was neither here nor there. She had a monster to kill, and she had a pretty good idea of what it was. Or, she thought she had when she first caught wind of the bodies piling up in Hastings.

The official report stated exsanguination due to sharp force trauma as the cause of death. The police thought they were looking for a serial killer with a penchant for knives. When Claire saw the crime scene photos, and the slash marks all over the bodies, slash marks that looked like claws, Claire was sure the murderer (or murderers) was a pack of werewolves. Her specialty.

Her first stop was at the coroners’, to get a good look at the bodies and confirm what she already knew. Jody was always telling her not to jump to conclusions, so she needed to be one hundred percent sure these deaths were the work of werewolves. So, she expected to find missing hearts to go with exsanguinated bodies. What she found was nothing like what she was expecting.

“As you can see, the hearts are still there. Mangled to all hell, but still there,” the coroner explained matter-of-factly. “In fact, I don’t think this is a case for Animal Control at all, young lady. You see these cuts?” The doctor gestured to the newest body on the slab with her lollipop. “These were most definitely made by blades, not claws. That means the police are right and this is some human whack job, not wild animals.”

“Do the police have any clues?” Claire asked, hoping the coroner wouldn’t just dismiss her out right.

The coroner gave her a once over, as if trying to figure out what she was up to. She shrugged and answered her question. “That’s the weird thing. There were no prints and no DNA. Not a single shred of evidence was left behind. Either this serial killer is just that good…or something else is at work here.” The coroner threw her a wink before adding, “But that’s not really our jobs, is it?”

“No, of course not,” Claire agreed hurriedly. “Thank you for your time. Guess I’ll be going. Nothing for Animal Control here.” She left quickly.

Thus, her real investigation started. She had no idea what she was up against, but had traced all of the victims’ movements to this one dilapidated house. She thought it looked vaguely familiar, like something in the back of her mind nagging at her, but whatever it was, she couldn’t grasp it. Claire shook off that feeling, as well as the chills that were suddenly lodged in her spine and decided to investigate.

Claire made her way to the door and pulled out her lock picking set. Before she could even begin to pick the lock, the door suddenly swung open. Claire looked around her, expecting a breeze to be the culprit, but all of the surrounding trees were still. She shrugged and walked into the house anyway. As soon as she crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind her. “Well, that’s not creepy. At all,” she said to no one.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Claire looked around. It was quite evident that taggers had their fun, as the walls were covered in graffiti of all sorts, in all shades of the rainbow. She took her digital camera out of her bag and started taking pictures of it, as she was well aware any manner of occult symbols could be hidden among the curse words and dick pics all over the walls.

Claire thoroughly explored the first floor. In what used to be the living room, she found where the dead kids had clearly been using the place as a make out den. There were sleeping bags and used condoms scattered about. “Gross.” After that, she made her way into the kitchen. The wall paper was peeling and torn, the appliances looked like they had seen better days, but other than that, there was nothing of significance. One thing she didn’t find was blood, but she wasn’t expecting to, since all the victims had died in their own beds. Finding nothing on the first floor, she made her way to the second floor.

As she climbed the stairs, her foot fell through the rotting boards about halfway up. Determined, she wouldn’t be stopped. Claire continued her trek, her foot sinking into each stair on the staircase. She made it upstairs, unscathed, and explored it one room at a time. At first, she didn’t find anything that different than what she found downstairs; a home that had been abandoned by its owners and left as-is. The master bedroom was just that, a master bedroom. It had fallen into disuse and decay, but there was nothing sinister about it. It was the same in the bathroom and one of the other bedrooms. That all changed when she reached the bedroom at the end of the hall.

She opened the door, and the room was covered in blood spatter. The spatter was clearly several decades old, but it was crystal clear that this room had once been a crime scene. Swallowing her initial shock, Claire entered the room, caution be damned. She slowly made her way around the room, taking in everything. Other than the blood, it looked like a normal teenaged girl’s room. There were pictures on the walls, and the brass bed was covered in soft blue bedding that looked like it might have been a floral pattern before it was blood covered. The nightstands matched the dresser. She noticed the pill bottles almost immediately. There was an almost full bottle of what appeared to be sleeping pills, prescribed to Nancy Thompson. Next to that was a nearly empty bottle of over the counter No Doz. “Whoa, this poor girl had issues,” Claire breathed to herself. That’s when an epiphany struck. It had to be a vengeful spirit, most likely Nancy Thompson. Her next move was clearly to look into Nancy’s life and see what she could find out.

Claire carefully made her way back down the stairs, avoiding the holes left when her feet were sucked into the stairs. She made it to the front door without further incident, blinking into the sunlight once she was outside. When her eyes finally adjusted, she looked across the street to where she heard chanting coming from. There she saw three girls dressed in white dresses from another century jumping rope. “Three, four, better lock your door. Five, six, grab your crucifix.” They were jumping in time to the rhythm of their rhyme. Claire would be lying if she said she wasn’t mildly freaked out. She quickly got into her car and drove away without looking back.

Claire spent the rest of the day in the library finding out anything and everything she could about Nancy Thompson, so that it was well after dark by the time she made it back to her motel room with her to-go greasy diner food. She could practically hear the lectures from Jody, Kevin, and Castiel as she dug into the gooey burger and crispy fries. As she ate, she went over everything she had learned about Nancy so far. Nancy Thompson was killed when she was just eighteen years old, a promising high school senior. Claire managed to get her hands on the autopsy photos (and if she had to flirt with the perky brunette coroner and take her out for a drink, well it was all just part of the job, right?) What she found should have surprised her more than it had. Nancy’s wounds were exactly like the ones on the recent victims. Claire also discovered that all of Nancy’s friends had fallen victim to the same serial killer. It turned out, authorities were working on the theory that the killer from 1984 was back. They couldn’t account for the fact that that killer would have to be 54 years old, at the youngest, assuming he started killing when he was 20. Considering the sophistication of the crimes, that seemed unlikely to Claire. There was also the niggling in the back of her mind that if the current kills weren’t done by Nancy’s vengeful spirit, then there was something else killing kids, and it was most likely the same thing that killed kids 34 years ago.

All those thoughts continued to swirl in Claire’s head as she took a shower, and swirled still as she fell into a fitful sleep. This case was already all consuming, and if she wasn’t already so exhausted, she might take a moment to be worried about that. As it was, she even forgot to check in with Jody or Kevin or anybody to let them know she was alright. Claire tossed and turned in bed for hours.

***

Claire walked up the immaculate sidewalk that was flanked on either side by a perfectly manicured lawn. The gray house and blue door were in pristine condition. She opened the door and walked into the brightly lit foyer. She followed the voices into the dining room just to the left. When she entered the room, her parents stood up from where they were having dinner.

“Claire! We thought you weren’t coming home for spring break! I thought you were road tripping with Alex and Patience.” Amelia Novak said as she wrapped her daughter in a big hug.

“I just decided to come home. I missed you guys.” Claire said with a shrug as she sat down at the table.

“Well, that’s great. We’re always glad to have you home,” Jimmy said. “How’s school going?”

“It’s good. It’s real good.” Claire said, beaming at her parents. “Changing my major to criminal justice was the best thing I ever did. My new advisor, Jody, I mean, Professor Mills, is fantastic.”

“That’s wonderful, Sweetie!” Amelia said as she passed the pot roast over to her daughter. “Tell us all about it.”

“Not so fast, girls,” Jimmy chastised them. “We need to say grace first. Then Claire can tell us everything over dinner.”

The said grace, and as they started to tuck into their food, Claire began an epic tale about how great her classes were, how awesome her friends were, and how totally in touch her advisor was. She was about to tell her parents about how she and Alex took Patience out for her birthday when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, everything came to a screeching halt.

A man appeared behind Amelia and slashed her chest open with his claws. He gave the same treatment to Jimmy shortly after. But wait, it wasn’t claws. It was a glove, with knives for fingers. The man looked at Claire from under his dirty fedora. He pointed a knived finger at her. “I’m coming for you next, Blondie.” His burned and scarred face twisted up into a sinister grin. “One, two, Freddy’s coming for YOU!” He laughed maniacally.

Claire startled awake, the man’s evil laugh and the rhyme stuck in her head. She couldn’t shake the image of her parents being slaughtered in front of her. She grabbed the waste basket next to her bed and vomited into it. Tears were streaming down her face, but she didn’t give in to the sobbing that wanted to wrack her entire body. “No way, dude. I’m coming for you!” She packed up her belongings and left the motel, dropping her key card into the express check out box on her way out. She made it the 66 miles to the Men of Letters bunker in less than an hour.

***

It was still the middle of the night, everyone at the bunker was likely still asleep. Claire was still shook up and couldn’t get her key to work. She started pounding on the door, hoping someone would hear her. Kevin and Charlie sometimes stayed up late playing video games, and Castiel didn’t sleep. Dean barely slept. Surely someone would hear her and let her in. She needed to get in. She could still hear the burned man laughing behind her. “Come on, guys! Let me in! Let me in!”

Charlie Bradbury opened the door, her curly red hair in disarray. She took in the sight of Claire on the other side of the door, shaking, tears streaking her face. She barely got the words “What the” out of her mouth before Claire stumbled in, almost falling into the other girl’s arms. Charlie wrapped her in a big hug, and finally, Claire let the tears go and started crying for real. Charlie led her down the stairs and into the library where she and Kevin had an epic game of Mario Kart going on. Charlie said, “I think this belongs to you,” and handed Claire over to her boyfriend.

Kevin sat Claire down on the sofa. “Babe, what happened? What’s going on?”

Claire took a deep breath and told them all about the bodies that brought her to Hastings in the first place, and what she found once she got there. She told them about the house and what she found in the bedroom at the end of the hall. Finally, she said, “At first I thought it was the vengeful spirit of that Nancy Thompson girl, but then I had this dream, and oh God, it was awful. My parents were there, and then this man…or this monster…with burns and scars all over his skin and wearing this dirty red and green sweater…he-he came up behind them and slashed them to death with this…this weird glove-thing. And he said I was next. What was that rhyme? Oh, yeah. ‘One, two, Freddy’s coming for you….” She trailed off, and Kevin and Claire were just looking at her. “What? What? Why are you looking at me like I have two heads?”

The two started talking at once, as if in sync.

“1428 Elm Street?” Kevin asked.

“Nancy Thompson?” Charlie chimed in.

“One, two, Freddy’s coming for you. Three four, better lock your door. Five, six, grab your crucifix.” They sing songed the rhyme in unison, and that’s when it hit Claire.

“That’s what those girls were singing!” She exclaimed.

“What girls?” Kevin asked.

“These girls were playing jump rope in the yard across the street. They were singing that rhyme while they were jumping.”

“Where they wearing white lace dresses?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, yes they were!” Claire practically shouted. “Do you know what’s going on here?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Kevin asked in a placating voice.

“If I knew, I’d be kicking its ass, not here talking to you nerds!” She snapped back.

“It’s A Nightmare on Elm Street,” Charlie tried to calmly explain.

When Claire stared at them with a blank look, Kevin filled in the blanks. “It’s a classic horror film where this guy, Freddy Krueger, haunts people in their dreams and kills them. Nancy Thompson was a character in the movie, she was his arch nemesis. But he didn’t kill her.”

“Well, not until the third movie,” Charlie pointed out. “But by then, she was an adult.”

“Um, yeah, I’ve never heard of it. Why watch horror movies when I live in them?” Claire asked without humor. “And if this is a horror movie monster, how is he killing in the real world, and how is there detailed information about the death of Nancy Thompson on the internet?”

Charlie picked up her laptop off the coffee table, quickly hit several keys, and then turned it around to show Claire. “See, nothing about a teenager with that name being murdered in 1984. Lots of stuff about her being a character in the films and a bunch of Facebook profiles for people with her name. All of whom appear to still be alive and kicking.”

“Ok, ok, ok!” Claire said more loudly than strictly necessary. “So how the heck is this movie monster guy killing kids in Hastings, Nebraska? And how did I find all of that stuff? The coroner even had crime scene photos.”

Kevin and Charlie looked at each other and said, “Tulpa” at practically the same time.

“Could you guys stop doing that? It’s freaking me out more than I already am!”

“Sorry,” they said contritely. Claire leveled them with a death glare.

The sat in silence for a beat before Kevin spoke up. “You said there was graffiti all over the house and you took pictures, right? Let’s put it on Charlie’s computer and look at it. It’s likely someone painted a tulpa in that house. Someone who recognized the address and is messing with forces they do not understand.”

“Fine.” Claire dug her camera out of her backpack and handed it over to Charlie.

Kevin looked over at Claire as Charlie downloaded the photos to her laptop. “Babe, you look exhausted. Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

“No, no I can’t. I shouldn’t. Not yet. Not until we know how to kill this thought form or whatever he is.”

“Why don’t you two go to bed? No, Claire, you don’t have to sleep, just lie there and rest. Kevin, you go with her and keep her company. I’m going to look at these pictures and see if I can come up with anything.” Charlie said, and her voice brooked no room for argument.

“Good idea. Let’s go.” Kevin pulled Claire up off the couch and practically dragged her to his room.

Kevin tucked Claire into bed, curled up next to her, and Claire fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep. Possibly for the last time.

***

When Claire and Kevin finally emerged from his room, where they actually were just sleeping, it was to the smell of bacon and eggs and waffles. Dean, Charlie, and Sam were in the kitchen waiting for them. “It’s about time you two love birds made an appearance. Claire, there’s bacon, eggs, waffles, and some other stuff. Kevin, you can join Sam on the vegan side of the kitchen and leave the real food to the real men,” Dean greeted them as he was putting the final touches on breakfast.

“Dean, it’s you and Charlie and Claire. If any side of the room is the ‘real men,’ it’s us,” Sam protested with bitch face #9.

“Hey, just because we have lady parts instead of man bits does not make us any less real men,” Charlie quipped. “Just because you’re three times the size of me doesn’t make you more of a man!” She stuck her tongue out at the gargantuan Winchester.

Sam literally had no comeback for the feisty red head.

“Anyway,” Dean said as he sat down at the table. “Charlie filled us in on what’s been going on in Hastings. Is it really Freddy Krueger?”

“We think so,” Kevin said. “From what Claire described, it would be really strange if it wasn’t.”

Charlie chimed in, “But that doesn’t seem logical, since I couldn’t find a tulpa amongst the graffiti in the house. In fact, there were no occult symbols whatsoever.”

“Well, Cas should be back from Hastings in a little while. We’ll see if he can sense anything demon-y going on,” Dean said.

“You sent him by himself?” Claire exclaimed. “He’s not at full strength! What if Freddy comes for him?”

“Cas still doesn’t need sleep. It seems unlikely he’ll get attacked,” Dean explained. “He’s actually the least vulnerable.”

As if on cue, Castiel came into the bunker and joined them in the kitchen. “I didn’t sense anything demonic, or any vengeful spirits at the house,” he said without preamble. “But there is a very evil presence there, one I can’t identify. And Charlie is right, there is no tulpa symbol or anything else remotely occult painted anywhere in or on that house.”

“Hello to you, too, Cas.” Dean said with a grin.

“Hello.” Cas replied sarcastically to Dean. “Claire, I’m glad you are safe.” He added sincerely.

Dean turned his attention back to Claire. “You know, you really should have come to us first, especially working a case so close to home.”

“I thought I was dealing with a pack of werewolves. I think I know my way around them by now.” Claire replied with a growl.

“Yeah, and if it was just a pack of werewolves, you still could have used our help.” Dean stated.

“I’m not a kid anymore! I can take care of myself!”

“If you two are fighting with each other, then you’re not fighting the monster,” Cas said with exasperation.

“Sorry, Cas,” Dean said.

“Yeah, sorry,” Claire added.

“Ok, so what exactly are we dealing with here?” Sam asked, desperate to get the conversation back on task.

“Well, if there’s no tulpa or other occult symbolism, we need to figure out how Freddy is coming to life,” Charlie said.

“We could just burn the house down, be done with it,” Dean suggested.

“No! We can’t do that!” Claire exclaimed. “That house is in a neighborhood, with other people’s homes around it. We can’t risk burning down the other houses.”

“Also, there’s no guarantee it would even work,” Kevin pointed out. “Since it’s not a tulpa, we need to figure out what it is before we burn or destroy anything.”

Claire looked at her boyfriend like he hung the moon. “Babe, you are so smart.”

“Hey, there’s folks eating here!” Dean interrupted before the moment could get too mushy.

Claire took Kevin’s hand across the table and looked pointedly at Dean. “We don’t care.”

“Aw! Young love!” Charlie exclaimed.

“Ok, you guys are even kinda grossing me out,” Sam said. “Can we get back to the case?”

“I actually do have an idea about that,” Kevin started. “In the original movie, Nancy pulled Freddy out of her dream and into the real world, and there she was able to defeat him. Maybe Claire can pull him out of her dream.”

“Yeah, but he only let her think he defeated him. Remember, he created that dream where Nancy’s mom stopped drinking and all her friends came back to life. We knew he wasn’t dead because of Glen’s car.” Charlie pointed out.

Claire watched them, her head swinging back and forth between them. “What are you nerds talking about?”

“At the end of the movie, Nancy thought she defeated Krueger, and asked him to bring back her friends. But really, they were still dead. When Glen put up the rag top on his convertible, it was the colors of Freddy’s sweater, so the audience knew he wasn’t dead and it was all a trick.” Charlie explained.

“Ok, but that’s a movie and this is real. And I’m sure we know a lot more tricks than Nancy did. I can still bring him out of my dream and we can find a way to kill him, on our turf.” Claire said.

“Not if he’s a thought form,” Sam added.

“Yeah, how do you kill a thought?” Dean asked, unhelpfully.

“We have to figure out what’s giving it its energy,” Kevin suggested. “We may still need to bring him out of Claire’s dreams though, even if we do find its energy source. Hell, we may just have to do that to find the energy source.”

“What do you mean?” Claire asked.

“Like magic finds like. If we bring him out of your dream, he might lead us to whatever it is.”

“No, we can’t do that,” Claire said, suddenly discouraged. “We can’t risk bringing him into the real world. Think of how much more damage he can do on this side of the dreamscape. It’s bad enough what he’s doing now. And maybe, since he’s focused on me, we can keep him like that until we can kill him. Keep him coming after me so he doesn’t go after anyone else.”

“I don’t like it,” Dean said.

“You think I do? It’s my nightmare. But it’s the only way. Those kids in Hastings can’t hold their own with him. I can.” Claire had a determined set to her features, one Dean recognized, from the mirror. He knew there was no arguing with her.

“Fine, but I’m coming with you.” Dean said.

“You can’t,” Sam said. “We’re out of African dream root.”

“Then find some more!” Dean exclaimed.

“I actually have some on order from the herbalist in Topeka, but it’s on backorder, like, everywhere.” Sam stated. Dean leveled a look at his younger brother. “But I’ll call the guy and tell him to make it a priority.”

“Ok!” Claire said as she stood up and cleared her plate. “I’m going back to the murder house.”

“What? Why?” Kevin asked. He already did not like this idea.

“It’s where this guy’s energy is the strongest, right?” Claire looked at Cas for confirmation.

“Yes, but it’s evil energy, Claire. Very evil,” Cas said.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Obviously. But if I’m going to keep him focused on me, and away from innocent high school students, I need to be where he can find me.”

“But you’re going now? It’s not like you’re going to sleep now.” Kevin protested.

“I know, but I need to get his attention.” Claire shrugged, “and maybe I can find whatever it is that’s fueling him.”

“I’m going with you.” Kevin said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Claire smiled at him.

***

Charlie insisted on going with them, insisting she just had to see the Elm Street House, so a couple of hours later, they were pulling into the driveway.

“Holy mother of Chuck! This really does look like the house! It’s the same address and everything!” Charlie exclaimed as she got out of the car and practically bounced up to the ramshackle house. “I mean, clearly it’s seen better days, but it could be the same house. Which is weird, since that house is in California.”

“Yes, but Freddy Krueger did say that every town has an Elm Street,” Kevin added unhelpfully.

“You’re right,” Charlie agreed.

“Could you two nerds stop fangirling over this creepy ass house and help me find a way to stop this bastard?” Claire said, slamming her car door and stomping up to the house.

As soon as they were through the door, Charlie took a look around and with a definitive nod declared, “Yeah, this place is disgusting. We are not staying here. We’ll spend time looking around to see what we can see, but then we’re going back to own beds at the bunker.”

“Fine, let’s get on with it,” Claire griped, stomping around the first floor.

As they explored the house, Kevin and Charlie decided to take more detailed pictures to see if they missed anything. Claire looked around the living room and kitchen again, but didn’t find anything different than before.

“There’s nothing new down here. Let’s go upstairs,” Claire said after circling the first floor for the fifth time.

“Ok, come on,” Kevin agreed while Charlie continued taking pictures. “Charles, we’re going up stairs!”

When they started climbing the stairs, Claire kept looking down, clearly confused. “Babe, what’s wrong?” Kevin asked.

“It’s the stairs,” Claire said.

“Yeah, what about them? They look like normal stairs.”

Claire looked at Kevin like he was the one going crazy. “Exactly. When I was here yesterday, my foot fell through the stairs, all of them from about half way up.”

“That’s like what happened to Nancy in the movie!” Charlie exclaimed behind them, causing at least one of them to scream like a little girl. It was Kevin.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! You scared the shit out of us!” Claire chastised her.

“Sorry, my dudes. But I was not about to be left alone down there.” Charlie shuddered at the thought.

“Fine, let’s get on with it then,” Claire said in an annoyed whisper.

“Why are we whispering?” Kevin asked.

“Shhh!” Claire and Charlie said to him.

They went from room to room, each one empty save for cob webs and dust bunnies. There wasn’t even the dilapidated furniture Claire saw on her last visit. “This is so weird. These rooms were furnished, I swear,” Claire whispered in awe. “What the fuck is even going on?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin whispered back as he took her hand. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Finally, they made their way to the room at the end of the hall, Nancy’s room. Claire gasped and slowly entered the room, dropping Kevin’s hand in the process. She walked slowly around it, touching things. Everything was still there, Nancy’s furniture, her posters, even the blood spatter. The pill bottles were still on the nightstand. “Do you guys see this? Charlie, take pictures.”

Kevin walked in behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Claire, Sweetie, there’s nothing here. This room is as empty as all the rest.”

“He’s right,” Charlie agreed. “There’s nothing for me to take pictures of, except blank walls and empty space.”

“No, you’re wrong! How come you can’t see it? Look, this is her bed, Nancy’s bed!” She pointed at the bed. “See her pictures on the walls? Her furniture? And the worst part, her blood. It’s everywhere.”

Kevin took her hand again. “Well, let’s just say it’s something you can see but we can’t. Charlie, take pictures. Maybe something will be picked up on camera that we don’t see.”

“Good idea,” the red head agreed.

“So, you guys don’t think I’m crazy?” Claire asked softly.

“Of course not. We’ve all seen stranger things than a room that only one person can see.” Kevin said.

“Ok, good. Well, let’s get out of here and head back to the bunker. I should probably go to sleep soon.” Claire said. “Oh, wait,” she stopped before heading out the door and grabbed something only she could see off of the nonexistent nightstand and shoved it into the pockets of her leather jacket. “Now we can go.” She nodded and headed for the stairs.

As soon as she stepped out into the sunshine, Claire heard it. “One, two, Freddy’s coming for you. Three, four, better lock your door. Five, six, grab your crucifix. Seven, eight, better stay up late…” And there they were, right across the street, just like before. She also heard Kevin and Charlie whispering behind her.

“You see that, right?” Kevin said.

“Definitely,” Charlie replied, pulling out her camera and taking pictures.

Claire turned to look at them, her blonde hair whipping around with her. “You see those creepy girls too, right?”

“Yep,” Charlie said, popping the “p” as she continued to snap photos.

“Yeah,” Kevin said, his voice trailing off as he reached for Claire’s hair. “Um, Babe, your braid…it’s white.”

“What?” Claire asked as she grabbed her hair from his hand. Sure enough, her “Viking warrior” braid she always had during a hunt had gone from blonde to white instantly. “Let me guess, the same thing happened to Nancy?”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “When she brought Freddy’s hat out of her dream, her hair suddenly had a silver streak in it.”

“Whoa, wait,” Claire said as she pulled the two bottles from her pockets. “Look.”

Kevin stared at the bottles Claire held out in her hands, and Charlie grabbed them. “Oh my gosh! This is a prescription for Benzodiazipine, for Nancy Thompson, from May of 1984. This other one is No Doz that expired in the eighties. This is what you found in her room?”

“Yeah.” Was all Claire said.

“A prescription for a fictional character from an empty room in an abandoned house. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?” Kevin asked.

“I have no idea, but we have to stop it,” Claire said, taking a shaky breath and heading towards her car.

Charlie put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You will. Freddy is always defeated by a young woman.”

“Yeah, but he always comes back,” Kevin added, unhelpfully.

“Well, I’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen this time,” Claire said with determination.

***

Back at the bunker, Kevin and Charlie dug into the research, trying to figure out what was tying Freddy Krueger to the real world. Their laptops clacking away like dueling pianos of data compiling. Claire paced around the library, rattling the pill bottles she hadn’t been able to let go of since they left the murder house.

“Hey, Babe, can you sit down, you’re kinda making me anxious over here,” Kevin said after about thirty minutes.

Claire scowled at him. “No, no I can’t sit down. The only way I can get to Freddy is in my dreams. In order to dream, I need to sleep. In order to sleep, I need to get rid of this excessive energy. So no, I cannot sit down.”

Dean appeared as if on cue. “Come on, Kiddo, there are more productive ways to burn off excess energy. Let’s let the nerds do their thing.” He led her out of the library and down the hall. “So, what will it be? Shooting range or punching bag?”

“Punching bag,” Claire said. “I would really enjoy hitting something right now.”

“Good idea. Let’s go.” Dean took her down to the ancient bunker’s somehow perfectly equipped gym.

Claire was just getting her rhythm going on the heavy bag, hitting and kicking it for all she was worth, while Dean was cheering her on from the chair in the corner. “Great job, Kiddo. Kick its ass!” When Kevin came running in.

“We think we found something. We might know what he’s tied to! What’s tying Freddy to the real world!” Kevin said, clearly out of breath.

The interruption startled Claire out of her rhythm, and when she suddenly stopped her attack on the bag, it swung over and popped her hip causing her to stumble and nearly fall.

“Smooth move, Rocky,” Dean chuckled from the corner, earning a glare from Claire. Dean turned quickly away from her and instead asked Kevin, “What did you find out?”

“So get this, and I can’t believe Charlie and I didn’t figure this out before, but after they filmed the third movie, the original prop glove, you know, the one with razor fingers, well, it disappeared,” Kevin said in one breath. “Anyway, we think that glove is somewhere in that house, and the combination of that, along with all the psychic energy from everyone who is a fan of the films, well, it combined into one pretty powerful thought form that suddenly seems to have a taste for pretty blondes.”

“Well, that was a creepy way of putting it,” Claire said.

“She’s not wrong,” Dean added. “Are you sure it’s not you?” He chuckled.

“What? No!” Kevin protested, levelling his own glare on Dean.

Dean looked appropriately frightened. “Geez, did she teach you that?”

Kevin grinned and shrugged. “Maybe.”

***

That night Kevin and Claire were getting ready for bed. Claire was going to sleep while Kevin kept guard, which he was none too happy about. “Babe, are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you? Sam got a hold of the African dream root. I can be there for you.”

“No, no way,” Claire insisted. “If he kills you in my dream, you die in real life. I can’t risk that. I can’t lose you.” She said that last sentence almost to herself. “Besides, I need you here, awake, in case the shit hits the fan so you can wake me up. And no matter what, don’t let me sleep for more than an hour, ok?”

“Ok, yeah, fine, got it,” Kevin said, and if he pouted a little, well, no one commented on it.

***

Claire walked up the immaculate sidewalk that was flanked on either side by a perfectly manicured lawn. The gray house and blue door were in pristine condition. She opened the door and walked into the brightly lit foyer. She followed the voices into the dining room just to the left. When she entered the room, her parents stood up from where they were having dinner.

Except, it wasn’t Jimmy and Amelia Novak having dinner at the dining room table. Dean Winchester stood up and smirked at Castiel, who was at the head of the table. “Aw, look, Cas, our little girl is home from college. They grow up so fast!”

“Dean, what are you guys doing in my dream?”

“Well, I used some of that African dream root, and Cas, well, angels can dream walk and he insisted I not go in alone.”

“God, Dean, are you really this stupid? You know if he kills you here you die for real, right?” Claire shouted. “This is my fight!”

Dean came around the table and steered Claire to sit down. “Yes, but it’s a fight you don’t have to do alone. Besides, do you know how many creepy creepers have tried to kill me? It never sticks. I’m Dean Fucking Winchester.”

Freddy Krueger always had a sense for the dramatic, and this time was no exception. As if on cue, he appeared and gripped Dean’s face in his non-gloved hand. “And I’m Freddy Fucking Krueger, and what I kill, stays dead.” He turned his gaze on Claire. “I can take everything you love.” He reached his knived hand up and drove it towards Dean’s chest.

“NO!!!!!!!!” Claire shouted as Castiel reached across like the angel he was and caught Freddy by the wrist.

“Wait your turn, pretty boy, you’re next,” Freddy said as he wrenched his wrist out of Castiel’s iron grip.

“You can’t kill me. I’m an angel, you ass.” Castiel retorted as he reclaimed his grip on Freddy’s wrist and punched him in the face.

Freddy stretched his burned face into a wicked grin. “I can if these are angel blades.” Before their eyes, his razor blades suddenly became smooth, silvery angel blades.

Dean, who utilized the distraction to free himself from Freddy’s grip, asked in a small voice, “How-how did you know about those?”

“I’m in her head,” Freddy pointed at Claire. “Whatever Blondie knows, I know.”

“Fuck this shit! I will not let you hurt them!” Claire shouted, standing up and kicking the chair out from under her. She grabbed his wrist just below where Cas maintained hold on it. “I will find a way to stop you, and I’m sure this is the key!” With a burst of dream-induced strength, Claire pulled Freddy’s wrist free from Cas and slammed his glove into his face.

With a jump, Claire found herself back in bed. “What, what happened?”

“You told me to wake you in an hour,” Kevin explained. “You were tossing and turning pretty badly.”

“Oh my God! Dean and Cas! I need to make sure they’re ok.” She jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to Dean’s room and flung the door open. Dean was sitting up in his bed, Cas in the chair next to him with his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“We’re ok, we’re both ok,” Dean assured her.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Claire said, rushing into the room and giving them both a hug. “Please, don’t make me watch him hurt you.”

“Claire, you don’t have to do this alone. We can hold our own, you know.” Dean tried to reassure her.

“But that’s just it. I do have to do this alone. He chose me for a reason, and now I’m going to stop him.”

“Claire, you’re not being smart about this,” Cas added. “Let us help you.”

“That’s just it, you can’t help me. All you’ll do is distract me. Next time, I have to go in alone. But I won’t go without a plan, I promise,” Claire pleaded with them.

“So, what, you’re just not going to sleep again until you have plan?” Dean did not like where this was going.

“If that’s what I have to do, then that’s what I have to do.” Claire said with a shrug.

Dean realized there was no arguing with her, so instead he asked, “How can we help?”

“I’m not sure right now. I guess just let me and Kevin and Charlie do our jobs and find out where that glove is. Then, I can kill him.” Claire said, hoping they would drop it for now.

***

Claire, Kevin, and Charlie spent the better part of the week at 1428 Elm Street searching for the glove. They cleaned it up and set up a temporary command center. Kevin and Charlie would take turns going back to the bunker to sleep, with Castiel watching over them, just in case. (Angels didn’t need to sleep, so he was the best candidate for the job.) Meanwhile, Claire, who refused to sleep until she was ready to face Krueger again, was eating No Doz like it was candy.

“You know, you could be drinking these delicious cherry flavored energy drinks instead of popping those little pills,” Charlie said, wiggling a blue bottle in front of her.

“Easier to pop pills,” Claire said absently. She looked up briefly. “Does your bottle say ‘Bawls’?”

Charlie nodded then said, “At least tell me you’re not taking those expired ones you found in the dream room.”

“No, I bought these yesterday,” Claire said without looking up from the book she was flipping through. “They worked for Nancy, so they should work for me.”

“Guys, we’ve been all through this place with a fine toothed comb and we haven’t found a damn thing!” Kevin exclaimed suddenly, slamming his laptop down on the table. He was looking over the pictures Charlie had taken for the umpteenth millionth time.

His outburst seemed to knock Claire out of her stupor. She rounded the table to his side of it and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “We’ll figure it out, we have to. You’re exhausted. It’s your turn to go back to the bunker, why don’t you get some rest.” She kissed the top of his head just as Charlie’s phone rang.

“Elm Street Command Center, Queen of Moons speaking,” Charlie said, setting her phone on the table. “You’re on speaker, Bunker Control 1.”

“You’re on speaker too, Charlie,” Sam said from the other device.

“Hey, why is he Bunker Control 1?” Dean griped in the background.

Claire rolled her eyes, even though Dean couldn’t see her. “Hey guys. You got something?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Sam made me watch the Freddy movies…”

“No, Dean made us watch. He’s the horror movie buff. Why would I willingly watch a horror movie when we live in one?” Sam interjected.

“That’s what I said!” Claire agreed.

“Anyway,” Dean spoke up again, “did you guys ever check the basement? Remember, in the first movie, Nancy’s mom kept the glove in the furnace in the basement.”

Kevin, Charlie, and Dean all started talking over each other as they were discussing the finer points of the films before Claire and Sam’s sharp whistles brought them back on task. “There’s just one problem with that,” Claire said. “This house doesn’t have a basement.”

“Yes it does,” Sam said. “I looked at the blueprints once Dean made his observation.”

“But we’ve been all over this place and never found basement stairs,” Kevin said.

“Of course we didn’t!” Claire exclaimed. “It’s another one of his tricks. Like Nancy’s room. He makes us see what he wants us to see. To mess with us.”

“Sam, email me those blueprints?” Charlie asked. “Claire and I will find it and we will find that glove. Kevin is on his way back to the bunker. It’s his turn to sleep.”

“Already sent, my queen,” Sam said. “Good luck. Talk to you guys later.”

“Later dudes,” Claire said before pressing “end call” on Charlie’s phone.

“I’m not going back to the bunker. I’m staying here to help you guys look for the basement and find the glove,” Kevin stated, trying to stifle a yawn and failing.

Claire shoved the car keys in his hand. “No, nope, no way. You are going back to the bunker and you’re going to get some rest. We’ve got this under control.”

“You’re one to talk,” Kevin griped as he let Claire lead him out to the car. “You haven’t slept in, like, a week.”

“Yeah, but I’m a hunter and we don’t need sleep. You’re a nerd. You do. Go home.” Claire gave him a quick kiss on the lips before pushing him into the car and watching him drive away.

“Welcome back!” Charlie chirped from her spot where she appeared to be hugging the wall. “While you were saying goodbye and good night to your looovah, I was looking over those blueprints that Sam sent. The basement should be behind this wall,” she stepped away and dropped her arms. “But all I can find is, well, wall.”

Claire strode purposefully up to said wall. “So, I guess the question now is, did this wall come from actual, physical renovation of the house, or is it a wall the same way Nancy’s room is filled with furniture and blood?”

“I’m going with door number two. I researched the history of this house, and it has never had a permit issued for renovation. I know, I know. It’s possible the owners didn’t apply for a permit, but a psychic wall just seems much more likely. And way cooler, if you ask me.”

“This Krueger creep does like to mess with our heads, that’s for sure,” Claire said as soon as Charlie paused for breath. “So, psychic wall it is. How do we get past it?”

“I don’t think we get past it so much as you get past it.” Charlie replied.

“So what do I do?”

Charlie shrugged. “I dunno. I guess just focus on it and concentrate really hard and think ‘basement door’?”

“Oh, that’s helpful,” Claire said sardonically, but did what Charlie suggested anyway and put her hands on the wall and thought “door.” It must have worked, because before long, Claire found herself turning a doorknob and the creaky door opened, its rusted hinges protesting loudly.

“You did it!” Charlie said slapping her arm jovially. She led the way down the stairs, turning on her industrial flashlight. “You know, it’s weird,” Charlie said as they started down the rickety steps.

“What’s weird?”

“Kevin and I have practically lived at this house for the past few days, and Krueger hasn’t come after us yet.” Charlie explained.

“Yeah, and your point? This is a good thing.”

“Nothing, it’s just weird. Not his M.O., you know? Freddy likes to kill the protagonist’s friends and leave her all alone and scared. So, it’s weird.” Charlie shrugged as they came face to face with the furnace. “Oh, look, here we are!”

Claire reached a tentative hand towards the furnace, illogically expecting it to come blazing to life under her touch.

“You’re supposed to open it, not pet it,” Charlie helpfully supplied.

“I know that!” Claire snapped and turned the handle to open the furnace. Nothing happened. “Dammit! It’s stuck.”

“Ok, so go let’s get the crowbar and jack this sucker open!”

Claire looked at the furnace, then to Charlie, then back again for several beats before saying anything. “I can’t. It’s in the car…that Kevin drove back to the bunker.”

“Well, shit,” Charlie said. “But this is a basement, surely there is something in here we can use to pry the door open. Start looking.”

Claire nodded and headed to one side of the room while Charlie took the other. As they looked, Charlie resumed their previous conversation. “So, why do you think we’ve been spared thus far?”

“Huh?” Claire asked as she rummaged through a shelf.

“From Freddy.”

“Oh, that’s a good question. Maybe it’s because he knows it will only piss me off more? Or maybe it’s like that one where that girl had to bring the other kids into her dream for him to find them.”

“You’ve been doing your homework,” Charlie said proudly.

“Yeah, well, when you’re hunting a monster, you study all the lore you can. Best lore on Freddy Krueger? The Nightmare on Elm Street movies. Also, gave me something to do since I’m currently not sleeping.”

“Good point,” Charlie agreed. “Ok, so why hasn’t he gone after Dean or Cas again? They were in your dream.”

“Well, Cas is an angel and therefore doesn’t need to sleep, and Dean…well, where do you think I keep getting the No Doz? He’s not sleeping either.”

“We really gotta get this guy. Not sleeping is not healthy, and I do not want to see my people die from lack of rest,” Charlie said with determination. That’s when she found it. “Ah ha! Crowbar acquired! Let’s bust that sucker open.”

“Excellent! Gimme!” Claire unceremoniously grabbed the crowbar from Charlie and went right to work on the stubborn furnace door. “Open says me!” She exclaimed as it popped open for her. She reached inside and nearly jumped as her hand closed around a cloth wrapped object. It practically buzzed in her hand. “Charlie, I think this is it.” She pulled it out carefully and unwrapped it with reverence. What was revealed was the exact prize they were looking for. Claire held the leather glove carefully, trying not to cut herself with the blades that were where the fingers should be. As she removed it from the cloth, the buzzing got stronger. “Charlie, do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” She snatched the glove out of Claire’s hand. “I don’t feel anything.”

“You can’t feel the power coming off of it?”

“No. You can?” Charlie looked in awe when Claire nodded. “That means this must be it. And that you are meant to find it, and use it.”

“What?” Claire squeaked. “What for?”

“To kill Freddy, obviously. Once and for all.”

The girls made their way back upstairs to their command center to start strategizing about what to do next. Before they even had a chance to start planning, Claire’s cell phone rang, followed closely by Charlie’s. When Claire saw who was calling her, her knees immediately went out from under her, and her breath left her body in a whoosh.

“Castiel, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Kevin, I’m afraid—“

Claire cut him off. “Oh God. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Claire, calm down. It’s just a coma.”

“Just a coma???? That’s even worse!”

Castiel sighed into the phone, sounding tired, even though that shouldn’t have been possible. “How is that worse?”

“I don’t know, but it’s just as bad!” Claire swallowed against a sob that barely escaped her throat. Taking a deep breath she finally asked, “What happened?”

“He was sleeping soundly, and suddenly he started thrashing around. I tried to wake him up, and I thought I succeeded, but then he suddenly went still. His body is whole and unharmed, aside from the coma. I could dream walk again, see if I can pull him out.”

“NO! Don’t you dare, Castiel. Freddy knows how to kill you. I won’t risk losing you both. It’s up to me, I have to save him. It’s what he wants, he wants me.” Claire said with determination. “Well, he’s going to get me.” She hung up her phone and clutched the glove to her chest.

Claire turned to Charlie who was just hanging up her phone. “Kevin is in a coma. Freddy’s got him. I have to go in and rescue him!”

“I know,” Charlie said. “That was Dean on the phone. He’s on his way to come get us. He made me promise not to let you do anything stupid before he gets here. He’s taking us back to the bunker and we can figure out where to go from there.”

“No way, Charlie! Who knows what Freddy is doing to him right now! Kevin may not have time for us to sit around the table contemplating our navels. I need to go after him now!”

“And just how do you propose to do that? You’ve been eating No Doz like candy. It’s not like you can fall asleep without some help.” Charlie gave her a smug look.

“You’re right!” Claire said, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out Nancy Thompson’s Benzodiazipine and shaking it in the other girl’s face. “And look, I’ve got Nancy’s little helper right here.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow at her. “Those won’t work.”

“Yeah, they will.”

“Dude, those aren’t even real. Even if they were, they’re like, 34 years old. You’ll be lucky if they don’t make you puke your guts out.”

“Of course they’ll work,” Claire said, as if in a daze. “He left them for me. He wants me to use them.”

“Who?”

“Fred Krueger.”

“Well, that’s even more reason to not use them,” Charlie tried to reason with her, tried to kill time until Dean came to get them. She reached for the pills, but Claire snatched them away and held them close.

Claire came out of her daze and said with resolve, “I’m going after him, Charlie. There’s nothing you can do to stop me, so you should just help me.”

“Help you, how?”

“Watch over me. Wake me up if it looks like I need it. Don’t let him take both of us.”

“There’s no way I can talk you out of this, is there?”

“Nope,” Claire said with a swish of blonde hair.

“Ok then, I’ll keep an eye on you. But if Dean kills me, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

“You know, other people might find that funny, but hunters, not so much,” Claire said with a weak smile.

“Duly noted.” Charlie returned her smile with a matching one.

Claire poured a handful of pills into her hand and popped them into her mouth. Charlie handed her a water bottle to wash them down. Claire hopped onto the coffee table they were using as a desk, slipped on the razor tipped glove, laid down, and closed her eyes.

***

Claire walked up the immaculate sidewalk that was flanked on either side by a perfectly manicured lawn. The gray house and blue door were in pristine condition. She opened the door and walked into the brightly lit foyer. The light flickered and sparked out, and suddenly Claire was no longer in her brightly lit childhood home in Pontiac, Illinois. She was now in the dilapidated house at 1428 Elm Street, in Hastings, Nebraska (or any other Elm Street in America.) When she looked down, she was no longer dressed like “Biker Barbie.” Instead, she was dressed eerily like Nancy Thompson, in soft pink cotton pajamas with flowers embroidered on the lapels. Luckily, she was still wearing her best weapon, Freddy Krueger’s original glove.

As Claire took in her surroundings, she realized this wasn’t the Elm Street house she had grown used to. The furnishings were still there, for one thing. And they were oddly familiar. After just a few moments, she realized that not only was she in Nancy Thompson’s clothes, she was in Nancy Thompson’s house. “Really, dude? Could you be any less creative?” She said under her breath as she started to explore.

She found nothing on the first floor, but that’s what she kind of expected. There was really only one room in the house where Kevin was likely to be. Claire sighed and steeled herself as she made her way to the stairs. By now, she thought she knew what to expect. Freddy enjoyed messing with her. He did it at the other house, and this one would be no different. She gingerly stepped on the first stair. It was solid, but she carefully continued her ascent. Sure enough, by the time she got to the fourth stair, her foot sunk right in. What was freaking her out more than the sinking steps was the fact that she was not being chased, that she appeared to be totally alone in the house.

“Get it together, Novak,” she chided herself. She ran the rest of the way up the stairs, her foot sinking each time it hit carpet. She raced to the room at the end of the hall and flung the door open.

“So good of you to finally join us!” Freddy cackled. He was standing in front of the bed, holding Kevin off of the ground by his throat. His feet were kicking, seeking the ground, and he was barely breathing. The boy did not look good.

“Ok, so you caught a boy. Good for you. Why don’t you just toss him back? It’s me you really want.” Claire wasn’t sure if taunting an evil thought form was the best idea, but begging him to let Kevin go was absolutely not an option. Claire Novak didn’t beg. Ever.

Freddy looked over at Kevin and snarled, tightening his grip on the boy’s neck. He turned back to Claire. “Sorry, babe. I don’t participate in ‘catch and release’!” He started to squeeze harder when Claire dropped to a crouch and knocked him off of his feet with a sweeping kick. Startled by the unexpected attack, Freddy dropped Kevin, who managed to roll under the bed. Freddy looked up at Claire with a glare. “Who the hell do you think you are?” He rose to his feet without effort. “You really think you can stop me? Me?” He flexed his glove and advanced on her.

Having regained Freddy’s sole focus back on her, Claire flexed her own glove. “Gee, I have one of those too.” She spun around and sprinted out of the room, daring Freddy to take chase. He took the bait and followed her down the hall. Claire ran down the stairs, managing to avoid the foot sucking places, and before long found herself in the downstairs master bedroom. She took in her surroundings and suddenly had a plan. She got herself into position and waited for a mad man to find her.

The door swung open, hitting the wall with a resounding bang. “Freddy’s home!” He looked around the room, searching for the girl, when suddenly Claire swung around the post at the foot of the four poster bed, kicking Freddy square in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards. He regained his composure easily enough. Freddy laughed. “It will take more than that, little girl.”

“I know,” Claire said from where she had landed in a crouch on the floor. She reached up with the glove and grabbed and twisted, the blades causing her to fully castrate the man, bile oozing out, all over Claire and the floor.

Freddy howled and reeled in pain. He landed on his back on the floor. Claire straddled his midsection, pinning him to the floor. She thrusted her glove into his chest and ripped out his heart. She held the black, beating organ above his head. “I kill monsters, that’s who the hell I am!” She squeezed and crushed the heart between her hands as Freddy faded from existence.

***

Claire awoke with a start next to Kevin in his bed, where he was still sleeping peacefully. “How did I get here?” Before anyone could answer, she looked at Kevin, then to Cas. “How is he? Is he..?”

“He’s fine,” Castiel smiled. “He came out of the coma shortly before you woke up. He’s sleeping now and appears to be having pleasant dreams.”

“Thank God.” Claire breathed a relieved sigh. “But seriously, how did I get here?”

“I brought you here,” Dean answered from her side of the bed. “I told Charlie not to let you do anything stupid, but you did it anyway. She’s now in time out washing the cars in the garage.” He looked down at Claire’s hands, where she was still wearing the glove and holding the remains of Freddy’s dark heart. “Can we burn that now, please?”

“Fuck, yes!” Claire said, removing the glove and placing into the bowl that Dean somehow had ready.

Kevin chose that moment to stretch into wakefulness. He looked over at Claire. “Is it over?”

“Yeah, it’s over,” she said, kissing him on the lips.

“I knew you’d beat him.” He said, kissing her back.

Dean made a motion at Cas. “Um, we should probably leave them alone for a bit.” He then looked briefly to them. “Yo, the ceremonial burning of the bad guy’s stuff commences in five minutes, with or without you.”

Claire waved them off, barely acknowledging them as she continued kissing her now safe boyfriend.

***

Several days later, Claire was just waking up in her room in Sioux Falls. She was taking a much needed break from the bunker and hunting. She needed time with her surrogate mother and sisters. As she stretched, she felt something odd under her pillow. Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out the last thing she expected, a leather glove with razors where the fingers should be. She screamed and tossed the glove across the room. In the quiet that followed, she heard a dark chuckle and a low voice chanting:

Nine, ten, never sleep again!

#spnrareshipcc #Claire Novak/Kevin Tran #otrera-kicks-ass #freddy krueger #aesthetic by l8nit-l0vr #Charlie Bradbury #supernatural #SPN #men of letters bunker

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benvironment · 6 years

Text

April Fool? Nope, a pine marten in my Lomond Hills garden!

There are no cats where I live up in the Lomond Hills, so even a cat appearing in my garden is enough to make me do a double-take and take a closer look. And that’s exactly what happened earlier this week when I came downstairs for breakfast, walked into the kitchen and took a fleeting glance outside to see what the weather was doing.

It was a beautiful sunny day, but because the sun had only just come up everything had a lovely deep orange glow, not least the garden fence. During my 2-second glance outside I noticed a ginger cat sitting on said fence, crouching on all fours where the fence abuts the shed. I peered through the dirty glass window for another look at the cat-sized animal.......and then realised it wasn’t a cat at all.

“Nooooo, it couldn’t be!” I thought.

Yes, it could!

It looked like a big stoat with a bushy tail, and as I grabbed my camera my heart nearly stopped I was so excited. The animal’s fur wasn’t the rich chocolate brown that I’d expect, but that’s because the low sun was turning it orange. It then climbed down onto the wood shed, had a sniff about and disappeared down a gap next to the fence.

After a few minutes I went out to take a look at where it had been, and found the footprints in the light snow. They were certainly larger than you’d expect for a stoat, and I snapped a pic next to my hand for scale.

I was 90% certain it was a pine marten but I couldn’t quite believe it. Not because they’re absent from Fife, far from it in fact. Pine martens did go extinct in Fife around the 1870s due to persecution and habitat loss, and were eventually confined to remote areas much farther north. But in recent years, aided by legal protection, they have slowly recolonised their former haunts and are expanding their natural range into the Central Belt.

I knew they’d been found at Devilla Forest way out by Kincardine, and a reliable, knowledgable friend had seen one a couple of years ago in the spruce plantations to the east of Bishop Hill, but I didn’t personally know of any sightings beyond those places.......which is more a result of me never actually having asked anyone I suppose! I’d reasoned that they had probably therefore moved east into Fife via forests like Pitmedden, Falkland and the ones near Ladybank, but I think I just assumed that the increasingly agricultural landscape cut by roads left right and centre, coupled with fragmented and scattered woodlands, would be something of a hindrance to their progress east.

Pine martens favour woodland, especially coniferous woodland.....but not exclusively so. They can do well in moorland and other upland places but tend to need scrub to do so, so I would never in a million years have expected to see a pine marten outside my house, on an upland farm,with open pasture all around it and at least 1km from the nearest woodland.

For all those reasons and more, I was trying to find alternative explanations. I considered maybe it was a ferret before I started doing that thing you do when you’re unsure of your ID skills. Even though the animal hadn’t moved in any way shape or form like a stoat - it was cat-like in its movements rather than the characteristically fast and jolting movements of a stoat - I started convincing myself it must have been a stoat. To be fair that seemed much more likely given the environment and the fact that I’d seen a stoat here before.

Then I remembered that I had a stuffed stoat that someone had gifted me a few years ago, so I fetched it and then tried to recreate the photo from the exact same vantage point, in order to gauge the scale of the two creatures.

The results were indisputable. The animal I’d seen that morning was much larger than the stoat and was clearly, to my great surprise and delight, a pine marten. Bonkers really, not least because in a recent article for Walkhighlands I said something along the lines of us generally having to go and rent a highland cottage for a week in order to see one. Which I did.......and I did:

Anyway I excitedly put my Fife photos on Twitter and asked people’s opinions without mentioning ‘pine marten’ as I didn’t want to steer people to a particular answer. Some people did accuse me of playing an April Fool with dodgy photoshopped images, which made me laugh as I hadn’t even realised it was 1st April. How typical that a possibly once-in-a-lifetime sighting outside my house coincided with April Fool’s Day ;-)

But most folk seemed to agree, and it did prompt some local people to say they had seen pine martens fairly close to here. One person spoke of sightings on the shores of Loch Leven, while someone else posted a wonderfully blurry (but very obvious) photo of a pine marten in their garden in Auchtermuchty:

The big scots pine forest of Pitmedden is close to ‘Muchty, and Fiona said that there’s over a mile of fields and town between her and the forest......so clearly that’s not a hindrance.

Even so, after all that I was surprised. I’d love to think that pine martens (plural) are settling down up here but I can’t see them doing so in any high densities given the habitat. Never the less, we do have plantations in the Lomonds that could (and probably do) offer refuge for pine martens. If you’re not familiar with the area, it looks like this:

Essentially it is open hillside with large patches of spruce, scots pine and larch plantations. Even though pine martens will clearly travel some distance away from their ideal habitats and across open fields, it really highlights the importance of having ‘green corridors’ i.e. areas of scrub or trees that connect the scattered woodlands together and act as a stepping stone for all kinds of woodland creatures, not just pine martens. Red squirrels for instance:

That’s something that has been done along the Leslie-Falkland hill road, with new woodland or scrub created at Maspie Den, Craigmead and Little Ballo to try and connect forests on either side of the Lomonds together.

Mind you, that can be a fruitless task if the very forests you’re trying to connect together start to disappear. If you’re a regular visitor to the Lomonds, and to Harperleas or the Ballo in particular, it can’t have escaped your attention that the spruce plantation to the west is being cleared:

I don’t know how much is being cleared, or what the plans are for the other forestry blocks between Harperleas and the Bishop, but that’s the area of forest where my pal saw the pine marten. Plantations are a crop of course, but clear-felling is such a destructive and disruptive process that it can’t help but adversely impact on the creatures living there.

My pine marten story doesn’t end here though, because by weird coincidence the very day after my sighting, a pal of a pal found a dead pine marten on the road between Scotlandwell and Kinnesswood:

There was some suggestion that it could have been the same one I’d seen, as it was only 4.5km away. It’s not impossible, as pine martens can range large distances in a day, but given there are at least two large plantations between us and that road I think it’s unlikely. And while it’s a sad sight to see, one that highlights the very obstacles to the pine marten’s expansion into the Central Belt, it does none the less offer hope that these wonderful animals are back in the Lomond Hills to stay.......assuming all the remaining forests aren’t clear-felled!

Meet the Pine Marten

Saving Red Squirrels (on the relationship between martens and squirrels)

=======

Big thanks to Mark for permission to use his pine marten pic. And to Fiona for letting me use the Muchty Marten pic :)

#nature #wildlife #pine marten #Fife #Kinross-shire #Lomond Hills

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insecure-hbo-recaps · 7 years

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hella shook

Previously: Issa wanted to get a roster going. Molly for some reason didn't know what it was about Sterling K Brown. Dro's marriage was open. Lawrence was used as a prop for a racist threesome. He lied about it. Issa and Daniel made amends.

Issa's in traffic in her fairly new model car I might add. She is on her phone at every red light and doesn't notice that she's on E. She's wearing a black and white cookie coat, look at this:

Ees! Jesus. She stops at exactly 9:45 cents because she's poor. She finally makes it to her destination, serving up a "special delivery, sir" for Daniel. They awkwardly joke about how silly she's being and he opens the door with a smug smile. They're very attuned and cute and happy and whatnot.

Hey! They got honeycomb towers in LA too, apparently. Unless this is a scene where Molly is skyping with Quintin in Chicago, which the immediate shot of an L lets me know it is. See?

God I fucking love my city. That's the green line by the way. (If you're not familiar with Chicago, this is what I mean by "honeycomb towers":)

They're downtown near State and Kinzie, where I once went out with a professor from Boston who I thought looked like Mark Zuckerberg. (Public House is the bar there.) We watched the world series where the red sox won that year and it had been such a fun date, I was really disappointed when I never heard from him again. Oh well - in hindsight whatever I wore is probably not something I would wear now.

Molly is actually in Chicago this time, and Quintin is helping her keep the associates straight. He's wearing a tan vest and Malcolm X glasses and is it this show or somewhere else where they make jokes about a preacher body? Because good grief if I don't think of an old timey Civil Rights Movement era preacher every time I see him, lol. Molly points out there's a lot of black people at this office, and Quintin says he doesn't understand how she could work in the LA office; it reminds him of why he went to Howard.

Quintin asks whether Molly has said anything about her pay inequality but Molly hasn't. He asks why she isn't considering leaving, because their firm is not the only fish in the sea. Obviously this has never occurred to Molly. It's like she gets blinders on about certain things she thinks are acceptable or that she should want or be doing, and is incapable of considering any options outside of that. Apparently Molly is stuck in a sunken cost fallacy, which means you end up sticking out a situation that has long since expired just because you've already invested so much time into it already. Quintin encouages her to consider her options. Oh, there's the "pastor's body" joke. He really does look like a pastor.

Back in LA, Issa is getting dressed while Daniel is still in bed watching Due North. He asks whether she has plans the next night, but Issa demurs, unsure of his intentions. Daniel's body is insane.

Elsewhere, Lawrence is on a run with his coworkers, the blonde and Arpana. He won't be at work the next day because he has jury duty. Another coworker shows up and we get the exposition that they are training for a marathon. I know people hang out with their coworkers like this but I am antisocial and weird so I never do and never have, which sucks. This is how most people make friends as adults.

Molly is back home now. At her apartment, she and Issa are preparing floral arrangements for Molly's parents' vow renewal. Issa can't make it because she has a "work retreat." Daniel texts, and off the look on Issa's face, Molly inquires about it. Issa tries to play it off, but Molly knows this is not nothing. "Daniel and I have history, but we always bounce back." Molly is skeptical that either of them can do this without catching feelings, but Issa insists none of that is on her agenda right now: she has Daniel, "Neighbor Bae," and a Latino man she is going out with that night.

Meanwhile, at jury duty, Lawrence gets a text from Derek inviting him to his birthday party. Lawrence hesitates, assuming Issa will be there, but agrees to go. Bored, he scrolls through his facebook and happens across a photo from the night of the Kiss and Grind party; apparently Kelli's pic accidentallycaught Issa smiling and chatting with Daniel in the background.

Now that is a stroke of bad luck. Lawrence is so distracted by this news he barely hears them call him for briefing.

Back at the We Got Y'all offices, the supervisor is expositing that they have a director position open. Naturally the overeager white dude thinks this is his time to shine. They are going to be having a retreat Saturday morning and wants everyone to partner up. Issa looks over at Frieda who awkwardly looks away. Issa decides to brush it off, but when she whispers a joke and Frieda continues to look uncomfortable, the smile slides off Issa's face.

She follows Frieda to the breakroom, asking to talk. Frieda tensely explains that she isn't comfortable with what's happening at the school, but Issa still doesn't see a problem. This was around the time I started to think Issa was in the wrong the first time I saw this season... not because Issa is siding with bigotry but because she doesn't know better than to talk frankly about racism with whites in the workplace. That fact that Issa was so clueless as to be straightforward with a Clueless White Person on the thing that they fear most - an issue concerning race where they may be even indirectly accused of being a GASP racist - just sort of underlined for me that she was compounding a wrong instead of fixing it. "It must be nice to have the privilege to choose to be upset over this," Issa says, and the fact that she doesn't back down lets Frieda get the moral high ground.

Inglewood. Molly is at her parents' place unloading flowers for the renewal. Dro is her childhood next door neighbor and he is there to a.) celebrate Molly's parent's marriage and b.) smooth things over about basically asking her to take part in his open marriage. He asks if she never thought of him like that; "I mean yeah maybe for a minute when you had your colored contacts on," Molly says. Light skints aren't still in style anymore are they? Exoticals for men is always kind of a weird area, I think.

Molly says she's thought about it, but the marriage thing "is just not how" she sees her life. Dro is cool with that and they agree to stay friends, ribbing each other like only childhood friends can do.

Jury Duty. There's black woman who answers a question about "bias against police" by standing up to reveal her Black Lives Matter t-shirt that I'm unclear whether or not she meant it or just wanted to get out of jury duty. "Not buying it," the judge says, but the juror is dismissed. Lawrence is scrolling through Daniel's gram while all this happens.

Back at Molly's, her mom is saying something about the dollar store champagne flutes she bought, and what is with moms and dollar stores? My momma loves her some dollar store home goods. They lightly push Molly, as you do your children, about when she's getting married. Mom wants to know what's the hold up but Dad knows Molly isn't going to settle. Apparently Molly has a brother, or two brothers, or a gay brother, I'm unclear. I think one of them is famous for something or other though.

Date night. Issa shows up at a low lit ambient bar looking for Mexican bae. "Come through, Tinder," she says when she spots him. She's wearing a tight blue dress and a TWA. Mexican bae seems like he's in his late 30s. Issa's inner monologue horndogs about horchata. Bruh, rumchata is delicious. I haven't managed to buy it myself yet because that shit costs like 20$ but it tastes just like Christmas. And like, really good bread pudding. I should try to buy it at least for the holidays. Anyway, Issa is fantasizing about boning him right on the bar.

We know he's a good guy because he says isn't a martini guy and they joke about comics. I can't with how comic book lore has taken over American entertainment. I liked the Tobey Maguire Spider Mans but now there's like 18 in-universe comic book shows on TV and like four comic book movies at any given time... I honestly thought the comic book thing would have faded a long time ago by now and we'd be back to some other mythical fan lore like angels and ghosts again. (Zombie lore is still popular, and I think vampire lore is still hanging ten, so we need to go to demons or the undead or something.) They eventually move to another table, signifying that the date has lasted a few hours. The waiter brings by the check and Issa does the fake purse grab. You know, I used to adamantly refuse to do that (and the one time I was *asked* to split was by a nerdy black dude I met in a hipster dive who approached me by asking if I was latina - I must emphasize that I do not look latina whatsoever), like even pretend like I was going to pay. Now, I just offer to split. I usually never have to still, which is good, but also, I'm not poor anymore either so. My thing now is taking care to note that the waitress puts the check on the guy's side instead of in the middle - that's when I know the universe wants me to feel good about myself.

Anyway, they have had a good night and Issa is clearly thinking about asking him back to her place. But, we know he's a Good Guy because he says he can't, "but this is an excuse for us to do this again!"

Saturday morning work retreat. There's a generic snack bar set up. Issa is texting with Daniel, after canceling on him because of her date the previous night. Anyway the work team does a boring team building exercise so that the Clueless White People can make Clueless White People assumptions about the kind of trouble kids might be having at home. Issa and Frieda take a few passive aggressive jabs at each other and when it's time to pair up Frieda quickly finds someone else, leaving Issa stuck with Sujata Day. I don't know if she's supposed to be Indian in this one.

Vow Renewal. Apparently Molly decided to invite Sterling K Brown who is wearing a crazy colorful suit like only a person whose body has been altered to look good in Hollywood could do:

Molly's wig actually does look good, don't mind the screenshot. Dro and his parents show up (his dad is latino, his mom is ambiguous brown). Dro hangs around as his parents walk off and Sterling K Brown possessively wraps an arm around Molly, who introduces them. Just so you know that this is going on:

Do y'all take notice of stuff like this or no? Men, even men who are supposedly friends with each other, I find pull rank like this in front of women all the time. I was seeing a guy and one night we were hanging out with his roommate. They went outside to smoke and I tagged along. My dude and I were sharing his cigarette (I don't smoke but I find this sort of thing cute) and the other guy offered me his. My dude didn't think anything of it, but it's little shit like that that always feels like to me men are playing ego games with each other and/or always prepared to slide in the DMs of someone else's girl. (I also tend to think everyone is hitting on me, so that bias tends to reinterpret things.) But, it's the subtlety. And I think if more people paid attention they'd notice things like this more often. At any rate, Sterling K Brown is clearly glad to be there with Molly and possibly senses that Dro is a threat. They all play polite and it's only mildly awkward.

At a bar across town, Lawrence is having drinks with Derek and grilling him for information about Issa and Daniel. Ha. That's way more straightforward than he usually is when he talks to Chad. Derek says that after Tasha, he and Tiffany had to stop discussing them because they always took sides. Lawrence is preoccupied and insecure about Issa seeing Daniel now... maybe she had been seeing him the entire time? Derek says Issa is too dorky to be sneaky. "That's exactly why you wouldn't expect it," Lawrence says. He clearly is reiminaging their entire relationship and second guessing what he thought it was.

"Honestly... this ain't all on Issa," Derek says. "You spent two years unemployed, not doing shit, letting your woman take care of you. Kinda left the door open." Lawrence does that thing of rotating his jaw and accepts this silently. He tries to say it doesn't justify cheating, but Derek says he understands why she would be attracted to someone who could make things happen.

Vow renewal. Molly's brother or whatever asks "is that you?" and HA! Haven't heard that in ages. "So it's a pity date?" he asks. Molly lists off his positive qualities and how she wants to give it a shot. Her brother says just because she dates a good guy that doesn't translate into a relationship. Her brother (no, her brother's best friend) apparently is married to a stripper that trapped him. He tells Molly if she isn't feeling him she shouldn't date him. And because Molly has no understanding of what she wants out of a relationship or from men generally, this is the point where she no longer understands if she should be on a date with Sterling K Brown. He doesn't deserve this.

Bathroom. Issa calls her brother to check whether or not she might be in the wrong with the situation with Frieda. Check out this gloriously dressed fashion forward ass nigga:

Issa's brother doesn't tell her what she wants to hear so she hangs up in his face. To make herself feel better, she responds to a random sext from Neighbor Bae, sending back a nude before she gets busted by Mrs. Frizzle. Issa, at least go into the stall.

Molly is partially hosting this party, so she goes to greet a couple of great aunts. As nosy older black women, they immediately start inquiring about the delicious slice of man she chose to parade around this family event. Which... if you're not sure if you want to date a guy, don't fucking bring him to a parent-centered family event maybe. The aunts start talking about how amazing it is that Molly's parent's marriage lasted 35 years "after what he put my sister through." This is news to Molly.

Issa is texting at a red light when she misses it turn green. A "Potential Bae" sends her a dick pic and she rear ends the car in front of her. This is where I stopped being on Issa's team. No woman, no self possessed black woman, has any business being so distracted by dick she would open herself up to litigation, the loss of transportation, and unspecified auto repair. Like, I can no longer abide this level of thirst. This was when Issa went too far. Also, I spared you a screenshot of the dick pic.

Back that the renewal, Molly is grilling her brother about the state of her parents' marriage. It turns out that Dad cheated on Mom and "they worked through it." Molly seems almost more offended that her mom put up with it than her dad cheated at all. And this is the part where Yvonne Orji had to do an emotional scene. And it was so bad it threatened to diminish my enjoyment of the rest of the series so what you need to know is: 1. the acting here is really really bad, so bad I don't know how they didn't insist on more takes and/or cut away often enough so that you didn't notice how bad it was and b. Molly can't deal with the reality that there is no such thing as a fairy tale relationship. Not all relationships have cheating but a fuckton of them do, so everyone needs to just chill. Also, remind me at a later date to tell you about how I recently found out a guy I had been seeing was married and his wife had their first kid earlier this year. It was fucking horrid. (This is not an endorsement from the "All Men Cheat" school of logic as I, personally, have never been cheated on in a relationship.)

Sterling K Brown tries to console Molly but she stomps away, leaving Dro to chase after her. Bitch move. Molly's being an asshole all around. Bitch, how are you whining about relationships when you left your fucking date at a party at your parents' house to leave with another dude? Molly is way out of line here, and her behavior deserves no sympathy at all.

Issa calls Daniel to let him know she can't make it tonight because she got into a car accident. He offers to pick her up. She tries to beg off but he insists, and his caring and eagerness to help is good to see. One of the worst things about being an introverted holier than thou asshole is that whenever I need help, it always hits me really hard that I really have no one to call.

Meanwhile, this is Lawrence's Saturday night:

GOD those are the worst, lol. He sits there ruminating for awhile and finally defriends. "I don't wanna see this shit," Lawrence thinks.

Dro is driving Molly home. So... she just gone leave her car (and her date) in the interests of her thirst or what? Because I'm not buying that she's so distraught she just needed to get home despite the common decency of leaving on no notice like that. You wanted to provoke Dro's dick and we all know it. No smoothing over on this ridiculous behavior, Molly. She continues being all "distraught," and while I have to offer points for the damsel and distress routine in principle, I believe in polite society more, so be thirsty on your own time, not when it inconveniences or hurts someone else. Molly laments how she spends all her time trying to find someone like her dad only to find out their marriage is bullshit. I suppose if I had grown up in a married two parent household it would come as news to me, too, that parents can be just as ain't shit as anyone else. Still. I find this childish. Dro lends a sympathetic ear and Molly eats it up.

Daniel shows up to pick up Issa and gives her a hug in reassurance since she's just been in a car accident. Instead of abiding this silently where even if she doesn't want it she can use it to her advantage at a later date, Issa decides to be clear that Daniel knows they are not dating only each other and are both seeing other people. Issa isn't sure if she was as up front about that as she should have been the last time they slept together. Daniel reacts disappointedly in a way that telegraphs he did not know that was what they were doing. On the other hand, I feel like men pull this shit a lot and maybe it was good for him to know he isn't the only fish in her pond. Idk. On this issue I have erred toward casual probably more often than I should have, to regretful effects, so for me the jury is out on that.

Dro walks Molly to her door and her building is so lovely. Oh, it turns out Dro drove Molly's car home. That kinda makes it even more shitty that she left Sterling K Brown? When Dro goes to leave, because we must be overtly aware of the stupid and ridiculous choices they make, she pulls him back and kisses him. Then we cut to them boning a second later. Excellent sex scene. Extremely poor choice.

#insecure hbo #issa rae

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brightly-painted-canvas · 7 years

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Francesco Gabbani - Italia 21 (translation and explanation)

So, this song was deleted from YT last week and I was very upset, since it’s one of those older songs from Francesco that made me instantly like him. I knew that it needed both a translation and a ‘paraphrase’ (like you would with a Latin version in high school LOL) to fully understand it and that took me SO LONG. It was very hard and I believe it’s still not complete yet: there’s something I still don’t get. But! The most is done and I hope you’ll like it!

This is “Italia 21″ (Italy 21).

I’m not sure if this song was already traslated, I’m just gonna post my version :D I’m not a professional translator so there might be some mistakes. I just hope to convey the message of the song to non-Italian speakers.

Uno. Pane e vino certo non ci manca Due. Neanche il sole in quest’Italia santa Tre. Una penisola col tacco a spillo Quattro. Tutti parlano, ci manca solamente il grillo One. We surely don’t lack bread and wine Two. Nor we lack the sun, in this holy Italy Three. A peninsula wearing an high heel Four. Everybody talks, last thing we need is the cricket

Notes:

- Bread, wine and sun are what Italy is known for in the entire world. So it’s religion, that’s why the ‘holy’ adjective. - Italy is said to be shaped like a boot. We also call the southern regions in Apulia “tacco” (heel). I believe the “high heel” reference is related to fashion, another thing we are known for worldwide. - We have a common saying: “Il paese è piccolo, la gente mormora” (it’s a small town, people talk) which means that basically in small communities everyone knows everything and always voices their opinions. Italy is pretty much like a big “small town” and everyone always likes to talk. We’re very good at talking and having all kind of opinions. - The “grillo” (cricket) reference is what made me instantly fall in love with this song right during the first listening. It’s pure genius. It has a double meaning: the first is related to the Jiminy Cricket (or Talking Cricket), a character from famous Italian author Carlo Collodi’s book “Pinocchio”. It basically says that since everybody likes to talk already, we really don’t need to hear from the Talking Cricket, known for being Pinocchio’s conscience and dispenser of good advices, but never listened to. The second reference I believe it’s about Beppe Grillo, infamous ex-comedian and now leader of political movement “Movimento Cinque Stelle” (the links lead to Wikipedia, if you’re curious about them). The most interesting thing is noticing how Francesco made a subtle criticism of this (known for being loud and obnoxious) politician by using a word play and a very ironic and cultured reference.

Cinque. San Gennaro, grazie che ci Sei! Sette. Senza di te che numeri giocherei? Otto. La nazione piscia controvento Nove. Ma noi siamo tutti fieri del Risorgimento Five. St. Januarius, thanks for exSIXting! Seven. Without you, which numbers would I bet? Eight. The nation pisses upwind Nine. But we are all proud of our Risorgimento Notes:

- St. Januarius is a very important saint in the Italian culture, especially in the Neapolitan area. The “number betting” thing is related to another popular tradition (mainly in Naples, I believe) consisting in praying the Saint to suggestions about which numbers to play at the Lottery. - Number six of this list is the “sei” at the end of the first line. Once again a word play: the word “six” is written and pronounced exactly like the second person singular of the “be” (essere) verb. - Another saying: “Chi piscia controvento si bagna i pantaloni” (who pisses upwind wets his own pants), which means “never take challenges too big for you”. Related to Italy I believe it may mean that we consider our nation much bigger and more influential than how it actually is and we take challenges way bigger than our real potential. Why is that? - Because we are conditioned by our long, rich history and heroical past. One example above all might have been Ancient Rome or the Reinaissance period, but Francesco wisely chose the Risorgimento: when Italy was reunited under the same flag and monarchy after a series of wars, battles and campaigns against foreign occupation. Why is that? Maybe once again to be very ironical about Italians being actually proud of being united in one country, since there are still a lot of differences and fights between North and South.

Dieci. Chi svolta il mese con il contagocce Undici. A chi la polpa e a chi le bucce Dodici. Per fortuna arriva il 1° maggio Tredici. Abbiamo tante, tante fave ma non c’è il formaggio

Ten. Those who turn the month in dribs and drabs Eleven. Some get the pulp and some the peels Twelve. Luckily, the 1st of May always arrives Thirteen. We’ve got lots and lots of beans but we haven’t got the cheese

Notes:

- “Svoltare il mese con il contagocce” (turning the month with the tear dropper) and “a chi la polpa e a chi le bucce” are there to express how the economy has a lot of flaws in Italy, especially in the relation between riches (who has got the “pulp”, the money and wellness) and poors (the ones having difficulties gaining enough to live by, month after month). - The 1st of May is International Work Day and it’s an holiday. It’s also sometimes used as a “middle point” during the working year. - Fave e pecorino (broad beans and sheep cheese) is a typical dish of Central Italy and Rome in particular. It’s a 1st of May tradition to eat them together, especially because since it’s an holiday and it’s Spring, people used to go have trips and pic-nics in the countryside, where they bought beans and cheese directly from the farmers. Francesco is using the dish as another way of saying we’ve got the side dish (vegetable or beans), the theories and good words, but we haven’t got the main course (the cheese), what matters.

Quattordici. C’è chi magna e non fa una piega Quindici. Ma alla fine cosa ce ne frega? Sedici. Tutti fermi, inizia la partita Diciassette porta sfiga. Il corno in terra, cazzo! E’ già finita

Fourteen. There’s who eats and doesn’t bat an eye Fifteen. But in the end who cares? Sixteen. Everyone stay still, the game is on Seventeen brings bad luck. The lucky horn on the floor, fuck! It’s already over

Notes:

- I am having some difficulties pin-pointing where the first sentence is from. It looks like another saying (”magna” is generally the dialect version of “mangia” and it’s mostly associated with Roman dialect) but I’ve never heard anything similar (it might be because I am from Northern Italy, tho). Anyway “non fare una piega” litterally translates to “don’t make a wrinkle” and it’s used both to say that something makes complete sense or that someone has absolute no reaction to something. So basically who eats (presumably those rich people from the previous verse?) doesn’t care about anything/anyone else and/or no one questions it. - “Cosa ce ne frega” is, imho, the best way to describe the Italian attitude toward problems. It basically means “what do WE care?” with a very personal connotation. How do you solve unsolvable (or very hard) problems? Whatever, who cares anyway... not our business. - Italians love football and that’s common knowledge. To quote Winston Churchill: “Italians lose wars as if they were football matches, and football matches as if they were wars.” So true, Winston. - We are also very supertitious. The cornetto is one of the many objects believed to be lucky charms. I have no idea why you have to put it on the ground, tho? (Neapolitans, explain please!). The number 17 is also believed to be very unlucky (that’s why you need a corno to nullify its powers. But while you complete the rituals, you get distracted and the match ends!)

Diciotto. Viva l’Italia col microfono in mano Diciannove. Canto anch’io che sono un italiano Venti. Un bel bicchiere di rosso e due pennette Ventuno. Due cazzeggi all’osteria e un Tressette (Osteria numero sette! *paraponzi ponzi pò* Il salame piace a fette dammela a me, biondina dammela a me, biondà!)

Eighteen. Long live Italy with a microphone in the hand Nineteen. I sing I’m an Italian as well Twenty. One fine glass of red (wine) and some penne Twentyone. Some messing around at the pub and a round of Tressette (Pub number seven! *paraponzi ponzi pò* Salami is good cut in slices give it to me, pretty blonde girl give it to me, blondie!)

Notes:

- Pretty sure the “Italia con il microfono in mano” is a reference to Sanremo, the most famous singing competition in Italy. It may also mean in general everything that has to do with Italian music, tho. Something along the line of “long live Italian music!”, even though his relationship with the industry at the time wasn’t the best and he had struggles surfacing as an artist. Would he ever imagine, at the time, that he would win Sanremo two years in a row? Bless you, Francesco. - A quote from the famous “L’italiano” song by Toto Cutugno. Just like “Italia 21″ that song too was an attempt to describe Italy and the Italians from within. Another fun fact: Toto is the last Italian singer who won the Eurovision Song Contest. Is this a lot of foreshadowing or not? (Maybe too much!) - A glass of wine and pasta. What’s better? Here’s a quick and easy prescription to happiness, by every Italian ever. - “Cazzeggio” is litterally “a thing done with one’s dick” and means messing around, having fun with friends by basically doing nothing. Tressette is a popular card game in Italy. - What follows is something we call stornello, a type of folk song which basically has a standard melody and ever changing lyrics. They are usually very funny, irreverent and sexual. “La canzone delle osterie” is famous everywhere and Francesco used it to end the song in the most carefree way. - He rhymed “sette” with “fette” but I really don’t know how to explain if “salami is good cut in slices” is a sexual reference. Salami can definitely be associated with something sexual (c’mon...) but I have no clue about the rest. I’m an innocent soul XD - “Give it to me” is DEFINITELY sexual. Especially referred to a pretty blonde girl XD That too is usually part of the standard stornello lyrics ;)

Wow, this took SO LONG. I hope it helped understand this song in depth, even though something is still obscure even to me, after translating and spending a lot of time looking things up on the internet. Have fun find other interpretations, maybe? ;)

#translation #lyrics explanation #francesco gabbani #italia 21

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insecure-hbo-the-recaps · 7 years

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hella shook

Previously: Issa wanted to get a roster going. Molly for some reason didn’t know what it was about Sterling K Brown. Dro’s marriage was open. Lawrence was used as a prop for a racist threesome. He lied about it. Issa and Daniel made amends.

Issa’s in traffic in her fairly new model car I might add. She is on her phone at every red light and doesn’t notice that she’s on E. She’s wearing a black and white cookie coat, look at this:

Ees! Jesus. She stops at exactly 9:45 cents because she’s poor. She finally makes it to her destination, serving up a “special delivery, sir” for Daniel. They awkwardly joke about how silly she’s being and he opens the door with a smug smile. They’re very attuned and cute and happy and whatnot.

Hey! They got honeycomb towers in LA too, apparently. Unless this is a scene where Molly is skyping with Quintin in Chicago, which the immediate shot of an L lets me know it is. See?

God I fucking love my city. That’s the green line by the way. (If you’re not familiar with Chicago, this is what I mean by “honeycomb towers”:)

They’re downtown near State and Kinzie, where I once went out with a professor from Boston who I thought looked like Mark Zuckerberg. (Public House is the bar there.) We watched the world series where the red sox won that year and it had been such a fun date, I was really disappointed when I never heard from him again. Oh well - in hindsight whatever I wore is probably not something I would wear now.

Molly is actually in Chicago this time, and Quintin is helping her keep the associates straight. He’s wearing a tan vest and Malcolm X glasses and is it this show or somewhere else where they make jokes about a preacher body? Because good grief if I don’t think of an old timey Civil Rights Movement era preacher every time I see him, lol. Molly points out there’s a lot of black people at this office, and Quintin says he doesn’t understand how she could work in the LA office; it reminds him of why he went to Howard.

Quintin asks whether Molly has said anything about her pay inequality but Molly hasn’t. He asks why she isn’t considering leaving, because their firm is not the only fish in the sea. Obviously this has never occurred to Molly. It’s like she gets blinders on about certain things she thinks are acceptable or that she should want or be doing, and is incapable of considering any options outside of that. Apparently Molly is stuck in a sunken cost fallacy, which means you end up sticking out a situation that has long since expired just because you’ve already invested so much time into it already. Quintin encouages her to consider her options. Oh, there’s the “pastor’s body” joke. He really does look like a pastor.

Back in LA, Issa is getting dressed while Daniel is still in bed watching Due North. He asks whether she has plans the next night, but Issa demurs, unsure of his intentions. Daniel’s body is insane.

Elsewhere, Lawrence is on a run with his coworkers, the blonde and Arpana. He won’t be at work the next day because he has jury duty. Another coworker shows up and we get the exposition that they are training for a marathon. I know people hang out with their coworkers like this but I am antisocial and weird so I never do and never have, which sucks. This is how most people make friends as adults.

Molly is back home now. At her apartment, she and Issa are preparing floral arrangements for Molly’s parents’ vow renewal. Issa can’t make it because she has a “work retreat.” Daniel texts, and off the look on Issa’s face, Molly inquires about it. Issa tries to play it off, but Molly knows this is not nothing. “Daniel and I have history, but we always bounce back.” Molly is skeptical that either of them can do this without catching feelings, but Issa insists none of that is on her agenda right now: she has Daniel, “Neighbor Bae,” and a Latino man she is going out with that night.

Meanwhile, at jury duty, Lawrence gets a text from Derek inviting him to his birthday party. Lawrence hesitates, assuming Issa will be there, but agrees to go. Bored, he scrolls through his facebook and happens across a photo from the night of the Kiss and Grind party; apparently Kelli’s pic accidentallycaught Issa smiling and chatting with Daniel in the background.

Now that is a stroke of bad luck. Lawrence is so distracted by this news he barely hears them call him for briefing.

She follows Frieda to the breakroom, asking to talk. Frieda tensely explains that she isn’t comfortable with what’s happening at the school, but Issa still doesn’t see a problem. This was around the time I started to think Issa was in the wrong the first time I saw this season… not because Issa is siding with bigotry but because she doesn’t know better than to talk frankly about racism with whites in the workplace. That fact that Issa was so clueless as to be straightforward with a Clueless White Person on the thing that they fear most - an issue concerning race where they may be even indirectly accused of being a GASP racist - just sort of underlined for me that she was compounding a wrong instead of fixing it. “It must be nice to have the privilege to choose to be upset over this,” Issa says, and the fact that she doesn’t back down lets Frieda get the moral high ground.

Inglewood. Molly is at her parents’ place unloading flowers for the renewal. Dro is her childhood next door neighbor and he is there to a.) celebrate Molly’s parent’s marriage and b.) smooth things over about basically asking her to take part in his open marriage. He asks if she never thought of him like that; “I mean yeah maybe for a minute when you had your colored contacts on,” Molly says. Light skints aren’t still in style anymore are they? Exoticals for men is always kind of a weird area, I think.

Molly says she’s thought about it, but the marriage thing “is just not how” she sees her life. Dro is cool with that and they agree to stay friends, ribbing each other like only childhood friends can do.

Jury Duty. There’s black woman who answers a question about “bias against police” by standing up to reveal her Black Lives Matter t-shirt that I’m unclear whether or not she meant it or just wanted to get out of jury duty. “Not buying it,” the judge says, but the juror is dismissed. Lawrence is scrolling through Daniel’s gram while all this happens.

Back at Molly’s, her mom is saying something about the dollar store champagne flutes she bought, and what is with moms and dollar stores? My momma loves her some dollar store home goods. They lightly push Molly, as you do your children, about when she’s getting married. Mom wants to know what’s the hold up but Dad knows Molly isn’t going to settle. Apparently Molly has a brother, or two brothers, or a gay brother, I’m unclear. I think one of them is famous for something or other though.

Date night. Issa shows up at a low lit ambient bar looking for Mexican bae. “Come through, Tinder,” she says when she spots him. She’s wearing a tight blue dress and a TWA. Mexican bae seems like he’s in his late 30s. Issa’s inner monologue horndogs about horchata. Bruh, rumchata is delicious. I haven’t managed to buy it myself yet because that shit costs like 20$ but it tastes just like Christmas. And like, really good bread pudding. I should try to buy it at least for the holidays. Anyway, Issa is fantasizing about boning him right on the bar.

We know he’s a good guy because he says isn’t a martini guy and they joke about comics. I can’t with how comic book lore has taken over American entertainment. I liked the Tobey Maguire Spider Mans but now there’s like 18 in-universe comic book shows on TV and like four comic book movies at any given time… I honestly thought the comic book thing would have faded a long time ago by now and we’d be back to some other mythical fan lore like angels and ghosts again. (Zombie lore is still popular, and I think vampire lore is still hanging ten, so we need to go to demons or the undead or something.) They eventually move to another table, signifying that the date has lasted a few hours. The waiter brings by the check and Issa does the fake purse grab. You know, I used to adamantly refuse to do that (and the one time I was *asked* to split was by a nerdy black dude I met in a hipster dive who approached me by asking if I was latina - I must emphasize that I do not look latina whatsoever), like even pretend like I was going to pay. Now, I just offer to split. I usually never have to still, which is good, but also, I’m not poor anymore either so. My thing now is taking care to note that the waitress puts the check on the guy’s side instead of in the middle - that’s when I know the universe wants me to feel good about myself.

Anyway, they have had a good night and Issa is clearly thinking about asking him back to her place. But, we know he’s a Good Guy because he says he can’t, “but this is an excuse for us to do this again!”

Saturday morning work retreat. There’s a generic snack bar set up. Issa is texting with Daniel, after canceling on him because of her date the previous night. Anyway the work team does a boring team building exercise so that the Clueless White People can make Clueless White People assumptions about the kind of trouble kids might be having at home. Issa and Frieda take a few passive aggressive jabs at each other and when it’s time to pair up Frieda quickly finds someone else, leaving Issa stuck with Sujata Day. I don’t know if she’s supposed to be Indian in this one.

Vow Renewal. Apparently Molly decided to invite Sterling K Brown who is wearing a crazy colorful suit like only a person whose body has been altered to look good in Hollywood could do:

Molly’s wig actually does look good, don’t mind the screenshot. Dro and his parents show up (his dad is latino, his mom is ambiguous brown). Dro hangs around as his parents walk off and Sterling K Brown possessively wraps an arm around Molly, who introduces them. Just so you know that this is going on:

Do y'all take notice of stuff like this or no? Men, even men who are supposedly friends with each other, I find pull rank like this in front of women all the time. I was seeing a guy and one night we were hanging out with his roommate. They went outside to smoke and I tagged along. My dude and I were sharing his cigarette (I don’t smoke but I find this sort of thing cute) and the other guy offered me his. My dude didn’t think anything of it, but it’s little shit like that that always feels like to me men are playing ego games with each other and/or always prepared to slide in the DMs of someone else’s girl. (I also tend to think everyone is hitting on me, so that bias tends to reinterpret things.) But, it’s the subtlety. And I think if more people paid attention they’d notice things like this more often. At any rate, Sterling K Brown is clearly glad to be there with Molly and possibly senses that Dro is a threat. They all play polite and it’s only mildly awkward.

At a bar across town, Lawrence is having drinks with Derek and grilling him for information about Issa and Daniel. Ha. That’s way more straightforward than he usually is when he talks to Chad. Derek says that after Tasha, he and Tiffany had to stop discussing them because they always took sides. Lawrence is preoccupied and insecure about Issa seeing Daniel now… maybe she had been seeing him the entire time? Derek says Issa is too dorky to be sneaky. “That’s exactly why you wouldn’t expect it,” Lawrence says. He clearly is reiminaging their entire relationship and second guessing what he thought it was.

“Honestly… this ain’t all on Issa,” Derek says. “You spent two years unemployed, not doing shit, letting your woman take care of you. Kinda left the door open.” Lawrence does that thing of rotating his jaw and accepts this silently. He tries to say it doesn’t justify cheating, but Derek says he understands why she would be attracted to someone who could make things happen.

Vow renewal. Molly’s brother or whatever asks “is that you?” and HA! Haven’t heard that in ages. “So it’s a pity date?” he asks. Molly lists off his positive qualities and how she wants to give it a shot. Her brother says just because she dates a good guy that doesn’t translate into a relationship. Her brother (no, her brother’s best friend) apparently is married to a stripper that trapped him. He tells Molly if she isn’t feeling him she shouldn’t date him. And because Molly has no understanding of what she wants out of a relationship or from men generally, this is the point where she no longer understands if she should be on a date with Sterling K Brown. He doesn’t deserve this.

Bathroom. Issa calls her brother to check whether or not she might be in the wrong with the situation with Frieda. Check out this gloriously dressed fashion forward ass nigga:

Issa’s brother doesn’t tell her what she wants to hear so she hangs up in his face. To make herself feel better, she responds to a random sext from Neighbor Bae, sending back a nude before she gets busted by Mrs. Frizzle. Issa, at least go into the stall.

Molly is partially hosting this party, so she goes to greet a couple of great aunts. As nosy older black women, they immediately start inquiring about the delicious slice of man she chose to parade around this family event. Which… if you’re not sure if you want to date a guy, don’t fucking bring him to a parent-centered family event maybe. The aunts start talking about how amazing it is that Molly’s parent’s marriage lasted 35 years “after what he put my sister through.” This is news to Molly.

Issa is texting at a red light when she misses it turn green. A “Potential Bae” sends her a dick pic and she rear ends the car in front of her. This is where I stopped being on Issa’s team. No woman, no self possessed black woman, has any business being so distracted by dick she would open herself up to litigation, the loss of transportation, and unspecified auto repair. Like, I can no longer abide this level of thirst. This was when Issa went too far. Also, I spared you a screenshot of the dick pic.

Back that the renewal, Molly is grilling her brother about the state of her parents’ marriage. It turns out that Dad cheated on Mom and “they worked through it.” Molly seems almost more offended that her mom put up with it than her dad cheated at all. And this is the part where Yvonne Orji had to do an emotional scene. And it was so bad it threatened to diminish my enjoyment of the rest of the series so what you need to know is: 1. the acting here is really really bad, so bad I don’t know how they didn’t insist on more takes and/or cut away often enough so that you didn’t notice how bad it was and b. Molly can’t deal with the reality that there is no such thing as a fairy tale relationship. Not all relationships have cheating but a fuckton of them do, so everyone needs to just chill. Also, remind me at a later date to tell you about how I recently found out a guy I had been seeing was married and his wife had their first kid earlier this year. It was fucking horrid. (This is not an endorsement from the “All Men Cheat” school of logic as I, personally, have never been cheated on in a relationship.)

Sterling K Brown tries to console Molly but she stomps away, leaving Dro to chase after her. Bitch move. Molly’s being an asshole all around. Bitch, how are you whining about relationships when you left your fucking date at a party at your parents’ house to leave with another dude? Molly is way out of line here, and her behavior deserves no sympathy at all.

Issa calls Daniel to let him know she can’t make it tonight because she got into a car accident. He offers to pick her up. She tries to beg off but he insists, and his caring and eagerness to help is good to see. One of the worst things about being an introverted holier than thou asshole is that whenever I need help, it always hits me really hard that I really have no one to call.

Meanwhile, this is Lawrence’s Saturday night:

GOD those are the worst, lol. He sits there ruminating for awhile and finally defriends. “I don’t wanna see this shit,” Lawrence thinks.

Dro is driving Molly home. So… she just gone leave her car (and her date) in the interests of her thirst or what? Because I’m not buying that she’s so distraught she just needed to get home despite the common decency of leaving on no notice like that. You wanted to provoke Dro’s dick and we all know it. No smoothing over on this ridiculous behavior, Molly. She continues being all “distraught,” and while I have to offer points for the damsel and distress routine in principle, I believe in polite society more, so be thirsty on your own time, not when it inconveniences or hurts someone else. Molly laments how she spends all her time trying to find someone like her dad only to find out their marriage is bullshit. I suppose if I had grown up in a married two parent household it would come as news to me, too, that parents can be just as ain’t shit as anyone else. Still. I find this childish. Dro lends a sympathetic ear and Molly eats it up.

Daniel shows up to pick up Issa and gives her a hug in reassurance since she’s just been in a car accident. Instead of abiding this silently where even if she doesn’t want it she can use it to her advantage at a later date, Issa decides to be clear that Daniel knows they are not dating only each other and are both seeing other people. Issa isn’t sure if she was as up front about that as she should have been the last time they slept together. Daniel reacts disappointedly in a way that telegraphs he did not know that was what they were doing. On the other hand, I feel like men pull this shit a lot and maybe it was good for him to know he isn’t the only fish in her pond. Idk. On this issue I have erred toward casual probably more often than I should have, to regretful effects, so for me the jury is out on that.

Dro walks Molly to her door and her building is so lovely. Oh, it turns out Dro drove Molly’s car home. That kinda makes it even more shitty that she left Sterling K Brown? When Dro goes to leave, because we must be overtly aware of the stupid and ridiculous choices they make, she pulls him back and kisses him. Then we cut to them boning a second later. Excellent sex scene. Extremely poor choice.

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theliterateape · 4 years

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The Primary Reason I Didn’t Vote in the Illinois Primary

By David Himmel

“The flag should never be displayed with the union down, except as a signal of dire distress in instances of extreme danger to life or property.” —U.S Code 176

I didn’t see the usual “I VOTED” stickers from my darling and my annoying social media friends on Super Tuesday III—as MSNBC was calling it in further effort to make the news feel like a Rocky film. That is due in part because I didn’t spend much time on social media yesterday. I couldn’t afford that time. I was busy with other stuff. But it also could be because a lot of those social media friends didn’t vote, and if they did, things are so goddamn dour now that bragging about running an errand wasn’t worth the energy it takes to frame, filter, and post a pic proving your citizenship.

I also didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary on Super Tuesday III—again, MSNBC’s title for a voting day because MSNBC is run by dorks who get hard and wet over the most mundane but important aspects of American life.

Yep. I’m that guy. I’m that guy who didn’t vote in the most important primary of our lives. Right? That’s what this is, right? Eh. I’m also that guy who is married to a woman who didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary on Super Tuesday III.

Allow me to digress… Okay, look, I realize that MSNBC didn’t create the Super Tuesday III moniker, but that was the channel my wife had on most of the day as we were holed up in our apartment trying to dodge COVID-19. And I dislike MSNBC almost as much as I dislike FOX News, so I’m easily coerced by my own ego—maybe my id, I don’t know—to take a barely clever shit on its dumb, smug face whenever I can.

Now, back to the important thoughts… I’m that guy who didn’t vote. And I’m that guy whose wife didn’t vote. And I fully expect friends of ours, friends like Rory Zacher to comment on this story or its Facebook post, or to text me and say something to the effect of: “I hope Trump comes into your home, grabs your two-year-old-son by the pussy and builds a wall around your toilet. That’s what you get for not voting.” And that’s fine. Because my son doesn’t have a pussy. Just ask him. He will proudly tell you he has a penis and that “Mommy penis… bye-bye.” And that reminds me… I need to teach my son that a penis is not something that all people have then goes “bye-bye.” That’s sexism. And it only applies, respectfully, to rich trannies.

I’m a politico. I even write and host podcasts for POLITICO. But I didn’t vote. Why? Well, duh…

The primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary yesterday—Rachel Maddow’s third best orgasm of 2020—is simple: It wasn’t important.

My vote would not have mattered. Nope. I don’t want to hear it. It wouldn’t have mattered. I would have chosen a Democratic Ballot. Between the job, trying to keep Literate Ape functioning, missing Don Hall like the deserts miss the rain, being an engaged dad and attentive husband, and thinking through two film projects, one novel, and a book of poetry, I did not have the bandwidth to consider those down-ballot elections. I like to think of myself as non-partisan. I would easily vote republican if I thought a republican candidate could do the job right. But if I had voted today, I would have asked for a Democratic ballot, which means I would have ben voting for the best of the most useless so-called liberal. Maybe there were general contests to vote for, I don’t know. Because I mostly don’t care. And I’ll come back to that in a moment. As it relates to voting for the president, well… I’d prefer Bernie. But, if Old Joe Dementia gets the nomination, that’s fine. I know Bernie won’t get done all he wants to get done because he’ll never have the support of Congress required to do it. See, the thing that most people forget is that the president is designed to be the Face, not the Ruler. It’s Congress that makes the difference. And come the general election, I’ll likely vote Democrat all the way down. Except for judges. But that’s a complicated story for another time.

The primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary yesterday—Rachel Maddow’s third best orgasm of 2020—is simple: It wasn’t important.

So even I had voted, it wouldn’t have mattered. Some excited wank aligned with the Democratic Party would be elected over an equally excited wank aligned with the Democratic Party. And then it’ll be a fight to the finish against a republican cocknozzle who wants to be as (un)cool as Devin Nunes. And my vote for Bernie, and my wife’s vote for Bernie, would not have helped keeping him from getting trounced the same way the Houston Astros trounced the rules of baseball. Thing is, if I had voted, I’d feel far more disappointed than I am right now. And you should know, dear reader, that my secondary goal in life is to master disappointment. The first goal is to convince myself, my wife, and every girlfriend I’ve ever had that I was worth the lay.

Yeah, yeah, Zacher, I know, I could have early voted. And I thought about that. “Maybe we should do that,” I said to my wife, Katie. Or maybe she said it to me. But we didn’t. Why? I dunno. Because this primary didn’t matter much in our household, I suppose. And that’s selfish, I know. But we’re white and not broke, and we own a boat, and we have so many friends who can afford in vitro and all that shit—like multiple times, all of them—so what the fuck do you expect from us?

So, the primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary is because it wasn’t important. And not just because I don’t care about the flawed system or the sub-basement candidates. But because when I considered the risk of casting a vote for one fuckhead over another at risk of contracting COVID-19, I chose to stay home and have Zoom meetings with co-workers.

But here’s the other thing—that goddamn coronavirus. Yep. I’m not afraid, but I’m not an idiot. I’ve been a healthcare journalist to varying degrees for ten years. I was the editor in chief of Chicago Health magazine for six years. I’m a senior healthcare reporter for POLITICO. I’m not bragging (should I?), I’m just setting the stage to tell you that I’m not an everyday idiot. I’m a special kind of idiot! I recognize this shit is real. It was real the moment it left Wuhan. And really, it was real the moment it left the bat and made its way into the first human, or however the fuck this goddamn thing began.

Katie was sick on Sunday. A slight fever, which dropped quickly, was not the great concern. The great concern was her hydration because she was—how can I put this politely—shitting out of her mouth and pissing out of her ass for a good twenty-four hours. Three days later, she’s still struggling to find her normal. And now our boy has a fever. Tuesday afternoon, he broke through 100ºF with the gusto we all wanted Hillary to break through that glass ceiling. (Alas, another white male out did a woman. Yeah, I’m as perturbed by it as you are, brah/sista.)

Do they have COVID-19? Probably not. But were/are they ill? Yep. And in a time when we know less than almost fuck all about this pandemic, should someone exposed to their snot, breath, and farts venture out to a voting booth, take hold of a communal pen, and breathe on every available surface? Nah. Probably not.

As of this writing, I feel great. My bowel movements are as liquid as they usually are and my ability to breathe is as normal as it usually is, which is to say, I can smell all the farts in my house. The lingering ones… the ones living in the couch cushions, the ones that aren’t mine or Katie’s or Harry’s, but those of some of our dearest friends. You know who you are, couch farters.

My office shut down last week after the news that someone in one of the largest downtown Chicago office complexes was tested positive for COVID-19. The agency I work for has taken some drastic measures to ensure its survival as has almost every single organization in the United States with employees and clients to consider. This shit is ugly. And with each passing day, it look smore and more like a more devastating. I mean, they’ve stopped the money. No NBA. No NCAA. No goddam casinos! When America shuts down it’s money, you know shit is real. This is stranger and more dire and more uncertain than 9/11. And 9/11 was fucking fucked up. You remember, right?

So I didn’t vote. I’m on a minor quarantine. Since I’m the only person in our household—other than the dog—without any flu-like or ass dynamite symptoms, I’m the one who makes the Walgreens runs and walks that mooch of a dog (whom I love). And as In pass other dog walkers, or the rare jogger or Walgreens runner, we take extra steps aside to avoid each other—three feet at least! And we give a knowing nod to say, “Don’t vote, dude. Those pens are not getting whipped down. I know they say they are, but come on. We all know that’s not true. The wipedowns are dependent on poorly paid democratic (lowercase D, morons, calm down) do-gooders who would rather be at home than have you breathing and coughing on them.”

The outcome of the 2020 election, presidential and every more important down-ballot ticket will not be determined by my staying at home. And if it does, it doesn’t matter. Because even if Old Joe Dementia gets the nomination, even if Trump is reelected, even if Kim Fox marries Jussie Smollet’s straight alter-ego, my vote yesterday—Super Tuesday III when Brian Williams and Rachel Maddow scissor to the tune of Europe’s “The Final Countdown” during Morning Joe, nothing is more important than the health of my family, myself, and my neighborhood. Especially when stacked against our decaying democracy, or whatever the fuck we call this shitshow now.

#Election 2020 #Illinois Primary #Illinois Politics #Elections #MSNBC #MSNBC Sucks #Rachel Maddow #Brian Williams #Super Tuesday #elections

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anadventurousgirl · 5 years

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‘One minute to go’ the starter announces. Breathe. Just breathe. ‘Thirty seconds’. I stare down the churning river. Focus. ’10 seconds’. Our paddles raise and poise. They must not touch the water until…’Go!’ Adrenaline surges, hearts pump, muscles strain. Six people, one raft – we swore we came here just for fun but now the competition is on!

How did I end up raft racing in Romania?

If you’d told me a year ago this is where I would be I would have laughed. Since starting work at British Canoeing in 2015 I had done a fair bit of paddling but white water always seemed well beyond my reach. There was always a desire though. I had asked a colleague previously ‘how would I get on the white water course?’ ‘We could find you a way if you like’ he replied.

In the end I found my own way there. With the help of some pretty awesome people. ‘You should try rafting’, another colleague told me. ‘There are starter sessions on a Wednesday night. It’s great fun.’ And so, the next Wednesday I found myself getting slammed in the face with freezing water for the first time…and really quite liking it. Fast forward six months and I’m on the start line of my first race in Romania. A new sport and a new country all in one!

What is white water raft racing?

Lots of us have had a fun time with our mates on the commercial rafting experiences you can purchase in the UK and abroad. I had a great afternoon a few years ago with my best friend and have a lot of pictures to prove it! But raft racing is a little different. Racing in teams of four or six, everyone in the boat has a role to play in ensuring that obstacles are avoided, slalom gates are negotiated, speed and timing is maintained and that sticky situations are got out of without anyone taking a swim!

Over the course of a weekend teams take part in four races; sprint, slalom, head to head and downriver. Each race holds a certain number of points, which add up to your overall score:

Sprint – exactly what it says; get down a section of river as fast as you can.

Slalom – just as in canoeing; negotiate a number of sets of upward and downward slalom poles.

Head to head – (the really exciting one!) set off at the same time as another team and it’s the first to the finish…but…there are obstacles to negotiate along the way.

Downriver – endurance. A longer course which tests you when you’re tired.

That’s the boring explanation stuff out of the way…

I’ve never raced like this before. I’m used to start line nerves at the beginning of a running race, but this is different. There’s an audience, a crowd. Not only the other teams but locals from the town have turned out in force too. Clutching cardboard cut out paddles they ask us to pose for photos and sign autographs. The music is pumping and the atmosphere fantastic.

My teammates; Beth, Steph*, Kellie, Debs and SJ have a mix of experience. We are positioned in the boat depending on our strengths. My strength is power: vocal and body – I am middle right. Kellie, positioned in front of me, looks sick with nerves. We get into a routine before each race – she punches me in my buoyancy aid, I punch her in hers. We have to do it…for luck.

We’ve had some practice runs on the river the day before racing. Learning where the bigger rocks are. Where there are hidden obstacles. The best line to take. What we will do if it all goes wrong. We are ready.

*This is the same crazy Steph I attempted to run across Iceland with.

We race!

The sprint race is up first. And it goes well. That’s all I can tell you – I don’t remember much more. It felt smooth, we were happy and my legs were shaking at the end! We wait, watching for movement from the officials tent. Someone emerges and pins paper to board; we rush to look. We won sprint! Wow, just wow. I am amazed. But was this just a fluke? Did we get lucky.

We still have a long day ahead. Head to Head is up next and then slalom. Downriver is tomorrow. The day is roasting hot and there is little relief form the sun. As we watch others race we struggle to find shade. Our kit is hot and heavy and I drink constantly to stay hydrated.

The head to head is truly exhilarating. ‘Don’t worry about where the other boat is’ I scream, ‘let’s just focus on what we’re doing.’ I don’t really need to tell my teammates this. They’re so cool and awesome. We win our first race and just…just…just win our second too. I am pumped!

Here is a video of that second race…

Could we win this?

Coming to Romania we had declared that we were here for the raft racing experience. Winning wasn’t discussed. But now…now we’re sitting in first place. However, slalom and downriver hold more points. It could all change so quickly.

And it does. We do well at slalom. Our first run is the fast but another team are faster on their second run. This puts us second in slalom and therefore drops us into silver medal position overnight.

For now though, it’s time to for the race party. I briefly question the wisdom of multiple carafes of very reasonably priced wine the night before our final race. But my doubts are quickly forgotten as we head to the dance floor.

lost to partying. Strong coffee is chucked down throats as we head to the river for our deciding race.

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Downriver

Boats are set off in groups for this race. We’re in a group with the Bulgarian ladies, who are in pole position and a few of the men’s teams. We have seven kilometers of rocky, white water river to negotiate, culminating in a final drop named ‘the washing machine’. If you go into that bit wrong – well the name says it all!

We start strongly but yesterday has fatigued us. The Bulgarian ladies are stronger

and beat us to the finish line. Most importantly for us though – we take the right line on the washing machine and all finish in the boat!

Are we silver raft racing medalists?

Transported back to our hotel, we now have to wait for the other teams to race. We can’t win gold now but will we hold on to silver? The wait seems to go on forever but finally race times are posted. Some swift mental maths, we check and recheck…but it finally sinks in…we’ve done it! My first raft racing competition and we are coming away with silver medals. I am elated!

To add to the joy our men’s team have scooped bronze in their category, against some tough competition.

I decide the best way to celebrate is to drag Steph up a big nearby hill. It had been starting at me for three days and just wanted to be climbed before we left. There was swearing from Steph.

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A little extra drama

We were now parting from SJ and the men’s team, while five of us went on to do a few days of touristing in Brasov and Bucharest. We grab a life to Brasov, along winding mountain roads. The scenery is stunning; snow capped mountains, rural villages and storks nesting on every other telegraph post. Spirits are high adn we can’t wait to celebrate in Brasov.

We’re staying in the Evil Clown Hostel; yep, it was as odd as it sounds but perfectly nice. I’m feeling sick. Really sick. Steph helpfully suggests I go for a ‘tactical chunder’ in the hope I will then feel better. Fair enough. I head to the toilets. Throw up. Pass out. Wake up wedged down the side of the toilet with, what appears to be a broken nose. Whoops.

Kellie’s face as I stagger back into the room says it all. Beth makes swift phone calls. One of the Romanian raft racing team is quickly on his way to transport me to hospital. Steph is coming with me too but first takes some pics to send to the rest of the group. Who doesn’t love a good injury picture?

The hospital and beyond

It’s March 31st 2019. We were due to leave the EU two days ago but we didn’t. I’ll never know if this would have made a difference to my treatment but on production of my EHIC card and holiday insurance I was treated promptly and for free.

I was super impressed with the Romanian hospital. In around 2.5 hours I was given an ECG, CAT scan, two bags of IV fluids, some anti sickness medication and discharged. I also slept…a lot…even in the CAT scanner. It seems I was dehydrated and had heat stroke. There was no evidence that the party had anything to do with my condition; so I’m sticking with heat stroke!

The Dr. kindly told me I had raised enzyme levels which indicated I had worked physically hard; something I proudly told my teammates. She also mentioned I was bradycardic and I quote ‘something often seen in athletes’. Boom!!!

I was soon back at the hostel, clutching a CD of my CAT scan and feeling extremely grateful to the wonderful Mihai for being my Romanian savior.

My nose had miraculously popped back into place and was only making the gentlest of crunching sounds. My nausea had also receded. So, it was time to get on with the touristing!

Fancy a go at raft racing?

I would never have dreamed I’d be raft racing down a river in Romania. If I can do it you can too! It’s a fantastic and fun team sport and a good work out. I paddle with Notts Raft Racing and if you’re in the Midlands you can too! Check out their Facebook page for how to get started.

If you’re in a different part of the country get in touch with British Rafting on their Facebook page to discover where you can get started. Or, if you’d like to find out more about competition and where you can watch it pop to the International Rafting Federation website here.

I can’t wait to see you on the water!

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White Water Raft Racing In Romania 'One minute to go' the starter announces. Breathe. Just breathe. 'Thirty seconds'. I stare down the churning river.

#adventure #brasov #bucharest #raft racing #rafting #Romania #travel

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ozsaill · 5 years

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Tanked: mixology woes aboard

The dull thud of your heart sinking at that horrifying moment when you realize what you just did and consequences will follow: we all dread it. It happens anyway. Cruising comes with higher highs, and lower lows… pouring the wrong stuff in your diesel tank is one of those lower points.

In mid-2012, Totem was being prepped to move after five months mostly at a dock and a year and a half in Australia. This was the first step to depart Australia: shifting from dockside liveaboard to river mooring before sailing north to Papua New Guinea and beyond. Wrapping up school (the kids’ first and only formal stretch of four-walls education as cruisers), untangling the threads that weave a life integrated to shoreside people and places, packing up for multiple months off the grid and away from stores… we were a little busy, a little distracted.

One of our last steps before kicking off the dock: top of the water tanks. From below deck I listened to liquid gurgling in from the deck fill, and then came the unfortunate cry: “ah, shit.” Jamie doesn’t swear lightly. It hit me even before he filled in the detail, as sound locations processed: the water hose had been in Totem’s diesel tank fill.

Whoops. We own it now!

Water in the diesel tank

I dashed up to the cockpit and we looked at each other, mouths agape. Jamie got that faraway look in his eyes, then headed up to tell the marina manager we’d be late departing…regrets to the boat they had waiting for our berth.

The entire contents of our diesel tank were decanted and filtered, and like bad wine on a tropical island, salvageable.

Jamie started by turning off the valve between the diesel tank and primary fuel filter and lining up jerry cans to decant. Our magical dock neighbors, a French/South African family on the Dean 44 Merlin, offered time and support to get it done. Petroleum and water don’t mix, but kids play always!

Greg helps his daughter, Clea, and Siobhan swing from the rigging aboard Merlin – Brisbane, 2012.

Greg brought over a diesel transfer pump they kept on Merlin which made the job far easier. Contaminated fuel was removed to jerry cans. At first we hoped that putting fuel through a funnel filter would remove the water – NOPE! Only trace amounts of water came out.

Borrowing Merlin’s transfer pump to return diesel to Totem’s primary tank

Enter our old friend, Gravity. Allowing the water to settle to the bottom (it’s heavier) of a jerry can, diesel on the top could be pumped into a clean jerry can. Rinse, repeat with a series of jerry cans until the entire contents were filtered. Ten gallons of water were ultimately removed.

Gas in the diesel tank

Jump ahead to yesterday around tea time. This was a call from Serendipity, but not about serendipity. Anchored off Antigua with guests arriving soon and plans to head for Barbuda, it was time to top up the diesel tank. With their permission, sharing the event in Kevin’s words as related in the closed Facebook group for coaching clients, Totem Raft-Up (self-named – the TRU Crew!).

TRU Crew comes through again! This post is at my pride’s expense, but I’m going to eat the proverbial crow and share. It’s long but there are some lessons here and recommended gear that saved my ass today and could save yours.

They say bad decisions happen when you are forced into a movement due to timelines like company coming. Looking back, I think it played a part in my stupidity today. We have guests arriving to Antigua tomorrow, and we want to take them up to Barbuda Wednesday. I spent some time the last few days getting the boat ready, and one last chore was to fuel up with diesel. We were happy in an anchorage, it was Callum’s birthday (our 8 year old), and Stephanie was busy making a cake and cleaning up for arriving guests. I had a few hours to kill so I decided instead of moving the boat to the marina I’d just bring 30 gal worth of diesel cans in and fill them, then transfer to that boat. It would save us some time in the morning from having to motor into the harbor to fuel up. No problems…

TRU crew in Barbuda: Steph & Kevin from Serendipity (Live the Voyage) at center, Dave & Marcie from Kairos5 at right.

Well, as this plan was finalized Steph had a good idea to bring extra gasoline to Barbuda. We carry 15 gallons on the rail, but there is no fuel in Barbuda, and with guests from home visiting for week, we plan to spend a lot of time in the dinghy (snorkeling, tubing, etc). So I grabbed an extra yellow jerry can, wrote “GAS” on it, and proceeded to shore….I’m sure you know where this is going.

When I got back I unloaded the fuel, and started to fuel pretty quickly. I was distracted as it was Cal’s bday and wanted to get going. I used a shaker siphon to fuel, which is handy on a boat. I started the siphon and quickly put 5 gallons of fuel into the boat. I started my second can, and then went to clean up the first can and when I grabbed it I saw “GAS” written on the back side of it. Holy shit, 5 gallons of gasoline into my diesel tank. I seriously looked like Jim Carey on Liar Liar kicking my own ass!

Lesson – if you use a yellow can to fill gasoline, mark the shit out of it!

Here is how TRU saved my ass. Going back to the fall, I lost my engine due to debris that clogged the fuel line. I got it running, but after had my fuel polished. Jamie was awesome help with this, and even though I didn’t use his recommended “emergency” polisher, I took his advice and ordered some parts that you may not think to have on board. It takes two pieces of gear to polish your fuel in a pinch. First, a 12 volt transfer pump, and second, a funnel with a filter.

You could pull the fuel out of the tank and back in through the filter, removing debris. Well, I didn’t use the funnel today but damn did that fuel pump earn it’s keep.

I opened the tank through one of the access holes and removed 23 gallons of contaminated fuel. I then used this handy pump to get the rest. I was able to empty all but maybe a couple ounces out of the tank. I’m going to put a minimum of 40 gallons in the tank before I start the engine. That’s 5,120 ounces. Even if there is a quart of contaminated fuel, that’s only .6% and only a fraction of that is gasoline. I think I’ll be okay, but damn, what a dumb move!

I called Jamie during all of this and he talked me off the ledge. Thanks! So don’t be me and don’t let distractions mess you up!

Serendipity’s crew recovered quickly. It helps to know you’re far from the first, and other TRU chimed in with their (mis)adventures in fueling. I didn’t even get to bringing up the story about our own cruising mentors and the time they added diesel to the water tank… a step further in the levels of cruiser hell. Our highs are higher, but our lows can be lower!

Meanwhile, this is Serendipity’s recent view. The squall passed; it wasn’t such a bad day after all.

TRU Crew anchored off Barbuda: thanks to Stephanie at Live the Voyage for this pic!

Gear to consider

A few bits that clearly can be really useful… and for more than just these scenarios, where the wrong liquid ends up in a diesel tank.

Twelve-volt transfer pump.

This diesel transfer kit from Orion Motor Tech would serve both Totem and Serendipity’s uses. We purchased ours (similar to this model) just a few weeks after the water-into-diesel debacle in Australia from a cruiser unloading gear prior to selling their boat.

Other everyday cruising uses: our 12v transfer pump (see top two pics of Jamie using it) is currently loaned to another boat in the anchorage that needed to polish their fuel to try and remove a diesel bug (a microbial contamination gunking up their fuel, common enough a problem). It’s bailed us out from similar situations when we had a persistent diesel bug in Southeast Asia, and most recently helped polish dirty fuel we boarded at an outer island in the Bahamas.

Fuel filter.

Mr Funnel filters come in a range of sizes depending on how much fuel you’re running through them. We keep a small one for gas going into the dinghy and generator. And a large one for diesel. We also have a Baja filter, which haven’t been made for over a decade. Note that funnel filters remove debris and trace amounts of water (but not more).

Fuel is almost always filtered before it goes in our tanks. The only time we don’t filter is at a high-volume dock or place with a solid reputation. If there’s concern about fuel quality, we put some in a glass jar and wait a few minutes to see if there’s separation.

Siphon hose.

Self-priming hoses mean you don’t get your mouth involved in the siphoning process (yuck!). There are no fuel docks in most of the miles we’ve cruised; siphoning from jerry cans is a fact of life, and it’s good to be prepared.

Sponsorship/advertising note: we have zero association with these brands listed above. These recommendations do use Amazon’s affiliate program, so if you click through a product link and purchase something (anything) on Amazon, that slides some coin in our cruising kitty (thanks!). I point it out since a couple of people have asked if we had sponsorship from any of products mentioned in our new tools on Totem article recently. Nope! No affiliation with them at all, just like these; we’re just sharing some kit that’s working well on board. Do we have sponsors? Yes, we do. It’s a very few, deliberately kept to the select products/services that we love can be genuinely enthusiastic about, and in limited number to avoid ever being taken as shills. For more information, see our Values Statement.

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almostsuperdream · 7 years

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Biggest Takeaways from Podcast Movement 2017

For the fourth year in a row Podcast Movement brought podcasters from around the world together to learn, share and experience what it means to say the words “I am a podcaster”.

While not everyone at the conference identified as a podcaster, including Payne Lindsey from the hit true crime show Up and Vanished, along with the trio behind Undisclosed, the vast majority celebrated the fact that with a voice, a microphone, and value to share, you can make a huge impact.

But unlike previous years, it wasn’t all about the numbers in Anaheim, CA.

If you’re a podcaster, then you know what it’s like to sign into Libsyn, and then proceed to hit refresh on your stats over,

and over,

and over.

But this year’s focus didn’t have anything to do with refreshing your stats.

As Dan Carlin put it in his keynote Wednesday afternoon, “It’s not about how many people are listening, but about who is listening.”

This is a quote that stuck with me, and even today I continue to remind myself of this fact.

Without the connections we have with our audience – those who are actually tuning in to listen – what else do we have?

What went down at Podcast Movement 2017

To help set the tone for what we knew would be an incredible three days, we hosted a pre-conference workshop sponsored by the #1 online community for podcasters, Podcasters’ Paradise, called From Idea to Launch, and Beyond.

During the 8 hour workshop we shared actionable steps plus proven strategies to help the 60 podcasters who signed up to spend the day with us how to do just that: go from idea to launch, and beyond.

But way before we created the workshop outline, John and I knew that with the help of other podcasters – those who are currently in the trenches and have great experiences and lessons to share – we could deliver tenfold on the value.

And so we invited five other podcasters to help us cover different topics within each of the four sessions in our Workshop: The Idea, The How, The Launch, and Beyond.

Weeks of preparation, three group calls, and a lot of worksheets later, we took the stage to share every last detail for podcasters both old and new.

Some of the biggest takeaways for the attendees included the importance of having a launch strategy, how easy it is to get setup with the right equipment, and why building a funnel for your business is critical to its success.

Here’s JLD’s Funnel Formula he shared during the Workshop:

The morning and afternoon came and went, and before we knew it we were headed to the hotel restaurant and bar to host our annual Podcasters’ Paradise meet up!

With about 100 podcasters from the Paradise community in attendance, we were able to meet a lot of members who we’d previously only communicated with online.

After the Paradise meet up we made our way over to one of the event rooms to catch a screening of The Messengers Documentary, which went live on iTunes at midnight that night!

Big shout out to Chris Krimitsos and his crew for delivering a very important message: podcasting is a medium unlike any other; one that will allow you to share your message with the world and impact millions in the process.

Our last stop of the night: Bowlmor, and bowling alley just a few blocks from where we were staying.

This is where the Podcast Websites meet up was hosted, and we closed the night out strong wearing stripped shoes and knockin’ over pins. :)

Wednesday at Podcast Movement

Wednesday started off with a huge bang: Amy Porterfield, Pat Flynn and yours truly, JLD, took the stage together to chat about what’s hot in podcasting right now.

Amy chatted about the importance of batching and how that has helped her not only stay on schedule and consistent, but also how it has helped her grow her audience and brand.

One of my favorite tips from Amy: every single time she sits down with her team to create episodes outlines, they run each of them through a checklist to guarantee what she’s about to create will be a high level of greatness.

Pat chatted about standout episodes – the best and the worst – and it was cool to hear from each of the panelists what they thought was their best / worst.

Amy shared a 2-part series as her best: the first episode was a mini-training (how to), and the second episode was with one of her actual students who had put into practice what she had just covered.

You can check this 2-part series out on Amy’s podcast, which focuses on her pre-sale strategy: episode 149 and episode 150.

A really cool idea for anyone thinking about leveraging a 2-part episode series to help promote a product or community!

Pat focused on his top-downloaded episode, an interview with LeadPages founder Clay Collins. Clay talked about “laddering up” and shared some incredible insights on how he built a 7-figure business, step by step.

JLD chatted about funnels and the importance of taking your avatar – your ideal listener – on a journey. You can check out the JLD Funnel Formula above :)

Next up on stage? Me! And I received one heck of an intro from Shey Harms, founder of Lake Zen.

Incredibly nervous and standing in front of a crowd with standing room only, I clicked ‘right’ on a brand new presentation: Audience Growth and Meaningful Monetization with Podcasting Systems.

Through covering the 3 things every podcast needs to achieve this, I gifted 3 very different systems, each of which consist of 5 simple steps.

Those 3 things:

1. Valuable Content 2. Consistent Content 3. Purposeful Content

The most important thing to consider when it comes to implementing any – or all – of these 3 systems is COMMITMENT.

If you can commit to doing the 5 steps listed below under any given system – making these a habit for you and your podcast creation – then you will make progress when it comes to audience growth and meaningful monetization.

Valuable Content

Step 1: Define avatar – your one perfect listener Step 2: Identify niche – niche till it hurts Step 3: Go find them – online communities, events, conferences Step 4: Ask them – Skype chat, SpeakPipe, email, comments Step 5: Listen – what are the recurring struggles & questions?

Consistent Content

Step 1: Plan it – theming vs. batching; 1 month ahead Step 2: Schedule it – take out your calendar Step 3: Record it – plug in your mic – it’s go time! Step 4: Edit it – my fav editing hack Step 5: Publish it – upload & schedule to go live

Purposeful Content

Step 1: What should they do? – rotate 5 CTA’s in your eps Step 2: Map out your ladder – what happens next? Step 3: Create a series – content outline + a plan Step 4: Create the funnel – email campaign with content + offer Step 5: Create the next step – proof of concept, then create

That afternoon I hopped around to a few different presentations, but mostly focused on spending some time at our booth in the main hall and meeting others who were also sponsoring the event.

The biggest difference between this year and last was that our booth was actually a booth that sat front and center by the main entrance.

We were also very lucky to have 3 sets of helping hands this year:

Zach Hesterberg of So Zesty, a social media marketing company

Travis Chappell of the Build Your Network podcast, and

Berto Laguna

Knowing there was great representation sharing The Freedom and Mastery Journals with attendees took a ton of stress away and allowed us to make the most of our conference time.

By 3pm that afternoon we were settling in for the first two keynotes of the event: the trio behind Undisclosed, and then, Dan Carlin from Hardcore History.

While it was interesting to hear how Undisclosed got started, I can’t say there was a ton of value being shared through the presentation. At one point, there was even confusion around where everyone actually lived – something you’d think you would know about your co-hosts.

Dan Carlin on the other hand was very high up on my short list of favorites, which I have to assume was in part due to his amazing stage partner, Andrew Warner of Mixergy, who was leading the conversation.

Value bombs from Dan included:

“It’s not about how many people are listening, it’s about who is listening.”

“If it’s not for the listeners, it’s for no one.”

And something along the lines of “don’t cheat your listeners out of receiving great content. The quality of your content is so important.”

We capped Wednesday ON FIRE with a dinner at California Pizza Kitchen and an after party put on by iHeartRadio at The Fifth, a roof deck bar overlooking Disney Land.

While I was incredibly tempted to head back to the hotel around 11pm, I found myself on the roof deck until close to 1am catching up with friends both old and new and enjoying being outdoors for the first time all day.

Thursday at Podcast Movement

Luckily, I don’t have trouble sleeping, because Thursday morning brought another full day!

To start the morning off, I attended a session by Jodi Flynn of Women Taking the Lead. Her talk was all about how to avoid “podfading”.

Just in case you haven’t heard the term before, podfading refers to those who launch a podcast, then within a few weeks or months drop off the face of the earth with no explanation.

Jodi put together an easy-to-follow and super smart plan for making sure this doesn’t happen to you.

It included 3 checkpoints you can review if – or when – you start to wonder whether or not you can continue on with your podcast.

Those 3 checkpoints:

1. Your Why 2. Your Community 3. Your Goals

After Jodi’s talk I hooked up with 3 incredible podcasters who I’d be sharing the stage with for a panel later that day called Cashing in on Content: How to Leverage Your Niche Audience.

The trio of greatness:

Josh Brown, host of Franchise Euphoria

Vanessa Merten, host of The Pregnancy Podcast

Kara Lamerato, host of The Wedding Planning Podcast

We ducked into the speakers lounge to review the flow, and by 1pm I found myself on stage for the third time in 3 days!

This awesome pic is compliments of the PM17 App newsfeed:

The theme we stuck with throughout the panel is the idea that niching down allows you to stand out.

With a laser focus on providing the most amount of value possible, the panel shared what they’ve learned post-launch about the importance of niching down and engaging with your audience to help your show grow.

And because each of these podcasters has monetized their show in very different ways, it was incredibly valuable to hear how they each got there.

For Josh, his podcast has helped him bring in at least 23 new clients for his business, Indy Franchise Law.

For Vanessa, her podcast has given her the opportunity to bring on sponsors that have relevant offerings for her niche audience: pregnant women.

And for Kara, her podcast audience asked, and she listened! Just this year Kara created The Wedding Planning Video Vault, a video series to help newly engaged couples navigate every step of their journey to wedding day.

After the panel I couldn’t help but be drawn to Payne Lindsey’s room – the guy I mentioned earlier who doesn’t identify as a podcaster (even though he has a hit podcast that actually helped solve an 11-year-old cold case of a girl gone missing in Georgia).

Because I had just recently binged the entire podcast it was really cool to see him on stage and hear him talk about the process he followed in order to create and produce such an intense, high-quality and engaging show.

However, I couldn’t help but challenge him on the fact that he didn’t identify as a podcaster – he was on stage talking about the success and impact of the podcast with a t-shirt that read: “I am not a podcaster”.

While I didn’t get a straight answer from him, I guess I can’t argue how someone else feels.

Although it would be great if those who were leveraging the medium to create such amazing content – content that is having a huge impact on the real world – would proudly identify with being a podcaster. The medium and industry could certainly use the good press! Spreading the word about podcasting is the only way it grows.

Friday at Podcast Movement

Bright and early Friday morning I was front and center to see our Podcast Websites partner, Mark Asquith, present!

Mark talked about dominating your niche with series podcasting, which was extra appealing to me since a couple of years ago I moved to seasons on my podcast, Kate’s Take.

Mark brought out a ton of great points regarding how your podcast is published depending on whether it’s a series podcast or just an ongoing one.

For example, he recommended pushing your season to its own feed once published (while also keeping it live on your “main feed”).

This gives those who might just be searching podcasts for a specific topic an opportunity to find targeted, focused episodes on exactly what they’re interested in.

Mark also mentioned the sponsorship opportunities for a podcast that has focused seasons on niche content, which is something I hadn’t really thought about before.

After Mark it was on to the final two keynotes of the event – the first one by Aaron Mahnke of the hit podcast Lore.

I’ve heard a ton about this podcast – it’s always at the top of the iTunes charts and it comes highly recommended. But for whatever reason I haven’t tuned in yet – until just a few days ago.

Not only was he an amazing speaker on stage, but he had so much passion and feeling around the topic of podcasting and how to do it right. It was an amazing way to wrap up the event.

Aaron talked about there being 5 things every podcaster should focus on, and those 5 things are:

1. Be consistent

Set listener expectations

If you want podcasting to be your full time job, act like it

Don’t disappoint your listeners with your schedule, format, frequency, or quality

2. Be prepared

You’re taking people on a journey, and you have to be prepared in order to do that

Everyone is a storyteller behind the mic – no matter what their podcast is

3. Be respectful

Time, money and attention are our most valued and limited resources

Your listeners are tuning in for a reason; deliver it already!

If you have a sponsor, be respectful of them

4. Be original

Don’t copy – be unique!

5. Be focused

Your job is to make a damn good show, not to find out how to make money

Podcasting is like flying a kite. If you build a crappy kite, it won’t fly.

To close it out strong Podcast Movement brought back Shannon Cason of Homemade Stories.

Shannon focused on WHY people podcast.

Throughout his presentation he had audio clips from other speakers and attendees who were at Podcast Movement.

He asked them: “Why do you podcast?”

The range was wide – everything from “Because I like to hear my own voice” to “Because I have a message to share and an impact to make”.

I guess it goes to show that everyone podcasts for a different reason, and it’s important to remember why we do what we do.

Biggest Takeaways from Podcast Movement

After Podcast Movement I reached out to our podcasting community who attended and asked them:

What was YOUR biggest takeaway from Podcast Movement?

Here’s what they had to say…

My name is Jaime Jay and I host a podcast called Stop Riding the Pine.

My #1 takeaway from PM17 was that I really need to be open to new ideas.

I met so many awesome people that are doing great things in the podcast world. Just when I think I’m getting ahead, I learn more new things that keep challenging me to get better.

This event served as a great reminder that I need to keep pushing forward. It was a blast seeing old friends and making new friends. I loved this event and am very happy to have attended!

My name is Josh Brown and I host the podcast Franchise Euphoria.

My #1 takeaway from PM17 was that my podcast needs to now become the Hub from which all my digital and social media efforts spoke off from.

It became abundantly clear at PM17 that rather than having a social media campaign that includes just sending out my Podcast as part of my marketing efforts, I should make my Podcast the central hub from which all of my social media content flows in terms of topic, focus, etc.

As an example, if my next episode on my Podcast regards franchising a restaurant, then all of my social media marketing should revolve around that focused topic.

This may seem obvious to a lot of people, but it was certainly an “ah ha” moment for me at PM17.

My name is Mary Albee and I host the podcast Pure Dog Talk.

My #1 takeaway from PM17 was the smart tech opportunities coming with Alexa, Apple Homepod and Google adding optimized podcasts to voice searchable content.

My name is John Lee Dumas and I host the podcast Entrepreneurs On Fire.

My #1 takeaway from PM17 was that everyone needs to be Podcasting with a purpose.

Just turning on a mic and talking is not a winning strategy.

Your Podcast should have a funnel, which is the journey you take your listener on that ends with some kind of product, service, community, or VALUE BOMB.

Strategic planning wins.

My name is Mark Asquith and I host the podcast The 7 Minute Mentor.

My #1 takeaway from PM17 was to be a story teller!

It doesn’t matter your niche or focus, you have to captivate people with stories that MATTER!

My name is Shawn Park and I host the podcast Be Your Own Nerd.

My #1 takeaway from PM17 was to “Just Launch” my podcast.

I need to stop over planning, overthinking, and need to stop making sure everything is perfect because it will never be.

My name is H. Guthrie Chamberlain, III and I host the podcast Wisdom-Trek.

My #1 takeaway from PM17 was that it was a privilege to speak on the PMx stage and get to meet 11 other excellent speakers and hear their presentations.

It will help to improve my speaking opportunities in the future. Also, the networking and connections made are invaluable.

My name is Paula Chamberlain and I will host the podcast A Quilter’s Life.

My #1 takeaway from PM17 was that there was strong support for my soon-to-be-released podcast A Quilter’s Life, where I’ll be interviewing quilters and sharing their stories on why they quilt and how that passion integrates into their overall life stories.

If you attended Podcast Movement 2017 we hope you enjoyed it!

If not, there’s always next year! Podcast Movement 2018 will be in Philly, and we can’t wait to see you there!

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steampunkfan · 7 years