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cinnaminsvga · 5 years ago

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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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pochiperpe90 · 4 years ago

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[L’Officiel Hommes] Luca Marinelli, rising star of Italian cinema

To win his first film role, Luca Marinelli agreed to put on sixteen kilos. For the second, he had to shave his whole body and learn to walk in heels more than eight inches high.

"If I believe in the part, there is nothing I'm not willing to do," says the twenty-six-year-old protagonist of ‘The Solitude of Prime Numbers’, the film by Saverio Costanzo presented at last year's edition of the Venice Film Festival.

To play the role of a boy devoured by guilt due to an accident that happened to his sister, Marinelli did not hesitate to ruin his athletic physique by gorging himself on fats and carbohydrates, and giving up any activity for three months. As soon as he could, he started running again to lose the extra pounds. Between football and swimming he has always been used to playing sports. But the forced immobility had atrophied his muscles, and at the end of the first runs he ended up vomiting his soul from the effort. After a month of intense exercise, however, he had already lost the extra pounds.

"Changing your body makes you feel more vulnerable and you become prey to irrational fears: when I was fat I was afraid of dying every time I took the stairs, when I was hairless I was afraid that my eyebrows would never grow back," says the actor while he eats a salad sitting at the bar of the Palazzo della Triennale in Milan. "But it's always a very interesting experience", he continues, absently stroking the hairs on his forearm, still growing since the end of the shooting of “L’ultimo terrestre”, a film that will be released next year by Gipi, an Italian illustrator making his debut behind the movie camera. It’s a love story set against the backdrop of an invasion of extraterrestrials, in which Marinelli plays the role of a transvestite friend of the protagonist. To prepare for the part, the actor watched dozens of crossdresser and transgender footage and had to practice for hours walking with extravagant stilts instead of shoes.

“I was told that, as a woman, I move well and I'm quite beautiful. In short, the experience gave me a certain satisfaction”, he jokes, winking with gray-blue eyes.

Compared to the film debut of ‘Solitude of Prime Numbers’, this new film offers him a smaller role and visibility. But Marinelli is not concerned about this. He knows he was very lucky to end on the red carpet of one of the most important festivals in the world with the first film. And he would almost feel calmer if his career were to continue more gradually.

"It was so lightning fast that I was not prepared. Venice was a wonderful experience but I was in panic. In the evening I came home with a terrible headache, I felt like I had two tight screws in my skull. I almost felt at fault to start out so great. And now I'm happy to start again slowly”.

Marinelli finished high school in 2006 and three years later graduated from the Silvio D'Amico Academy of Dramatic Art in Rome. Before being chosen by Costanzo for the feature film that gave him notoriety with the public, he had already played several roles in the theater with directors such as Carlo Cecchi and Michele Monetta. His father, actor and film voice actor, tried to introduce him to the world of entertainment as a child, without achieving great results. He had made him voice the voices of Tip and Tap, the grandchildren of Mickey Mouse from the cartoons, and had offered him some amateur roles. Despite being fascinated by the profession, however, the son didn’t feel cut out to be an actor.

“As a child I was shy. I liked being the center of attention, but only with people I had a lot of confidence with. More than being observed, I was interested in observing the lives of others. Not the present ones, but the past ones”.

After high school, Marinelli enrolled in the faculty of archeology in Rome. But after two months in which he attended only lessons that had nothing to do with his course, he realized that the university wasn’t for him and threw himself into acting, overcoming the fears he carried within him since he was a child. Even today, however, it retains some of that shyness. To the point that, whenever he is about to go on stage, he has to resort to small exorcising rites to reduce tension and cancel thoughts. And when we ask him how it feels to tell a complete stranger about himself, he confesses to being a little nervous.

"This is my second interview. From the first, I came out as some kind of psycho. I hope this time it goes better”, he jokes.

He has pain in his neck from a fall that occurred a few days earlier and moves his torso in a slightly stiffly way. He jumped on the ball and crashed to the ground during a game of "calciotto", the eight-a-side football that is popular in Rome, the city where he was born and raised. Every time he turns his head he makes a grimace of pain. Apart from that, Marinelli seems to be quite at ease, and does not resort to clichés. Nor does he try to hide behind sophisticated characters: he wears a blue shirt, military green trousers and brown jacket, in a style that he simply defines "for men", made up of garments unearthed among vintage shops and thrift stalls rather than in the boutiques of the big names. He loves to run around with his bike, although he admits that the longest trip he has done was from Rome to Fregene with a friend. And as soon as he has a free moment he takes his dog Nonò, a foundling dachshund who also follows him on tour, and takes him around the capital for long walks in the company of Sandy, the dog who lives in his parents' house.

Even though he’s aware of the difficulties and uncertainties he risks facing in his profession, he speaks of his dreams with passion and without anguish. He would like to pursue a project as a director and is enthusiastic about the collaboration with Cecchi in “Sogno di una notte di mezza estate”, a piece with which he will tour Italy between November and February.

"I know that being an actor is a job with a very high risk of failure and depression, but for the moment I try to live this lucky moment to the fullest."

Marinelli is not religious, but he’s particularly fascinated by the figure of Christ. He loves reading books and watching films that tell the Nazarene in his human dimension (from the Gospel according to Matthew by Pasolini to Scorsese's Last Temptation of Christ), because when he sees a miracle he feels the "smell of burning" and is immediately distracted.

"The story of Jesus, understood as a simple person, is a proof of the wonderful things that man is capable of. And studying it helps to understand how far we live from the example that has been given to us".

Among the dreams in the drawer, remains to work with Eimuntas Nekrošius, the Lithuanian theater director who recently staged Albert Camus' Caligula in Rome. And with Pedro Almodovar, the master of Spanish cinema whose language he knows well. In fact, Marinelli's father spent his childhood in Argentina and passed on to his son his love for Spanish, which Luca speaks with a slight South American inflection.

Of course, the situation in Italy for novice actors is not reassuring. Most of his fellow academics are still looking for work. The lucky ones earn a few euros by acting in the theater or making fiction which is exhausting for the body and demoralizing for the spirit. The others are making a living with alternative uses waiting to be discovered.

“I'm working, but not because I'm the best of those who came out of my class. Luck matters a lot. In Italy the environment is closed and there is little money. Abroad, however, it seems that this art is much more accessible".

His response is interrupted by a strange sigh that sounds like a whale song. It’s the ringtone of his cell phone, a reconstruction of the original music used in the Greek tragedy. Marinelli doesn’t respond, but begins to show signs of unease. He noted that the Palazzo della Triennale hosts an exhibition of Pasolini's portraits that he would like to see. He has little time left, but he adores the poet and insists on entering.

Inside the exhibition, observe the black and white photos taken by Dino Pedriali in 1975 which show the artist reading in his villa in Chia, writing on an Olivetti 22 and walking on a bridge in Sabaudia with his hair down from the wind. Then he stops in front of a photo of Pasolini naked, portrayed in his bedroom.

"What a fascinating man, in this image he reminds me of the bad lieutenant in Abel Ferrara's film," he says as he heads towards the exit. Then, unexpectedly, he turns to his interviewer and asks him with the relieved tone of someone who knows he has completed a business: "Prof, how did the exam go?".

“I'd give you a nice twenty-eight”, we reply according to the game.

"Okay, I accept it".

L’Officiel Hommes

Just wanted to translate this old interview for the non-italian’s fans ^^ (sorry for my English)

#Luca Marinelli #interview #english translation #english #mine #l'ultimo terrestre #la solitudine dei numeri primi #2011 #magazine #L’Officiel Hommes #Roberta

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votederpycausemufins · 4 years ago

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and you thought we would have less angst~! lol nope!

@petrichormeraki @helleborusangel

Grifter left briefly and returned with Sefter and Grifect, taking them over to where Grian and Mumbo had taken Jrum. “Oh I had the best idea! Since you have your kids and Sense and I have ours, they could be best friends! I’m sure they can get along great!”

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now.” Mumbo said, keeping Jrum close to him. “Jrum is very vulnerable right now and-”

“I kinda do want to play.” Jurm spoke up, tugging on Mumbo’s pant leg. “It was something nice I got to do when I was with d- uh… Bad.”

Mumbo hesitated, but then nodded. “I guess it probably wouldn’t hurt. But if anything happens to Jrum-!”

“Oh calm down, I won’t do anything to him.” Grifter replied. “Besides, I’m sure he wouldn’t let me.” And he pointed behind him to a doorway where Xannes was just coming in, followed by NPG.

“Jrum’s okay!” NPG smiled, before moving behind Xannes when he locked eyes with Grifter, the hels admin crossing his arms.

“You’re out of prison.”

Grifter smiled and pulled himself close to Sense. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to leave this hot stud alone for too long, now would I?”

“Well, You’ve had time with him, now it’s time for you to go back.”

Grifter pouted. “But my kids are having a playdate with Jrum. You wouldn’t want to upset a child, would you?” Grifter’s pout turned into a sly smile and he moved closer to whisper to Xannes. “And Sense has said you’re such a softie when it comes to kids. Before you can do anything to me, I could do whatever I want to that robot. I could create a fun little feedback loop and break them like that. And you couldn’t do anything about it because you decided NPG is better to protect, hmm?”

Xannes wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t cause some problem, so he just glared. Grifter’s evil smile quickly turned to one that was much sweeter, and he pulled Grifect over, letting the child talk to Xannes. “Hi Mistew Xannes! Awe uwu weawwy the best hackew evew?”

“I… am known as the best hacker, yes.” Xannes gritted out after another smirk from Grifter.

“Wow! Thawt's so coow! Cawn uwu teach me how tuwu duwu stuff wike thawt?”

“Don’t you want to play with… whatever Jrum would be considered to you? Cousin or some shit?”

“Yeah! But cawn uwu teach me watew?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Xannes growled, rolling his eyes. Grifect went back over to Jrum and Grifter tried pushing Sefter to play as well, but the older sibling refused to join in.

“Hmm, it looks like Sefter doesn’t want to play. I guess I should take him back to Prof. Sense, you can watch Grifect, right dear?” The evil scientist nodded and Grifter gave him a kiss. “Now Grifect, remember what I told you.”

“I wemembew!” The young bot replied, getting a pat on his head from his dad. Grifter left with Sefter after that, but Grian and Mumbo watcher where they had been.

“You’ve got a bad feeling about that too, right?”

Mumbo nodded. “After what we’ve heard about him, of course I do.”

Sefter twirled a sword in one hand while holding an axe in the other. Behind him, Tommy was tied up and stuffed in a large chest, muffled sounds being the only thing to escape the box.

On the other side of the room, Grifter dragged Grum along, who was doing his best to resist. “P-please. I d-don’t w-want to g-go.”

“I don’t care! I need you for this, so you’re coming with me. No one will even notice!”

“N-no. I w-want to s-stay with T-Tommy. P-Please!”

“Stop complaining or I’ll rewire you for what I need. I’m sure it can’t be much worse than a lobotomy.” Grifter threatened in a cheerful voice. “Now let’s go!”

Grum was scared by the threat and then stopped resisting. Grifter found it much easier to move the robot now, though the screen changing to a smiley face confused him. He hefted the bot onto his shoulder, quickly sent a message to Grifect, and then they were gone.

The_Grifter left the world

Sefter left the world

The_Grifter joined the world

Grumbot_System joined the world

When they arrived in the SMP, Grumbot jumped off of Grifter’s shoulder and pulled out a sword. “Alright, I’m guessing that means you can also find Theseus from here, right?”

“Theseus is likely to be with the admin. The admin also has a needed item. That item must be retrieved.”

“Good.” Grifter smiled. “Take us there!”

Grumbot hesitated, buffering for a few moments. “Console commands have been disabled. Locating Theseus is not available. Reinstate programs before trying again.”

“Ugh, well how do I do that?” Grifter huffed, smiled gone.

Coordinates appeared on Grumbot’s face for a few moments before it spoke again. “If it has not been moved, those should be the coordinates. There will be people around it.”

“And they know my ‘good’ copy?” Grifter asked, using air quotes.

“Correct.”

Grifter sighed and pulled on his new outfit, replacing it with a standard red sweater. He cleaned up his hair a bit, resisting the urge to mess it up again and then showed himself off. “How do I look?”

“You look like bzzt.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Grifter asked. Had the robot just censored a word. “I look like what?!”

“Was that not the goal? To look like bzzt? You did change into what looks like bzzt sweater.”

Grifter calmed down. “Oh, you were trying to say Grian’s name hmm? And people say I’m the bad one. He won’t let you say his name.”

“Incorrect. That is a recent addition as protection against the Admin and Dream.”

That got Grifter’s attention. “Oh really? So it’s something you’re doing on purpose?”

“Also incorrect. It has not been turned off and knowledge about the program is recent. It also cannot currently be turned off.” Grumbot explained in a deadpan voice, starting to walk to the quartz mansion, leaving Grifter to follow behind.

“Well now I’m curious. Why can’t you turn it off?”

“Another component controls that program.”

“Hmm, I see.” The helsmit nodded. “So, where are we headed?” He paused as Grumbot pointed to a building in the distance, far enough that Grifter needed to squint. “Over there? Pfft, why walk. I can get us there quicker.”

He grabbed Grumbot, and greenish magic swirled around them, teleporting them next to the building. “If you are attempting to mimic bzzt, that is not helpful for the image.”

“Pfft, it’s fine. No one saw. And if they did, I would deal with it. Now let’s go inside. I already know what I’m going with. Oh, and you better play along, or else.”

Grumbot nodded, making Grifter frown about that fact that it didn’t seem even a little scared from his threat. The helsmit picked Grumbot up before walking into the building, putting on a smile. “Hey, we’re back. Mumbo’s still back in Hermitcraft with Jrum keeping Tommy company.”

“Did you not figure out how to help him out? His body’s still here and obviously he didn’t come with you.” Philza spoke, having returned and Techno gone once again.

The helsmit didn’t need to worry about figuring out an answer because Grumbot quickly answered. “The revival process for those from this world requires an extra step in the form of an item that the admin was in possession of. He will need to be found.”

Those there glanced at each other, which obviously didn’t mean anything good. “What’s wrong?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Fundy held out his communicator, letting Grifter look at it before showing Grumbot. Grifter held in a smile when he saw that Theseus was here, and it looked like his old admin was here too. The errored message was interesting though.

“Obviously it isn’t good news. Dream was bad enough, I don’t want to see what an evil version of him is like. Unless of course it’s an opposite version and he’s nicer.” Phil spoke again.

“From what I’ve heard? He’s not really that nice.” Grifter replied. Not nice to most people that is, at the very least. But he wondered if this Nightmare person would want to be on the good side of a Listener. In fact, he had already lost his server, hadn’t he? So what more could he possibly lose from some sort of partnership. “And while it probably isn’t a good idea to go near him, it looks like we’ll have to.”

“I’m not sure how long it would take to gather people up to help with that.” The hardcore player said. “A lot of people are still injured from the banquet and-”

Grifter cut Philza off. Grian would probably be concerned for his faaamily~. Ugh. “I’m sure I can do fine on my own. Even an admin can’t do much against a Watcher. And while extra help would be nice, you getting close could just end up being more harm than good if you end up in the crossfire. I don’t want to need to revive anyone else just trying to get this thing.”

“He will also be getting some assistance already.” Grumbot spoke up, and Grifter held in the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” Grifter tried his best to sound genuine. He’s pretty sure calling the robot by its name would be more effective, but to be completely honest, he had forgotten it at this point.

“There is to be no discussion on this matter. You will be getting assistance.” Grumbot replied, pulling out an axe. “And the sooner travel is started towards the new admin, the better.”

Grifter looked over the people in the room. Obviously getting Philza to look after the robot wouldn’t be a good idea. Even if he wasn’t like his own dad, the helsmit was sure he would be equally as experienced. The demon was off the table too. No way the robot would escape from that. The enderman thing could just teleport around.The fox hybrid might also be too quick on the draw, though he did look young. But no, the fluffy haired boy with little nubs of horns poking out, he seemed like the best option. He even already had a kid attached at his leg, so adding another would make things tougher on him.

Grifter took Grumbot over to Tubbo and put the robot in the teen’s arms. “Here, try to keep him occupied. I’m sure those two could even play together.” Though Grumbot didn’t react, it looked like the ziglin liked that idea, making it even more likely for the teen to respond positively. And that he did.

The helsmit sent a little wink to Grumbot before giving it a hug and leaving the building. As soon as he was outside, Grifter leaned against a wall and waited for the robot to come out. In a few seconds, there was a commotion from inside and then Grumbot rushed out of the building. Grifter immediately pulled the robot into his arms and teleported them away before anyone could follow outside. “I’m hoping you got what you needed?”

“That could not be obtained.”

“Well then what the fuck was all that noise?”

“Attempting to reconnect programs followed by a necessary escape.”

“Ugh, well I’m sure everyone’s out looking for you now. I’ll take us back and you can do whatever the hell you need to.”

“That would be a good idea.”

Grifter teleported them back. The Fox hybrid unfortunately stayed behind, but the helsmit quickly bashed him over the head, letting him fall to the floor unconscious. “Hmm, I think I could have gone a little harder without killing him. Normally there’s more blood. Maybe I’m just out of practice?”

Grumbot didn’t respond to the banter, just staring at the replacement console. It didn’t need all the programs, but it would be so easy to just add them all back. Its arm reached to plug itself in, but the other arm’s hand stopped the first. Its screen flickered for a moment, and then it released its arm and plugged in. Just a copy of the coordinated program. That’s all that was needed.

When Grumbot unplugged again, Grifter picked it up. “I’m guessing that means you’re ready. Where are we headed to?”

Coordinates appeared on Grumbot’s screen and Grifter smiled before teleporting them there. They reappeared in a large field of snow, the helsmit glad he had changed back into a sweater. “You’re not going to freeze in this, right?”

“Correct.”

Grifter nodded and then looked around. “I’m not seeing them. Are you sure these are the right coordinates?”

“The coordinates were altered slightly based on movement, positioning and terrain. They will be four chunks in that direction in a number of ticks.” Grumbot answered, pointing towards a hill.

“Alright, sounds good enough!” Grifter shrugged and then started dragging Grumbot along in the pointed direction. When they reached the top of the hill, the helsmit looked around, smiling when he saw the people he was looking for. Theseus was following behind what was presumably Nightmare. Then the helsmit’s gaze drifted to a few blocks behind them and the extra set of footprints following the pair. It looked like someone was using an invisibility potion.

Grifter pulled out a bow and arrow, attaching his signature TNT to the end of his arrow, and then fired it so it would land in front of the pair. Not enough to hurt either of them, but enough to startle them at the very least.

When it exploded, Grifter teleported closer, leaving Grumbot behind. “Hi there. I don’t really want you going much further.”

“Who the hell are you?” Nightmare spoke as Theseus glared.

“Mmm… I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I’m a Listener. Grifter to be precise. I’m sure Theseus has talked about his much better older brother. If not, well I guess he’s just more of a little shit than I thought.”

“Nope, he never mentioned you. But I’ve heard of your kind.”

“Aww, that’s too bad.” Grifter pouted, pulling back another arrow and firing it at the invisible figure. “Anyway, nasty tail you’ve got there.”

Nightmare and Theseus turned around to see an arrow floating in midair, footprints being created in the snow with nothing visible making them. Immediately the invisible figure was pulling armor on, ready to fight. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Anytime! Anyway, I need Theseus. Apparently Dadza really likes him still and is upset he’s gone. I wouldn’t do anything, but he kinda cursed someone that I actually care about, so if I don’t do this, it’ll end badly for me.”

“Well tell him Theseus is staying with me. There’s still some training he never finished.”

Grifter’s eyes lit up briefly and the implications, but he still frowned. “Can I at least have him long enough to take back to Dadza? It’ll take five minutes, ten tops. If he doesn’t let me bring bitch boy back, I can just try killing him.”

“Try killing death?” Nightmare asked, sounding skeptical.

Grifter nodded. “Yeah, we’re pretty sure I’m the only one who can actually do it. It’s why people really prefer being on my side.” The helsmit’s smile shifted to something darker. “Which is why you should probably… you know… Listen. Besides, being on my side has plenty of perks!”

Grifter couldn’t see Nightmare’s expression because of his mask, but eventually he nodded. “Fine. But you better be back before those ten minutes.”

Grifter nodded, giving a beaming smile before grabbing Theseus and disappearing. Nightmare put his arms behind his head, acting bored, before pulling out an axe and shield at the last second, blocking an attack. “I know you’re still here idiot.”

The invisible figure didn’t respond, so Nightmare just threw their axe at the person, the blade digging into the armor, deep enough to break through it. “I guess the durability was low.” Was all Nightmare said as he popped his arm back into place, having dislocated from the amount of force he used in the attack. “So, got a na-” Nightmare continued before being cut off as he was grabbed from behind.

“You are in the possession of a needed item. It must be handed over.”

“And what are you supposed to be?”

Grumbot buffered for a moment before answering. “Console. The admin used a console for various jobs before he was taken away and replaced by you. You likely still have an Item needed for the revival process of this world in your possession. The surrendering of that item would be appreciated.”

Nightmare kicked Grumbot away. “Not a chance.” He then pulled out a sword, hitting away the invisible figure. “Not like I can do it with this person fighting me.”

“Then they will be eliminated.” Grumbot replied, booting up its combat program. It pulled out a sword, ready to attack, but then was pushed to the ground.

“Nah, you might be useful later. Get out of the way.” Nightmare said before pulling out a trident and stabbing it into the ground, impaling Grumbot’s arm and nailing it to the ground.

As Nightmare and the invisible person fought, Grumbot looked at the trident. Fortunately it only injured one arm, and as a robot, it was ambidextrous. It pulled the trident out and held it in its hand. With the combat program active, Grumbot angled the throw, adjusting for movement from the other combat, and then threw the weapon.

In a moment, Nightmare was the one stuck to the ground. The invisible person tried to take advantage of the situation, but Grumbot managed to push them aside. The face flickered and then changed to its normal self, though even then it still flickered a bit. “Look, I’m just after my book. Give it here and you can be on your way.”

No one moved, Nightmare wasn’t even struggling, so Grum pressed his foot into Nightmare’s chest. “Give it up, or we could just stay here.”

“Who are you?”

“I think you know.”

There was quiet for a bit, but then Nightmare pulled out a book. “Fine, but I’ll be getting answers.”

“No you won’t.” And Grum pulled the trident out again before smashing it down on Nightmare’s face, shattering the mask he wore before the body disappeared into a cloud of smoke. Immediately Grum closed his combat program and curled into a ball. He started crying at what had just happened, everything quickly catching up with him. But the danger was gone now, right?

The sound of armor moving drew Grum’s attention to the now formerly invisible person, the piglin now looking down at Grum. The bot immediately regretted closing his combat program and tried to boot it up again, shakily drawing his sword. He didn’t want to die again, especially now he had the- the book! Grum dropped his sword and grabbed the book, shoving it into one of his extra inventory slots. It was just in time too as Techno grabbed him.

“D-d-don’t kuh-kill m-me ple-please!” Grum stuttered out. He was lifted up, which he thought was a curious way to kill him, but he also didn’t expect fireworks as a weapon, so anything was on the table with him.

Instead, Techno just moved Grum onto his back before leaning down and grabbing the dropped sword. “Already made the mistake of killing you once. Besides, you’ll get rid of my ghost problem.” And then he started walking. Grum was still a bit scared of getting killed, thinking the piglin could be lying, but he was also tired. He was glad he still had the trident, which was channeling at the very least, so he wouldn’t necessarily need his charger, but conserving power would be good right now, so he went to sleep.

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #grian #hels!grian #watcher!grian #grian xelqua #avian!Grian #mumbo jumbo #jrumbot #hels!jrumbot #tommyinnit #hels!Grumbot #grumbot #hels!tommy #dreamwastaken #technoblade #philza #still not a fan of how dream's persona eminates someone... problematic

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corpsentry · 4 years ago

Note

allahrakhii (dot) tumblr (dot) com/post/148596180152/honestly-the-depths-of-ignorance-of-white-people

this is a really good post for those who want to learn more about the harmful portrayal of brown women in the legend of zelda series. theres a bunch of helpful links that direct to articles throughout the post as well. if you scroll through a bit youll find the section that covers why the gerudo outfit is racist.

i would appreciate if you post this and not simply brush it aside! this message isnt intended to be hostile or offensive, but rather it is an opportunity for learning and discussion. thank you.

i find the insinuation that i might brush this aside rather ominous anon! first of all, thank you for sharing this post. as someone vaguely from southeast asia i uncovered another facet of the fuckcluster of internalized racism in my system while reading it and will be thinking about it for a while to come. the post is well-written and thoughtfully phrased, plus op provides links to several other resources that i’ll be checking out in my free time too so i’d recommend anyone passing by here give it a read. i also want to apologize for responding to the earlier ask (now deleted) where op was like ‘how is the gerudo outfit racist’ and i was like ‘fuck all if i know’. i was talking out of my ass and failed to consider alternate perspectives. i retract that statement and replace it with this much longer and much more eloquent one.

now everything from here on is frankly quite unrelated to this ask so to the person who sent it please feel free to stop reading right here right now from high school musical as i want to talk about the previous anon message i received and some general stuff regarding fandom and none of that has anything to do with you (you are lovely and the rest of the world is a shithole).

i don’t know if the original anon who sent the ‘i like your art but the gerudo outfit racist :(’ is gonna see this but let’s take a moment to unpack it. i’m not quite sure what anon was going for with this ask. what did they want from me? did they want me to apologize for drawing and posting it? did they want me to delete the post? did they expect me to say oh thank you so much!!! sorry about the racism xd or did they want me to call up shigeru miyamoto and be like ‘hey dude your shit’s racist’ and then take down the entire nintendo corporation in one fell swoop like i was somehow implicated in either the development process or the game by pure merit of drawing fanart of it(????). this was the shit running through my head when i woke up at 6 am this morning because jetlag and opened tumblr and there was this Person sitting there trying to :( me. what’s up with the :(. why are you :(. what do you want from me.

this is where the second anon above comes in. relative to this ask, if the first anon had so much as dropped one (1) link to one (1) post explaining how the outfit might be racist (and taken out the :(, which is lame) then instead of being like ‘which reaction image should i use for this’ i would’ve been like ‘oh here’s something i didn’t know about the world and here’s how i can learn more’. ‘your art great but this racist u___u’ reads like someone trying to guilt-trip someone for shits and giggles. a B grade on a paper is useless unless your prof tells you where you went wrong and before anyone Calls Me Out i’m going to acknowledge that there is a broader issue with marginalized groups having to bear the burden of ‘explaining themselves’ to privileged people who aren’t willing to go and seek information on their own, but let’s just look at this ask for a moment.

what the fuck is this??? what am i even supposed to do with a statement that not only tells me nothing but also seems to have no clear purpose? i am sitting here drawing video game fanart in a college dorm in pennsylvania and i know like 3 things about western media because i don’t like live-action film. if you want to have a conversation please give me something to work with instead of trying to sound sad in my askbox. i can’t turn your :( into a :) because i have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about because i am not god (yet) (although i am trying to).

but let’s talk bigger. racist stereotypes are a huge fucking problem in everything the ideological west gets its hands on. i promise you i know this because i grew up in singapore where the racism was directed towards everyone including ourselves because sir dickbag raffles stuck a flag in the ground and then ruined everything. i can see how nintendo has replicated those racist stereotypes, especially given that east asian countries generally have a long history of racism towards black and brown people. singapore fucks with it too because we’re majority chinese-singaporean and majority lighter-skinned (relatively speaking). op makes a lot of excellent points. perpetuating stereotypes in popular media serves to reinforce racist ideas and further entrench discriminatory beliefs. it’s a chicken egg chicken egg thing. people are socialized into racist beliefs. they create media with racist depictions. young people consume said media and are socialized into racist beliefs. and so on. egg chicken egg chicken.

so, question: where does fanwork figure into all of this? is that 5k ganlink (is this the ship name lol idk if it’s wrong feel free to take me out with a bazooka) e-rated smutfic the egg or the chicken? who is it socializing? who’s writing it? what kind of audience is it reaching? and, more broadly speaking, what is fandom here for, and what does fandom want to achieve?

here we’re going to take a huge detour into another very popular disco horse (at least on twitter i have fuckall clue what’s going on on tumblr at all times) of the present times: the wmulti level wmarketing (wlw) discussion. it is statistically true that there are far less f/f fics on ao3 than m/m fics and f/m fics. this clearly reflects something about fandom’s habits, but the floor is divided. in fact, the floor is on fucking fire all the time. several arguments have been made over the years, of which 1) media creates less-nuanced female characters which makes them harder to connect to (mass media’s fault) and 2) everyone is a gay fetishizer (the individual’s fault) are, arguably, the most popular.

as a head ass philosophy student i’m going to pick the option no one likes and say that i think it’s a combination of all of these factors. and i’m going to step out further and say that people are so inseparable from our communities and societies that it’s impossible to tell where external influence ends and personal preference begins. what this means, more simply, is i think that both individual arguments are insufficient. media is fucking complicated and so are people so imagine when you put all of this shit together on one webpage and then you light a match. tell me, bethany, can you truly say that you like twinkies because You Like Twinkies or was it that advertisement you saw at the bus stop every day for eight years that finally got to you? are you trying to rebel against society’s fear of fatness? are you depressed? do you just like sweet things, and anyway, can anyone “just like” something?

now let’s transplant this issue of societal/self influence (a fandom friendly version of the nature/nurture argument, if you will) onto fandom. so okay, there aren’t a lot of f/f fics. what do?

some popular options i’ve seen are: 1) make angry posts/tweets about how everyone sleeps on f/f relationships in fandom and we’re all secretly lesbophobic 2) call everyone a gay fetishizer 3) write f/f fic

and so here is the other (other? i don’t remember how many problems i’ve listed lol i’m trying here guys) problem: fandom doesn’t have a single cohesive goal. like people don’t come to fandom and then sign a 5 page contract at the end of which is the company vision. everyone comes here to do their own shit. some people use fandom as a means of escape. some people are trying to spread a message (like the evangelists) or educate the youth. some people fuck around and find out.

concept: if the goal of fandom was social activism, then the argument could be made that We Should Write More f/f fics. that make sense to you? because there’s something we’re all striving towards, we can agree that we have an obligation to our community to do something. but the goal of fandom isn’t social activism, is it? maybe it is for you. but it isn’t for everyone here including the 14 year old kid in chinese orchestra and the 56 year old who just wants to read some good werewolf smut. and because we’re all different people who do different things and fandom is not and cannot be your entire life, we can’t make these prescriptive statements. we can’t tell people what to do. ‘people should write more f/f fics because there are very few right now’ that is a valid statement and observation. now will you write those fics? because you’re the only person whose fandom life you can control. because the point of fandom is we’re away from the rules and regulations of Society. because when people are told they can do what they want they will do what they want and if you tell them to do something else, it’s hard to fault them for not taking kindly to it. i’ve written 5k character studies. it’s work. not everyone wants to do that work. that’s why i do it.

detour end and now we return to the chicken egg problem. in my opinion, the shit we create in fandom isn’t the chicken or the egg. it’s the onsen egg that’s been placed on top of your ramen. it’s a product of several complex societal processes, but now it’s here you and maybe the dude sitting across from you are the only ones, by and large, that it’s going to affect. this onsen egg isn’t for the children of the world (broadcast via disney+). this onsen egg isn’t for the politicians who’ll decide on the policy of your country for the next hundred years. they’re not even going to see it because it’s a fucking onsen egg now and no one has taste anymore these days except for yourself, which is why this onsen egg is just for you. put in clearer terms, i agree with op that people in fandom often replicate societal bias in their work (people are copy machines, bethany), but i don’t think most fanfiction has the power to influence society the way that popular media can (see: marvel movies, i dunno, fucking, like, austin powers?), and to critique it with the same mindset we use to critique tony stark is to say that we earnestly think every 15k smutfic is going to be read by millions of people of all ages from across the world. which is not the case. ao3 has a thing you have to click if you’re not logged in you know where you have to agree that you’re 18 or older o read adult stuff. if you lie about that that’s your own goddamn problem. they asked.

and now, part 2, we come around to several interesting points made in the post. op mentioned that ganon is often portrayed as hypersexual (which is fascinating to me i don’t read e rated fic I See What Zelda Fandom Is Doing) or just fucks a lot in general. since i don’t go here i will take op’s word and roll with it, but i have my own word to add: so ganon fucks- what do we do? do we tell people to stop writing fics where ganon fucks? do we force them? do we tell people to write more gen rated character studies (please join me i sit here alone and i (pensive homo stare))?

we could. but we can’t make them. and we also can’t tell them where their ideas are coming from. i don’t, like, read a lot of smutfic but i sure know that shit exists because half my friends are horny as shit and can we all agree that fandom as a whole is just super fucking horny. like yes if ganon as a whole is portrayed more often in sexual situations than the other characters in the franchise, it’s a good and fair observation that Something’s Up Here. but can we really point to individual authors? the premises mentioned in the post by op are premises i’ve seen for haikyuu fanfiction. multiple times. tens of hundreds of times. what if someone’s just really fucking horny? what if they’re replicating racist ideas taught to them by mass media? can we tell? can THEY tell?

the answer is no because humans are black boxes that can’t be opened up even if we drop into the pacific ocean and instead screech helplessly at walls all our lives. the answer is these are complex issues and i don’t think prescriptive ‘Never Write Sexy Ganon’ statements or pointing fingers at random 30 year old smutfic authors will improve the situation. the answer, or at least my answer, is that we should consume media with a critical eye and be aware of potential biases perpetuated by the authors/creators, but striving towards ideological purity is impossible on principle (i promise you everyone on this planet is problematic in some way or another because this purity thing from christianity is fucking lame and also completely fake) and so we should all give that up. my personal answer is i’ve learned a lot about stereotypes about middle eastern and south asian people and i’ll take all this info with me moving forward, but i honestly and earnestly do not think me drawing link and zelda in dumbass princess jasmine outfits is going to directly correlate with an increase in racism as observed in the island city-state of singapore. i am aware now. that’s a good thing. but just like how the h*rry potter fandom has completely detached itself from its horrible creator and now fucks around in its own space doing its own thing, i think it’s fully possible to engage with flawed media because, surprise surprise, all the media in the world is flawed.

#asks #anon #Anonymous #my stuff

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theshatteredrose · 3 years ago

Text

Relic Keepers: Awakening of the Red Lily (Chapter 29) - Original Fiction

AN: When is a date not a date? When two dim-witted boys are involved :’D Anyway, hope you enjoy~

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FictionPress

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 29:

Eishirou idly tugged at the sleeves of his shirt to cover his wrists. Just as he had anticipated, the bruises had turned dark and ugly. They were also rather tender. Thankfully, the pain killers Neriah issued him took the edge off. Enough to allow him to forget his injuries for a short time, only to do something stupid to cause pain and promptly remind himself.

A buzzing pulled Eishirou out of his fidgeting and he quickly picked up his communicator he had set on the table in front of him. The name on the screen didn’t surprise him one little bit.

“Hey, Prof,” Eishirou greeted.

“Hey, Kiddo. How’s the shoulder?”

Eishirou idly rolled his shoulder, prompting him to wince soon after. “A little stiff but nothing too bad.”

“Can I assume that you’ll be taking it easy today like Neriah commanded? He’s already on the prowl, you know?”

That didn’t surprise him one little bit. Which was one of the reasons Eishirou got out early.

“Well, he won’t find me near the academy,” Eishirou returned with a sense of satisfaction as he glanced around at the bustling café around him. “I'm already out for breakfast with Zayne.”

Jacob response was a bit of a surprise. “Oh ho, just the two of you?” he asked, his tone filled with mirth.

Eishirou felt a blush rush to his features. “Prof, please-"

“What’s so funny?”

Huh, that was Irwin’s voice.

“Eishirou is out on a date with Zayne.”

“Scandalous!” Irwin replied with a boisterous laugh. “Your boy is growing up fast!”

“I know!”

“I’m hanging up now!” Eishirou half-yelled into the communicator, his face no doubt a bright, vivid red.

“I kid, I kid!” Jacob laughed through his attempt to pacify him. He soon cleared his throat, though his on-screen image, he was obviously sporting an amused smile. “Seriously, I'm glad that you found someone like Zayne. He’s a good kid.”

Y-yeah, he was a nice guy. Strong, protective…handsome.

Really handsome, actually. Gorgeous even.

“Have fun and I’ll check in on you later.”

“Ah, later...” Eishirou responded numbly.

“Don’t forget all the details!” Jacob just had to add as another boisterous laugh was heard somewhere behind him.

Eishirou bristled, his blush returning fiercely as he once again half-yelled into the communicator. “You’ll be getting the bare minimum at best!”

It was pointless, though. Jacob had already ended the call from his end. He was no doubt having a good ol’ belly laugh with Irwin at his expense. Eishirou could only utter a sigh as he placed the communicator back down onto the table.

Not a second after he did, Zayne returned to the able with two plates of food. He had insisted that he would be the one to brave the buffet. Too many people jostling for position might accidentally brush or even hit against his bruised shoulder. And with Zayne being over 6-feet tall, he could be intimidating enough to persuade people to leave him alone.

“I take it that was Professor Chryses?” Zayne asked as he set one of the plates in front of Eishirou. “I heard you practically yelling at him from the buffet table.”

Eishirou uttered another sigh. “Yeah, that was him. Just checking in on me. And teasing me. And warning me that Professor Neriah would be on the prowl if I dare attempt any research at the academy.”

“I’m pretty sure even Sigmund is afraid of him,” Zayne commented idly as he settled in his chair and picked up a fork to start eating.

“Probably,” Eishirou laughed as he moved to start eating, too. “Speaking of which, does he know you’re with me?”

“I told him I’m wherever you are. That’s all he needs to know. Ernesta knows, though.”

“She’s not bothered?”

“No. Not that she has much say in it.”

Eishirou laughed. “Fair enough.”

A loud crash caused Eishirou to jump in his seat and he immediately felt his heart race. He turned to look behind him, half expecting to find a tall, bulky Star Rebellion follower standing there menacingly.

Instead, he watched as a waiter calmly picked up a toppled chair and place it back under a table.

“Are you ok?” Zayne asked him, prompting him to return his attention to him once more.

Eishirou couldn’t help but flush at his reaction. “Yeah. Just a little bit nervous after everything that happened yesterday. I hope nothing like it happens today.”

“I’ll be able to protect you if it does.”

The determination and resolution in Zayne’s voice brought a smile to Eishirou’s lips. “Yeah, I know. I still hope nothing happens. You deserve to relax every once in a while, too.”

He didn’t want everything between them to result in high-octane drama. Their first mission together. Their second mission together. It wasn’t anything they did that caused such high-stress situations to play out. Still, it would be nice for them to simply just spend time together.

You know, as friends. Or something.

There was…there was something bothering him, though. He didn’t want to ruin the mood further with his insecurities. But he also didn’t want to, well, sit and dwell on them either. He had always been taught not to dwell on things. To not let a concern grow and fester when he had the capability to ask questions and receive answers.

If there was something that caused concern; find a way to alleviate it and move on.

“Do you think what happened yesterday night was just a coincidence?” Eishirou asked quietly.

Zayne immediately stopped eating and looked over at him. “There have been reports of ShadowDwellers for several days. It was only a matter of time that a few of the bastards would make their way into the academy,” he explained before he shook his head, a frown tugging at his lips. “I’m just glad that I was there.”

“Yeah. I am, too,” Eishirou smiled. “I’m just jumpy, I guess.”

“Let’s try to ignore all that for now,” Zayne suddenly suggested. “It’s your day off, after all.”

Eishirou nodded. “Right.”

They ate their food in relative silence after that. Speaking occasional, discussing what foods they liked. Even sharing food from time to time.

Zayne, of course, ate far more than Eishirou did. Yet, he didn’t eat as much as he usually did. Likely out of consideration for him, not wanting to force him to wait and watch as he had his fill. Though, Eishirou didn’t mind. Zayne deserved to eat as much as he wanted.

Even so, a few minutes after Eishirou finished eating, Zayne declared himself done, too.

“Ready to go?”

Eishirou snatched up his communicator and slipped it into his pocket. “Yup, all ready.” He had to smile when Zayne offered his hand toward him as an offer of support. Of course, Eishirou promptly slipped his hand in Zayne’s and allowed him to help him to his feet.

His shoulder ached slightly from the sudden jostling, but soon settled down as they moved from the café’s premises.

That pain soon returned, however, as someone abruptly pushed against his shoulder. It caused Eishirou to utter a small squeak of pain and subconsciously curled himself closer to Zayne. Seeking protection from him.

“What’s wrong?” Zayne immediately asked.

“Just my shoulder,” Eishirou replied through a wince as he cradled his right shoulder. “There are more people here than I’m used to.”

Zayne unexpectedly moved to stand on Eishirou’s right where he then slipped an arm around the small of Eishirou’s back. His large hand rested against his side as he pulled him toward him.

Despite the fact that Eishirou’s injured shoulder rested against Zayne’s chest, it didn’t cause him any pain or discomfort. It actually felt secure there. Comfortable. Protected.

As did he.

A light flush danced across Eishirou’s features when Zayne lowered his head to speak to him. His cheek brushing against his hair.

“Stay close to me.”

His heart unexpectedly skipped a beat. That…didn’t feel like a suggestion or a plea. Rather, it was a request. Not just for this moment, but for something more…personal. Intimate.

“Ok.”

They received a few odd glances from passer-by’s as they moved along the pedestrian paths. But he tried to ignore them for the most part, and instead concentrated on the man next to him. The way his arm felt around him. How he moved protectively, yet in a way that didn’t bring him any discomfort.

Something felt…different.

It wasn’t like this was the first time Zayne had, well, held him. Their first mission resulted in Zayne pulling close multiple times; carrying him, holding his hand, shielding him with his own body. And the many times after that. Shielding him, protecting him…hugging him.

Zayne was very, well, affectionate toward him. He wasn’t sure if affectionate was the right word, but definitely very touchy-feely. He didn’t seem that way with anyone else. Not his own teammates.

Eishirou wasn’t sure if his thought-process had been influenced by Jacob’s teasing. But it truly felt like they were on a date.

And, honestly, Eishirou didn’t mind.

They soon reached a crossroads. The right path that would eventually lead them back to the academy. A path Eishirou wasn’t quite ready to take just yet. It wasn’t often that he got a day off to do whatever he wanted. Normally, he would be eager to get back to his project so he could move onto the next one.

But today, he was content to simply spend more time with Zayne.

“Let’s not go back to the Academy yet.”

Zayne wasn’t at all put-off by the request. “Sure,” he smiled. “Where to?”

Eishirou pointed down the other path. “Let’s head toward the beach. Haven’t been there for a while.”

Zayne kept his arm around Eishirou as he guided them down the left path. They moved along in a comfortable silence. They received a few more double-glances from the small throng of people. But they were nothing off-putting. A few cheeky smiles from a group of young kids. A cooing sort of expression from a couple of old ladies. That sort of thing.

They were largely ignored for the most part. And Eishirou was fine with that.

After a few minutes of walking, they finally reached the beachy, tropical feel of the seafront. A throng of cute cafes and novelty shops lined the street looking over the beach. There appeared to be a few new shops there, so Eishirou made the mental note to check them out later.

The visitor’s pier overlooking the sea and sands was surprisingly empty. But Eishirou was thankful for that piece of good fortune.

They walked until they reached the end of the pier and leaned against the wooden guard barrier.

The water was a bit too cold to go for a swim, but the sound of crashing waves and the smell of sea salt as the breeze ruffled their hair was relaxing and comforting. As was simply watching as boats and trawlers powered toward the docks.

Sections of the barrier wall had been opened to allow for seaborne vessels to charter in and out, docking with supplies and shipping out with others. The next Sanctuary City was over a thousand kilometres away. Transporting such large quantities of cargo was far more efficient by sea than by air.

Though, that would need to draw to an end soon. Cyclone season was to be upon them in a few more months. And those storms were absolutely brutal.

“I can’t remember the last time I visited the beach,” Zayne mused aloud.

Eishirou nodded. “Hm. I’m used to always working on a project. But it has been nice having a carefree day like this.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Maybe we can go finishing next time,” he mused. “Haven’t done that since I was a kid.”

“I’ve never been fishing,” Zayne revealed.

That was honestly a little heartbreaking and Eishirou wondered what kind of childhood Zayne had with two Elite parents. But he did know what Zayne didn’t have any hobbies, weren’t really allowed to have any.

So, Eishirou turned toward him and tilted his head to the side. “Well, all the more reason to do it, right?”

Zayne turned to look at him, too. And smile warmly. “Yeah.”

It should be fun trying his hand at fishing again. He wasn’t an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but he was fairly confident that he and Zayne could fumble their way through it.

Though, it was something that would likely need to wait until they’ve finished researching the Red Lily. Or, at least research enough to know how to retrieve information and memories from the relic.

Eishirou was pulled from his musings when Zayne shifted his stance to face him fully. A serious expression marred his features and his lips were pulled into a right frown. The sudden change of emotion immediately worried him and he wondered if, perhaps, Zayne had noticed something he hadn’t. Like a ShadowDweller or a possible Star Rebellion follower.

“Is something wrong?” he asked nervously.

Zayne didn’t react in the way he had expected. Instead, he placed his hands against Eishirou’s sides and looked at him directly. “Eishirou, listen; I have a bad feeling about the Red Lily. I want…would like for you to stop working on it.”

Eishirou was stunned. He truly hadn’t expected something like that. A request and a plea. “Why?” he asked, his arms dropping limply to his sides as he looked up at Zayne in confusion. “Is it because of the trouble I caused?”

“That’s not it,” Zayne immediately insisted. “Nothing has been your fault.”

The sincerity in Zayne’s voice made Eishirou instantly believe him. “Then…” he raised a hand to motion toward himself. “You’re worried about me?”

Zayne nodded his head, his gaze still holding his. “Yeah.”

“That’s…fair, I guess,” Eishirou returned as his hand trailed over to gingerly touch his right shoulder. He turned his head to look toward it also. Though his clothing covered the bandages that were underneath. “Things have been different, maybe difficult since discovering it.”

However, that wasn’t the Red Lily’s fault. And it wasn’t his, nor was it Zayne’s. A group of extremists wanted it. They were responsible. They were the ones to blame.

“But I…I need to learn more about the Red Lily.”

Zayne looked rather exasperated as his hands pressed against Eishirou’s sides. “Why?”

Eishirou turned his head to look at him once more. “To find a way to stop those Star Rebellion guys from using it. It’s powerful, the relic. If they find a way to use it, a lot of people could be hurt.”

Zayne simply stared at him for a moment, his eyes searching his face. His expression soon shifted into that of realisation and he uttered a half-irritated sigh. “That’s true…” Another frown soon appeared on his lips. “But what about you?”

That…was a good question. Unfortunately, Eishirou didn’t truly have an answer for it. He wished he did. For Zayne’s sake. To put at ease.

“…The first time it appeared still worries you, doesn’t it?” Eishirou asked quietly.

“…Yeah.”

Eishirou raised his hands and rested them against Zayne’s chest as he moved closer to him. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Zayne’s hands slipped to Eishirou’s back as he pulled him closer. “So am I. I scared you, didn’t I?”

His fingers grasped at the material of Zayne’s jacket tightly. Fleeting images of Zayne throwing himself in front of him, taking attacks, spilling blood flickered through Eishirou’s mind.

“What could have happened to you scared me.”

Zayne said nothing as he pulled Eishirou closer still and gently rested his forehead against his. The touch was so very comforting. Eishirou relaxed his fingers but did not pull back his hands. Had no need to.

“I’ll find a way to work with the Red Lily,” he promised. “A way that won’t hurt me, ok?”

“Alright,” Zayne said. “I’ll settle for that for now.”

“Ok.” Eishirou tilted his head to the side ever so slightly so that he could see Zayne’s eyes. He smiled softly. “Thank you, for being honest with me. For not letting this eat away at you. And…thank you, for a lot of other things.”

Zayne eyes softened into an expression Eishirou couldn’t quite describe. The other man startled him when he suddenly pulled him into a tight, but still warm and gentle hug. “I should thank you, too.”

Eishirou’s chin rested on Zayne’s shoulder so he could only glance at him from the corner of his eye. “For what?” he asked, quite confused.

“For lot of things,” Zayne said simply as he continued to simply hold him.

As far as he knew, he had caused Zayne a lot of trouble and worry. Though…did he mean his attempts to see him for the person he was and not the Elite he was trained to be?

The loud buzzing of his communicator caused Eishirou to jump, and he and Zayne promptly parted from one another. Both of them startled by the suddenly (and honestly, unwanted) sound.

As Eishirou reached into his pocket to pull out his communicator, he abruptly realised just how close he was to Zayne. How…intimate they must have appeared to anyone wandering by.

And it brought a deep blush to his cheeks.

“A-ah, it’s Misaki,” he stuttered dumbly. “Hey?”

“Are you anywhere near the dorms?” Misaki abruptly asked, foregoing any form of greeting.

Eishirou blinked. “No? I’m actually at the beach.”

“Good,” Misaki promptly replied, followed by the sound of typing. He was obviously working in Communications again. “Stay there for now. ShadowDwellers had been seen prowling outside the dorms again.”

Again?

So…yesterday’s ShadowDweller attack was just a coincidence? A little bit reassuring. He worried for the Passives that lived in the same dorms as him. But hopefully they were all in classes or away from their rooms. And that they were safe.

“Just stay where you are with Zayne for the next couple of hours,” Misaki continued.

Eishirou arched a questioning eyebrow. “You didn’t ask if Zayne was with me.”

Misaki snorted. “Where else would he be?”

“…You’ve been talking to Jacob, haven’t you?”

“He was awfully chatty this morning.”

Eishirou stifled a groan. “You’re teasing me, too?”

Misaki didn’t bother to grace that question with a response. “I won’t interrupt your day off any further. I’ll give you a buzz when it’s all clear to return to the dorms. Until then, have fun.”

And just like Jacob had done earlier that day, Misaki ended the call on his end before Eishirou had a chance to respond.

They were all making fun of him. He was pretty sure Lyvia was having a good ol’ giggle in Communications, too. But…it was light-hearted teasing, wasn’t it? There was mirth, but no maliciousness. It was reassuring, in a way. Familial bantering to show support.

He would pay them back one day.

“Since we’re not heading back yet, what do you want to do now?” Zayne asked.

“I don’t know.” What Eishirou did know was that he didn’t want their “date” to end just yet. “Let’s just go for a walk. See where that takes us.”

Zayne nodded his head in agreement. “Sure, sounds good.”

#original fiction #sci-fi fantasy #young adult #gay romance #relic keepers: awakening of the red lily

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 4 years ago

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Messiah Moon on the Run

▲ World Anti-Communist League Rally at the Budokan Hall, Tokyo, Japan in September 1970. It was sponsored by the IFVC (International Federation for Victory over Communism). The Freedom Leadership Foundation is the American affiliate of the IFVC.

___________________________________________

Moon fled from Korea to America in December 1971. There were fears for his life in Korea. In 1978 he fled to London to escape Donald Fraser’s investigation. Years later, when he was not succeeding in America, he moved many assets, and Japanese members, to South America.

___________________________________________

Allen Tate Wood:

September 1970 – Japan “Mr. Kuboki [President of the UC in Japan] and I got along nicely, speaking as well as we could through an interpreter, usually Miss [Young-Oon] Kim, who had arrived for the [WACL] conference [in Tokyo]… Kuboki told me that President Park [of South Korea] was one of the sponsors of the conference. He also told me that Moon was in some fear of the Park regime and that there was even talk that he was marked for assassination, for religious oppression was the order of the day in the new South Korea. One of the aims of the conference, said Kuboki, was to reassure Park that his aims and Moon’s coincided.

I could hardly doubt that Moon’s strategy had succeeded perfectly. His political aims were perfectly enmeshed in his religious goals…” From his book, Moonstruck, page 112 In the 1970s there were growing problems for Moon in South Korea. Various Unification Church leaders were arrested for tax evasion at Il-Hwa, etc. and at least one was jailed [Nansook Hong’s father]. (ref Prof. Sontag’s book Sun Myung Moon) Moon fled from Korea to America.

On December 11, 1971 Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han arrived in Los Angeles from Korea but were refused entry, and had to fly on to Toronto. The reason seems to have been that Moon was suspected of being a communist. (Perhaps due to his 1944 arrest in Seoul by the Japanese authorities who discovered Moon had been active with communists in Tokyo in 1941-1943. Moon had other communist friends up until 1950 when he fled to South Korea.)

Evidence that Moonies Jump-Started the North Korean Nuclear Program that Now Threatens the US

▲ Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han in Toronto. Also in the group were Won-bok Choi, Young-whi Kim and Mr Ishii (head of UC business in Japan)

December 12-18 Moon and Hak Ja Han in Toronto, Canada (while visa sorted)

Franco Famularo (Canadian National Leader): “In 1971, True Parents journeyed to the United States to begin their ministry there, but U.S. officials initially denied Father entry. Suddenly the Canadian family, which had fewer than a dozen members at the time, learned that True Parents would be arriving in Toronto [on December 12]. Although Father would explain the spiritual significance of visiting Canada, the practical purpose was to obtain a visa for entry into the United States.

Father’s visa situation was resolved on December 17. The following day, he and his party departed for Washington D.C.

In 1976, Father said the following to an American audience: “… vividly remembered my arrival in America on December 18, 1971…. I did not have a visa to enter America from Korea, so I came to Canada instead. Our members in America were very persistent in asking the State Department, “Why won’t you issue a visa to Father?” Ironically, officials kept telling them that I was a communist, so I was undesirable in this country.” (True Peace October 2014 page 24)

______________________________________________

April 1978 – from a newspaper report by Diana Patt, Washington, DC: Unification Church tried to keep Mr Nixon in power during the Watergate crisis Mr Fefferman claimed he did not know why Mr Salonen, head of the Freedom Leadership Foundation as well as of the Unification Church in America, had said the Watergate Project could help improve the standing of the Unification Church with the South Korean Government. But a speech by Mr. Salonen, which appeared in New Hope News, a Unification Church publication, read as follows: “When Father came to the United States his primary purpose was to do things to make him influential in Korea. The Day of Hope tour and specially the rallies in support of President Nixon were far more significant due to the impact they had in Korea than their impact here… If it was important in Korea and if it helped to bring the government and our church close together then it was more important than anything else.”

In 1978 Moon flew to London under a false name to avoid a Donald Fraser US Government Investigation subpoena

Robert Boettcher: “Bo Hi Pak, as ever the quintessential Moonie, intended to serve as a shield for Moon. Fraser’s volumes of interviews, KCFF files, financial records, and intelligence reports were highly damaging to Moon’s image. But he must not allow Fraser to drag Master into the hearing room as he had been. If necessary, he would be the sacrificial animal at Fraser’s pagan rite. That would be his ultimate act of service to God and Moon. Pak would lay down his very life to avoid having Master degraded by public interrogation.

With so much evidence pointing to Moon, however, Fraser reluctantly concluded he should be questioned. After the ordeal with Bo Hi Pak, he dreaded the prospect of going through something worse with Moon. Moonie intransigence had caused the investigation to spend much more time on the Moon organization than planned. Other important matters were not getting the attention they deserved.

Moon’s lawyer, Charles Stillman, turned down Fraser’s request that Moon be questioned informally by the staff. Stillman then made a counteroffer. Moon would consider a request to meet informally with Fraser and the other Congressmen on the condition they come to his estate on the Hudson, and that they conduct the meeting “in a manner befitting the dignity of a spiritual leader.” Fraser was not at all interested in making a pilgrimage to Belvedere for an audience with the new Messiah. The subcommittee had already issued a subpoena for Moon, and Fraser was prepared to use it. He informed Stillman that Moon had two weeks to agree to answer questions voluntarily. If he still refused, Fraser intended to serve the subpoena. Moon would then be required to appear as a witness at a hearing scheduled for June 13.

Two days before the two weeks were up, on May 13, 1978, Moon ﬂew to London on the Concorde using a false name. Like Tongsun Park two years before, he skipped the country when things got hot.

Bo Hi Pak was furious over Fraser’s suggestion that Moon’s exit had anything to do with the subpoena deadline. The Reverend Moon had long planned to carry his personal missionary work to Europe, Pak insisted. The reason for going at that time was to officiate at a mass marriage of 180 church couples in England. As for the subpoena, Master would fight it in the courts when he returned. Moon might consider accepting the subpoena under one condition: that Fraser also subpoena Pope Paul, Billy Graham, Oral Roberts, and the heads of the Baptists, Jews, Methodists, and others. Moon never returned for the announced battle. He remained abroad, in England and Korea, until November 1978, one week after Fraser’s investigation ended.

Fraser was not the only one closing in on the Moonies. The Korean Cultural and Freedom Foundation had been barred from soliciting contributions in New York after 1976. The State Social Welfare Board had discovered that less than 7 percent of the funds collected by KCFF for the Children’s Relief Fund could have been used for that purpose.”

From Gifts of Deceit by Robert Boettcher, pages 320-321

__________________________________________

The Mysterious Death of Robert Boettcher in 1984

Donald M. Fraser’s house was attacked by an arsonist just after his investigation into the Unification Church. It was only saved by good fortune.

The house of Mr Justice Comyn was destroyed by arsonists just after the UC lost a massive libel case in London…..

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/United_States_Congressional_investigation_of_the_Unification_Church

United States Congressional investigation of Moon’s organization

#Fraser Committee #Sun Myung Moon #subpoena

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kurtty-drabbles · 4 years ago

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Postwoman au (Part III)

N/A: So, here we go. Show don´t tell is one of those things I want to perfect and I hope I can do ok here.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @muninandhugin

Going to a new job is always brings new sensations. Hopes. Maybe even dreams. And Kitty Pryde would like to say she´s ready to begin this new journey with a big smile. "Oh God, what the hell I get myself into?!" she says as her mirror shows her reflection with a nervous smile and swallows hard as once again Kitty is in the waiting room- the waiting room has no signal of the big wedding and in exchange, there´re magazines covering the new sensation. A Hollywoodian celebrity is dating a mutant- inhales and exhales.

Is all Kitty can do. The receptionist appears to be a succubus- is not something to point out, but, the receptionist looks way too much Like Gloriana If, and is a big if here, wasn´t be the eyes. Her eyes are too unnatural to belong to Gloriana- and well it gives ideas as if this is a look a succubus would dig or if is about her "dates"

"Good morning, Miss Pryde, right on time...good, he loves people that are punctual," she says with an upward smile. She types something really quick in her laptop. Once the laptop gives a small sound more or less like "Blink" the receptionist gives her total attention to Kitty. "Mr. Krampus is in room 23. He´s moving out thanks to his work...he´ll need space" and she gives her a key. And nods as if this end the conversation.

"What? how I get to room 23?" Kitty asked confused. And the receptionist has a resting bitch face- or, maybe, the receptionist thinks poor on Kitty´s intelligence and Kitty will have none of that- she punches the table site separating Kitty and the so-called succubus hard. The succubus couldn´t care less.

Kitty holds the key and channels all her unfamous "mean cat spirit" to deal with this situation. "Listen, How in the hell I´ll go to a room 23 if ..." the words die off as Kitty is teleport right away. The succubus shakes her head and continues to do her work.

"Pff, mortals"

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Room 23 is an oval room. The prominent colors are coffee-colored and a soft tone of blue. And a curious sight caught Kitty´s eyes- not the many strange objects that must remain nameless for now- it was the window...It is dark and snowing, yet, Kitty is 100% certain of the weather. "But...it was sunny this day...what happened?" and she looks at the window to see snow, and what appears to be a village. "Did I time travel or teleport?"

"The latter, Katzchen!" a voice whispered in her ear and is more than enough to cause Kitty to jump in her feet and gest away from the space she was, even if was a little-and turning to see her boss would be a good thing if this was a normal situation. Now, all Kitty wants to is one thing- "AHHHH I´ll not torture children" she exclaims.

Inwardly, Kitty will slap herself for being so brash. She had a big speech about this and even rehearsal that with Doug, and yet, she goes to the most cliche. For shame!

The woman pulls the Davi star out of her shirt and looks at her so-called boss. "Did you heard me? I´ll not torture children!" and if Kurt was seething and ready to mayhem, well, he´s looking perfectly calm as he takes a small candy, unwrapped, and eat it.

"Oh, I was wondering when you would found out" his smile is too charming for one who works as a tortured and Kitty´s hair goosebumps. "Ok, let´s make things clear. You´re not here to torture kids nor people. I´m. I need you to help my agenda and sometimes deliver things to the others" his golden eyes look at the key on Kitty´s hand- a small key that looks ordinary and plain- "and only that"

"Oh, but you´ll torture people? Great...want me to bring coffee to you too?" Kitty took a small knife and points at Krampus. The deity/fairy is too amused. Too amused and Kitty won´t speculate about why the man seems to happy to see a knife pointed at him.

"I´d not torture the innocents, Kitty, I torture those who have wicked souls. The children I took...is not little ones who watch porn or forget to do chores...no, I´m talking about kids who killed their younger brother, pets just because" and with a snap of his fingers the room changes and images of a young boy drowning a baby is showed much to her displeasure.

"I´m not a monster, Kitty, mere a force to punish the wick. Nothing more or less." Krampus concludes. His golden eyes seem ancient now. And an animalistic smile plays off. "I can show more of my victims...A man who shot his entire family for money. A woman who tried to murder her lover and his wife..." and Kitty raises her hand.

"STOP"

"That´s my work, Kitty...I see this every day and I´m very good in what I do"

"Could have told me" she faces him. Gritting her teeth as the room finally returns to normal. "I didn´t like to know what you do ...by a friend"

"Galaticus indicate you....this is new to me, and you´re right. I should have been more honest" his tone is full of mirth. "Do you still want to work with me?"

Yes?

No?

"Will I not have to torture anyone?"

"Yes, like I said...I only need you to organize my agenda and deliver things...only this"

Kitty exhales and slowly lower the knife. "If I stabbed you...would you felt any pain?"

"Oh, I would feel something but not what you´re imaging"

"Uhm...I think is what I´m imaging" she says holding the key closer now. _____________________________________________________________________________________________

By perchance Doug has an old movie about Krampus- well, old is an ambiguous term to use. The movie has not even 5 years old but as is the first Krampus movie...and the first to get not so favorable reviews...is easy to believe the movie is ancient-and Jubilee, Kitty, Bobby and Doug are invited to watch the movie.

"So...you´re working with Krampus?" Bobby asked bemused. "And Galaticus indicated you?"

"Yes...I have a magical contract if you want to see" Kitty responds a bit grumpy. "By the way, how are Scott and Jean?"

"Oh...yes, how are the couple?" Jubilee pipes as Doug is putting the movie on the DVD player.

"Scott and Jean are rightly pissed. They even refuse to use Prof X´s honeymoon vacation...instead, Doom...yes, I know...even they´re shocked, Doom over a nice honeymoon vacation to them and well, they´re traveling to Paris, Italy and Spain. I know, odd"

Doug then sits on the couch. "Odd love confessions aside...the movie will begin, let´s watch Kitty´s future working with Krampus"

And they silently watch the movie, especially the final part, where Krampus put all members of the family in a snowglobe.

"Well...Kitty, please don´t put us in a snowglobe"

"Speak to yourself...I can be in a snowglobe"

"Bobby, shut up"

And Kitty wonders if perhaps Galaticus hates her.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Krampus is cleaning his tools when his friend, Santa, arrives at his office offering some snacks. "So, still wanting to keep Kitty as your secretary?" and Krampus stops what he was doing to gaze seriously at the old man´s piercing eyes.

"She really had no idea what I was...that was really new to me...and as I mentioned before...yes, I´ll keep her until the contract breaks"

"You think you two may get along?"

"I think she´ll have questions. I think she won´t bide her will to mine and that" Krampus licks his dry lips and shows all his teeth in a big grin. "and I like that very much....way better than the last one"

Now Santa scowls him. "You mean that poor and delusional witch from the wind ways who wanted to sleep with you and turn you in her personal dog? No shit, Sherlock"

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Amanda Szardos screams in fury when she got the word that Krampus got a new assistant. "A plain woman like her? Replace me?" and Amanda has to plot, has to be the smartest because she still needs Krampus to do her bidding and sex is not a viable coin for trade anymore.

"Then... the best thing to do is sabotage her work and Krampus will return to me"

#Postwoman au #kurt wagner #Kurt!Krampus #Kitty Pryde #Kurtty yet #Yes the keys are teleportation device #always anti amanda #yes Krampus enjoys some BSDM and knife play #and Kitty will have lots of questions #Krampus likes people like Kitty more than Amanda #even if Krampus did slept with Amanda

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hideyseek · 5 years ago

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50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked

tagged by @usersoup <3

What is the colour of your hairbrush? it is .. black and turquoise, though i must admit that since i’ve cut my hair i rarely use it.

Name a food you never eat? huh. caviar? i tend to forget about the existence of foods i don’t eat until i’m on the instacard website. chocolate ice cream, i guess. that’s like, a normal-person food i never consume.

Are you typically too warm or too cold? i am constantly too cold. as i type this i am in my apartment in sweatpants under a blanket and my roommate is in shorts and a tshirt.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? mm i was reading a room of one’s own, at risk of sounding like the pretentious humanities major i am. i’m reading it out of desperation (we are in possession of the writer’s block and we would like to give it up as soon as possible), after having had it in my head to read since i came across a lin-manuel miranda tween in like 2015 telling all young writers to read it

What is your favourite candy bar? i don’t really like.. candy. twix or butterfingers, if i had to pick one at gunpoint.

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? yEAH u fucking bet i went to winterguard international championships twice in high school and bands of america championships once (both as part of my school’s winter/colorguard). i’ve never gone to a pro sportsball match though.

What is the last thing you said out loud? oh, are you really out there alone? (at my roommate, who is on the balcony with a desk lamp rigged up for optimal dirtball making).

What is your favourite ice cream? vanilla. or hazelnut. i fucking love hazelnut.

What was the last thing you had to drink? not to associate myself with brands, but i am drinking sprite as i type this.

Do you like your wallet? yes! i had my wallet nicked on a bus in the middle of the semester and my replacement is a lovely narrow black folding wallet that i am infinitely fond of.

What was the last thing you ate? the dregs of my cheezits, pepper jack flavor

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? mm no, though during my phone call with my grandma earlier this week she told me i should buy more clothes no less than four times. she thinks i should own and wear more “pretty girl clothes” and i haven’t the heart to tell her that i think gender is fake.

The last sporting event you watched? i participated in a harry potter pub quiz over zoom the other week, if that counts. otherwise, probably something televised and american football related, several months ago.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? oH thank god i have an interesting answer to this one -- my stage manager/playwright friend, whose recent play i am dying to get a copy of.

Ever go camping? yeah. my family used to go every august with some family friends.

Do you take vitamins? mm just vitamin d. (fuck off this was not meant to be a dick joke).

Do you go to church every Sunday? nah.

Do you have a tan? not anymore... even during the semester i spend most of my time underground in a basement rehearsal space or in the on-campus computer labs. (hence the vitamin d)

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? these are?? not equivalent at all in terms of scope? chinese food, of course.

Do you drink your soda with a straw? nah. can-to-mouth for me.

What colour socks do you usually wear? depends on how cold i am: i have some very lovely warm purple socks and some red and black socks that my dear friend gifted me for christmas last? year? but otherwise i have just sports shoes height white socks and black socks.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? i am gay, i do not drive.

What terrifies you? failure, mostly. i hate that that’s my answer, but there you go. failure, or being putting myself in a situation where i don’t really have a choice in what happens to me.

Look to your left, what do you see? mm, i just moved from the study to bed so: the empty space in the loft bed railing where the ladder is, a blank wall, the edge and hinges of the bedroom wall.

What chore do you hate? none, really? i’ll get really passive-aggressive about some of the small apartment tidying things in my head, but not often enough that anything comes to mind now.

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? how my linguistics prof last semester had folks self-identify if they spoke non-american english in the middle of lecture

What’s your favourite soda? hm, hm. oH. there’s a vietnamese sandwich place in my hometown that has the best lychee soda. (a handful of google image searches informs me this is elisha aerated brand)

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? hm, most of the time when i’m going to fast food i’m going to in-n-out with either a pile of theater people or my high school friend group, so sitting. er, going in.

Who’s the last person you talked to? roommates, in person.

Favourite cut of beef? i could not name cuts of beef if u asked me to really nicely. actually jk i know uh, ox... oxtail? i like oxtail soup.

Last song you listened to? am in the middle of listening to trenchh by cavetown but i’ve been alternating fob and cavetown and bastille on shuffle on spotify.

Last book you read? ella enchanted by gail carson levine, because it is my #1 comfort book.

Favourite day of the week? i like thursdays. they just sound nice.

Can you say the alphabet backwards? if i had like, several minutes, i probably could do it. but everything after w would involve me counting (counting? reciting?) from the beginning.

How do you like you coffee? i’ll drink it any way but black. i have discovered i do not like dalgona coffee. but i like the dark chocolate mocha that peet’s does in the winter a ridiculous amount.

Favourite pair of shoes? i have this pair of converse that’s grey stripes that always makes me feel like a Cool Arts Student, even though it’s actively terrible for my arches.

The time you normally go to bed? to bed? midnightish. to being asleep? usually 1-2ish.

The time you normally get up? eleven in the morning, apparently, since that’s what’s been happening now that i’m not setting alarms. during the school year, usually 7:30 or 8 because i work in the scene shop half the mornings of the week.

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? conceptually? sunsets. aesthetically? also sunsets. metaphorically, though, i prefer sunrises.

How many blankets on your bed? i’ve got a blanket (duvet, maybe? comforter? i have never really vibed with these western concepts of bedding) and another knitted blanket.

Describe your kitchen plates: black and square and slightly chipped because roommates and i get a bit aggressive with cramming them onto the drying rack.

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? i like hard cider. (i like soft cider better than hard cider, but the apple taste drowns out the alcohol taste enough for me to have a pretty good time.)

Do you play cards? haha yeah. whenever i’m home i play 24 with my little brother and lose a lot. or my family’ll play 21. or BS, which i fucking hate because i cannot lie for shit.

What colour is your car? still gay, still don’t drive.

Can you change a tire? mmmmmmmmmmm no. i have a shocking lack of car-related life skills for someone holding down a job that mostly involves wrenches.

Your favourite province? oh boy. hubei province, bc there’s no country specification and this feels less impersonal than if i were to just point somewhere in australia.

Favourite job you’ve ever had? hm, let’s limit this to work i’ve done for money, just to narrow the field down. (i tend to like the work i do a lot.) i really really enjoy working as a sound technician, especially as a mic assistant (it checks my “meeting people” box and my “helping people with their emotions” box and my “storytelling for an audience” box because at the theater i work at, pre-show mic check is me talking about my day and has resulted in a handful of people telling me i should try standup). the hours and pay are kind of crap, though. you don’t get friday nights when your friday nights are spent backstage of the same show you’ve heard twenty million times at this point. i also enjoy teaching computer science, because i just fucking like computer science. christ, i just,, miss being at work :c the production of newsies i was gonna do this summer got canceled.

How did you get your biggest scar? mm, pass.

What did you do today that made someone else happy? i, hm. everything that comes to mind feels vaguely manipulative, since i can’t really tell if people were made happy? oh! i had an extended slack conversation with one of the academic interns for the cs class i help teach that was basically just us bonding over word humor. he seems like the kind of person who would have gotten a kick out of it.

I tag: @kittog @wali21 @capt-ann @lemon-yellow @iamanonniemouse @raccoon-sex-dungeon @snakesonacartesianplane @eternalflarg @swimmingseafish (do it if u want! don’t let me bully u into anything)

#tag game #SOUP I LIKED THIS A LOT! THANK U #no pressure friends #!#but also i enjoy holding knowledge about the people i like

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sweetbitterpdf · 6 years ago

Note

if you're still up for writing something... 25 and 47 from the cute shippy starters? 💞

( cute shippy starters !!! )

i’m always up for writing something, especially if it’s about elu, love those two boys w my whole heart. thank you for sending this!! <3

also this got long, like... 2.5k words long. and both the quotes are really early on, so that’s a bit oof. in any case, i hope you enjoy!!

25. “I can’t believe you talked me into this” & 47. “No one needs to know.”

Lucas stands in the doorway, watching Eliott fiddle with what he’s been referring to as “the set,” which in reality, is only his bedroom. It’s in a cleaner state than usual— there’s typically significantly more dirty laundry littering the floor. It almost looks like an actual film set, but there’s something about it that looks too lived in, too Eliott for Lucas to think of it as anything else than his best friend’s bedroom.

“Okay, so here’s what I was thinking,” Eliott starts, turning back to face him. “You wake up alone in your bed. The person you slept with is gone. Part of you knew this would happen, but another part of you hoped that they would stay.” Lucas had already been told the premise for Eliott’s latest short film— a project for his intro to filmmaking class— and he was too taken aback when Eliott asked him to star in it to even think about refusing. “You think about what you did last night, what you felt, and your hands trace the lines that their hands drew on you.” Eliott traces his hands along his own arms to demonstrate, and Lucas’ eyes follow the movement. “Think of longing, searching for someone that always seems just out of reach.”

And, naturally, his traitorous brain thinks of nothing but Eliott.

Eliott, his best friend, who knows him more than anyone else. Who he can sit in silence with and still have a good time. Who he doesn’t need to make plans with, he can just show up on his doorstep with a text sent five minutes ago and come inside. Who he’s more comfortable around than he is around himself.

Eliott, who Lucas is madly, foolishly, completely in love with.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” He says, trying his hardest to tear himself away from his thoughts, trying to make light of the situation. It proves successful when Eliott chuckles at him— but unfortunately, it also makes something foreign flutter in the pit of his stomach.

“May I remind you, I didn’t have to do a whole lot of talking. I asked you if you would star for me, and you said yes pretty much immediately.” Lucas rolls his eyes and tries to brush it off. But he can’t help but think about the fact that he would agree to absolutely anything Eliott asked him. “No one needs to know— no one in my class knows you exist. I can request that my prof does a solo viewing, if that would make you feel better. Plus, I couldn’t imagine anyone else I’d rather have as my muse.” Lucas’ stomach does a flip when Eliott calls him his muse. It repeats in his head, echoing, my muse, my muse, my muse.

“I’m sure there are plenty of other people who would pay good money to be your muse.” Lucas scoffs, trying with everything in him not to blush. He shrugs, “Show it to whoever you want, I don’t really care that much.” Eliott nods, and then claps his hands together.

“Now, shirt off.” Eliott is really making it hard for Lucas to keep his blush at bay. It’s just for the film, he reminds himself. You need to stop, he doesn’t feel the same. “You can keep your shorts on, since the sheets will cover them. Get on the bed— yeah, just like that. Get comfortable.” Lucas lays on his back, pulling the sheets around his waist, moving the pillows around until he settles down against them. “Just let me check how you look in the camera.” Eliot says, stepping away. He fiddles with the camera’s settings, before looking back around it at Lucas. “Okay, maybe try tucking one of your hands behind your head?” Lucas follows Eliott’s instructions, but tucking his hand under the pillow causes Eliott to scrunch his nose up. “Nah, actually put it back where it was before.” He obeys again, and Eliott nods, satisfied. “Lean toward the camera a bit? Don’t look into the lens, though.” He stares at one of the corners of Eliott’s bedroom, and wonders how he managed to get himself into this situation. Wonders if there’s any way to get himself out of it, back into safe territory. “Stay right there, that’s perfect.” Eliott moves the bedsheets around a bit before returning to the camera. “Alright, I think we’re ready for the first shot. Look off into space, you’re thinking of last night. You’re alone, and you really thought they’d be here with you when you woke up.” He conjures images of him and Eliott. They come easily. “Okay, now trail your fingers down your jaw, your neck, your torso. Remember, you’re tracing where they kissed last night.” He thinks of Eliott kissing down his neck, and his breath catches in his throat. “Think of the fact that you thought you had something— and now the morning has come, and they haven’t even left a note.” He thinks of the fact that this is all these thoughts will be— thoughts. “Roll over, and check your phone.” He obeys again, rolling over to check his phone. There aren’t any texts, he sighs, trying his best to act, and not to project his own emotions too much. “They haven’t texted, either. You think of reaching out to them, but you don’t. You’re scared.” He’s scared, of him and Eliott, “Scared of them not responding,” Scared of Eliott not feeling the same way, “Of them not feeling the same way.” Even more scared of the possibility, small as it may be, that Eliott does. “Cut.” Eliott’s voice rings through the otherwise quiet room, and it brings Lucas back down to earth. “Lucas, that was... wow, you’re a natural.” Lucas tries to ignore the way his heart pounds against his ribcage.

They shoot a couple more scenes in the same manner, and Lucas thinks of Eliott the entire time. He thinks of telling him, every time Eliott gives him a wide-eyed compliment, shocked at how realistically he’s acting. It’s you, the Lucas in his head says, it’s because I’m thinking of you. They finish just at the sun begins to set, and Lucas realizes, bittersweetly, that he’s spent all day in Eliott’s bed.

“Alright, I think that’s everything!” Eliott puts his hands on his hips, coming to the side of the bed. “That’s a wrap.” He says in his best mock-director voice. “Thank you for doing this Lucas, I... I really appreciate it.” The look on Eliott’s face is so sincere that Lucas has to look away.

“Any time.”

“I’m not gonna let you go home hungry— pizza and netflix?” It’s a sacred tradition between the two of them, at this point. Done an important assignment? Pizza and netflix. Having a shitty day? Pizza and netflix.

“When have I ever said no to that?” Lucas says, and Eliott grins, already dialing the number for the favourite pizza place.

---

They’re sat on Eliott’s couch shortly after, flipping through the different movies and TV shows, trying to figure out something to watch. The pizza is steaming on the table, and Lucas takes his first slice.

“So, what was the inspiration for this one?” Lucas asks. His favourite part of hanging out with Eliott when he’s in director-mode is hearing about his inspirations. He gets inspiration from anywhere and everywhere, and every film he makes comes from a completely different place.

“Oh, you know,” Eliott shrugs, “I wanted a different take on all of the cheesy romance movies that are always being made.” Ah, yes, one of Eliott’s biggest pet peeves. Sometimes they’ll watch a popular rom-com and point out all of the flaws, laughing together at every cringe-worthy moment. “Not every love story ends happily.” Lucas’ brows furrow in concern. Eliott doesn’t look happy as he explains. “Sometimes the love interest doesn’t feel the same.” Eliott looks... hurt. “Sometimes the longing never ends.” Why does he look so hurt?

“That’s dark.” Lucas says, trying his best to feign nonchalance. In reality, though, he’s planning a revenge plot again whoever it is that made Eliott feel this way, whoever gave him inspiration from such a dark place.

“It’s true, though.” When Eliott returns his focus to the movie, Lucas tries to do the same, but it proves unsuccessful. He flicks his gaze over to Eliott every couple of minutes, and his stomach lurches whenever he sees that Eliott is doing the same. They’re quiet for a long time, and during the silent moments of the film, Lucas can hear the way that Eliott’s breath shakes.

“I wasn’t being entirely truthful.” Eliott says, hesitantly. Every word feels like a step, and Lucas looks over at him, the screen illuminating his face.

“Hm?”

“When you asked about my inspiration.” He says, finally turning to Lucas. “That is my inspiration, but it was only part of it.” There’s something in Eliott’s eyes, something that he can’t place.

“Oh?”

“And I want to tell you the rest. But I only want to if you want to hear it, because it might... Change things.” Lucas can feel his heart start beat harder and faster.

What?

“Change things?” He asks. Eliott takes a breath.

“Between us.” Another breath, “And I’m not sure I want that, but I also want you to know.”

“Well, I’d like to know.” Lucas says without hesitation. “But I don’t want you to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with, so you don’t have to.” He doesn’t want Eliott to do anything that he doesn’t want— he wants nothing but safety and happiness for him. And he doesn’t look very happy right now.

“Keeping this in is more uncomfortable than telling you would be, I think.” What? Lucas’ brain repeats. He doesn’t think that going back is a possibility, now. If Eliott doesn’t tell him, he thinks he’ll be left wondering for the rest of his life.

“Okay. Well then I want to know.”

“I wanted you to star in it because it’s about you.”

Lucas is pretty sure that his heart stops.

“It’s... It’s what?”

“I wrote it about you.” Eliott repeats, and everything in Lucas’ body tenses, unable to process what he’s hearing. “Well, I wrote it about me, but I wrote it about our friendship.” All Lucas can do at this point is listen. “About how I don’t want to ruin things, about how I’m terrified of you not feeling the same. About how I’m scared that being friends with you isn’t enough, for me.” Lucas thinks of the content of Eliott’s film, all of the longing, all of the pining, all of the defeat. It makes him sick to his stomach, how they’re both been feeling the same thing but were too scared to say anything. “About how I feel closer to you than I do anyone else, but you always seem just beyond my reach.” They’re both quiet, then, and Lucas is speechless. He tries to find something to say and comes up empty, empty, empty. “Please say something.”

“Eliott,” is where he chooses to begin. “What are you saying?” Because, really, this can’t be happening. This is impossible, in every sense of the word. Before Eliott can say it, he’ll tell Lucas that he’s joking, or Lucas will wake up from the single most vivid dream of his entire life, or—

“I’m saying,” Eliott swallows, hard. “I’m saying that I’m in love with you.” Lucas’ eyes go wide, at Eliott’s words— but more than anything that they hang in the in the air, echoing around Lucas’ head, tangible and memorable and real. But then Eliott moves back, tensing up, curling into himself. “We can forget this ever happened.” No. “You know what? Forget I ever said anything.” No!

“What if I don’t want to?” Lucas says quickly, and suddenly all of the things he’s ever wanted to say to Eliott are back in his head.

“What do you mean ‘what if you don’t want to’?” Eliott asks, and Lucas is fairly certain that their expressions match, though he can’t see his own. Surprise, awe, this can’t be real, how is this happening right now?

“What if I don’t want to forget about what you said?” Lucas says, inching closer to Eliott on the opposite side of the couch. “What if I’ve been dreaming of a moment like this, for years?” Their thighs are touching, now. “What if I’m in love with you, too?” Eliott’s arms reach up, hanging in the air. Lucas takes them, gently, and places them on his waist.

“Let me know if you don’t want—”

“Eliott, please kiss me.”

And then they are.

They’re kissing and kissing and kissing Lucas realizes that this is what kissing is supposed to feel like— distant stars exploding and everything aligning and warmth, so much warmth. Eliott’s hands move up to his face, cradling his cheeks, holding him like he’s something precious.

“Lucas, why are you crying?” He only realizes when Eliott asks him that hot tears are rolling down his cheeks. But he’s smiling, harder than he ever has in his life because this is better than anything his dreams could possibly supply him with.

“Because it’s you,” Lucas says, as if it’s the most simple and obvious thing in the world. “Because it’s always been you.” And it has. Lucas’ life is split into before and after he met Eliott, and his love— because that’s what it is, isn’t it?— puts all of his fleeting crushes on past classmates to shame. “Because I’m in love with you, and you’re in love with me.” He laughs in disbelief, kissing Eliott again. “What the fuck? What are the chances?” Eliott kisses the tears away as they fall.

“I don’t know.” He says quietly, pulling Lucas close. “Infinitesimally small, probably. But look at us— we still managed it, anyway.” Lucas nods at him, and they move together, one soul in two bodies as they kiss and laugh together, months if not years of tension finally dissipating.

“I haven’t done anything like this.” Lucas confesses, “I’ve never been in a relationship. I don’t know how it works.” If this had happened a few months earlier, Eliott would have been his first kiss and everything. But at a party earlier in the year, he had been drunk and frustrated— going mad with how he couldn’t stop thinking of Eliott— and kissed the first semi-attractive boy that came on to him. “But I want to figure it out, if it’s with you.”

Eliott nods, kissing him again. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?” Then they’re holding hands, and Lucas doesn’t think he ever wants to let go. “No assumptions, no expectations. We’ll take things one step at a time, day by day.”

“Hm, no, I don’t think so.” And Eliott looks scared for the briefest of moments. “I think we’ll do one better. I think we’ll take things minute by minute.” He kisses Eliott’s cheek, because he can— because he can do this as much as he wants, now.

“Minute by minute.” Eliott weighs it, testing the way it sounds. “I like the sound of that.”

#skam #skam france #elu #lucas x eliott #elu fic #god they really...... just ran off and pulled me along w them didn't they #2500+ words later..... They R In Love #the dynamic of this is interesting #i might add some and post this on AO3 at some point #cause i feel like it could use a bit more backstory #but yeah!! here's this i guess #hope u guys enjoy it!! <3 #asks;#mywriting;

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curriebelle · 6 years ago

Text

Time to Rant about Poetry

I am currently thinking about 3 things:

1) a tag on a post I saw that said “I don’t like poetry as a rule”

2) a philosophy professor who told me, quite smugly, how studies showed that people interpreted sayings that rhymed (eg ‘a stitch in time saves nine’) as more meaningful than sayings that didn’t, even if they meant the same thing.

3) this part of this poem by aziraphalesbian:

I should be clear that I actually like this poem because I think it’s funny, and I kind of sympathize with the frustrated emotional energy in it. I also don’t know how ironic it’s meant to be or what the author actually thinks about poetry so this is not A Takedown or an attempt to explain someone’s poetry to them.

Instead I would like to use this poem as a middle finger to that philosophy prof. Mansplaining moron. (Thanks for the flaming sword, @aziraphalesbian .)

“Why do English teachers go crazy over stanza breaks and Times New Roman?” “Why do people think rhyming words are smarter than Regular words??” “Why should I have to give a shit about poetry??”

There is one answer to all of these questions: Form creates meaning, just as content does. How we arrange words is just as significant as what we’re saying.

(Also, as an important aside - when I say “meaning” I don’t mean like the Secret Theme of the Work and the Purpose of Being Alive. “Meaning” can just be something that creates or intensifies emotional impact, or even a hint as to how you’re supposed to read the work - as truth, as satire, as fiction, etc.)

So, form - how we arrange words - also carries meaning. When we insert paragraph breaks into a single line, it’s not a trick. It’s not an attempt to Deceive you about how Deep something is. Those paragraph breaks actually *create* meaning, purely by existing. Take a look at this but:

These paragraph breaks aren’t arbitrary at all - they’re *very* purposeful, because they isolate the “but”. They accentuate and draw attention to the “but”, and by doing so, they tell us that the poem has a turning point in it, and that turning point is very important.

Funny thing is - this is a principle that poets have used in sonnets for centuries. In sonnets it’s called a volta. There are different types of sonnets, but at a specific point in each type - either after the sixth, eighth, twelfth line - the poem will switch gears and offer a new perspective on the topic. Sonnets are also structured around a “but” - and that “but” is conveyed through form.

Hehe. Butt.

Also, the random stanza breaks are characteristic of a form called free verse. Free verse came to popularity around the First World War. The war was so illogical and destructive that it became impossible to see order in the universe - and so poetry became similarly disordered. Very appropriate choice for a poem questioning how order makes meaning!

Because let’s face it, the meanings created by form are quite alchemical - and very difficult to explain. A lot of them rely on established knowledge and precedent, for example. We know that the 12-pt TNR rant with stanza breaks is a Poem, because we grow up being taught What Poetry Looks Like from historical examples. A lot of good modern poetry - like found poetry or blackout poetry - is about investigating the assumption created by form.

Form is a tool used by all writers everywhere, too, even outside poetry. Lemony Snicket is fantastic at playing with form. He knows he’s writing A Prose Novel and what expectations that creates, so he does self-aware stuff like this:

And on that comedic note, form is great for comedy. Tumblr jokers pull that *all* the time - think of those beautiful calligraphy posts of lewd quotes, or that post that turned Thrift Shop into a sonnet.

It’s not that stanza breaks are meaningless!! It’s that form *creates* **meaning**!

And why do I give such a heck?? Why am adamant that YOU give a heck??

First off, to keep our egos under control. I’m sorry, Mr. Philosophy Prof, but you are far from the first person to question the meaning of poetic form. I really love people like the noetry poem’s author, who investigate and challenge poetry’s capacity for meaning, and where it comes from, and how. I am *afraid* of people who dismiss poetry as just meaningless nonsense that people only Pretend is Deep because the words are arranged all pretty.

Secondly - and this is why I say I’m *afraid* - is because this attitude of “fneh fneh it’s all meaningless gilding, you only think it’s important because the stanza breaks tricked you” - puts major blinders on the way that form can be emotionally impactful - and even manipulative! Statements *are* more meaningful to us when they are constructed carefully. You know - like advertising slogans. Or recruitment posters. Or pledges of allegiance. Or headlines. If you aren’t aware of how form can be used to create meaning - and create Authority - you can be taken in by it.

Finally - and this is why I find the attitude not just dangerous but heartbreaking - this kind of artistic nihilism is really unhealthy for us. For our souls, I think.

The only poem that has ever made me cry is Keats’s “When I Have Fears”. It’s a short sonnet about Keats - who was already dying when he wrote it - and his fear that he wouldn’t be able to record all the ideas he had before he died. It’s only fourteen lines but it’s overstuffed with these unbelievably beautiful images. I don’t think reading it would have hurt so much if it wasn’t a sonnet, because the brevity reflects the brevity of Keats’s life, and the strict organization of the sonnet makes me think of him madly packing away every idea he can, sorting his thoughts in sheer paralyzed panic.

And I think about it a lot because it’s one of those poems that keeps me alive. We have things left to make, you and I, and leaving before they are done would be a tragedy.

There’s also a wonderful comic going around right now reinterpreting Mary Elizabeth Frye’s “Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep” from the perspective of a transman coming out to his mother. And because of that, the poem helped me understand trans experience in a way I hadn’t before. And now I’m going to think about that a lot too, because that poem was one form given another form and it helped me be a more compassionate person.

Fittingly, William Carlos Williams figured this all out before I did:

#long post #it’s my mission to get you all to love writing #it’s difficult and beautiful across the board #but in the right moment it’s stronger than despair #also @ the supernerds #I'm kind of conflating form and paratext here I realize #but then again #people tend 2 yeet them both #so

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

Text

The wrath of the stoner art student.

So I think this would count as pro revenge because I planned it kinda. A bit long, sorry bout that first time really posting this anywhere. TL:DR at the end.

Things to note:

As the title says I'm an art student, I live with my parents while I'm on college to cut living expenses.

Couple of years ago my dad had a security system installed that came with two camera to set up. One pointed at the side door and drive way. One pointed at the street by the front door. So you can see the cars. It has an app we all installed on our phones that gives us alerts.

I also have this shed I asked my parents if I could use for most of my art as it gets messy. I would always clean up after myself but paint still stains the carpet and if I had to smell that tangerine floor cleaner one more time I was gonna barf. I fixed it up a bit, still looks crappy but it's mine. took about two weeks to set up.

We also have a problem of people going through cars....a lot...like ridiculously so. I have a crap ford tempo that I never kept anything important in so I didn't care.

The incident:

As I said I have an art shed and I'm a student of the visual communication program in my local college. My professor had given us our term assignment which was basic but fun. Pick a piece that was in the text book and either write a 10 page essay on it or do a recreation with a two page blurb of how you copied the techniques yada yada.

I was stoked because van Gogh was covered in there and I wanted to do a piece called "cafe terrace" it's a gorgeous piece. And I put a lot of time and effort into this thing...and smoked a lot of weed while doing it haha.

But one night my phone gives me am alert from the security system while I'm at a small party (get together? ) and I see a blurry image of the three teens running past my side door. I thinks odd but I wasn't home to check it out immediately.

When I get home from being driven by a friend from a party I get back to see my car door ajar and i roll my eyes because it's annoying but not new. But then I remember the alert on my phone and went to check around the house. Check the shed last because there's a lock on it, it'll be fine right? I live in canada who is gonna break into my shed ha..hahaha

When I get to my shed it's trashed. Lock on the ground. The material I hung up to over the ceiling was ripped and burned. All works of art I put on the walls were ripped down. My paint was everywhere and my pastels were stomped on. They even broke my fucking little shitty stool I nicknamed hermet.

But the worse was my term project was destroyed, cut apart and then repeatedly smashed.....with my mother fucking bong. My 9mm glass beaker bong that I got as a present. Two weeks before I had turn that fucking project in.

I was livid.

The revenge:

I was able to get a weeks extension as I emailed my professor and sent him photos including the security alert and contacted the police about the destruction of property (still can't get over them looking at my shattered bong and me just whipping out my green card to be safe)

Clean up was a couple days and I did manage to turn my project in on time without the extension by just not going to sleep. First one was better but hey.

I was still pissed tho. I kept thinking of ways on how to catch them or lure them in and scare the crap out of them. So...I left change (loonies and twoonies stuff they would go for) and fives in my cars console. Left my doors unlocked and at the front of the house. I turned on that camera (as it had been off for a while because it would go off a lot) And I kept a bat in the shed and the side door. No guarantee that's it'll be the same idiots but I keep hoping. A few people picked my car but it wasn't those turds so I waved it off.

A month later and a Few days after my finale exams I'm in the shed at 2am smoking, and sketching something when the alert goes off. It's the front camera and I see three familiar looking blurs ransacking my car. I grab the bat and before I set out I hear them coming towards my shed. I flick the string of lights off and I let them get closer before I jump out with a bat in hand.

One of them screams so loud before they book it and I run after them to scare them away. I'm bad a running and fully expect them to outpace me

But one of them cut across my front lawn and slipped on wet grass. He bifs it and I catch up to him and grab him by the back of his hoodie with the bat threatening him

"WERE YOU THE ONES WHO TRASHED MY SHED?!"

"I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I WON'T DO IT AGAIN"

"THE FUCKS YOUR NAME?"

"MATTHEW" his name was not Matthew

"GIMME YOUR FUCKING WALLET"

The dude throws it's and I let go of him to retrieve it and he runs off. whatever.

I pocketed my five plus what I'm assuming was another 40 bucks of stolen money. Took a look at his wallet and his high school id with his real name was there. Fbed his mom and told him what happened and emailed the school as well, mentioning I was a previous student there and that I was "devastated" that this how the school teaches children.

haha

The mom turned up at my door with another mom and a older dude and the three turdlings. They had to apologize to me in person.

Isn't that nice?

(also think my prof gave me a few more points than I deserved on the piece I submitted just because of what happened. Bless you soul Clint. That painting was shit but you gave me 82/100 anyway)

again sorry this was long

TL;DR: Punk kids go through my shed and trash it. Lure them back in a month later and chase them a baseball bat.

(source) (story by PretentiousBanana)

#prorevenge #by PretentiousBanana #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10

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writingmessynaruto · 6 years ago

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Speaking of Angst

Let’s talk about what a *lovely* day I had today.

This seems off topic and selfish, partly because it is, but I promise it has something to do with writing/storytelling/screenwriting.

Bear with me.

So, I’m in college right now, and I’m taking an intro course for screenwriting. Fun class, we watch lots of movies, good times. Our final project is to write a screenplay for a short film. Today, we had a chance to talk about our ideas in class.

I had almost nothing. Didn’t come up with an idea until I was in class, because I’m just terrible at pulling random story ideas out of my ass. But I had something.

We talked about our ideas speed-dating style, just paired up and exchanging thoughts, no matter how partial and underdeveloped they were. It was just about throwing ideas around and getting help from our peers. Prof came over to listen in on my conversation.

So, I’m obsessed with Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild right now. I’m writing fanfiction for that universe right now. I play the game constantly, almost every day after I get home. My idea for the short film (or at least the idea I said in class) is sort of Breath of the Wild from the perspective of the everyday commoner. The side characters in the game. Their daily struggles, their perception of the world, their fears and dreams in the face of these red demonic clouds in the distance. Their feelings of helplessness. The prof thought it was a cool concept, and I felt pretty good about it. Whether it ends up being my film idea or not, I was happy he approved of it, and he offered me some tips to focus it into the medium of a short film.

So, a couple speed-dates later, I’m with this one dude. I’m a little apprehensive because he’s that guy in class. He acts like he knows what he’s talking about all the time, he has this tone of voice that sounds like he thinks all his favorite movies, all his opinions are just god-tier, that he’s the best film buff in the class, better than everybody in the room, maybe even the prof. I’m not happy, but I have to. It’s only a speed date. 5 minutes, tops.

I ask who should go first, whether he’d like to go or if I should go. He lets me go first.

So, I preface my idea with the game it’s based on.

“I'm a little obsessed with Zelda Breath of Wild right now—”

"Yeah, I know what that game is, I played it."

Said like I was babying him, like I was talking down to him, like how could he not know what Zelda Breath of the Wild is, he’s played it and beat it fifty times already. But wait; there’s more.

He continues. “I didn't like that game at all. Too many side quests. Just side quest after side quest. Too open world."

Okay, I think, whatever. “I guess it’s just a preference,” I say. “It’s whatever, but I really like it, and one of the things I wanted to do...” Yadda, yadda, my little idea. I get done in under a minute.

He gives me no feedback. Instead, he jumps right into his idea, taking up the entire rest of the time, and not letting me get much of a word in edgewise. He talks about this whole specific plot he’s come up with as if it’s the best thing on earth. Like, I’ll say right now: some of it was alright. It had potential in some areas. But it had a lot of weaknesses and useless shit in it. He was preening himself about this thing, like it was a master plan, like it would win the next Oscar or something just on premise alone, and it was literally just made up of overused horror tropes. He based it off Goosebumps, a series I loved growing up, but it was just completely stock horror and creepiness. Kid meets a few new friends at school, they hang out, walk past this strange old house, protagonist realizes he’s had dreams about this house before, his friends urge him to go inside by himself, he does and he gets lost, somehow gets knocked out, wakes up in his own bed, goes to school and notices his friends are missing, asks a teacher, and he is told that those kids died years ago in the house he went to. Oh, and that house was demolished years ago.

Like, there’s potential. It’s not complete garbage. There are some interesting things going on that could work with a bit of tweaking just to make it more interesting / believable. But he was selling this thing like it was already perfect. He wouldn’t let me get in a word of comments, wouldn’t let me ask questions, not to mention he seemed like the kind of person that wouldn’t appreciate any criticism about his perfect idea.

And then.

As I smiled and nodded and let him go on and on about his idea, only giving nice little comments about the things I thought were good and had potential, he goes,

“That’s not even the best part. Here’s the best part:”

And he proceeds to tell me about a seemingly useless jump-scare scene that has no real plot pertinence, no real reason for being in his story about four ghost kids and an old house. Like, Goosebumps did way better than this. Goosebumps succeeded because the events were connected, strange but sensible, and they took tropes and subverted them with something completely new and exciting. All this dude is doing is taking every trope ever and putting it in a film, and then acting like his idea is so good, and if one person, even the prof, suggests that it could use some tweaking, he gets defensive and doesn’t want to hear it.

Oh, and he told me that there’s a romantic subplot between one of the ghost children and the protagonist, and she puts a note in his pocket at one point in the story. And at the end, guess what? The note is mYsTerIOuSLY iN hiS POckEt!!! OOoooooOOOOOooo!!

I’ll go through this plot and say what I didn’t get to say to him because he wouldn’t let me and even if he did, he probably didn’t want to hear anything bad about his “amazing story.”

It’s got some potential, but like any story, especially any first draft, it has to be worked on and revised. The premise is cool, but you can’t base an entire story on tropes and expect it to function. That’s not good storywriting, that’s just laziness, expecting tropes to do the work for you. You must tell the story, you must tell the trope what to do. Tropes don’t do the work for you, you do the work for the tropes.

Let’s talk about those:

It was all a dream. Please don’t do this. Like, I hate it when profs tell writers what they should and shouldn’t do, so I’ll reword it a little: Please try to avoid this, unless you’re doing it for a reason OTHER than shock value. It’s cheap. It doesn’t sit well with audiences. We aren’t surprised in a good way; we just feel cheated and lied to. We don’t trust the author/movie anymore.

The creepy piano ghost. Alright. I’m not much of a horror junkie, but I know this is just overused constantly. For effect. If you’re just using something for effect that has little to nothing to do with your actual plot, and you’re just using a creepy ghost girl at a piano to scare the audience because your scene isn’t creepy enough, DON’T USE THIS. A better use of this trope would be to have your story revolve around a house that actually is haunted by the ghost of a girl who actually played piano. Don’t just have a random thing like this show up and excuse you of actually having to write something creepy.

Jumpscares. Going off the piano ghost, the dude said at the end of the scene, the girl’s neck would turn around, her body would contort Exorcist style, and she would release an inhuman scream that would cause the protagonist to run out of the room full speed. Jumpscares like this offer no actual scare value. She doesn’t chase him out into the hall. She doesn’t have any reason to be there in the first place. She’s just a random scare. Jumpscares rely on startling audiences with sudden images, accompanied by loud noises. These are just plays on our bodies’ natural instincts when suddenly and unexpectedly confronted. It’s not actually scary in the context of the film. It’s a cheap trick (yes, it’s a trick), and most of the time it’s only used to inject horror in a scene that lacks that element, rather than creating a plot element that is actually effective. Please, consider doing something else. There are plenty of scary movies that don’t utilize jumpscares just for spooks. The movies that do well have scary moments, even jumpscares, that are plot pertinent and affect something. Don’t just have a jumpscare to have a jumpscare because “OH, that’ll get em real good!” It’s shitty writing. It’s a trope. You have to work for the trope to be effective.

So-and-so died 30 years ago. In this context, the reason this trope doesn’t really work is that the protagonist meets these kids and interacts with them at school. During school. They were in class with him. They occupied seats in class. They were in class. So for them to just suddenly disappear from reality (for no discernible or logical reason) just seems like a cheating mechanism, similar to “this was all just a dream!” You can’t have ghosts talking to you in school in public, interacting with you in class, and then have them disappear with no explanation and have a teacher tell you they died years ago. You can’t do that and have no reason as to why nobody remembers them, why nobody saw our main character talking to thin air. Logistically, you have to work out a reason for these things to work in the universe of your creation. Otherwise, you end up with your audience asking how things even happened. It has to make sense, even if it’s all magic. There’s gotta be some logic to what’s going on.

The note from the ghost is still in my pocket. This piggybacks off the previous one. If the ghost friends weren’t real, then how did this actually happen? You can’t say it did happen in real life because how would the teacher and all the kids at school forget that MC (main character) was talking to 4 people? How would a ghost hand him a note? I thought it was all supposed to be a dream, but now you’re telling me it’s not? You’re lying to me again? What’s real? When you have the audience confusedly asking “What’s real? What’s going on?” that isn’t the same as a psychological mystery/thriller/fantasy. It’s not some existential commentary. Your story is confusing and inconsistent. Stop relying on tropes to make things creepy. Write a story that has a logical progression of events, a reason for characters to show up and then disappear. You’re allowed to have all of these things happen, but there has to be a reason to it. Things can’t just happen willy-nilly. If it doesn’t make sense, your audience will be confused, and in a bad way.

Ugh. Thanks for reading my rant. I’m gonna go take a nap now, enjoy my spring break. Good night.

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purplesurveys · 6 years ago

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378

For a change. I love Internet people for never running out of survey ideas.

Just say what you think of (doesn't have to be one-word answers) when I mention these. Quick, simple, just for fun. Curtain: I remember a story JM told us of when he nearly burned his house down when he was younger - he was flying paper airplanes but not without lighting the tips on fire. One of the planes landed on the curtain and I think it burned that particular room pretty bad or something. Door: I have a door to my right at the moment. It’s brown and I know my dog is waiting outside because I can hear his paws. Shoe: We went shoe hunting yesterday for Joacky, because he wanted a pair of the Nike Cortez. It’s widely popular in the PH right now so even though we visited like 7 shoe stores yesterday, we weren’t able to find one in the color that he likes. Pants: I finally got a pair of mom jeans yesterday and I can’t wait to wear it for school. I’m tired of wearing the same bottoms. Wig: I attended a workshop a few months ago where the speaker disclosed that she has leukemia, and she took off the wig she had been wearing the whole time to show us her head. I also remember the RuPaul Stans part of Twitter because they say ‘wig’ all the time...

Makeup: Kate made me her subject last Thursday and she played with my face and put makeup on it. Ended up feeling really pretty because she did a pretty awesome job. Instagram: I snubbed Instagram for the longest time but thought that a ‘one-pic-for-every-day-of-the-year’ dump account wouldn’t hurt, so I made one of those for 2019. My photography skills are absolutely nowhere to be found, and my gallery is super haphazard, but I really want to make an effort to store memories this year. YouTube: Hmm first thing I thought of was PewDiePie. I subscribed to the dude when he had like 60,000 subscribers eight years ago and only had a couple of Amnesia montages up. I always feel like a proud momma/early bird whenever I remember how far and how big he’s gotten since. Life: Exhaustion, mainly. It’s gonna start snowballing by next year when I graduate. It’ll be nonstop from there - facing the prospect of coming out to my parents, graduating, getting a job, getting my first credit card, moving out, paying bills...it’s all very exhausting, exhilarating, exciting, and overwhelming to think about. Chili: Gabie and I had Japanese for early dinner last week, and I was a little weirded out by the restaurant because each seat had a red chili pepper on the placemat? I’m talking every damn seat in the place??? Idk if it’s some sort of good luck charm for the owners but it made things very slightly unsettling hahaha. Cherry: There was a WWE Diva named Cherry like ten years ago who had the gimmick of a 50′s chick, I think...I was never quite sure what her character was supposed to be, but she had roller-skates every time she went to the ring and would sometimes wear outfits with polka dots so I thought she was pretty cute. Neil: Armstrong. Haha I was going through Reddit awhile ago when I saw a video of Buzz Aldrin punch a dude who went up to him and said that the moon landing was a hoax. Not exactly Neil Armstrong but still a good story. Drive: I like watching car chases. It’s almost...therapeutic when the suspect crashes or loses control of his car and finally gets caught. Murder: I never got into How To Get Away With Murder. It’s too fast-paced for my life. I feel like I’m the only person who doesn’t understand legal concepts because so many people are able to catch up with this show even if Viola Davis speaks a thousand words a minute and they’re all really deep words??? Idk HAHAHA. I watched like two episodes and felt super dumb after. Ice cream: OMG I hate a la mode desserts. I’d eat anything, but I wouldn’t eat two separate things with different textures. Get your ice cream away from my brownie. Water: I can’t wait to go back to the beach. Hard: Hammer? It was the first image to pop up in my head. Anne: Harry Styles’ mom is named Anne hahaha the Directioner in me jumped out, sorry not sorry. Cow: There’s this video that went viral a few months ago of a girl who was playing the accordion; all of a sudden this adorable herd of like 15 cows come running up to her and just intently watch the kid. Wholesome af. Frog: Frog legs are served in some Philippine provinces. Tastes like chicken. Cheese: My lactose intolerant ass will grate half a block of cheese (exaggeration, but you get the point) for my spaghetti. That’s the only way to enjoy pasta. Bowl: Can’t really think of anything except that bowl cuts look so cute on babies hahaha. Television: Is something I never use nowadays unless I’m staying over at a hotel. Other than that, I cannot tell you the last time I held a TV remote control to change the channel or something. Skull: There’s an episode of Friends where Phoebe brings home a skull and nonchalantly sets it on the table where Monica, Rachel, and Chandler were hanging out. Chandler goes, “Pheebs...skull?” Phoebe says, “Yeah, it’s my mom’s,” and Rachel shrieks until Phoebe clarifies that her mom owned the skull, and that the skull wasn’t of her mom. Underrated segment. Rachel’s mini-meltdown was hilarious. Seasons: I had to watch Rent for film class several months ago. Terrible movie. Cemented my dislike for musicals. This is what I remembered because afaik this is the musical that has the minutes song. Language: I can speak two and can understand some archaic/modern Spanish because they conquered us for 300 years and subsequently ruined my country. Trump: McDonald’s. An international embarrassment. Chocolate: We found this AMAZING Chocnut spread at the mall yesterday. I had my initial doubts - I thought it was gonna taste like a cheap Nutella rip-off. But it tastes exactly like Chocnut, just in the most perfect spread-y form. I plan to finish the entire jar just with a spoon. Stove: I’m terribly afraid of using any and every kitchen equipment because I have a big fear of setting the house on fire. I only ever use the stove when I’m deathly hungry and I have to make something by myself. Toy: My family recently went to a kid’s birthday party that had giveaway bags with toys inside, but seeing as we’re all teenagers now who had no use for it, it was earning dust in the house. Now, the Philippines is abound with street children so when we went out yesterday, my mom gave the bag to a couple of kids who were knocking on our car. I know I’m not supposed to romanticize the situation, but they had the biggest smiles when they realized what they got and I saw them playing merrily at the side of the street and even invited some other kids to join in. Again, not glamorizing it - I’m just happy they were happy. Video: I could never run out of things to watch on YouTube. It’s one of my favorite websites, especially when bouts of depression have to happen. Kiss: It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, IT WAS ONLY A KISS. Glass: The glass section of department stores always creeped me out. One wrong move and you can knock a whole shelf down, and the ‘You break it you pay for it’ signs all over the area don’t help at all. Light: Light and queen come together in this survey and all I remember is Lightning McQueen. Queen: ^ Moon: Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Moon river, wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style some day. Blue: My organization’s color is blue, so I have a soft spot for blue. Cream: I like soups that are creamy. I say this because my sister had ramen yesterday and it was so oily and salty and fatty and creamy and ugh I loved it. Dead: The Misfits. They’re more horror than death, but still. Purple: My great-grandma loved the color purple and I remember when her house used to be peppered in purple stuff. All her dresses were purple. I’m fairly sure it was the reason why it was my favorite color as a kid. Lace: Underwear, hahaha. Cardboard: Gabie was munching on sunflower seeds when I picked her up last week. I’ve never tried those, so I asked for some and I said it tasted like cardboard. I’ve never eaten cardboard but I would imagine that that’s what it tastes like. Elephant: Majestic. Deserves to be saved and properly cared for. Harry: One of my fave members of the royal family. He’s so precious. Leather: Is bad. Paisley: Isn’t there a country singer with this name? Italy: Pasta and stuff. Joey Tribbiani. Immature: I saw the gun girl Kaitlin-something on Twitter because she got viral again for a dumb-ass tweet she made. She posted pics of herself in the snow and tweeted “Look at all this global warming,” like seriously America??? Wtf do they teach y’all in your schools?????? Crime: Raisins in cookies. Angel: I had a friend named Angel - talked about her a lot in old surveys. She migrated to Canada when we were 12 and I haven’t seen her since. We do follow each other on Twitter but all she tweets about is K-pop so I had to put her on mute. Great memories with her. Boil: When I read this tweet aloud in my head, what I did think of was Charles Boyle from B99. Key: Key lime pie. Never tried it, but I’m always down to try anything. Sacrifice: The Catholic schoolgirl in me remembers the crucifixion because textbooks and teachers would overuse the phrase, “Jesus sacrificed his life for our sins” or “God sacrificed his son to save the world,” and all those cheesy lines. It’s as though the Bible’s favorite word is ‘sacrifice.’ Larry: Punk and AJ’s dog is named Larry Talbot. Dog: ^ Psychology: I took one psych elective last semester, but the prof was average at best so it didn’t really win over the course as a whole to me. Psychology was one of my ‘what-if’ courses so at the start, I was excited about taking it - but the class that I had was just so boring and the prof gave tests that were way too hard for otherwise fairly easy topics, so I quickly ran out of enthusiasm for the class. Rag: I hate touching rags. Especially wet ones UGH. Sun: Hate it, unless I’m at the beach. Lips: My friends dragged me to the makeup section of the department store last week and there were rows upon rows of lipstick testers. As someone who’s never purposely browsed for makeup, I ended up swatching like 20 shades on my wrist and looked like a five year old who doodled all over her whole left arm. Cage: The UFC ring, because it looks like a cage. Alarm: I had/have several alarms set on my phone throughout today to tell me to start working on various deliverables. For example, I had an 8 AM alarm to work on my J 196 paper; then from 8:30 AM I had an alarm to compose letters that I needed to write as my org’s secretary; then at around 10 AM, my alarm was for finishing up my readings for Kas 154 (short for kasaysayan, which means history). Official: I have a batchmate from high school who just got engaged...she was honestly one of the weirder ones back then so as much as I didn’t want to judge, it was hard to take it seriously at first, but it’s whatevs. I have no business in her life and I’m happy she’s happy. King: I finished my history readings this morning and there were so many mentions of kings. Lost: That show. The general consensus is that they ended the show crappily, but other than that I know nothing about it. Dating: There was once a dude who joined a dating show. Ended up being a serial killer. I forgot his name though. Balm: I was at a Korean store yesterday and saw an array of lip balms and glosses. I was never much of a makeup girl but the collection they had was just so cute, it made me think if I should start investing in makeup as well hah. Tomato: Ketchup is my second least favorite condiment after mustard. Game: Hmmm I downloaded a bunch of new game apps on my phone because I recently realized that I’m so boring??? and I only have social media on my phone??? I got ten new apps to make my phone more alive haha. Lotion: Is slimy, but smells nice and makes my skin smooth and look better. I got two hand creams for Christmas last year and it was then that I knew I was getting older because I was genuinely excited to try them both out. Expensive: Everything is. Powder: Reminds me of babies. The smell calms me down so well. Cross: I was shopping for clip-on earrings yesterday and there were several designs with crosses on them, which just reminded me of Christianity and it kinda peeved me for like 3 minutes lol. History: My favorite subject. I’ve never been so excited to be dumped on with such a thick stack of readings until this semester. Sex: Haven’t had it in a bit, too busy. Rainbow: We watched a film called Rainbow’s Sunset, which was really promising because it told a story about two men, both very old, and are lovers. In a traditional, conservative, poisonously Catholic country such as the PH, it’s a very bold move to produce a feature film that tackled such a horrible, taboo, horrifying thing (please note the sarcasm/mockery). We didn’t escape the guffaws and the loud ew’s whenever the two leads would kiss, which was sad.

Anyway that’s not my point and what I really want to say is that the film was ultimately terrible, it was terribly-executed and it portrayed gay men in such a cheesy manner which in the long run, probably contributes to the continuing negative image of LGBT people in the Philippines. Gab, the bigger film buff between the two of us, felt so offended by how bad the movie turned out to be lol. Bay: Bayley, from WWE. She was a huge star like 3 years ago, but I think the bookers ultimately fucked her character up and now she’s stale. I feel so bad. Seth: Seth Rollins, also from WWE. Also very attractive. Pepper: I had okonomiyaki for lunch yesterday and there was like a thicker chunk of pepper that made it to my plate. Didn’t particularly enjoy that bite. Necrophile: Katie Vick. Google it to believe it. Wrestling is fucking dumb. Gravel: Funnily enough I do have a memory for gravel. Akeelah and the Bee was one of my favorite movies growing up; I watched it so many times that I had chunks of dialogue memorized at one point. One of the first scenes had Akeelah joining her school’s spelling bee, and one of the kids spelled grovel as g-r-a-v-e-l. He couldn’t understand why he got it wrong so the judge had to tell him that the word ‘grovel’ actually exists and what it means. Deep: I had a mental picture of the ocean when I read this word, so there’s that. Stephen: Hawking. Bucket: Chum Bucket. Hahaha Spongebob forever. England: Rugby? Grown: I always use the term ‘grown-ass’ haha. Spell: Spelling was one of my favorite activities in grade school and I would always score the highest in spelling exams. Kind of led me to my favorite job of proofreading/copyediting, really. Bark: My dog barked at nothing for five whole minutes a couple of days ago and it was hilarious. I shot two minutes of it. Long: Trees? Fan: Pamaypay, or hand fans in English.

Australia: First things that came to mind were the Sydney Opera House and Vegemite. Iron: Gabie’s nose bled last week. It wouldn’t stop flowing out of her nostrils and it smelled like rust for a good 15 minutes while she was trying to wash all the blood off, so it didn’t exactly help my case as someone who’s squeamish to death at the sight of blood. Melt: Chocolate. Beanie: Too warm for this country’s climate. Wax: Candles. Vigils. Burning your finger. Staying up all night to pray. Catholic school. Disease: Zombies. Resident Evil. Cannibal: The band Cannibal Corpse. Tried to get into them because Punk listened to them but it was too heavy for me. Flight: Airplanes, flights, vacations, away from everyone, nothing to worry about, good food, fighting with my siblings for the window seats. Porn: People be having weird fetishes sometimes. The thumbnails I see on websites...some of y’all crazy. Pot: I thought about how college life is so crazy. People would sell brownies or cookies with weed in them IN SCHOOL, meanwhile I still don’t even know if weed and pot are the same or if they’re two different things ohmygod HAHAHAHA I’m so sheltered wow I’m hopeless?????? Style: Taylor Swift and that subtle shade to Harry. People were shookened five years ago. Floss: Pork floss is really good. Star: There was a local celebrity who recently tweeted a pic, supposedly of a tiny tiny star that was beside the moon at like 5 AM, and she was asking what it was. Someone replied that it was Venus and explained what she just saw for her. Super cool. Nate: I don’t know anyone named Nate. I DID, however, remember the Naked Brothers Band. The older brother is named Nat, so it’s close enough. Soft: Pillows are soft. Orange: Hayley Williams’ hair 11 years ago. Witch: Philippine superstitions and how crazy and obsessive Filipinos can get. My mom, one of the most rational, no-nonsense people I know, scolds me every time I mock witchcraft or what we call ‘kulam’ cos she believes something will happen to me if I do. I’m all for honoring our mythology and traditions but sheesh, not to the obsessive extent. Mound: Ants. Root: Gabie used to watch this show where she shipped two girls named Root and Shaw. Oil: Massages. Hot: Deserts. Disc: Childhood, blowing on it to make it work, double-sided discs for longer movies, if a disc had scratches expect it to die soon. Soil: Plants. Planting trees. Muddy. Ugly: That scene in Spongebo where Patrick tells the story of the ugly barnacle. “Once there was an ugly barnacle. He was so ugly that everyone died. The end,” which didn’t help Spongebob who at the time was feeling super ugly hahahahaha. Sugar: Maroon 5. Also, my grandma used one particular jar for sugar throughout my entire childhood. It’s plastic, it’s clear, and it came with a red-orange lid. I’d often eat sugar on its own so I saw that jar quite a bit and it gives me a sense of nostalgia. I’m not so sure if that’s still the jar being used in the old house. Bone: Ribs :( Been craving for some. Sigh: Air??? I don’t know. Throne: Game of Thrones. I had to watch a 26-minute documentary of a GoT production for my broadcast management class. It’s insanely hard. So much respect to everyone involved in its prod. Calendar: I’m secretary for my org, which means that I always have to update everyone about our calendar of events. Carpet: Fancy. Flesh: The Walking Dead. Cement: Dangerous. Vow: The movie with Rachel McAdams and Channing Tatum. One of my guiltier pleasures. Sweet: Desserts. And now I’m hungry.

#survey #surveys #lengthy but a goodie

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