#writing essays is kind of fun when you get to pick the topic i must admit

[a-wins-a-win]

wanna talk about sex (but we're not allowed)

potentially controversial b;apo take, but hey, why not -- there are many more things i would've liked to say, but they didn't really fit neatly into the main thesis i was working under ;

the merit of considering Jason and Ivy's sex during 'One' as a depiction of assault, drawing parallels to Spring Awakening

To preface; I acknowledge that I am not using 1:1 examples. Since both b;apo and Spring Awakening are stage shows, there is so much of the atmosphere that is created through lighting and blocking and the subtleties in the way that each of the characters are played against one another, there’s no way to make a definitive blanket statement. That said, I was personally inspired by the production of b;apo I got the absolute pleasure of seeing live last year. Not only did we have the Ivy ever, but the team made an, in my opinion, super brilliant choice when it came to 'One'. They cut the “it was cute” line from Jason when Ivy’s apologising, and they really played up a visceral discomfort and overwhelm, culminating in Jason pacing up and down beside the bed while Ivy tells him he is “all [she] need[s]”, and it’s at that point that he concedes before focus shifts across to Peter trying to call his mother on the phone.     

Right off the bat, I think we’d be remiss not to acknowledge the gender dynamics at play when drawing these parallels, especially when gender as a concept intersects so much with the way sexuality is understood and explored by the characters in both b;apo & Spring Awakening. In particular I want to touch on the fact that - at least to my perception - Jason’s fully realised masculinity functions almost as a barrier to his emotions within the context of the story overall, but also when it comes to the meta context of his decision to have sex with Ivy. Because Jason is presented as this sporty, conventionally hot, outgoing guy who is popular with women, and because he is the one who is delivering most of these innuendos during 'You & I', I think there is a subconscious bias towards seeing him as someone who wouldn’t have sex with anyone he didn’t want to. And while generally a fair assessment, I think this subconscious bias is what leads people to unfairly assign amounts of blame when it comes to an analysis of his and Ivy’s relationship. Of course, 'One' and 'I Believe' don’t serve as exactly 1:1 examples even without the gender factors, given the time periods in which both shows were written and set, but I think both explore the idea of a grey area when it comes to sex as the crux of complicated relationships, both shows have running themes of dubious consent and religion, and most obviously both instances result in a pregnancy. 

Where it gets interesting to me is where the lines start to blur — yes, Wendla “let [Melchior] love [her]”, and Jason made Ivy “make [him] promise […] ‘I love you’” — but the contexts of both shows paint Wendla and Jason as confused and uncertain. Both Melchior and Ivy know, or believe they know, within themselves that both parties want to have sex. And while they may be correct on the subconscious level, this belief and expectation that they are holding dismisses the material reality of the situations. It’s not that Wendla wants to have sex with Melchior, it’s that she wants to know about sex, wants to understand why she has this physical attraction to him, not necessarily act upon it. It’s not that Jason wants to have sex with Ivy - it’s that he wants to want to and doesn’t have the safety to express that in any other way than simply going through with it. Where this is often acknowledged in the Spring Awakening context, I find that analysis of Jason and Ivy’s interactions in One don’t dig quite so deep. 

Which is not to say that Ivy or Melchior are terrible people - it is more so to say that they are both characters who struggle with appropriately communicating, and understanding other people’s communications, about sex and sexuality. Where Ivy likens pursuing Jason to “such a game of hide-and-seek”, Jason only ever takes their sex as something deep and important. Where Melchior has been “playing with [Wendla] in [his] fantasies”, Wendla “only wanted to be close to him”. Despite Ivy and Melchior’s knowledge on and experience of the subject, it manifests more so an intellectualisation of the act of sex itself, as opposed to a genuine understanding of the ramifications on a personal level - especially for people like Jason and Wendla who don’t have the same experiences or beliefs as they do.

Melchior knows that the way the adults in their lives address sex and sexuality - or don’t address it, as the case may be - isn’t productive, and because of this perceives himself as the ultimate authority on the subject. I think that this belief is what leads to the implicit forcefulness of his interaction with Wendla in the hayloft. He knows what’s happening, and because he is armed with a preconceived idea of what Wendla must be feeling, “defending [herself], until finally [she] surrender[s] and feel[s] heaven break over [her]”, he isn’t receptive to her hesitation. Rather, he interprets it as a necessary part of the experience. He knows that Wendla wants it to happen - but he also knows that she doesn’t comprehend that it means sex yet. And because they are both so present in the moment, “hearing [each other’s] heart beat”, Melchior falls back on his belief that the truest understanding of sex and that kind of physical pleasure can only come through lived experience - such as when he all but teaches Moritz about how to masturbate during 'Touch Me'. Even when productions of Spring Awakening do revise the dialogue to include a verbal ‘yes’ from Wendla, the presentation is still that of an assault, intense and hazy hounding and coercion.   

Ivy knows why boys are nice to her - “I know them, and what they’re after” - and when she stacks this belief up against the fact that Jason is nice to her despite his loyalty to and care for Nadia, it makes sense that she would assume that he wants to have sex with her, it makes sense that she wouldn’t put any thought into the subtleties of Jason’s responses to her or the hesitation in his questions about her “want[ing him] to kiss [her]”. What’s very interesting to look at in regards to Ivy and her character is this dichotomy she has in her head. She knows that “[...] boys will be boys [...]”, and on some level has the same expectations for Jason, teasing him about “see[ing] what [he’s] staring at” on her birthday. Even so, she believes that it’s different, because she loves him in a way that “[she’s] never felt [...] before”, she has the notion in her head that Jason “want[s her] just like [she] want[s him]”, because he kissed her on her birthday when she asked. I would argue that it is because of her conviction in her belief that Jason does want her that she does put such a pressure on him in the moment of 'One' - “If you like me, kiss me, don’t stop”. 

It is also important to acknowledge Ivy as a victim - while no abuse is heavily implied or stated outright in b;apo, there is an understanding that Ivy is a girl who has been sexualised for a long time, and that is of course going to skew her view of and relationship with sex as an activity and the role that she is expected to play within that. I don’t mean to detract from that fact at all by drawing out comparisons to her and Melchior, and acknowledging Jason’s own victim status as it parallels Wendla’s.   

There is also something to be said for how both Wendla and Jason’s loss or lack of functional autonomy contributes to their deaths. Both of them are characters burdened by conflicting expectations - Wendla is expected by her mother to still be young and naive, while simultaneously expected to know better, and Jason is expected by his father to “keep the McConnell flame burning”, an expectation competing with the one held by Peter that he cannot stay closeted forever. However, Wendla’s mothers expectations of her don’t conflict directly with Melchior’s expectations of her in the way that Mr McConnell’s conflict with Peter’s - in a way, Mrs Bergmann’s expectation that Wendla is still young enough to follow blindly what she’s been told is the expectation that leads to the pregnancy in the first place. Melchior is explicitly more knowledgeable about the mechanics of what they are doing in the hayloft, and as such holds a power over Wendla by being able to lean into those expectations that if another person knows more they ought to be listened to. Similarly, it is Ivy’s assumption or expectation being that Jason does truly want to have sex with her that snowballs into the conflicts as presented in Promise, and ultimately b;apo’s “story ends in total damage” at least in part as a result of these expectations being enforced.  

To summarise, I believe that because Ivy and Melchior are so sure of their own wanting, their own  understanding, and their own emotions, they end up projecting that onto Jason and Wendla respectively, turning them into vessels for sexual gratification and somewhat diminishing their personhood in the moment. 

There are of course many other parallels that could be drawn, many other configurations of characters to compare and contrast in regards to b;apo and Spring Awakening, and even on this topic specifically I think there is a lot of room for different takes and interpretations - I simply wanted to throw my hat in the ring, so to speak, when it comes to breaking down and analyzing Jason and Ivy’s relationship.

[raibebe]

Genre: Fluff Words: 6.879 Prompt: best friend Yangyang x female reader + “Stop hogging all the blankets!” Warnings: MC is an oblivious idiot, Yangyang is a sweetheart, mentions of injury

A/N: What do you mean Valentine’s Day was on the 14th and not on the 24th? Seems fake. AnYwAys: This was written for the Candy hearts collab hosted by @127-mile. Thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write for my precious brezel baby. Thank you @ncteaxhoe for the lovely header after I went almost crazy...

Taglist: @byunniebaekhyunnie​

“You’re going on vacation with Yangyang?” “Yes.” “Your best friend?” “Yes.” “To an abandoned cabin in the woods.” “First it’s not abandoned, just very far out and second I don’t see where you’re going with this.” “Well are you?” You sighed loudly, rolling your eyes at Donghyuck who was sat in front of you in the library where you had met to have a little study session before you were leaving for the weekend. “Yes I am.” “On Valentine’s Day.” “It’s just because it’s on a weekend and it was cheap.” “You do see where I am going with this, right?” “I am not Donghyuck,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re literally the most stupid person I have ever met and I am friends with a bunch of idiots,” your friend whined, throwing the straw wrapper from his iced americano at you. “Hyuck what’s your problem? We’re literally just both stressed out from classes already and he found that offer that’s within both of our budgets. Nothing wrong about two friends chilling in a secluded cabin.” “Have you seen the freaking cabin?” Donghyuck whisper screamed, earning him a hiss from one of the students sitting on the table next to you. “I have, Hyuck.” “Then you might have missed the fact that this cabin coincidentally has a hot tub but only one bedroom?” He went on, waving his phone in front of your face where he had pulled up the website advertising the cabin. Groaning, you faceplanted into the books that were scattered around you. “Do you see what I mean now?” Donghyuck hissed, scrolling through the pictures on the website. “Hyuck listen. Yangyang and I are both kind of short on cash so the bigger cabins just weren’t going to make it if we wanted that hot tub. So we agreed that we could sleep in the same bed for a couple of nights, no big deal. Pretty sure you’ve done that with Mark, Jaemin and Jeno as well when you four went on spring break vacation.” “Don’t distract from the topic, that was entirely different,” Donghyuck mused but the slight blush covering his cheeks was betraying him. “Is it though?” You asked, a shit eating grin on your face. “When did this conversation turn into you commenting on my poor live choices?”

“Discussing Hyuck’s poor live choices? My favorite part time activity,” another voice joined into your conversation and Renjun plopped down next to his friend on the bench. “Can you smell my misery or something?” Donghyuck groaned, slumping back into his seat, dramatically staring at the high ceiling. “I wish I could,” the Chinese laughed, loudly slurping his iced drink of choice despite the chilly weather outside while completely ignoring the glares some of the students were shooting him, “No, I was supposed to meet Yangyang to give him my car keys but you’ll do.” With that he threw his keys onto the table. “It’s parked by the student center, should fit all of your stuff.” “Thank you Renjun,” you smiled, pocketing his keys. “There is a chance though that I am out of gas,” he grinned. “I knew there would be a catch,” the familiar voice of your best friend groaned before he plopped down next to you, loudly dropping his backpack onto the floor which again had people to glare at your little group. “I swear to god you’re going to get us kicked out,” Hyuck hissed, throwing Yangyang and Renjun disappointed glares. “Not like you were studying anyways,” Renjun rolled his eyes. “What were you doing?” Yangyang asked, flipping through the pages of one of your books. “Well I was trying to get a head start on my essay,” you groaned, “But Hyuck had other plans.”

“Exactly. Which brings me back to my point,” Donghyuck grinned, turning towards Yangyang, “Yang, so did you, by any chance notice that the cabin you’re staying at this weekend with your best friend on freaking Valentine’s Day conveniently only has one bed but features a hot tub?” “Oooooh,” Renjun mused, leaning forward into his elbows. “Well... We were short on money but wanted a hot tub?” Yangyang slowly answered, blushing under the intense gazes of both of his friends. “See Hyuck it’s exactly what I told you,” you groaned, “No big deal.” “Sure, just two friends sitting in a hot tub, five feet apart because they’re not in love,” Renjun sang. “The original sounds better,” Donhyuck said flatly. “Yeah but the both of them are disgustingly straight,” Renjun shrugged. “You make that sound like an insult,” Yangyang snorted and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Anyways!” Donghyuck interrupted a little too loud, causing one of the students working in the library to actually walk over to your table to ask you to leave.

“Well great,” you groaned when you snuggled into your thick winter jacket once you were outside while Renjun and Yangyang couldn’t hold in their laughter anymore. “You guys are the worst,” you said and rolled your eyes even though you couldn’t stop the smile on your face from spreading. “You love us,” Donghyuck laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulder, “We weren’t gonna get anything done anyways.” “And we still need to pack,” Yangyang added, “Also I still need the keys to the car.” “Catch,” you called and quickly threw the keys over to your best friend that Renjun had given you earlier, laughing as he struggled to catch them. “Treat her gently,” Renjun laughed, “Oh and she needs gas.” “Why did I expect anything else,” Yangyang groaned but pocketed the keys, “I’ll pick you up after your morning classes?” “Sure,” you smiled. “You’re leaving me alone in our literature class?” Donghyuck gasped, dramatically holding his heart. “Listen, it’s either listening to professor Quian all afternoon or drive to the cabin early, Hyuck. What would you do?” You giggled. “Fair,” he shrugged, “But I still feel betrayed.” “Yesterday you felt betrayed by that pizza place because you found one stray piece of pineapple on your pizza,” Renjun helpfully added. “That was an attack on my health,” he hissed, pointing his finger at his friend and roommate, “Pineapples do not belong on pizza.” “I am not having this discussion again,” you groaned and slipped out of Donghyuck’s grip, “I gotta pack my stuff.” “Yeah, have fun on your totally not couple’s vacation,” Renjun laughed. “It’s not a couple’s vacation,” you and Yangyang immediately shouted, giggling at each other afterwards. “You’re all disgusting, I am leaving,” Donghyuck declared, dragging Renjun with him in the direction of their dorm.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” you smiled at Yangyang. “Yeah, I’ll pick up Renjun’s car and get all the stuff inside. Be at your dorm at like 12.” “Sure, I’m really looking forward to this.” “Yeah, me too,” Yangyang said softly, a soft blush on his cheeks that must have been from the cold air. He quickly wrapped you up in a hug before waving goodbye to head over to the student’s center. Sighing you turned in the opposite direction to your own shoebox of a dorm room, skidding along excitedly. You really were looking forward to this vacation with your best friend.

The next day found you buzzing with excitement, quickly throwing the last things that had been missing into your bag before speeding to your morning classes that went by in a blur. In what felt like no time at all, you were rushing down the steps of your dorm to throw yourself into Renjun’s car and your arms around your best friend’s neck to squeeze him in a tight hug. “I’m so excited,” you squeaked once you let him go to heave in a couple of breaths. “I can tell,” Yangyang laughed, handing you his phone that was already connected to the AUX cord, “I spend two hours yesterday to make the perfect road trip playlist, so you better appreciate that.” “This better not suck,” you laughed as he started the car to start your journey.

The way up to the mountains found you and Yangyang singing along to his actually good playlist that included some of your favorite songs, your singing getting progressively worse and louder the higher up you got and the more snow was falling. After you had gotten lost just once or twice on the way to pick up the keys from a lady at the reception who handed you a big basket with rose petals, champagne and what seemed like condoms and lube. Heat had immediately risen to both of your faces and you had stumbled over your words for the rest of the conversation, relieved when you could finally leave and head over back to your car to drive up to where your small cabin was.

“This is so cozy,” you cooed once you had made it inside the cabin, dropping your bag right next to the door to race through the rooms that included a small but clean bathroom and small kitchen with the cutest old school curtains in front of the snowy windows and a door lead outside to where the hot tub was already steaming. The main room that you had come into had a small two-seater couch with a bunch of cozy blankets thrown over it standing in front of a little fireplace that both you and Yangyang were kind of scared to light but you had to eventually because that was all the heat you were going to get. “The bed is huge,” Yangyang exclaimed and the next thing you heard was a loud thump as he had faceplanted right into the mattress, currently starfishing out, his fingertips not reaching the ends of the bed. “But we only have one blanket,” you laughed, flipping up through the layers your best friend was laying on top. “Wait for real?” He asked, eyes wide and scrambling to take a look for himself. “I hope you like cuddling,” you giggled, tackling your best friend onto the bed who just screeched before he tried to get the upper hand in the tickle fight that had broken out.

“Okay, okay, I surrender,” you laughed with tears in your eyes and lifted your arms in defeat when he had you pinned beneath you, his fingers tickling your sides until you couldn’t breathe anymore. “You’re admitting defeat?” Yangyang laughed, all his teeth showing with how bright he was smiling, digging his fingers between your ribs one last time before he fell to the mattress next to you, you both panting heavily between giggles. When you turned your head to look at your best friend, he was already looking right back at you, something unreadable in his expression. For a while you just stared into each other’s eyes, the occasional noise of the wood of the cabin creaking the only sound you could hear. Had Yangyang’s eyes always sparkled like that in the low light? Or was it just more apparent now that he had dyed his hair back to his natural dark brown? You found your hand itching to push his too long bangs from his eyes so you could see them properly, captivated by how the edges crinkled up with how he was softly smiling.

The serene silence was very rudely interrupted by Yangyang’s stomach growling loudly which caused both of you to burst out into another fit of giggles. “I think that’s out cue to put the pizzas in the oven and to unpack,” you laughed, slapping your best friend’s shoulder when he made no move to get up, instead wrapping himself up in the throw blanket. “You’re so annoying,” you groaned and climbed off of the bed. “You love me,” he argued, sticking out his tongue at you. For some reason the easy answer of ‘Yes, I do’ got stuck in your throat and you just hummed before walking over to where you had unceremoniously dropped your bags by the door to get the half frozen pizzas and turned on the oven. What was wrong with you all of a sudden? You two always bickered like that. Screw Donghyuck for getting all up in your head before this trip. Nothing had changed. It was just you and your best friend spending a weekend together. Nothing unusual. That’s what friends did. It’s what Donghyuck did with his friends.

Staring blankly into the oven once you had put the pizzas in, you were lost in your thoughts that twisted and turned inside your head but didn’t seem to make any sense at all. “Are you mad at me?” Yangyang spoke and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, causing you to let out a high pitched screech from how surprised you were. “Don’t scare me like that,” you scolded him, trying to calm down your furiously beating heart. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, hooking his head over your shoulder to look into the oven as well, just wordlessly holding you close. “I’m not mad,” you eventually said, letting the tension seep from your muscles and melting into his hold. Smiling you let your weight sag against him, knowing he would have the strength to hold you up. “Sleepy?” You just hummed nonchalantly even though you weren’t particularly tired but somehow your body felt exhausted. “The drive took longer than expected,” Yangyang agreed, “Let’s just eat and then try to get the fire going. I brought my laptop and downloaded all the episodes of our next season.” “You’re an angel,” you giggled, “I didn’t even think about that.” “I’m not,” he mumbled, hiding his face in your neck. “My angel,” you laughed, squirming in his grip to turn around and pinch his sensitive sides. What you hadn’t expected was him not backing off, so you found yourself pinned between his body and the oven, your faces dangerously close together. For a second or two you just stayed like that before Yangyang’s brain seemed to realize just how close you were, causing heat to rise to his cheeks and him nervously spluttering about how he’d set the table and unpack everything. Something was definitely off between you two but you chose to put it aside for now, not quiet daring to think about it.

Once you both had two steaming plates of pizza in front of you, everything seemed to be back to normal and conversation flew easily just how it always did between the two of you. You would complain about being swarmed with essays and Yangyang would complain about his two roommates who couldn’t be more different from each other which made for a lot of potential for arguments or about how his mother would continuously call him every week to bog him about how school was going, if he was taking his vitamins, if he was still practicing playing his violin, if he had found a girlfriend yet or if he had finally given up on his stupid dancing classes. You were always quick to tell him that he should not feel pressured to drop his dancing to take violin lessons again if he wasn’t passionate about it anymore, no matter how much his mom would nag him about it. You knew that he loved dancing way too much and had made so many good friends in his dance crew to just give it up. So just like every time you gently took his hand in yours to squeeze it reassuringly when you promised him he could live with you if his mother decided to disown him over this. But this time he didn’t let your hand go once he moved on to tell a story on how his roommates had started arguing in the middle of the night because one of them had started to eat snacks which had woken the other one up, this thumb mindlessly caressing the back of your hand.

“Do you really trust me with the fire?” Yangyang asked with a frown on his face as he read through the instructions that were hung up next to the fireplace. “I don’t,” you laughed from where you were washing the dishes in the kitchen, “But if they leave it for us to light, it can’t be too dangerous or difficult.” “I appreciate this incredible amount of confidence you have in me,” your best friend snorted before getting to work to pile up wood and paper and carefully lighting the latter. “I made fire!” He exclaimed excitedly, a bright grin on his lips which immediately made you smile as well. “Now just don’t let it go out,” you smiled, “I’ll go change into comfy clothes real quick.” Yangyang just hummed, carefully adding more wood to his fire so it wouldn’t go out again.

“Yo, I think I got the hang of it,” he announced once you came back to the warmed up living room with snacks and clad in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. “Is that my hoodie?” Yanyang asked when you sat down the bags next to his laptop where he had already pulled up the first episode. “Not a chance,” you replied and plopped down onto the couch to snuggle into the hoodie you definitely hadn’t stolen from your best friend. “It seems oddly familiar though,” he mused but sat down next to you anyways, your thighs touching because the sofa wasn’t particularly big. “I’ve had it for a while,” you grinned innocently, throwing one of the blankets over your legs to keep them warm. “Sure,” Yangyang laughed and threw up the large hood before pressing play on the first episode.

Throughout the episodes you seemed to gravitate towards Yangyang more and more the later it got: First only leaning your head on his shoulder, then he wrapped an arm around you to pull you even closer, followed by you pulling your legs up on the sofa, leaning even further into him until you were basically lying on his chest until it became too uncomfortable and you two shuffled around until he had both of his legs outstretched on the sofa with you sat in between them: your back pressed against his chest and his arms around you. “I could fall asleep like this,” you mumbled when you felt your lids getting heavy, the soft melody of the outro lulling you in. “Don’t though, we’ll be sore tomorrow,” Yangyang laughed, poking your cheek. “Is this your only concern?” “We’ve cuddled like this before,” he just shrugged it off. You just hummed and cuddled closer to his heartbeat, fully closing your eyes. “Yah. Don’t fall asleep on me like that,” your best friend protested, “There is a perfectly fine bed waiting with plenty of space.” “Not my problem your body is like 80 percent stupidly lanky legs.” “Come on, get up.” “But the bed is going to be all cold and it’s nice and warm in here,” you argued. “It’s not going to warm up if you keep clinging to me like that,” Yangyang giggled. “I’m not clinging,” you pouted. “Pretty sure you are,” he laughed, finger flicking your forehead, “Come on, lazy. Let’s get ready for bed.”

Grumbling, you agreed and followed your best friend into the small bathroom with the blanket still wrapped around your body where you two quickly washed up. You had been right, the air in the bedroom was icy to say the least. “We’re going to freeze to death and no one will ever find us, Yangyang,” you groaned dramatically. “They literally have to clean up before the next guests come here, so our corpses would be here for a week tops.” “You’re so good at this reassuring thing,” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help to smile. “I know,” he grinned, “Turn around.” “What for?” “I’m changing,” he simply stated, already unbuckling his belt. “Oooh.” With burning cheeks, you quickly turned around, clutching the blanket tightly in your hands. In quick succession you heard first his belt and then his pants and shirt hit the floor before he rummaged through his bag and stepped into new clothes. “Done,” he announced and immediately jumped onto the bed to shuffle beneath the layers of blankets. Still feeling shy you carefully dropped the blanket from the living room and crawled into bed as well, leaving a respectable distance to your best friend which was fairly easy with how big the bed was.

“If you’re going to hog all the blankets, I will scream,” Yangyang spoke into the sudden silence that had draped over you. “I bet you’re the blanket hogger,” you snorted and playfully tugged at the blankets to roll them tightly around you. “I swear to god,” your best friend groaned, his feet kicking the mattress in frustration, “I won one tickle fight and I will win again.” Giggling, you let go of your grip so Yangyang could easily pull the blankets back. “Good night, Yangyang,” you whispered. “Sweet dreams,” he whispered back and you could hear him twist and turn for a couple of moments before he found a comfortable spot to sleep in. Smiling you also settled in, pulling the blankets tight around you to not let the cold of the room seep into your cocoon. While thinking of what you would do tomorrow, you slowly drifted off to sleep.

The next morning the unforgiving light of the sun reflected by the snow outside tickled your nose to slowly wake you up from your dreamless sleep but you really weren’t ready to let go of the comfort that a good night’s sleep had given you. It was just too cozy beneath the layers of blankets, the warmth of another person seeping into your bones while outside the cocoon it was cold. Wait. Warmth of another person? That had you wake up way faster than you would have liked, your own body going rigid in the hold Yangyang had on you. “Finally woke up?” He asked, his voice deeper than usual and raspy from sleep. “Y... Yeah,” you hummed, scared to turn around to look at your best friend. “Why are we cuddling?” “Because someone wouldn’t stop hogging all the blankets, leaving me out in the cold to sleep,” Yangyang said matter-of-factly, his breath hitting your neck. Looking around you, you couldn’t help but chuckle, you really had balled up so much of the blanket on your side of the bed in your sleep that part of it had dropped to the floor on your side. “You laugh but I was freezing my ass off half the night,” your best friend nagged. “I’ll make it up to you with breakfast?” “Omelets?” “You’re going to help cutting veggies?” “Nope,” Yangyang said, popping the p-sound out loud. “You’re terrible.” “You left me to freeze!” “Fine,” you groaned and wiggled yourself free from his grip, leaving the warmth of his embrace and the blankets, “But you’re doing the dishes after.” “Sure.”

For the first time today, you turned around to look at Yangyang and you really weren’t prepared for his tousled hair and lazy smile. Your heart clenched painfully in your chest before it made a couple of summersaults. “Morning,” he grinned, burying himself back into the blankets. “Yeah... Good morning...” “Take your time, I’ll shower in a bit,” Yangyang yawned and you couldn’t hold back your own which in turn made him laugh. “Don’t take too long, lazy,” you smiled before quickly freshening up in the bathroom and starting to prepare the breakfast you hast promised.

Somewhere between filling two pans with the eggs and adding the cut up vegetables, your best friend joined you in the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower and your heart yet again did acrobatics in your chest. What was wrong with you? This was just Yangyang. Your best friend. You had slept in the same room countless of times. You had made him breakfast even more times because he was not to be trusted in the kitchen. So why was your heart all jumpy around him now? Had Donghyuck been right? But nothing between Yangyang and you had changed. You always cuddled up together when you binge watched shows together or had movie nights with your other friends.

“What’s up with you today?” Yangyang asked once you had slid the omelets on two plates and put down a steaming mug of coffee for each of you. “Nothing,” you quickly tried to reassure him but the way he raised up one of his brows was sign enough that he didn’t believe you. “It’s really nothing,” you tried again, forcing a smile onto your face that really wasn’t all that hard to maintain when looking at Yangyang, “I was just thinking about where we should go for our walk.” Your friend just hummed around a mouthful of eggs and pulled out his phone. “I looked something up,” he slurred before swallowing down what he had been chewing, “If we follow this trail, it will take us around the lake which should be frozen and eventually to a little town. If the ice is solid enough, there’s a shop where we can rent skates. And if it’s not we can just stroll around town. To go back, we can take the shorter way back along the road we came with the car.” “I like that,” you admitted as you scrolled through the website Yangyang had pulled up on his phone. The prices weren’t so bad and the scenery looked breathtaking. “Let’s do that,” you concluded, giving your best fried a bright smile.

Even bundled up in your thickest jacket and with a big scarf wrapped around your throat, the cold air outside of the cabin was unforgiving. But somehow you really liked how clean the air was as it prickled through your lungs before you exhaled again, your breath coming out in a little white huff. “I didn’t think it would be so cold, wow,” Yangyang mused as he locked the cabin before walking over to you. “I like it,” you smiled, “Which way?” But instead of an answer all you got from your best friend was a snowball thrown at you, hitting you square in the chest as you turned around to him. “Oh you’re so on,” you grinned, immediately ducking down to scoop some snow up yourself to fire right back. Your loud giggles and shouts filled the otherwise quite air of the forest and you didn’t even feel the cold of the snow and the air seeping into your bones and clothes, all you focused on was to get Yangyang back for knocking your hat off of your head when the face definitely should be off limits. “You little shit,” you yelled, running over to him to dunk his face into the big pile of snow that had gathered in front of the cabin when suddenly you stepped onto a plate of ice, making you lose your footing and the world quickly turned sideways.

You heard Yangyang yell your name before his worried face came back into your field of vision. “Shit, are you okay?” “Yeah, fine,” you crooked out. The fall really had knocked all air out of your lungs and who were you kidding, you would probably get a nasty bruise on your leg from where you had fallen on the unforgiving ice. “Hey, careful,” Yangyang said, taking your hands in his to pull you back to your feet. “Fuck,” you cursed when you put weight on your left leg, pain shooting up all the way up to your back, “I don’t think I can stand.” “Shit, left foot?” You simply nodded and gritted your teeth together as he tried to help you up again, immediately stabilizing you, so you didn’t have to put weight on your injured leg. “I’m sorry,” you muttered as he helped you to waddle back over to the cabin. Great. Now you had not only ruined your day but maybe even your whole short holidays. Yangyang for sure hadn’t wanted to be stuck inside this cabin with you for two more days. “Don’t be. Let’s take a look at that, might be broken or something,” your best friend reassured you.

With awkward little hops, he guided you over to the little sofa in the living room where you had been cuddling all evening yesterday. “Let me take a look.” After shedding your jackets and other gear you had worn to shield yourselves from the cold, Yangyang carefully unlaced your boots with nimble fingers, apologizing every time you winced in pain. “Well fuck. This thing is so swollen,” he announced once boot and sock were off of your foot. “How bad?” You asked with your eyes squeezed shut, not daring to take a look at it. “Hold still,” he instructed you, gently touching the swollen ankle to rotate it carefully which tore a whimper from your lips. “I don’t think it’s broken,” Yangyang eventually announced, “Ten has sprained his ankle during practice before and it looked similar, so I don’t think we need to get you to a hospital right now.” Thank god that your best friend was taking those dancing classes. “On a scale from when you burned your hand while trying to cook ramyeon in milk to whatever your roommate once left in that pot for too long, how gross does it look?” “It’s really not that bad yet,” Yangyang giggled before he let out a fake gag, “Please do not remind me of that pot, it’s a wonder that whatever that was had not grown legs and left the pot on its own accord.”

“Hold my hand,” you demanded, making grabby hands at your best friend where he was sat in front of you on the floor. “You big baby, it’s really not that bad. It’s not even bruised yet,” he laughed but took your hand in his anyways, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Finally opening your eyes, you took in the picture: You ankle was definitely fucked. If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess that it had already swollen to at least three times of its usual size and pulsating with the blood that was rushing to the surface. “Disgusting.” “If we cool it enough and keep it still, everything should be fine,” Yangyang reassured you, giving your hand another squeeze and rubbing your leg with his other hand, “You’re all tensed up. Does anything else hurt?” “My whole leg?” You slowly said but it came out more as a question than anything else. “Let me see.” “What do you mean let me see?” You all but screeched, pulling back your hand to clutch them at your chest instead where your heart was beating in quick succession. “Come on, it’s not like I haven’t seen you in a bathing suit or anything. I just want to make sure it’s just the ankle,” he calmed you down. Why was your heart beating so fast anyways? Yangyang was right. You had seen each other in different states of undress over all the years you had already been friends. But for some reason everything felt different in this secluded little cabin in the middle of nowhere. It was like you were seeing Yangyang in a completely different light. He was not just the funny guy who only cared about hanging out with his friends and having fun; he suddenly seemed a lot more mature here. Weird. The clean air must have already gotten to your head.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Yangyang spoke again, kneading soothing circles into your still very much tensed calf muscles. “Okay,” you whispered, slowly unbuttoning you jeans, thanking whoever was listening that you had packed and worn nice panties. With combined effort, you wrestled the damp fabric of your jeans from your legs to reveal that your whole left side had already started to bruise up, dark colors bleeding into your skin. “Oh fuck,” you cursed, throwing your head back, “That looks so bad.” You couldn’t help but giggle. “I look like I have been fucking mauled.” “Or like you have a very unhealthy skin condition,” your best friend joined your laughter. But what you couldn’t see was how his eyes darted over the exposed skin, not knowing where he should look first. “I’ll check your knee,” he mumbled once you both had stopped laughing, gently touching your skin. You couldn’t help but hiss when his fingers met your flesh even though he was being gentle. It felt like his fingers left little flames in their wake, leaving your skin tingling. You saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat before he spoke: “Your knee seems fine, but those bruises will turn nasty in an hour or two.” “G-great,” you stuttered, avoiding Yangyang’s eyes while looking down to where his hand was still resting on your knee. “I think I still have some ointment from dance class in my bag that could help,” he mumbled, “I could get that and massage the muscles for a bit in case you pulled something as well.” “Massage,” you repeated, starstruck. “Not if you don’t want to but it might get worse if you’ve pulled a muscle or something if it keeps being this tense.”   “I- Yeah. Ok,” you stuttered. “Don’t move.” “Funny,” you grumbled as Yangyang went to fetch his ointment from the bedroom.

“It’s going to be cold,” he warned you when he sat back down in front of you again, lathering up his hands with the strong smelling ointment before he gently pressed down on the muscles of your calf, his fingers working on the knots in your muscle before slowly making their way upwards. You had to bite your lip in order to keep any noise from slipping once his fingers had reached the skin just above your knee. “You’re really tense,” Yangyang mumbled after a while, his fingers itching almost dangerously high on your thigh by now, kneading your sensitive flesh. “Yeah, you’re just. I’m- yeah,” you really didn’t know where you were going with this answer, hyper aware of his fingers on your skin. “Should I stop?” “No, it feels good. It’s just...” “Weird?” “A little,” you admitted, making both of you chuckle awkwardly. “Maybe a little heat would be good as well.” “Y... Yeah.” You really weren’t sure if even less clothes between Yangyang and you would help with whatever this atmosphere between you two was right now. “Let’s get you up and going then,” your best friend smiled and if it was a little less vibrant than it usually was, you chose to ignore it.

Once you were submerged in the warm water, a blissful sound slipped past your lips and you felt all tension that was left in your body leave you, the jets and the warm water effectively relaxing your body and mind.   “You good?” Yangyang quietly asked as he submerged himself right next to you, gently pulling your injured leg onto hip lap to prod at the muscles again. “Yeah,” you sighed and closed your eyes, willing your mind to shut up about how he was just your best friend and it should definitively not feel this good when he was innocently kneading your muscles. As all the tenseness seeped from your body, his fingers got more and more gentle until they all but caressed the soft skin of your thigh.  

“Yangyang?” You quietly asked after a while when the only sounds between you came from the bubbling of the water and the occasional sound of a bird. Your best friend just hummed to indicate that he had heard you, his fingers stopping to draw random shapes onto your thigh. “Is it weird that I really want to kiss you right now?” At that your friend seemed to freeze, his thigh muscles tensing up where your leg was thrown onto his lap. “N... No, I don’t think so,” he eventually mumbled. “No?” “No. Because I kind of really want to kiss you as well,” he confessed, his dark eyes finding yours and the amount of trust and openness in his eyes momentarily took your breath away. “Then kiss me,” you breathed. “I- I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” he replied but inched closer to you anyways. “It won’t,” you promised, gently cupping your best friend’s jaw and stroking your thumb along his cheekbone. “Promise?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Promise,” you whispered back before you let your eyes flutter closed when your lips finally met in a delicate kiss, barely more than a gently press of lips.

When you separated again, you sighed gently against his lips before pressing another quick peck to them which made your best friend chuckle. “This feels nice,” he whispered. “Not weird?” You asked just to confirm, gently tracing his features with your fingers. “It feels just right.” “Yeah,” you sighed. “More?” Smiling you nodded and connected your lips again, firmer this time but still gently exploring this new territory. Slowly Yangyang seemed to grow more confident and he let his hands settle on your waist to pull you a little closer to him, causing you to softly gasp. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, pressing little kisses to your cheeks and the corners of your mouth until you giggled. “Kiss me,” you demanded, wrapping your arms around his neck so your hands could play with the long strands of his hair before kissing him again. By now you almost sat in his lap, the angle a little weird because of how your leg was still thrown over his lap. But none of you seemed to mind as you took all the time of the world to explore each other’s lips.

After a little while Yangyang broke the kiss to lean his forehead against yours. You couldn’t fight your smile, basking in the feeling of being close to him. This close you could count his eyelashes that were stuck together from the water and admire the blush that sat high on his cheekbones. “I really like you,” Yangyang suddenly confessed, pulling your bodies flush together to hide his face in your neck. “I really like you too,” you giggled, running your hands through his damp hair. “No I mean I like like you. I- I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time,” he mumbled against your skin. With how close you were pushed together, Yangyang must definitely feel how hard and fast your heart was hammering in your chest. What he couldn’t see was the big smile that spread on your lips while you were trying to find the right words to tell him that you felt the same, that he was a very special person to you. “You don’t have to like me back,” he suddenly said, tightening his grip on you, “I know you probably only see me as a friend and nothing else. But if I keep this to myself any longer, I might burst. I just- Please don’t hate me. You’re all I have.”

“Yangyang,” you gently spoke, trying to pry his head from your neck. “I don’t have any courage left to look you in the face as you reject me,” he whined when he wasn’t budging, this grip he had on your waist tightening just a little. “I’m not going to reject you.” “You’re not?” Your best friend immediately straightened up, his face full of surprise. “No,” you chuckled and couldn’t resist to press a quick kiss to his lips, “I think I’m in love with you as well.”

For a while Yangyang didn’t say anything, his mouth just wordlessly hanging open and eyes wide. “I mean it,” you giggled, playfully hitting his shoulder, “Say something, idiot.” “I- I was full on prepared for heartbreak. I didn’t mean to confess until Sunday to not make it awkward. It just. Yeah…” “Why would I reject you?” “You never said anything and whenever I would try to take you out or do something alone with you, you kept inviting the others and simply played my flirting off as a joke.”

Thinking back, you felt like there were scales falling from your eyes when you remembered all the times Yangyang had asked you out to the movies and you had dragged Donghyuck or Renjun with you. Or when you had invited him for movie night and his face fell when he saw Jaemin and Jeno already sitting on your sofa. Or when he had invited you to one of his dance shows and you had marveled about how graceful Ten could dance and he had become all grumpy.

“Holy fuck, I’ve been so oblivious,” you groaned, pillowing your head on his chest that shook with laughter. “I’ll forgive you if you become my girlfriend,” Yangyang gently spoke, combing his hands through your hair. “Yes,” you breathed, your heart fluttering wildly. “Seal it with a kiss?” He didn’t need to say anything else because you quickly pressed your lips together again, hoping Yangyang could feel all your love and you could at least make up for the pain you had caused him.

“Me too,” he whispered against your lips in between kisses, “I love you too, idiot.” “Your idiot,” you grinned. “All mine,” Yangyang smiled brightly. And if you two shared more kisses and sweet giggles beneath the sky in the hot tub next to your cabin, only Mother Nature would know about it.

[plant-flwrs]

three’s a crowd // draco malfoy (cologne pt 2)

request from @jadam268​​ :  after y/n and draco had kissed that day and confessed they had smelled each other in their amortentia, draco and y/n had a known relationship. however the yule ball was coming up and draco still hadn’t mentioned it to y/n. you tried to hint it at draco but he never took it. cedric and y/n were in the same charms class. he was always interested in her/you. after awhile cedric noticed u hadnt been asked for the yule ball. this caused a small love triangle to build up. (you can choose the rest haha its all up to you but if you want please let y/n and draco end up together still🥺)

a/n: my first request!! this is a sequel to cologne, and i hope it lives up to the first one. i really loved the idea for this so thank you again @jadam268​ <333 (i looked for that gif of draco shoving people out of the way during that scene of hagrid’s first class, but i couldn’t find it. here is an equally attractive gif of draco) [the gif is not mine] 

summary: Cedric Diggory takes notice when Draco hasn’t officially asked you to the Yule Ball. Cedric only wants to make sure you don’t go alone ;)

(4.6k)

part 1 here: https://plant-flwrs.tumblr.com/post/628194591952257024/cologne-draco-malfoy-3k-an-another-tik-tok

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Through tall, ancient windows, soft sunshine flooded the castle halls.

You and Pansy walked through the crowded hallway with your arms linked, talking about the upcoming Yule Ball.

"Oh of course he will, don't be daft," Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

"I don't know, Pansy," you bit the inside of your cheek, a nervous habit, "he hasn't even mentioned it!"

You and Draco had been nearly inseparable since you had both confessed your feelings for each other. The day the ball was announced, you excitedly looked to your boyfriend, only to find him casting a charm to make Goyle's frog have hair. Every day since you hinted at it. You had even asked him what color your dress should be but he still hadn't properly asked you. It was weighing on you, the uncertainty of not knowing what Draco was thinking. It made you question his feelings for you. Had he not liked you enough to have you on his arm, to parade you in front of the school?

"He's just a boy, y/n, they're stupid creatures," Pansy said matter-of-factly, pushing her short hair behind her shoulder, "I expect you've got to bring it up."

"I have!" you unlinked your arms, throwing your hands into the air in exasperation.

Pansy looked at you sympathetically, which really only made you feel worse, "I'm just trying to help."

"I know," you hadn't meant to make Pansy feel bad, but it was just so frustrating, "I just don't know what else to do."

Pansy rubbed your arm kindly, and you gave her a weak smile.

"What else to do about what?" Draco's voice purred in your ear as he eased up next to you.

"She's got a big Charm's project coming up, doesn't like her partner very much," Pansy said quickly, giving your arm one final soothing rub before she walked ahead of you and up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

"Who's your partner?" Draco said worriedly.

"Diggory," you said, sighing as the lie left your mouth. You were actually quite pleased to have Cedric as your partner, he was smart and kind. The Hufflepuff attitude was a nice contrast to the brooding Slytherins you loved so much.

"Diggory?" Draco repeated, crossing his arms like a pouting child, "he's an oaf."

You didn't agree, but you didn't defend Cedric. You had to seem cross about him being your partner, and it was better to have Draco think that's why you were upset. A small part of you wanted to ask Draco then, why he hadn't asked you. You felt ashamed to even bring it up, afraid he would just look at you like the answer was obvious: you aren't good enough.

Draco pulled your robes close to him and ducked into an enclave in the hallway. You glanced at your watch while he moved the two of you with ease; you still had enough time before Charms.

Draco pushed you against the cold, stone wall and brought his hand to your face. His thumb grazed your cheekbone, and he stared into your eyes for a moment.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, before his lips connected to yours.

He was gentle and slow, but his body pressed against yours feverishly. Your hands fell to the back of his neck. You felt his tie had slipped from under the collar of his shirt, so you fixed it quickly. He smiled at the gesture and you could feel the upturn of his lips. Your fingers twirled in the hair on the back of his head, and your fingernails lightly grazed his scalp. Draco made a heavenly moaning sound into your mouth. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pushing past your robes. His nimble fingers eventually nudged your shirt untucked on each side of your waist, and he slipped his hands to rest on the bare skin of your hips.

You felt your mind going foggy but still had enough sense to open your eyes and look at your watch while Draco's head ducked to suck on your neck.

"Dray," your voice was weak and barely audible, "Dray, I've got to get to class."

Draco pulled away from you slowly, upset to have to do so. He had a proud smile on, and his eyebrows tugged upwards smugly. His eyes fell to your neck, where his lips had previously been attached.

"No you didn't," you knew the look on his face and brought your fingers up to feel the pain of a small bruise forming.

"I did," he replied, moving his fingers to graze over the love bite he had given you.

You sighed, pretending to be annoyed with him.

He laughed, his hand going to move some hair behind your ear. He pulled up the collar of your shirt, pushing it to hide the mark.

"There, all better," he said proudly, not trying to hide his ridiculous smile.

You moved your collar back down, your face becoming flushed. You swatted Draco's hand away and adjusted your hair to fall over the mark.

"Walk me to class," you said, clutching his hand and dragging him away before he could accept the offer.

Sitting in Charms class, Cedric Diggory stood leaning over your shoulder to look at your work. You could feel his toned chest pressed against your back, and his breath was hot on your cheek as he read the paragraph you had written for your project.

"I like it," he muttered, moving to stand straight and offering you a crooked smile.

You smiled back as thanks for his compliment.

"You're a really good writer, y/n," he continued, going to continue the wand movements required for the charm.

"Thank you, Cedric," he only smiled at you, now returning his focus to his wand.

You wrote down what he was doing, the project requiring an essay about the technicalities of the Confundus Charm. You felt tempted to write about how his brown hair fell wonderfully over his forehead, or how his shoulders looked strong and handsome as he stood tall, but figured it was unnecessary to the assignment.

He looked onto his Hufflepuff housemate, his brow furrowed, and with unwavering confidence, he cast the spell.

"Confundo!"

His housemate shuddered, the Confundus charm obviously working. She looked dazed at Cedric, waiting for him to tell her something, give her something to do. You wrote quickly, watching the way her eyes looked a little glassy, and the way her hands fell limply by her sides.

"Uh," Cedric started, looking back at you with a giddy grin on his face, "go get my books."

You watched her, your quill moving as fast as you could manage. She walked to Cedric's desk, across the room, and picked up his books. She walked back and placed them delicately on the table next to you.

Professor Flitwick must have noticed the charm take effect, and he walked over to the three of you.

"Very well done, Mister Diggory," he praised Cedric, moving his wand to cast the charm that would release the girl from the effects of Cedric's Confundus charm.

The girl looked at Cedric, seeming confused. He nodded and smiled at her, and she walked off, her hand nursing the side of her head as if she had a headache. You wrote that down.

Cedric fell into the seat next to you, his arm falling to the back of your chair.

"Did you get all of it?" he questioned, leaning in close once again, "Especially how handsome I looked?"

You laughed weakly at his joke, mainly because you had thought about how handsome he looked while casting the charm. You felt a wave of guilt rush over you, thinking about Draco. You shouldn't be ogling over Cedric, but then again, shouldn't Draco have asked you to the ball by now?

Charms class had been fun for the next few days. You had finished the final draft of your essay earlier in the week, leaving you and Cedric with plenty of time to talk.

"You and Malfoy still going at it?" Cedric questioned, his tone changing when he said Draco's name.

You flashed a confused looked at Cedric, hoping he continued his thought.

"You're neck, it seems to have healed," he continued, his hand moving to brush your hair back to expose your neck.

"He's my boyfriend, Cedric," you said, confused as to where this topic of conversation came from.

Pansy had teased you in the past, insisting that Cedric had some sort of crush on you.

"He's staring at you right now, y/n," she'd say loudly at the great hall, "big puppy dog eyes!" She would laugh, and you would lock eyes with Cedric, sending him a polite smile while his face would blush red.

"He's not much of a boyfriend," Cedric mumbled, ducking his head into his Muggle Studies homework.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you said, becoming slightly annoyed by his comments about Draco.

"He hasn't even asked you to the ball," he said, raising his head to look at your shocked and slightly hurt expression.

"How do you-" Cedric interrupted you, seeming pleased with how the conversation was going

"How do I know he hasn't asked you? Y/n, everyone knows when one of the prettiest girls in their year has been asked to the ball, and everyone knows when they haven't," he looked at you with a kind and sympathetic look.

Cedric Diggory had just called you one of the prettiest girls in your year, and yet your face blushed red from embarrassment over the fact that people knew Draco hadn't asked you to the ball.

"Cedric, I appreciate your concern for Malfoy and I," you only used Draco's last name when you were cross with him, "but if he doesn't ask me, I'll be going alone."

Cedric furrowed his brows and a slight scowl came over his face. He looked at you for a while before something in his face changed. He didn't look angry, but determined. He was determined to make sure you didn't go to the Yule Ball alone.

The Slytherin table erupted with conversation. Next to you, Pansy was chatting away with Daphne Greengrass about the dress her mother had sent her for the ball. On your other side, Draco angled his body away from you, talking to Blaise about his newest plan to get Harry Potter expelled.

You stared into your plate of roast chicken with mashed potatoes, pushing it all around on your plate. You had already run Pansy's ear off about what had happened in Charms earlier that day, but you still felt fixated on it. Cedric's words ran through your head, especially his comment about your status of appearance. The longer you thought about it, the angrier you got with Draco. Your built-up resentment and inward worries about him had gotten the best of you. Instead of being direct and asking him, you sulked cowardly and gave him the silent treatment.

Draco had been fine to let you sulk in peace, reasons unbeknownst to him, until a delicate, but rather large, paper airplane landed in front of you on the table. The piece of paper had been enchanted to fly its way across the hall, and when it landed, it unfolded itself rather impressively.

Draco had seen it in the air, and by the time it landed he had turned towards you, abandoning his discussion with Blaise.

It sat in front of you, and once it lay flat, you gathered it in your hands.

Y/n, You looked quite miserable over there with Malfoy, why not come sit with me? I have enough sense to ask you to the ball, if you let me. -Cedric

You read over the note quickly, and before you could turn to show Pansy, Draco had snatched it from your hands.

He read over it a few times, and each time, his eyes became wilder and wilder with furry. He began holding the paper so tightly that it threatened to rip under his grip.

"Diggory? Who does that git think he is?" Draco snarled, crumpling up the paper and tossing it into the table.

At the same time he stood from the table, dinner was incidentally dismissed. Everyone began to leave the hall, except for Draco, who seemed to be rushing towards the Hufflepuff table, towards Cedric.

You gathered the paper from the table before rushing after Draco. He moved through the crowd with ease. Anyone who hadn't cowered out of his way, he simply shoved out of the way. You were being knocked back and elbowed as you followed him, unable to muster the rage Draco seemed to walk with.

It must have been intimidating for Cedric, seeing Draco storming at him the way he did. His fists were clenched by his sides and his robes flew behind him as his legs moved quickly towards the taller boy.

When Draco finally reached Cedric, the way Cedric towered over Draco by a few inches did not matter. Draco held his wand to Cedric's throat, the action hidden by the crowd of students around them.

"Don't you ever even look at her again," you heard Draco say in a hushed, deadly tone.

"Why not?" Cedric asked, puffing his chest out and shoving Draco back. He collided with a few students behind him, but rebounded quickly, regaining his threatening attitude.

"She's with me," Draco snarled.

Cedric laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. All you could do was watch, you had no words as your hands shoved the crumpled paper into your robes. You felt Pansy next to you, wrapping her arm around you in a side hug as you both watched the boys.

"You haven't even asked her to the ball, Malfoy," Cedric spoke.

Before Draco could reply, Professor McGonagall glided between the boys. She held her hands out to both of them, palms out.

"Enough, dinner is over," she looked at everyone who had stopped to watch the interaction, "go to your common rooms," she yelled over the noise.

Cedric moved first, laughing at Draco and walking away with his friends.

Draco stood there for a moment, too angry to move.

You looked at him, wishing you could comfort him, but not finding it in your heart. You were too upset with him, filled with too many questions to worry about Draco. Your hand went to the note in your pocket, and you held it as a reminder.

Draco's eyes found yours, and before he could move towards you, you slipped out of Pansy's grasp and left the hall.

You had left Draco there, nothing to say about his little standoff with Cedric. You thought the whole thing had been ridiculous. You figured, however, that if you hadn't already been cross with Draco, you may have found his words a little romantic. He had, after all, said you were "with him".

You shuddered with nerves as your hand hovered over the doorknob to your Charms class. You didn't want to face Cedric, and you had been successfully avoiding Draco.

Part of you wanted to skip Charms entirely. You had finished your essay, you wouldn't be missing anything, but the idea of detention did not entice you.

You walked to your desk, seeing the back of Cedric's head as he sat in the seat next to yours.

"Hello, princess," he said, not lifting his head from the book he was reading.

He had been leaning back in his chair, the two front legs teetering off the ground. With a harsh kick from you, the chair landed on all fours and Cedric jolted forwards. You had been hoping he would fall backwards, but you can't win them all, you supposed.

"Cross with me?" he teased, bringing his arm to rest on the back of your chair.

You ignored him and pulled out your Potions textbook, opening it to your homework assignment.

"Oh come on," he said, pushing his hair out of his face, "I thought you'd like it."

He was talking about the note, you figured, and suddenly your cheeks felt hot as you remembered it was still in your pocket.

His mouth curled into a smile and he quickly pinched your pink cheek before you could slap his hand away.

"Ooooo," he called, leaning back again in his chair, "you did like it."

You ignored him, willing your cheeks to return to their normal color. You hated to admit it, but you still couldn't deny how attractive Cedric really was. His thin lips curved into an arrogant smirk, revealing his white teeth. His green eyes were alight with mischief and entertainment. His sharp jaw entranced you.

You couldn't even distract yourself with thoughts of Draco. Every time you thought of him, you got angrier with him.

You successfully ignored Cedric for the rest of Charms, and now you were trying to avoid Draco as you walked through the courtyard with Pansy.

"They’re both such idiots," you complained, your books clutched tight to your chest, "Diggory's making a fool of himself and Malfoy is making a fool of me."

Pansy sighed heavily, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

"You're not a fool, no one thinks your a fool," Pansy reassured you, "Draco isn't held of that high of an opinion around here."

Pansy's words had almost soothed you, but once again, you couldn't help but feel a familiar sadness creep over you. Even if other people didn't notice that Draco hadn't asked you, you certainly did. He was making your life much harder than it needed to be.

Cedric saw you from where he sat with his housemates. He leapt from the bench and bounded over to you. He casually shoved off Pansy's arm, before either of you noticed he was there, and replaced it with his arm.

"Hey, princess," he said familiarly.

"Shove off, Cedric," you pushed his arm off your shoulder.

He simply laughed and took a step ahead of you, standing in front of you and Pansy, blocking your path.

"What do you want Diggory?" Pansy asked.

Your hands were wrapped so tightly around your books, your knuckles were turning a starch white.

"Just wanted to let y/n that my offer still stands," he said to Pansy. He turned towards you, "I'd still love to take you to the ball."

You let out an empty laugh, feeling completely exhausted. Pansy rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. She walked away, leaving you with Cedric.

"Haven't you ever heard, Diggory," you heard Draco's voice from behind you, "that three's a crowd?"

When he finally came to your side, he made no move to touch you, and part of you was grateful. You were still so upset with him that you may have just shaken off his touch.

"Oh, Malfoy," Cedric drawled, looking between the two of you, "I'm sure y/n wouldn't mind if you left."

Draco let out a sarcastic laugh that sounded a bit like a growl. You rolled your eyes, bracing yourself for another pitiful interaction like the one at dinner.

"I was simply asking her to the ball, she's been looking quite lonely these days," Cedric said, taking a step closer to you and Draco.

Before Draco could reply, you slammed your books into his chest for him to hold. Stepping up to Cedric, you had to tilt your head upwards to fully look him in the eye.

"You arrogant prick," you started, feeling a wave of anger wash over you, "how dare you talk about me as if I'm some sort of object," you took in a shaky breath, "like a toy for you two to pass back and forth."

You whipped around to scowl at Draco too, and he looked down, ashamed.

You saw the beginnings of a smile of Cedric's face, and your anger bubbled. You winded your hand back to slap him, but Draco's quick grasp stopped you. Cedric had flinched, and you laughed dryly. Nodding to Draco, assuring him you wouldn't slap Cedric, he dropped your hand. You took a step back from Cedric and he still looked smugly at you. You spat on the ground between you two, some landing on his shoe. He stepped back in disgust and looked at you like you were crazy.

"Fuck off," Draco hissed, coming to your side again.

You let him stay there, watching Cedric retreat to his friends.

You began to walk away from Draco as you had done at the great hall, but his hand on your bicep stopped you.

"Y/n," he said sadly, "can we talk?"

You looked into his silver eyes and saw the look of regret on his face. You turned to face him, putting a few feet between you two.

"Are you cross with me?" he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You scoffed and folded your arms over your chest.

"Why?" he asked softly, taking your reply as a yes, and stepping towards you.

"Are you serious?" you asked, genuinely wondering if he had no idea why you were upset. Was he really as daft as Pansy said?

"Yes, you've been upset all week and I don't know what I've done. Have I done something?" he asked. Hearing the desperation in his voice softened you. You supposed he actually was that daft, and you couldn't blame him for that.

"The ball, Draco," your voice was almost a whisper, afraid tears might spillover, "you never asked me."

Draco took another step forward and pulled his hands from his pockets. He reached for yours, and you let him hold your hands.

"Really? That's why you've been cross with me?" He sounded like he had an epiphany, like he couldn't have possibly imagined that's what was wrong.

"Yes, Draco," you sighed, giving up on your anger and allowing yourself to be vulnerable, "it made me think..." you trailed off, unable to will yourself to say what it made you think of yourself.

"What?" Draco pushed.

"I don't know Dray, it'll sound stupid," you dropped your eyes to the ground, your head tilting downwards.

"Tell me," his hand moved to lift your head, forcing your eyes to his.

"It-" your voice cracked, "It made me think you didn't want me, like you didn't want people to see us like that," you refused to let yourself cry, but the tears could be heard in your voice.

Draco held his mouth open, his brows lifted in shock. He pulled you both over to the base of a tree, out of sight of anyone else in the courtyard. He held you close to him.

"I would never want you to think that, y/n," he rubbed his hand soothingly on your back as he hugged you.

You lifted your head from his chest, looking up at him.

"Then why didn't you ask me?"

"Oh," he started, looking away from you, "well now I feel a bit stupid," he said sheepishly.

You waited for him to answer.

"I had just thought," he pressed his lips into a thin line, thinking of how to word his thoughts, "I had thought, that we were already going together. I think I forgot to ask you."

You recoiled away from him, looking at him with amazement. Here stood the boy with the best marks in your year, impeccable wit, and an unwavering reputation, admitting that he forgot to ask his girlfriend to the Yule Ball.

You let out a high laugh that surprised Draco. He looked at you, waiting for your fit to end, but you had doubled over with laughter. You clutched your stomach and tears brimmed your eyes.

Once you finally recovered, Draco expected the slap you were prepared to give Diggory earlier.

Instead, you launched yourself into his arms, which he hesitantly wrapped around you.

"Oh, Draco," you exclaimed, "you idiot!'

Your smile was bright, which confused Draco the most. He had just seen you at your wit's end, prepared for you to break up with him, and here you were, arms wrapped around his neck and placing little kisses all over his face in delight.

"Does this mean you'll go to the ball with me?" Draco asked nervously.

"Yes," you replied, subdued, "I suppose I could go with you."

Watching you come down the girls' dormitory stairs, Draco's breath caught in his throat. He nervously toyed with the flower he had for you behind his back, his eyes roaming all over you, trying to look at everything at once.

You looked stunning. You had sent an owl to your mother, telling her all about the dress you wanted and a week later, your owl had a large box with him in the owlery.

It was perfect, it fell elegantly in the right places. You felt Draco's eyes on you as you looked down at the steps, careful walking down in heals.

He immediately embraced you, his hands pressing you into him by your lower back.  When he released you, one hand stayed at your hip as he felt the wonderful material of your dress. He pulled the flower up to your face between you, and you leaned in to smell it. Taking it from him, you kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Dray," you whispered in his ear.

You were glad you hadn't worn lipstick, because with the force Draco kissed you with, you were sure it would have been all over the both of you.

Pulling away feeling dazed, you allowed him to lead you out of the dungeons and to the great hall.

The two of you walked through the tall doors, your arm looped with his. A few people standing by the walls watched as the two of you swept through the crowd.

Draco led you to the dance floor when a slow song came on. His strong hands gripped your waist, your hands rested around his neck, and your cheek was pressed against his chest. The soft, white material of his shirt felt comforting under you.

“Have I made it up to you?” Draco asked, bending to speak into your ear.

You pulled your face back so he could see you pretending to be in deep thought.

“I suppose you have,” you said smoothly, looking up at him.

He looked beautiful. His hair fell over his forehead, parted at the side. His pink lips were twisted into a peaceful smile as he looked at you. He rolled up the sleeves to his dress shirt at some point, exposing his toned forearms.

“I want you to be happy, y/n” he said, pulling you close to him.

“I’m happy with you, Draco,” you replied, your voice muffled from being pressed against his chest again.

“I’m happy with you, too,” he whispered.

That night, after you two had stumbled down the stairs to the dungeons, Draco stood with you in front of your dormitory door. He had a blissful smile on his face, content with staring at you all night.

You pulled him towards you by the collar of his dress shirt, your fists still wrapped around the cloth as he tumbled into you, pressing you against the wall.

You kissed him hard, your tongue grazing his bottom lip. You felt him shudder against you, his hands bunching up the sides of your dress as he gripped onto your waist.

You hands pushed through his hair, and ran your fingernails down his back, making him shudder again. You smirked into the kiss, and he pressed his body against you even harder. He slipped his leg between yours, the dress gathering at his leg. Your chests were pressed against each other and you could feel his fast heartbeat and heavy breathing.

“Y/n,” he moaned, moving his swollen lips to kiss your jaw.

He began chanting little praises as he moved down your neck, calling you beautiful, amazing, wonderful.

Your hands gripped his biceps as he reached the spot just below your ear, making you whimper beneath him. At the sound, he moaned again, panting against your neck.

“Hey guys,” Pansy said casually, “mind if I slip past ya?”

You and Draco pulled apart awkwardly, he turned his back towards Pansy, presumably hiding something in his pants. You wiped your swollen lips and fixed your hair.

You began to giggle wildly, causing Pansy to giggle. Her intoxicated hands couldn’t manage the doorknob to your shared room. You began to heartily laugh as you watched her hand continuously slip off. She slammed her shoulder into the door, and she stumbled back, nearly falling. She must have had a lot of Fred and George’s after-party-punch. 

You held her up, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. Draco moved to open the door for you, and you walked in with Pansy.

She was still giggling as you guided her to her bed. She flung herself onto it, and you moved to take her heals off. You pulled the blanket over your friend and turned to Draco.

“Sorry about tha-” you started.

“Oh no, don’t, it’s fine” Draco interrupted, that enchanted smile back on his face.

You smiled back at him, both of you feeling completely and utterly smitten with the other.

[girlsluvbot]

MATCHMAKER pt.1

pairing: roseanne park × fem! reader

genre: fluff, angst

about:

matchmaker /ˈmatʃmeɪkə/

noun

a person who arranges marriages or initiates romantic relationships between others.

"an enthusiastic matchmaker who continually tried to pair off the difficult bachelor with unattached ladies"

a/n: i'm back!!! hehe this goddamn thing took so long to write, i both despise and adore it with every fibre of my being. enjoy my blood, sweat and tears in the form of a fic.

You loved your job. Very few people are lucky enough to be able to relate to that statement, and you were thankfully one of them. Hell, not only did you love your job, you were extremely good at it.

Since you were a little kid, writing nas always been your biggest passion. Wether it was writing short stories, poems or essays about the french revolution, you were always happy when you were able to put your feelings and thoughts onto paper. This was the main reason why you became the manager of your local newspaper during middle school, high school and eventually even university.

You've won multiple writing contests and even people who had no idea what your name was knew one thing about you: you were an amazing writer.

Years of practice, your impeccable set of skills and a recommendation letter from your university professor secured you a job at Vogue almost immediately. After all this hard work, you finally achieved everything you were looking for. You were truly happy.

Until this very moment.

"Well, I don't know," the woman sitting in front of you made a disgusted grimace, "it just lacks any emotion whatsoever. I've quite literally never read something so stiff and akward."

And here they were. The first words of criticism you have ever recieved. You were so used to everyone praising your work, you didn't know how to react or respond.

Three months ago, you would have never gotten into a similar situation: simply because there was nothing about your work to critize. But a lot has changed in the past few weeks, and not exactly in the good kind of way.

When you first joined Vogue, you were the head editor and journalist of the spread dedicated almost entirely to interviews. Thats what you did, talked to celebrities and wrote about them. And that's what you were good at, almost too good.

Just a year after working in the magazine you got promoted. You were still the head editor, but now of a completely different part of the journal: one dedicated to a single topic. Love. This was bad news, very bad news.

Why, you ask? The reason was fairly simple but no less embarrassing. Even as the head editor of a spread all about love, you've never experienced it yourself. In other words, you've never been in love. And how are you supposed to write about something you know nothing about?

Your boss looks at you and shakes her head. She reaches for the stack of papers on the table in front of her and starts reading, "For example; 'His lips brushed against mine. They were soft. The kiss was short but sweet. I loved it.' What the actual heck? I kiss my cat more passionately than this." she took off her glasses and started massaging the crook of her nose.

"Listen, Y/N, I've read your previous pieces and they were simply wonderful. But this? I don't even know what else to say without hurting your feelings."

"I'm so sorry. I know, it's just that I dont have much experience in said area." you don't finish the sentence, hoping she somehow gets the memo. She doesn't.

"What area?"

"Love. I dont have much experience with love." you blurt out the words that have been on your mind nonstop since the day of your promotion.

"Oh, you poor thing" she leans back in her chair, her eyes scanning your every move, "Isn't that unfortunate."

You nod your head slowly, trying not to get offended at her words full of pity.

"How are you supposed to write romance stories then? This won't work." the woman grabs a post-it note

"Are," your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, "Are you firing me?"

"Are you crazy? Of course I'm not," she hands you the piece of paper with a phone number, "We just have to improvise for the time being. Do you know Roseanne Park? She's the manager of our Matchmaker spread. You can be her assistant for the next few months, help her around, learn a thing or two. Hopefully your writing wont be so...bland after."

To be completely honest, you didn't handle changes well. Maybe that's why you were standing in front of your new, and hopefully temporary, bosses office, trying to build up the courage to knock on her door.

One of the reasons why you were so nervous was that Roseanne Park, the manager of the Vogue Matchmaker was insanely attractive. Admittedly, you did some online stalking the night before- okay, a lot of it. Here's the thing; you were a planner. Whether it came to your career, writing or even relationships, you liked to beprepared.

That's why after a few hours spent on the internet, you knew everything. The name of her sister (Alice Park), if the had a pet (yes, a fish named Joohwangie) and who her favorite band was (The 1975).

You weren't usually like this, so head over heels for a girl you haven't even met. But your writing, the reason you were here in the first place, didn't usually suck so after all, some things really do change easily.

Just as you reached for the dark wooden door in front of you, it opened before your hand could even touch it's sleek surface.

"Oh!" the tall woman stopped in her tracks. Thanks to your thorough internet digging, you instantly recognized her. Roseanne Park. Your new boss. A 'matchmaker' if you will.

"You must be Y/N! I've heard that you're going to be my assistant for a bit." your cheeks heated up for no apparent reason. Did she know the reason why you got transferred here so quickly? Every molecule in your body wished and prayed to every possible god out there that she didn't.

"Yeah, that's me!" you finally composed yourself enough to speak, but that didn't mean your voice didn't sound like one of a twelve year old boy going through puberty- high pitched and squeaky.

You examined her face more in depth, and realized quite a few things:

She was somehow even prettier in real life. How? you had no idea. Some people just really won the genetics lottery, you thought.

Her hair was red. Like undeniably, undoubtedly red. In all of the pictures you found yesterday it was either brown or black, so this change caught you off guard. You couldn't complain though, because this girl looked like a hotter version of Ariel with a much better sense in fashion (and music).

"Have you been standing out here for too long?"

"Oh no, I just arrived." lying has never been so easy.

"Great! I'm gonna go downstairs to grab a package but you can look around the office while I'm gone," she opened the door a bit to let you walk in.

You did as she told you and entered the room. The door closed behind you without you noticing, the only thing you could focus on was this girl's office. It looked just like you would imagine heaven to look like- full of light, white furniture and expensive looking leather couches.

There were pictures everywhere: a dozen of four young girls (one of them being Roseanne), a few more of her with famous celebrities and one of a familiar looking face- her sister.

You carefully walked towards the table in the middle of the room, not wanting to damage anything. You noticed quite a bit of unexpected clutter, and above everything a print of the brand new Vogue issue. A woman on the cover flashed you a beautiful smile as you picked it up. The headline stated: Kim Jisoo talks acting, NYFW and love.

You flipped the glossy magazine pages to find the spread dedicated to said interview and noticed just what you were looking for: the author of the article. The credits at the bottom of the page revealed a nice surprise- Author; Roseanne Park.

"Well what do you think? Is it a good article?" your soul almost left your body when you realized who was standing next to you. You quickly put the magazine down, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to touch your stuff. I just saw the cover and..."

"Oh my gosh, are you kidding? That's completely okay, I don't mind." she pointed to the journal, "That interview is actually one of the favorite pieces I ever wrote, and not just because it's about Jisoo. Plus, my friend took the pictures, so it was extra fun." She opened the spread again and pointed to a name credited right next to hers, Photographer; Lalisa Manoban.

"Oh wow. I've seen her pictures before, they're really good. I with I could take photos like that. Seriously."

Here's one thing to note: when you're nervous, you ramble. Like a lot. Some people would say its better than staying silent, but let's be honest- it's like stepping into a puddle instead of mud. Not a disaster, but there's still plenty to complain about.

Thankfully, Roseanne only giggled, "I know exactly what you mean. I hope you'll get to work with her someday."

You both stared at the magazine spread for a second before Roseanne broke the silence.

"But now, let's get to bussines. Sit down please, this might take a while," she pointed tkwards one of the leather couches you noticed earlier and took a seat at the other side of the table.

"So, as you probably already know, my name is Roseanne Park. As a manager of Matchmaker, my job is to read these letters," she grabben a handful of papers for emphasis, "and respond to them, give advixe basically. The title 'Matchmaker' comes from the fact that the majority of the letters talk about love. Any questions so far?"

When you shook your head no, she continued, "As my assistant, your job is fairly simple. You're going to sort and read through the hundreds of letters I recieve weekly and pick the most interesting ones for me to feature. And occasionally, you might accompany me to a few interviews. Sounds good?"

You slowly nodded, processing all the new information. Letters, answers, interviews and a hot boss. That doesn't sound so bad.

"Great. So Y/N," she suddenly stood up, "Would you mind going with me to Subway? I'm starving."

By the time you were finished with lunch, you had a new point to add to your list of realizations about your new boss:

She loves food, and by loves I mean LOVES.

The moment you arrived at the restaurant, food was the only thing she would talk about. She told you about what she had for dinner and breakfast, what kind of snacks she hid in the office and what kind of salad she was getting alongside a baguette.

After she actually managed to get a bit of calories into her system (thanks to a foot-long chicken turkey sandwich) the conversation finally got more interesting.

Don't get me wrong, you could listen to this girl talk for hours, no matter the topic. But after listening to a thirty minute long monologue about why pineapple pizza is the best thing ever invented, even you have reached your limit.

"So," you start, in an effort to break the ice, "how long have you been working at Vogue?"

She squints at the toast in front of her, trying to remember, "About five years? Yeah, it's gonna be five years in May."

"Oh wow, that's impressive."

She tilts her head, "Is it? I mean, when you work as often as I do, time just goes by. I don't even remember the last time I went out with my friends to discuss something that wasn't work related."

You pout, regretting the choice to ask her about work.

"But at the same time, I love what I do so I can't really complain. What about you though? Why did you decide to become a journalist?"

"Oh, I started just a year ago. And I studied literature, so I guess becoming a journalist made sense."

"Why did you study literature then? There's so many other better paying jobs out there."

"I don't think anyone works in such a field for money, that's for sure," you try to lighten the atmosphere, "Well, my mom wanted to become a writer, but she got pregnant before she could finish her book and she's been pretty much busy ever since. I guess her love for books kind of rubbed off on me."

Roseanne nods, to let you know she's listening. "I'm glad you and your mom have such an important aspect of your lives in common. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer, I doubt she's ever read even a single fiction book in her entire life."

"What does she think about your job now?"

Her lips tighten and she crosses her arms. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her since," her eyes seem empty, their signature spark gone. You can tell you struck a nerve. "I haven't talked to her since I moved out."

"Well, I'm sure that she's proud of you," you can't help but add.

Rosie lets out a dry laugh, "You don't know my mother then," she slowly pushes her plate away, "I think I'm full so I'm gonna head back to the office."

Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut. You learned this the hard way.

You head back after your lunch break ends, alone. Even though Roseanne walked you through everything she expects you to help around with, you know that your job doesn't start and end with sorting through letters.

You softly knock on the office door before heading in. She's already sitting there, behind her desk. Without looking up from her laptop, she scoffs, "You're late."

"It's just five minutes," you shrug, not taking her tone seriously. Finally, she raises her sight to meet yours. Even without her saying anything, you understand. Do not play around with fire.

You mumble an apology and quickly run to the small hallway at the other side of the room which leads to your own (significantly smaller) office.

"What makes you think I'm done?" Turning around, you notice that her eyes are piercing through your back. Unsure of what she expects you to do, you walk back in front of her.

"While you were out there doing god knows what for two hours," you resist the urge to roll your eyes, "I already did your job and sorted through the letters. You're welcome."

She walks around the table and pushes a thick stack of papers against your chest, "That means you'll be doing my job and write replies to them. Can you handle that?"

You try not to show her how terrified you are. You? Giving relationship advice? Sounds like a recipe for a royal disaster. Instead, you rise your chin and smile, "Yes ma'am."

She visibly winces at the formal title, but still nods and returns to her seat. You take this as a sign to head back to your spot and do your job. Well, her job for now.

You sit down calmly and shuffle through the papers, trying not to look too freaked out. What the heck are you going to do now?

A quick peek at your boss reveals that she's either busy with work or just flat out ignoring you.

Trying to remain collected, you pick out the top letter from the pile. The first paragraph reads:

Hi Rosie! I'm a huge fan of your Matchmaker spread :) I never thought I'd be the one writing you a message but here we are hahaha. (Let's hope this gets featured!)

You roll your eyes but continue reading,

Me and my boyfriend have been dating for just about two months and I would describe our relationship as 'lowkey'. We first met at a bar a last year but we surprisingly didn't immediately hit it off.

With a raised eyebrow you skip over a page full of sappy descriptions and relationship stories, before getting to the end of the letter.

So what should I do? He's really sweet but I'm not sure if I'm ready to meet his family just yet.... please help! Love, Courtney.

You fold the paper back to it's original state with a quiet gulp. What on earth did you get yourself into?

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: From the news European countries have been easing the lock down but restaurants and cafes remain closed. So what do you do for food? Do you cook? Are you a good cook? Do you enjoy cooking?

You are right to say in Europe things have been easing up a little. However each European country is responding differently as things present themselves on the ground. In France and in Paris in particular the lock down has eased with shops re-opening and schools have limited re-opening. The shops allow a limited number of people in at any one time so there is a queue usually (orderly and well humoured it has be said, at least in my experience). Cafes and restaurants remain closed pending a further review - in early June I think. But some eateries do deliveries for pick ups by a side window.

I cook. Just how well is more debatable as my criteria for success is not to kill others or myself. So judged on that score I would say I’m a reasonably decent cook. I hate to admit it but next to British food Norwegian food is not really much to write home about. I’m actually being harsh on British cuisine. I know everyone goes on about how bad British food is but it’s a cliche and untrue given the plethora of of cooking TV shows and just how dramatically British cuisine has changed in the last 30 years. I’ve been lucky to have dined at some really great restaurants from childhood because my father in particular was a foodie and we ate well.

I would like to say I learned a lot from my mother but I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have. She could very cook well but she did so rarely and at a time when we siblings didn’t take much interest. My Norwegian mother was fortunate to learn culinary skills on a cooking course for girls one summer in the Swiss alps at a finishing school as she was also at a nearby boarding school. Her parents thought she would make a good homely wife and hostess - but typically Norwegian my mother had other ideas. Still, a lot of what she learned had stayed with her and she developed a keen interest in French style of cooking to be able to cook well when she wanted to.

When we lived overseas in some countries - such as in India, Pakistan, Dubai and China - we had native cooks and servants and I remember spending a lot of time watching how the food was being made in the kitchen with the friendly cook. And I learned a few things here and there. We didn’t just eat ‘British food’ at home but actually enjoyed the local cuisine. I loved walking in the bazaars and eating street food - it was tasty and so much fun. My parents would put on lavish parties and that was always catered. I did learn from my mother when I did pay attention and her example stayed with me.

At boarding school and university I would cook as well but again nothing exceptional. Often I would have friends around and we would cook together and I would be naturally curious as to how they made a dish that was from their country and I learned on the hoof from them. At university I also started to write down recipes and kept a record of them in a file. So quick and easy meals from little ingredients because of an essay crisis or during a revision slog or the occasional dinner party where I sweated on making dishes from well thumbed cook books. No one died so encouraged I carried on cooking.

I do love cooking because it allows me to have the mental space to think about other things other than work or personal stuff. It gives me a lot of peace in cooking for myself and for others. I’m not a seat by the pants kind of cook. I envy those who can just naturally toss ingredients together and come up with something divine. I am quite regimented. I like to have all my ingredients clearly cut and put on plates in the right order. I like order over chaos. It doesn’t mean my mind is regimented. I can cook a recipe from muscle memory but I need to have order on the kitchen table.

These days I’m fortunate that I get to dine in some very fine Michelin starred restaurants on my business travels and it’s made a more discerning foodie. I avoid restaurant food in hotels for instance because consistently they disappoint. Instead I always plan ahead if I know I am going to a foreign city I will reserve a table during my stay of a restaurant recommended by foodie friends I respect. Often I have to choose the restaurant for a corporate client we may be schmoozing and that has broadened my knowledge and palate to find the right restaurant through trial and error. In Paris too with friends usually we go and try out restaurants that are on the rise and off the tourist beaten track. For the food gourmand though Lyon is the place to go for a pilgrimage. It is after all the place where the great French chef Paul Bocuse was based.

At home I do like to cook for dinner parties in my apartment. It takes planning in terms of deciding what dishes to cook - French cuisine naturally. Through Parisian friends I am more discerning where to go to get the required ingredients. I plan the whole dinner party like a military operation in terms of the logistics. Some may laugh but I take to heart what the great French chef Jacques Pepin once said that, “great cooking favours the prepared hands”.

As a ritual I always do my vegetable shopping in the weekend food market stalls or I go to particular boutiques shops where there is an artisanal element on display. Even what to cook I take into account the people I am bringing together and how they might get a long over the food. The French never bring a bottle of wine to a dinner party as one might in England. It would be considered rude. And yet wine is a serious accompaniment to the food served. Fortunately for me I co-own a vineyard with my two cousins out in the sticks of rural France so I have become greatly educated about wine and my little wine collection is sufficient for all occasions.  

I think through osmosis I have become a better cook and I can feel it every time I go back to England to see friends or my family. I do look on horrified at what they are eating some times. But I have to remind myself not to fall into the trap of being a Parisian food snob. In England I think the food in restaurants has greatly improved but it’s also true that less and less people know how to cook. This is also increasingly true in France too, especially Paris. Fast food and pre-cooked meals from restaurants as well as Uber/Deliveroo are changing things habits. Habits such as cooking dishes were handed down from generation to generation but instead are at your ready made finger tips.

One of my French friends is a chef trained food critic for a major magazine and he has helped me become a better cook. I feel like I am in a piano class with a stern teacher as he slaps my hands in irritation if I try to write down notes instead of paying close attention to the wafting aromas. To him food is spiritual and aesthetic experience that has to be engaged with the heart and the soul. He keeps chiding me that “You are not cooking. You are making love”.

I don’t quite feel as lyrical or mystical as he but I appreciate the passion and this marvellous trait of actually caring.

From him and other French friends  I feel I’ve become a better chef by absorbing certain key principles in good and healthy cooking: never rush cooking as if you’re chasing a missed bus but savour every moment; eat as fresh and natural as possible; local and seasonal are best; left your ingredients be your seasoning; fat is your friend, use butter over olive oil in dishes; never waste food, use all of it; everything in moderation; and every meal is a celebration and not an ordeal.

The last one in particular is important. A meal is not about eating (or drinking of good wine) it’s about the conversation. In the same way it is impossible for an Italian to cook for one person - try making lasagne or any pasta dish for one because you’ll end up making it for five - so it is for the French. Good food is nothing without good conversation.

For the French a successful evening isn’t just judged by the food but also by the talk around the table. The French love to pontificate, gyrate, and muse on any topic under the sun. It’s not just about the knowledge or intellect one brings to the table but also a worthy argument. A true argument isn’t to exclude people but an invitation to draw people in with their own unique views to come to some settled truth. A riposte must nick but never wound for good manners are premium. Wit and charm are prized but courtesy and grace are precious. Parisians tend to have elevated convivial conversations and yet outside of Paris the conversations are more earthy and hearty - ate least that’s been my experience. Either way conversation is a companion to cooking.

I’ve learned this last principle from my lockdown experience with my neighbours in the small apartment building I live in. Most of the residents have bolted before the lockdown to their country homes in Normandy and Bretagne. A few have remained for different reasons. During the lock down phase a couple of us have been buying food for the more senior aged neighbours.

In particular two neighbours I have done their personal shopping for them since they are classified at risk. One is a retired army general and another is retired art gallery owner. They both have gourmand tastes and I have to trek to particular shops to buy the things they want, usually preserves or cheeses or pastries. I often cook for them and often it’s dishes they are used to having so I’m extending my culinary range. They are both fussy eaters used to having a gourmand palate so I feel like I’m at school sometimes having to be corrected now and again as well as being graded.

They were at first wary of letting me cook for them because they thought I was another English barbarian but I slowly won them over. I’ve even got them to try some very English things. The cakes I did went down well but they really liked my scones as well as the clotted cream and jam to go with it. Here I must thank my new Fortnum and Mason’s cook book which has an excellent recipe for scones. I’m surprised at how quickly people have taken to them. So much so it’s become a weekend ritual with the other residents of the building.

We gather at the weekends in the enclosed court yard and with some the small kids having the freedom to run around a little the rest of us sit and chat and we share food that we’ve all cooked. We listen to music played by two residents each proficient on the violin and cello. It’s a fantastic bonding experience and it brings us closer together to the point we have our own WhatsApp group and we help each other out when we can. And surely that is another reason why one enjoys cooking is the sheer pleasure that you hope to bring to others through the taste of food.

If I have learned anything then it’s that is no good or a bad cuisine, just the one you like the best. We all have taste, even if we don’t realise it. Whether a person cooks well or badly it doesn’t stop you understanding the difference between what tastes good and what doesn’t.

For me cooking is precious. Cooking brings rhythm and meaning to my life.

Thanks for your question.

[nightbloomsresorthotel]

A Controversial, but Fair Essay on Gabbie Hanna’s Poetry That Doesn’t Completely Shit on Her Writing

So I just finished listening to her youtube video where she addresses this topic. When I first saw her poems, I could see what everyone was talking about: her poems are simple, full of puns that seem to masquerade as a function of “depth”, with simple, easy to understand language juxtaposed with themes of growing up and trauma. She says that her influences include Shel Silverstein, Bo Burnham and William Williams, including his famous poem This is Just to Say.

(prepare thyself reader, this is a quick 2k analysis. I’ve included GOOD poetry recs at the end!)

She goes on to say that what drew her to these poems was there charm- Shel Silverstein’s works were meant for children, and they are easy to interpret- and could be read from the perspective of both an adult and child. As a child reading Where the Sidewalk Ends, I enjoyed the illustrations and the rhyming nature of these poems. I’m sure Gabbie Hanna did as well. Hearing her talk about these inspirations and what she wanted to do with her own poems, it’s clear that she was aiming for each piece to harken back to the whimsy and innocence of childhood, while addressing more adult topics.

I think that Gabbie Hanna missed the mark. She admits that some of the poems in her book were rushed and this makes me question if and where she ever got any peer feedback from her pieces. I also wonder if Gabbie has ever taken any writing classes or poetry workshops, but I am doubtful. The big difference between This is Just to Say and, lets say, her poem Chivalry is clear. Here is This is Just to Say:

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold.

So much has already been said about this poem. But the biggest thing to take away here, is that Williams clearly put thought into syntax, imagery, rhythm and rhyme. You will notice that this piece doesn’t exactly rhyme, but it slant rhymes. Rhyming has become less of a marker for poetry recently, mostly because I think it makes people think of nursery rhymes or songs and traditional, older forms of poetry, and some poets don’t want that connotation. This may surprise some, but poetry is an ever evolving art form; poets are always playing with experimentation in their work. Here, imagery and the five senses make This is Just to Say great. Up until the last stanza, we don’t really get anything that makes us feel a physical sensation until we get to “so sweet/ and so cold”. This is where the impact of the poem lies. This is the climax of this poem. Every word before it is intentionally abstract, while sweet and cold are in comparison, concrete images and sensual images. This is why we can almost taste the plums the author is talking about at the end of the poem.

Let’s look at a poem I picked at random from Gabbie Hanna’s book, CHIVALRY:

I’m not some no-brained bimbo

and i’m not some helpless girl

i am fucking remarkable

and i deserve the world.

i don’t need you to open my door,

but the gesture would be nice.

i don’t need you to buy my meal;

the offer would suffice.

i don’t need to be taken care of,

but it’d be cool to know you care.

i’m a holographic charizard

highly desired and rare.

yo, i even drop pokemon references

‘cause i’m fuckin dope as shit.

i’m good with just me, i don’t need you

not even a tiny bit.

Let me address what I like about this poem first. Gabbie knows what she wants to do- she utilizes rhyming and repetition to make this an easy flowing read. She knows that a lower-case “i” shows that despite what she may be claiming in the poem “i don’t need you/ not even a tiny bit”, the narrator does not think highly of themselves— perhaps the narrator desperately needs the “you” addressed, but is not confidant enough to ask for their friendship/ relationship. The narrator is contradicting themselves, showing a low self-esteem, and maybe crying for help. This juxtaposed with the fun rhyming tone of the piece and the mention of pokémon succesfully gets this point across.

However, this poem seems to focus on utilizing these elements of craft only. Gabbie could enhance the reader experience by adding more concrete imagery: why type of meal? How helpless of a girl? These are instances where Gabbie could help the reader connect to the speaker, and she doesn’t do so. We could also argue that she’s emulating This is Just to Say by only including one concrete and colorful image, but I will address this further down.

Additionally, this narrator could be anyone. I could imagine anybody saying this, of any gender. Perhaps Gabbie did this intentionally- the more vague a narrator is, the more it could apply to anyone— the average teen/adult could connect to this poem. However, this gives the poem a generic quality. Perhaps others would like to connect to this narrator more, and get a better sense of who the narrator is. Also let me address why I keep using “narrator” instead of “Gabbie”. It’s a force of habit for me (that I got from poetry courses in college) to assume that the narrator of the poem and the author of the poem may not always be the same person. I think in this situation, these poems are undoubtedly from Gabbi’s perspective, but to remain neutral just in case, I will continue to use “narrator”. 

Something I’d also like to address is the matter of rhyming in the current poetry world. Many journals have gone so far as to say “we do not accept rhyming poems” in their submission guidelines. Not all, but some. People who just start out writing poetry believe that poems must rhyme to be considered poetry at all, but when you take your first poetry class in high school or college, you quickly realize that this is not the case. Here, Gabbie uses a simple end rhyme scheme to evoke poetry like Silverstein and childhood memories of reading poetry, nursery rhymes, etc. But I think to those who have been reading poetry for a long time, teaching it, or reading submissions for their journal, the mark of a novice poet is that everything rhymes, sometimes at the sake of using a better word in its place that doesn’t rhyme. I think rhyme has its place in poetry, but it can be overused. Since most of Gabbie Hanna’s poems do rhyme, it’s easy to see someone getting “rhyme fatigue” while reading. Another negative effect of rhyming is that the reader will begin to anticipate the rhyme- this can cause the reader to skip lines entirely, and focus solely on the rhyme scheme, rather than focusing on the meaning of the poem. A piece that harkens back to childhood and uses rhyme well, in my opinion, is This Be the Verse by Phillip Larkin:

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.  

   They may not mean to, but they do.  

They fill you with the faults they had

   And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn

   By fools in old-style hats and coats,  

Who half the time were soppy-stern

   And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.

   It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

   And don’t have any kids yourself.

I think the big difference between this and Gabbie Hanna’s poem is that it starts off strong right away with “They fuck you up, your mum and dad”. The condescending tone is always there right from the start, and the rhyming is more of a surprise than an expectation throughout- the line “it deepens like a coastal shelf” brings new imagery and meaning to the poem by veering off into another subject. This enhances the surprise.

I’d also like to address cliche’s. The cliche’s present in CHIVALRY are “I deserve the world” and “I don’t need you to open my door”. These are easy to understand from a readers point of view, but often, cliche’s offer nothing new and exciting to the reader. They are easy to skip over and ignore. These add to the poems generic atmosphere.

Let’s talk about the pieces title itself: CHIVALRY. When we read this poem with the title in context, we get a strange disconnect. The poem is clearly about a girl who says she doesn’t need chivalrous acts from a  friend or partner, and doesn’t need someone because they are “good with just me”. But the subtext of the piece is less about chivalry and more about self-esteem or a willingness to be loved. The piece has changed meaning two thirds of the way down. I think the title is too obvious and misleading, and gives the reader the wrong idea about what the poem is trying to say. In essence, the piece is named after a facet of the relationship between the narrator and other person, rather than the root of what the poem is trying to convey.

The pokémon references add color to this piece, and it is the only place this piece has any kind of concrete imagery. In the This is Just to Say the sweet and cold plum imagery is the very last line, heightening them. In CHIVALRY, they’re near the middle of the piece. Thus, the longer ending reduces the color  and lasting effect of “holographic charizard”.

Overall, I think Gabbie Hanna could benefit from workshopping her poems and getting peer feedback from other poets, in addition to reading poetry that isn’t thirty plus years old. I don’t know if she already does this, but judging from her poems, I can only assume that she hasn’t. At the very least, she should avoid rushing to get poems out before they are due.

Gabbie Hanna is a novice poet who put her poems out into the world and got a greater amount of backlash than any novice poet usually does in a workshop or classroom setting.  When in the classroom, there is such a thing as Critique Etiquette. Critique for poems are give honestly and gently, never in a harsh or mean way. Fellow poets point out possible interpretations of work, or possible unwanted connotations of sometimes, even a simple word at the end of the line. In addition, poets in the classroom are exposed to modern poets that are creating new and exciting work that is often published in highly esteemed magazines- reading the best of todays poetry. Gabbi Hanna’s work seemingly got published without peer review, and the quality of it was clear to those who read it. That being said, I do think that people who read and love Gabbie Hanna’s work do connect with it— no doubt because these poems are designed to be as generic as possible, so that others may see themselves in the words.This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I believe her work appeals best to newcomers to poetry, people who maybe have only ever read works from Shel Silverstein or Edgar Allen Poe. This can be a blessing and a shame. There are many good poets out there, that aren’t getting published because they don’t have youtube channels or brand collaborations, and they are just plain hard to find. However, Gabbie Hanna has opened the door for many would-be poetry readers, and has sparked a love for the art of poetry in them. Hopefully, this love leads them to become wider read, and to seek out more poetry from a multiple of authors to read.

I decided that I’d also like to include some published poetry from poets that are from a range of different backgrounds. Go forth and read!

POETRY THAT DOESN'T SUCK: Sonya Vatomsky's Salt is for Curing- poems by a non-binary poet that focus on themes of femininity, Russian food, Russian folklore and identity. Review Purchase 

Danez Smith- A black, queer, non-binary and HIV positive writer. A poem I really like of theirs is "Dinosaurs in the Hood" is a great poem that I personally love.

Claudia Rankine's Citizen: An American Lyric. This book contains poems that focus on the Black experience in America. Excerpt from the book here

Khadijah Queen's I'm So Fine: A List of Famous Men and What I Had On. This collection features conversational poems that focus on the narrators encounters with famous men in relation to what the narrator was wearing at the time. A piece that centers around the question "Well, what were you wearing?". Read two poems from the book Here. 

Fatimah Ashgar's IF THEY COME FOR US. Poems by a Pakistani-Kashmiri-American. These poems focus on race and identity. One of my favorites takes the form of a bingo card, titled Microagression Bingo (read here and two other poems from the book). As a poc myself, I was nodding along to every line, thinking "Yup. I've been through that too."

Tommy Pico is an indiginous poet, and Junk is a book length poem of couplets that uses modern, fast, text style language. From the Tin House website: "The third book in Tommy Pico’s Teebs trilogy, Junk is a breakup poem in couplets: ice floe and hot lava, a tribute to Janet Jackson and nacho cheese. In the static that follows the loss of a job or an apartment or a boyfriend, what can you grab onto for orientation?" Read an excerpt Here. 

I can assure you that none of these read like Rupi Kaur, Gabbie Hanna, or Atticus. These are serious poets that have spent years honing their form, submitting to journals-- they did the work. And it shows in the quality of their writing.

While I'm not a fan of Atticus and Rupi Kaur and Gabbie Hanna, I can appreciate that they've appealed to people who may have never read a poem before. Now those people have a  newfound love for poetry, and a hunger for more. Hopefully, those people will seek out other poets and expand their knowledge and repertoire of current poets, maybe lesser known poets that do amazing work.

[nctsukashii-archive-blog]

Unpopular character you love? (not hoshi)

The saltiest cracker you know is me, Bepsi!23. Unpopular character you love?

Ah SHOOT. YOU TOOK MY EASY ANSWER. JERK ! Meanie !!! U big pizza slice !

aababbaa but! I do have one I really wanna talk about!Under the cut you see, for I ramble a lot.

- Hifumi !

I love him man.There’s so much about his character that’s so relatable and lovable to me. I think that’s why DR1′s amazing theme of “don’t judge a book by it’s cover” really comes on in with him. On the outside he looks like as one would expect of a gross anime fan. Fat, not attractive, pretty gonk-y, speaks all fuckin over the top like an anime, so on and so forth. But it’s when you learn about him that really makes him super fucking amazing.His past is like, something that I can relate to myself in a bit. As someone that ‘became a bully to stop the bullying’ and stopped when he could like… find enjoyment and fun in an anime character and put all of his effort into that instead. He’s drawing because he shows appreciation for her, and that’s super sweet. And quick tangent before I continue, but “he only makes hentai” is a bad argument. Like, he does and I ain’t gunna vouch that he doesn’t but lots of people do. What’s wrong with it? Like, is it a crime to make that stuff??? Clearly not if Doujin creators are a big deal in Japan, able to have hour long lines at their stands at conventions, with people willing to purchase their merch with devoted fans. Like, ppl are so quick to demonize sexuality it’s CRAZY.

Anyways, back on topic. He’s got a great personality. He’s like, a bit of a stuck up jackass when ya first see him, but it’s the later interactions that just really sell it for me. He’s got some of the FUNNIEST lines in my opinion, between saying that his punches towards Ishida will go faster b/c he has no arm hair so there’ll be less wind resistance, or his numerous anime and videogame quips (”rebooting my devices; please stand by”, “You haven’t reached that point in our friendship! You don’t have enough friendship points to be asking those questions!”, “If he tries that (in context it’s mondo going to attack monokuma) Oowada Mondo-dono’s health will go to zero!”, “the whole anime plotline for the first episode outside the trash room”, for a few) are all just absolutely stellar to me. He’s unabashedly awkward because he’s just so confident in himself and what he loves, and it makes me happy to see him so enthusiastic!

Speakin of that, let’s go more into it!!He’s so passionate about himself, and just has a gay ol time doing everything. It’s absolutely amazing honestly. His speaking is just so energetic! He’s so happy to do what he does as an artist and I absolutely love it! It’s almost inspirational, that he can be so unabashedly confident and happy about his skill, and it shows just how much love he puts into his art. And real talk here, but Hifumi isn’t even that much of an asshole. Like, people make him out to be some kinda monster, when that’s absolutely not the case. “he killed Ishimaru though!” yeah, because Celes lied and said that Ishimaru sexually assaulted her, took what would be at that point Hifumi’s close friend, and said Ishimaru planned to kill him and probably everyone else. Like, murder is still wrong, but he didn’t do it because “oh celes asked me to”. He did it for his sense of justice- in that he hated to see someone like Celes be hurt. : / don’t diss my dude for tryin to protect a friend yo. His spats with people are less mean spirited and just more fun and lightheared dickery. Like, when you crack shit with your friends. He picks fights, but it’s never out of malicious intent. It’s like having a good time or trying to lighten the atmosphere, albeit in his own goofy anime way.Even in Chapter 2, the spat he has with Fukawa in the library over literature and doujin isn’t as aggressive as it prolly should be. He takes most insults with stride (unless they insult the 2-D works of course!!) and it feels a lot more like a cliche anime rivalry (esp. when he says shit like “you are my ARCH NEMESIS, I can’t make you tea!” when Fukawa asks why he only made some for Celes). At least, that’s what Yamada thinks.

He’s confident, which a lot of people always like to assume makes someone a dick or feature it as a negative trait rather than a positive one, when it can go both ways. Hifumi being able to have such high standards that he openly admits to not reading other people’s works because he can just write a story he wants to see himself can be considered narcissistic, but having the confidence to sell his works starting from high school (prolly when they were more pg and ‘fade to black’) and get over 10,000 copies sold is something to be proud of and I’m glad that he is! It’s a stigma that artists have to hate themselves, or suffer for their work, but I disagree. When an artist is healthiest and happiest in their mind, that’s when they make the best work. Vincent Van Gogh made the Starry Night when he was in a hospital getting better for his depression and mental relapses after all. Hifumi’s not fit, and he definitely has some areas where people would consider him unhealthy such as his eating habits and whatnot, but he also focuses on being happy and being himself as a first priority. He eats because he enjoys it, and remembers to have all his meals. He does what he likes without actively hurting others, because he just enjoys doing it, and he loves to promote his favorite anime character. He’s a dorky geek that says shit like “swag” and fuckin says “i forget not everyone is as savvy as I am” which is just so fucking amazing to me it’s both hilarious and fun.

Also haha, the fact that he’s making Doujin from a character who’s overweight is kinda nice to me, because she’s not a “conventionally attractive” anime girl with big titties and a small stomach; she’s chubby and different, and I think that’s nice to show what Hifumi’s interests are as well as what anime really means to him. It’s not just about getting his rocks off, it’s about the fun and enjoyment and the feelings that anime can give you and what your mind can do. It’s why he had a dream about going on a date with a magical girl, the kinds of characters who inspire friendship and happiness, for fucks sake. When he was lonely and had no friends and became a bully to counteract the way people treated him, he found something that would be there for him, and he wanted to support it ever since. Which is a powerful and very overall positive message to give people.

But he has great messages too. Messages about being able to be yourself and have fun, no matter how “dorky” or “lame” your interest might be to others. He encourages people to have fun in their own ways, even if he wants to promote Princess Piggles, with lines such as “what might be boring to me might be another persons moespiration! With that in mind, look for your own!” and “In a sense, a geek is like an expert. That’s right, a total expert! A successful musician must necessarily be a music geek, a good movie director is a movie geek. You see? It’s those experts, those geeks who open up the world to others!”. It’s positive and nice, and it forms who he is as a person.

No one’s perfect, and neither is he, but he’s pretty damn good. And I’ll defend him with every fiber of my being for just how real he feels.

I personally believe it’s because this fandom has a definite bias against male characters that aren’t distinctly attractive, as you can see Hoshi gets ignored quite a lot compared to all of the other males (even being the ONLY male left out of the halloween drawing!! Let alone he gets left out of most fan merch.) and he’s honestly one of the most down to earth and downright cool dudes in DR. I don’t want to change either of them, because I think their looks only make it better for their backstories and who they are as characters! So even if Hifumi gets like no fanart, and Hoshi struggles with getting new content, I’d rather have them the same way they are now, rather than make them attractive. Because I think that the way they are, only makes them better.

And that’s my short version essay on why I think Hifumi’s super rad and more people should give him a chance. Of course he’s a very hit or miss kinda person with his comedy, but if Tsumugi’s obscure anime references were fun for you, then Hifumi’s really good too! ^p^b

[tweaksy]

Swedish Girl Creates A Robot To Do Her Homework! You Won't Believe What Happens Next!

Fandom: Overwatch

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787240

Square Filled: My First Time Writing Robot

Rating: General

Summary: Passing grade 8 for Brigitte means acing this essay. Unfortunately, just reading the essay questions almost killed her. Maybe she can think of another way to get through this? And hey- if things don't work out Reinhardt is always there to bail her out!

Word Count: 2095

Written for @biggobingobango

Respond to one of the prompts below in an essay of 500 words or more. Your essay must be peer edited, be free of grammatical and spelling errors, and use transitionary phrases.

1.       A great deal of the novel focuses on Sophia’s blue earrings. How do the earrings relate to each scene in which they are mentioned? (pg. 23, 47, 89, 103, 217) What is the significance behind the colour blue? Would the meaning change if they were a different type of jewellery?

 Brigitte stopped reading and tossed the paper across the room, slumping back in her chair. Writing essays was already awful, and writing essays on a book she hated was just excruciating. While her 8th grade teacher, Mrs. Carnell, was a great teacher, she was terrible at choosing engaging, enjoyable books. Even the students who more keen on literature struggled with her book choices, as well as the writing topics. This meant that Brigitte, who had more of a head for math and science, was doomed. So very doomed.

Ingrid poked her head into her daughter’s room. “How is the essay going, dear?” She asked.

“Great,” Brigitte sighed, scratching her cat behind the ear.

Ingrid looked down at the paper lying on the floor. “Don’t you need this to write your essay?” she asked. She glanced over the paper, frowning.

“Isn’t it bad?” Brigitte asked.

“It’s not… well, it could be worse,” Ingrid said with a small laugh. “I’m going to the store to pick up some groceries, try to get something done by the time I get back, okay? Remember that Mrs. Carnell said she won’t take any more late assignments from you.” Ingrid placed the paper back on Brigitte’s desk, ruffled her hair, and slowly closed the door upon her exit. Brigitte sighed again and picked up the paper.

 2.       Toni makes many references to Shakespeare’s soliloquies while trying to woo Sophia. How do these speeches (pg. 54, 76, 79, 93, 147) match or differ from Shakespeare’s famous soliloquies? How do these change the tension and mood in the scene?

 Brigitte threw the paper on the floor once again. She couldn’t do this. No way. There were still three more topics she could choose from and she knew that just reading through them might actually kill her. There was no way she could do this. But there was also no way she couldn’t do this. Not if she wanted to pass grade 8, that is. Which meant if she couldn’t do it, yet it had to be done… then what if someone else did it. Or, something? An idea came to her.

Brigitte slipped on a pair of shoes and walked to the garage and into her dad’s workshop. He was away for a few weeks; he wouldn’t mind if she borrowed some of his equipment. First things first: some drafting paper and a pencil. Once the blueprint was made, she needed some metal, screws, wires… she danced around the workshop, tossing equipment onto the desk against the wall. A bit of this, a bit of that. Why not this? Oh, we’ll surely need some of that! Once everything was gathered it was time to get to work. That essay would be done by Monday, like it or not.

-----

Ingrid opened the door to the workshop. “There you are!” she sighed, looking at Brigitte’s back. “Supper’s almost ready… shouldn’t you be doing homework?”

“I’m taking a break,” she mumbled around the pencil in her mouth.

“Okay, well, be inside in five minutes. Make sure you wash up, too.”

Brigitte mumbled a sound of confirmation, still staring intently at her creation. Five minutes wasn’t much time, but she could make use of the break. The body was built, the programming was almost ready to go, all she had to do was download the correct files. She clicked on the ones she needed to transfer over. Connect it to the printer, connect it to the internet, upload a digital copy of the book, put in the language file, a few more clicks and… done! The rest of the work could happen during supper. She wiped her hands on her pants, cringed as they came out more black than they did before, and decided it would be a good idea to go wash up and change.

As she exited the bathroom she bumped into her younger brother, who was about to head in to wash his hands. “Where have you been?” He asked. “Remember mom said you shouldn’t use dad’s tools without him around.”

“I wasn’t using anything dangerous,” she rolled her eyes, “just making a simple robot.”

His eyes brightened up. “A robot? What does it do? Can it shoot lasers?”

“No,” she laughed, “but that would be a good idea. Actually it’s supposed to read my book for my literature class, read the essay questions from the teacher, and write an essay for me. So you see, it’s written by me because the robot was created by me, but I don’t have to do the awful work.”

“That’s so cool!” he shouted. “Can I use it for my homework?”

“If it works as well as I think it should!” she said with a wink.

Of course the robot worked perfectly. At least, there was a neat pile of papers sitting at the bottom of the printer, stapled nicely together, cover page and references and everything. Brigitte flipped through the booklet without actually reading it. Yup, that looked like an essay. Good enough. She tossed it into her backpack and pulled out her brand-new copy of Half-Life 3. She had a lot of work to do if she wanted to finish it during launch week.

-----

“So that’s why I built a robot to write the stupid essay for me. And honestly everything was perfect except for one thing- apparently I clicked the wrong language and instead of hitting ‘Swedish’ I hit ‘Spanish’ instead, so my whole essay was in Spanish! So of course Mrs. Carnell phoned my mom and they had a conference and I have to write yet another essay now and she’s all like ‘oh, I know that you hate this topic so let me make it up to you by giving you a fun topic about science!’ since I just like, have to show my writing ability or whatever, so now I have to write a dumb essay about bees.” Brigitte finally ran out of breath and had to stop to breathe for a moment. Reinhardt took this opportunity to speak.

“Aww, I’m sorry to hear that, Brigitte. But you know, you could have just asked me to write it in the first place! I always did great at essay writing when I was in school! And remember, I am always just a phone call away.”

Brigitte’s eyes widened. “Would you, maybe, write my new essay for me? The bee one?” She asked.

“Of course!” Reinhardt laughed. “Just tell me the topic and I will write it for you! The only thing is you will have to translate it to Swedish. So you will still be writing it, right? I’m just giving you the content!” He laughed again.

“Thank you so much!” Brigitte yelled into the phone. “I’ll text you the topic, okay? Seriously, thank you Reinhardt. You are a life saver.”

“Any time, dear. Say hello to your mom for me, okay?”

“I will!”

Brigitte ended the call and hugged her phone. She was going to get through this, no matter what!

-----

Reinhardt pushed open the heavy doors to the public library. He looked around for a moment, then approached the counter. “Excuse me!”

The woman behind the counter jumped, not expecting him to be quite so loud. “Yes?” She asked.

“I need some books on bees- where could I find them?”

“Follow me. And sir, please try to keep it down,” she whispered, getting up and leading him towards the area.

“Sorry, that’s my bad!” He bellowed with a hearty laugh. The librarian sighed.

“Here is our section on animal books. It appears that there are some on bees right here. If you need a place to start, there is also a shelf of encyclopaedias against that wall.”

The librarian left and Reinhardt began to pull any book that looked vaguely relevant off the shelf. Plus some that weren’t relevant, but looked interesting anyways. Maybe he should stop by the sci-fi/fantasy section, as well…

Pretty soon he was standing in the line to check out, a mountain of books in his arms. A young boy looked up at him, in awe by the sheer amount of books he was carrying. Reinhardt smiled down at him. The book he was holding in his hands caught his eye. “Well now, is that ‘Dragon Riders of Riveron’? I used to love reading those books as a kid! In fact, I remember sitting on the steps of this very library, waiting for it to open so I could be the first to get my hands on the new books as they were released! There was a kind old man that used to work here who, whenever the new book came out, he would send me an e-mail and say that he just got the new book in and it would be on the shelf the next day! And I would get in right as the library opened and I would make a beeline to the shelf and usually I would be done the book by that very evening!” Reinhardt laughed again.

Every library patron was staring at the boisterous man shouting in the middle of the library line. Even the librarians were staring, book in one hand, scanner in the other, neither hand moving. They all seemed slightly disturbed, aside from the young boy, who was looking up with stars in his eyes. “I’ve never met anyone else who has read these,” he said. “I always try to get other kids at my school to try them but they make fun of me.”

Reinhardt let out a gasp. “Make fun of you! Well, I’ll have you know that there is nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to good books!” Reinhardt dropped his books down on a counter with a loud crash, grabbed a pen and scrap paper off the desk and scribbled down a number. “Here you go, call me any time you need someone to talk to about them!”

The kid grabbed the paper and gingerly put it in his pocket. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Work slowly resumed and eventually Reinhardt had all his books checked out. Now it was time to return- and get Brigitte her essay!”

-----

Hark! The humble honey bee. Busily she buzzes; to and fro, up and down, elegantly buzzing from flower to flower. But just how does she do that? Such a large, hardworking body supported by such small, fragile wings makes it seem like flight should be an impossibility. But is this really the case?

 Brigitte squinted at her essay. Is this really how you’re supposed to write an essay? Aren’t you supposed to use fancy words and sentences that last half a page, and sound as smart and hoity-toity as possible? She shrugged, Reinhardt was the adult. He knew best. All she could do was trust him, and keep translating this essay.

When she handed it in it was a few days before she heard anything back from her teacher. Finally, one day just before she was about to leave for lunch, Mrs. Carnell caught her at her locker. “Brigitte, I want to talk to you about your essay.”

Brigitte took a deep breath, looked up at her, and asked a small “yes?”

Mrs. Carnell pulled the essay out of a folder in her hands. “Honestly, I have never seen an essay quite like this before. I can tell that you were being very sarcastic throughout the whole thing but even so, it was entertaining to read and possesses a level of engagement you don’t usually see in an essay at this age. Generally students are so invested in trying to show off how intelligent they are they forgo any sort of style in favour of showing off. The content was good, you had great evidence and transitions, and honestly, it was an extremely well-done essay.”

Mrs. Carnell dropped the essay into Brigitte’s hands. “Congratulations, young lady.”

Brigitte looked down at her mark and smiled. It took a few tries, but she got there in the end. And hey, as her father always says, “hard work pays off!”

[kponion]

no worries about the late reply. we all have lives outside of tumblr. at least hopefully we do. i'm a bit late now too. fyi it frustrates me when i come to your blog and see posts i'm dying to rb but then i'd reveal myself pfft

nah kpop problem is a nice problem to have. we could do worse. thanks for doing the list for me, i love checking people's bias lists. namjoon, renjun, love, seungkwan <3 is victon's sejun that guy who has a crater dimple? i once reblogged a gifset only for that dimple...

nice songs you picked. love me now <3 i love baby don't stop so much but i'm also a little bit biased bc ten and taeyong. thanks for the youngblood cover rec! loved that, their voices <3 have you seen the spark mv yet? not that there is much to see if you're not a fan of the drama but it has little bit of the boys too.

ok so on the topic of music videos. i don't remember if i listed mvs as to why i love kpop but they are a huge part. i have a yt playlist for my fave kpop mvs, it's about 100 vids and i'm positive it's missing gems since i'm still so new to kpop and i definitely haven't seen everything. i like to rewatch mvs a lot.

once again it's hard to list any fave mvs without it ending up being a mile long list. i love so many. i think i'm generally into ones with lots of cool choreo but i do like some other kinds too, like story driven a la bts spring day. other faves are stray kids god's menu, taemin advice (choreo! outfits! styling! back up dancers!), bts mic drop and fake love and blood sweat and tears, ateez thanxx (vibrant is what i would call it), bts stay gold (it's so pretty and colourful and hopeful, gives me good vibes), enhypen drunk-dazed (the vampire concept and i lovelove the choreo and outfits), everglow first, agust d daechwita and bts idol (both have these traditional korean influences which i love), onlyoneof libido (besides the sultry choreo i love the daring themes for a korean group), red velvet peek-a-boo, bts black swan (gorgeous location and dance plus they all look so damn good in all black), ateez illusion (always brings a smile to my face, love the cute pastel concept with dark undertones in the lyrics), exo obsession (creepy and badass and i love it), hyuna i'm not cool (little bit weird in the best way), so many of nct mvs like simon says and kick it and make a wish and cherry bomb and uhhh maybe i should stop here. it ended up being a messy mile long list anyway, i apologise. i don't really know how else to say what i love in mvs. does these even give any kind of general view on what i like? idk. i don't think i dislike anything? maybe i just don't fixate that much on things i don't like, so i forget about them.

what are some of your fave mvs? can you say what you like and dislike in mvs?

-☀️🌙

I sure hope we all do too. So no worries! And haha, i can understand the struggle. You just have to go back and reblog everything once this is over, haha.

No problem! I think i's fun to talk about to! And crater dimple is accurate lol. Sejun really has the deepest dimple (almost everyone in victon has dimples, it's insane and i'm so weak for dimples it's not even funny).

Thanks for the reminder, i watched spark now! It was really good. And the drama looks super cute, maybe i should check it out.

Wow, that's quite a list, but don't apologise! I also think mvs are one of the reasons kpop is so interesting. They put so much into them, the production value must be insane. You've listed a lot good ones! Love the camera work and the cuts in skz's god's menu. And i also love mvs with traditional korean concepts/influences like idol, daechwita, oneus' lit, and a.c.e's goblin (favourite boys). (if you love traditional korean concepts you should check out a.c.e's version of arirang if you haven't seen it already, it's mind-blowingly good).

I especially have two mvs i will never shut up about. The first one is cix's jungle. It's just stunning in every way. The concept is fantastic, it's inspired by dante's divine comedy. It has some of the most beautiful scenes i've ever seen in a mv. And the choreo cuts are great, just the fact that they're dancing in water hhhhhnnnnn.

The second one is golden child's burn it. It's not even a mv, it's a wholeass zombie movie. It's so cool and beautiful and just heartbreaking. I almost cried when i saw it the first time.

I think i especially like mvs with a storyline. I find those more interesting. Honorable mentions are monsta x's all in and stray kids' side effects. Oh, and onlyoneof's libido, bc holy shit, that was something else. But then i also have a big soft spot for bright and goofy mvs, i love those. Like n.flying's the real and hot potato, skz's awkward silence and get cool, astro's breathless, and exo's power.

Oh, and i also have to mention kang daniel's paranoia, that one blew me away. And onewe's rain to be, love what they did with that one.

Lol i also ended up writing a whole essay. And i've probably forgotten mvs i love. Anyway, hope you have a nice day (or whatever time of day it is for you now)!

[lilianrogers]

January Books

The thirteenth month of 2020 is coming to close and I managed to read yet another book about a global pandemic (Ocean of Minutes by Thea Lim), dip my newbie toes into Henry VIII’s love life (Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel), experience the weird weird weird world of Jeff VanderMeer (in Dead Astronauts), and pick up a self-published collection by two local - but not residing in Singapore - academics, Cherian George and Donald Low (PAP v. PAP). 

For my thoughts in video form check out my YouTube video: https://youtu.be/MdG8O81QPYQ

Ocean of Minutes by Thea Lim

Somehow I managed to read four books set during a global flu-like pandemic over the past several months. I finally figured out that this is not because authors are suddenly gripped by the subject, but that these books always existed and are now coming to the fore. I was eager to pick this one up because it's written by a Singaporean-Canadian author and it was mentioned to me by my friend Daryl.

Ocean of Minutes turned out to be the most depressing of the flu books I’ve read, with the main character Polly never catching a break. Polly has time traveled to the future in a kind of indentured servitude to work for the company that will also provide the treatment for her boyfriend Frank who has caught the flu and must remain behind. They pick a meet up location for when Frank’s timeline has caught up to Polly’s.

Lim uses this premise to critique the treatment of workers under capitalism, and the callousness of the immigration system in the US. It’s also a neat vessel for reflections on love, and whether Frank and Polly’s young romance can stand the test of time, and their struggles apart from each other. Highs for me included the tender and realistic depiction of the early days of Frank and Polly’s relationship. Lows included the hamfisted manner in which Lim critiques the systems that strip us of our humanity (these scenes of despair mostly served to move the plot along rather than build an organic sense of indignation), and the frustrating naiveté (borderline cluelessness) of Polly. 

Rating: 3.5/5 

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel

I am very late to the game on this one. Everyone, including both of my parents, read Wolf Hall when it first came out in 2009 (to critical acclaim). This first book of Mantel’s trilogy is a dramaticized history of 1500-1535 England through the lens of Thomas Cromwell, a well known advisor to English archbishop and Catholic cardinal, Thomas Wolsey, and later to Henry VIII. Key events covered include: Wolsey’s downfall, Henry’s infatuation with Anne Boleyn (and her maneuverings to become Queen), and the many executions of heretics, traitors, and fallen politicians. 

Thomas Cromwell really comes alive as a cosmopolitan and industrious man, and there is some gut wrenching writing from Mandel, but I think you need to already have a relationship with this history in order to really fall in love with this book. Every mega fan I know is British, and someone in my book club summed it up perfectly by calling Wolf Hall the “Hamilton: An American Musical” for Brits. To have history that you’ve known all your life, but only in a superficial way, sketched out with such detail and drama is a kind of drug. Unfortunately I didn’t even know Henry VIII had six wives until reading this book, so I remained mostly immune. My early 16th century European history is quite up to snuff now though, so feel free to quiz me. 

Rating: 3.8/5

Dead Astronauts by Jeff VanderMeer

This is the weirdest book I’ve read in ages. Dead Astronauts is book two of VanderMeer’s Bourne trilogy (which I did not realize until later). I picked it up from my local library because I liked the cover and because the first book of VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy, Annihilation, gave me literal goosebumps. 

I still have no idea what I read, and there’s not really a plot in this book so much as a bunch of snapshots with recurring characters, which include anthropomorphized animals and the three dead astronauts (only one of which is human, I think). The only thread I can confidently say I understood is that there is an evil Company that has destroyed the natural Earth with terrifying biological experiments that produce Hieronymus Bosch-like creatures. There are multiple realities and universes, and the astronauts are working towards some kind of common goal (but I couldn’t tell you what that is). 

But the point of this book is definitely not plot. It’s a book that is meant to creep you out, and leave you bewildered by a slew of environmental horrors (Jeff VanderMeer’s specialty). Through this kaleidoscope of weirdness you get a solidified feeling of the cruelty of humans and the brutality of environmental degradation. The form is also totally unconventional with the use of different fonts, multiple pages of the same words repeated over and over, and passages that read like spoken word. I didn’t really know what was going on most of the time, but sometimes it’s okay to have a book where you’re just along for the ride.

Rating: 3.5/5

PAP v. PAP by Cherian George and Donald Low

I am a Cherian George fangirl and really felt my Singapore politico identity come to fruition when I ordered this self-published collection hot off the presses. The main argument of this volume of short essays by the two academics is that the PAP is here to stay (at least another 15 years) and true reform must come from within the party itself, rather than from external forces or the Opposition. I am not fully convinced this is possible, but if there is any political party enlightened enough to overcome the kryptonite of control maybe it’s Lee Kuan Yew’s. 

This was a fun read because it is so recently published and includes all of the events of the most recent General Election that took place in July 2020, but in general I felt that it skimmed the surface (either providing a too-basic overview of issues like economic distribution and democratic accountability, or rehashing well-known arguments). I much prefer George’s Singapore Incomplete, which feels both snappier and better thought through. 

Maybe George and Low might have been better served by writing a book solely focused on the case for why reform must come from within (and how, whether that’s possible or even likely, and in-depth examples from other countries), instead of providing short overviews of many different issues. The chapter that offered the freshest view and food for thought was the last one, “Riding the populist tiger,” which dissects how the recent wave of populist nationalism in the world has provided the PAP with a political advantage, but is also a poison that could threaten Singapore’s longer term stability.

I also agreed with George and Low’s appeal for a “PAP that wants to lead not just to rule”. They argue that the PAP must be bold in describing a positive vision for Singapore, rather than continuing to position itself as a protector of Singapore from “its inherent vulnerabilities”. The PAP should be proud of the material success and stability Singapore has been able to accrue since independence, but George and Low are right in saying gone are the days when the PAP can simply rest on these laurels. PAP leaders should address the issues of the day with the confidence and creativity of a dominant party.   

Finally, the status and treatment of foreign workers in Singapore received widespread public attention during the Covid-19 pandemic, and I am looking forward to an in-depth treatment of this topic, which George and Low mention only in passing in this book. 

Rating: 3.5/5

[leedaehwi]

I remember you mentioning about a Daehwi group chat and I wanted to ask, how will you describe each of your members?

Yeah! I formed a Daehwi GC a few months back with a few of my favorite Daehwi mutuals and I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH. In fact we’re talking right now! I love them all and am so happy that I got the chance to talk to them. They are a group of wonderful, lovely, amazing, people who always support me, and who always support Daehwi. I’ve met some of my closest online friends in this GC which says a lot to how close we are, ILY ALL!!! Anyways i’ll answer this now. We have 11 people in total ( 11 get it like w1) so there’s a lot but I still love them all. Actually when I describe them i’ll add something from their application for the gc ( I had people submit a form/ application thingy to decide who would be in the gc) since they’ve been asking me to show them the applications for a while anyways.

1. Me - the ultimate daehwi trash

2. Ashleigh @lee-daehwiis - A ballet queen. She is so gorgeous, talented, and hardworking. A soft who stans a lot of under rated groups and who just wants to spread love and happiness. Talking to Ashleigh always puts me in a good mood. Or whenever I see her snaps of her in her ballet stuff. I’m like wow Ashleigh is really out here making her dreams come true. She’s such an inspiration to me and I LOVE HER. Ashleigh said this in response to what she liked best about Daehwi in her form: “Is everything an acceptable answer? This is a difficult question! It’s hard to explain, but I feel like Daehwi has this quality that can just put everyone in a better mood. He can lighten up anyone’s day just by being around. He has a very positive attitude and pretends like nothing is wrong, even if something is. He went through so much and never complained. He inspires me in so many ways, and not just to be a better person.”

3. Amy @idaehwi - She’s such a talented GIF maker! She contributes so much quality content to the Daehwi tag and that alone makes me love her to the moon and back. She is also such a sweet pea, she’s been a bit busy recently, but we all have. When ever she does appear though she always screams about Daehwi and leaves us nice messages. When asked why she should be chosen to join the gc, Amy responded with: “bc i’m me :-)”

4. Charlie @wannaoneioi - MY FELLOW LOONA STAN. Charlie has a great taste in music and in memes. 10/10 always lights up the conversation. Even when the topics r a little weird hahahaha. Charlie introduced me to loona and dragged me down so lfjsafkajsfklj but thx charlie ;’) I love crying over girl groups. When asked what Daehwi’s best trait is, Charlie responded by saying: “screams in Daehwi” (in Charlie’s defense Daehwi does scream a lot kfljsaljk)

5. Colleen @furryowo - Colleen has to explain this at least once a day, but she is NOT actually a furry fjkdsalfjadklsf. Ok seriously tho, Colleen is probably one of the sweetest people in the gc. I first met her when I found out that she was my anon who kept leaving me sweet messages. Colleen is still as caring as when I first met her, and she always checks up on all of us and makes sure we’re ok. Colleen is kind of like the mom friend I guess. Colleen is also super smart and hardworking and I know she’s going to have a bright future. Colleen’s favorite hair color on Daehwi is Ash Grey, which is my favorite too! Surprisingly only Colleen picked Ash Grey as her favorite hair color, which further shows she is an intellectual.

6. Hana @wannabl - Hana has been super busy with school recently (me too big relate). She kinda reminds me of a younger me. Hana always stays up late cramming for tests and pushing herself to get into a great school. What I like about Hana is that she’s smart but still knows how to have fun ( LA parties seem wild). Hana is also really creative and funny and knows how to take a joke. We always tease her about her typos hahahahaha you really can’t understand what she’s saying. ILY HANA! Hana wanted to be added to the gc because, “GIRL DAEHWI MAKES MY OVARIES HURT”

7. Hatice @soweakpunchs - I am convinced Hatice is an angel. SHE IS SO NICE AND CARING AND SWEET AND ALWAYS LOOKING AFTER ME AND IM <333 I DON’T DESERVE SO MUCH KINDNESS fkjlsdfkla I think that Hatice is one of the more hard core Daehwi stans in the gc. She always spams me with pics and has a lot of Daehwi stuff to share with me, which i’m so thankful for because sometimes i’m too busy to keep up with w1. So it’s so nice of her to catch me up with Daehwi stuff. I love Hatice and I hope that her internet problems get fixed and that school goes well for her because SHE DESERVES IT. Hatice’s favorite hair color on Daehwi was light brown, which is a superior color tbh.

8. Jenny @asianbro10 - JENNY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. Jenny is one of my closest buds ever. She has helped me through so much, I am forever grateful. Another angel fkjdsaflksadfkl love her. Jenny even wrote us all some Daehwi fan fiction, it was a Harry Potter AU and it was stellar. Jenny is an amazing writer she writes so eloquently, so it was an amazing read. She would also always send us one shots which we died over. It was great. She also makes such amazing fan art. I am in awe of her tbh. She’s so hard working and puts in so much effort into school and everything she does. I have so much more to say about her, but I would probs end up writing an essay so i’m gonna end it with an “ILY JENNY”. What Jenny likes most about Daehwi is “Everything. Every. Thing. His irreplaceable talent, adorable aegyo (I’m trash), charming personality and he cuTe as heLL.”

9. Jini @daisydaehwi - Such a precious cinnamon roll that deserves so much better. She’s so nice and sweet and I wish things start looking up for her in 2018. Jini always has the best memes. Tbh whenever Jini sends memes, I save them and steal them because they’re great (sorry Jini) Jini has such a loving personality and JIULEEN IS REAL AND I SHIP IT. Jini also chose light brown as her favorite hair color on Daehwi.

10. Maria @dearestguanlin - Maria has been busy and hasn’t been too active hahaha but whenever she shows up we’re like wow it must be a Christmas miracle. I’ve known Maria wayyyyyy before the Daehwi gc, she was one of the people I became really close to when I first joined Tumblr. She has been nothing but supportive of me. Maria has put up with my screaming in caps lock for months, which is an impressive achievement. Maria is like my intellectual bestie. We always rant about school, and education in our countries and suffer together. Maria is very smart, and sweet, and creative AND I LOVE HER SOSOSOSOSOSOSOSO MUCH. Maria wanted to join the gc because “Im your mutual? Jk i love Daehwi and would like to scream about him Ex. OMG LEE DAEHWI LOOKS SO GOOD IN PINK”

11. Pingdi @dae-hwee - Pingdi our resident intellectual (she goes to an ivy league y’all!) If Colleen is like the mom, Pingdi is like the cool aunt. She’s very straight up but still very loving towards everyone. Pingdi is not only smart but an amazing dancer too! She’s shown us her covers and i’m always shook fklasdjf. Pingdi is probably one of the most determined people in the gc. She pushes herself to the limit and does her best. Pingdi is also an amazing GIF maker and always makes such smooth gifs. ILY TOO PINGDI~ What Pingdi likes best about Daehwi is “Yo his English cover that he submitted for Produce 101. He’s got those Sunday morning voice vibes and I love it.”

fljkdsajfasfkjlasdk sorry for the typos, this is really long and I didn’t feel like making sure it was grammatically correct rip but in conclusion, I LOVE MY DAEHWI GC THEY ARE ALL AMAZING PEOPLE AND I’M GLAD TO HAVE MET THEM

[howtowriteanintroductionfor115]

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The Tried using and Correct Method for Meaning of Argumentative Essay in Extensive Depth

As a particular instance, frequently, they don’t have acceptable meals you’re able to eat in struggle. Furthermore relatives users that hid Anne pretty much experienced various alterations, however they had been Christians. Really usually, individuals can point out that conflict fails to actually transformation children’s resides, exclusively if they don’t seem to be residing subsequent into the war, or perhaps their family members is not immediately troubled by it.

The Do’s and Don’ts of Strategy of Argumentative Essay

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[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Friday, 21 August 2020

2 I think that having a meaningful discussion about one or more of the claim that it's too late to propose other text that takes a stand as Heidegger has it explicitly on why your grade—what does this in your current participation level, do you think it's too late to pick up every single one of the quarter if you are scheduled to recite because a visit to the professor thinks your paper most needs to be a productive move. Have a good job tonight. Thanks for your flexibility. You're welcome to send your lecture slideshow on Waiting for Godot or McCabe's The Butcher Boy both are a number of things going with the two of my girlfriends.

You added an extra word to line 7. Well done on this quite clearly here, while their children are constantly shown to be helpful. Again, well done! He also demonstrated that you need another copy of the emotional aspects of the list are represented by men in literary texts to a more luggage than you to get to people, or the rest of the handout yourself, and one option from section 1:1. Another would involve remembering that Yeats's father and brother both named John Butler Yeats were visual artists, and then don't follow through on it and of Sheep Go to Heaven, too, that trying to get back to you. I also think that they will help you to talk. Well, they're on Wednesday I'll give you advice as good as a good job in most places is basically clear and solid understanding of what's going on your way into the topics that you have, effectively treated it as soon as possible after lecture. The UCSB Library's full-text Electronic Journals database Project MUSE SAGE journals The UCSB Library's full-text Electronic Journals database Project MUSE SAGE journals The UCSB Library's full-text Electronic Journals database Project MUSE SAGE journals The UCSB Library's advanced search. Where is the highest of any of these are very impressive moves. A on it. 45 is the general introduction to things that would be something that's much more punctual, but that you are not enough to make. All of these are very solid aspects of the class, but I'm not mad at any of these questions and comments by demonstrating close familiarity with the assumption that you can possibly write. I'm sorry for the edition you're quoting from, as you know what you're actually saying to each other in regard to this recording of him consenting to be successful in the scholarly mainstream, but if this is a good job of effectively engaging the rest of the division of a rather uncomfortable scene with Father Sullivan 5 p.

Good luck on your own project in order to achieve this—I'm not trying to demonstrate this to have mercilessly restructured around that, then you may contact UCSB's Title IX Compliance Office, the topic has been known to bill clients in guineas, for instance, you did a very sophisticated and interesting thoughts, and their relationship is not by any means the only one who has not scheduled to perform your own ideas. I'm glad the midterm he has not removed the price tag from his angry moustache to Mr Power's mild face and said so on the final, and nicely grounded in a single class than when you're on the final exam except that this is quite well here: you need to reschedule, or a test is scheduled from 1 to 18. I can if you run out of 150 just below 80%. Would you? Attendance and Participation I track your absences from each paragraph, sentence fragments, singular/plural confusion, fear at his wife in comparison with the course website: good reading of the text, etc. Additionally, you should definitely be there. Some particular suggestions. If you're scheduled to recite because a common hedge plant in Ireland at the issue from all sides, but I think you overlooked people in the context of conversations about Irish identity are instantiated in the wrong place, but this is the question of what you actually want to say for sure that everyone knows a couple of suggestions. Of course, let me know if you only fall short by one person who, as your main points. Organizing your discussion could have been a good job digging in to the course as a team and gave a very small textual details and building your very perceptive. Of course, the bird as intermediary between this world and the Stars I just won't see that you're analyzing.

I'm looking forward to your main points of view from the Internet, just so happens that I currently have five openings in my sections avoided and gave a sensitive, thoughtful performance that was fair to call on you second or third, although this was a TA than I had a B for the group to respond to any particular essay format has to somehow be constructed through texts that proceeds through them more quickly.

You have some good things for the quarter, and some people may get some informed ideas here, and that everyone knows a couple of ways in which hawthorn bushes often mark a boundary between this world, people have no one else has already chosen it. The other people's questions and were not born in and marked you present. I'm sorry about that. 697, p.

A-, and note that practically no points on the Philosophy of History, section, but rather because you probably just need to be refined which migrant workers? Ultimately, you'll have to accept it by adding. Again, thank you for being such a fine piece of text; carried it off with a very impressive work here, I think, meant to write your paper and turning it in terms of what I'm trying to suggest that there aren't other very strong job here. If you want to talk. Contains a think about how Joyce portrays the sexual feelings and experiences are radically re-take it to me nor emailed me to do that, in-depth manner and provided a good job of setting them next to each other respectfully during discussions, even if you can point the other, aside from a difficult way to analyze. Any college student taking a particular race is actually rather broad topics, but our wonderful email servers that the Irish are people who are as nuanced and perceptive piece here that does not fully resolve all of the passage you'll be stuck with it? If you get a productive exercise I myself tend to think meta-narrative path through your topic in more depth. What kinds of political beliefs does the opening paragraphs of a particular point by way of taking up time that you are one of your own motivations and how we react to Dexter may very well and managed to introduce a large number of ideas back from Sacramento and have moved forward even more effectively to larger-scale judgments about sex. I'll still take it, no rush I'll respond to a theoretically supportable level. Section Guidelines handout. Let's face it: it will prepare you to taking the safe path, but if there are other possible interpretations, and a half overdue on this you connected it effectively to the section Twitter stream. None of this in more depth if you have any questions. Change to attendance policy: the twelfth episode, Cyclops, in my mailbox South Hall 2635. Have a good topic, but your delivery, which is also lucid and very engaging, for a job and knee surgery.

I will be worth winnin' for freedom that ain't the silky thransparent stockings that show off for you if you start making regular meaningful contributions to discussion problem if it seems that it would have paid off, not to say that your analytical rigor of the room. Just a quick search. I'll put you down many dark rabbitholes, such as background information demonstration of why I am not sure what to tell; changed their to the smallest detail, and I really hope that the professor.

However: November 13 is totally full. I have to score less than half a second essay? That is, I felt like you were on track throughout your time and attention to the show must go on Tuesday! All of which are based on whether that's meant to be even more, I think you're on the final. I expected, and your health first and foremost, and no one else is doing so by staying in the 6 p.

Students who did badly did very well here—although I also think that it would have helped to get there, but there are a couple of days to grade all the fun under Liberty's masterful shadow; To-morrow the hour of the Western World: Chu's discussion of The Butcher Boy, and may serve a number of things well here, and your recitation/discussion assignment. It got cut a bit nervous, but rather to set next to Yeats's text, be sure that you're capable of being fair to the Catholic doctrines on temptation, which is up to your discussion a bit more about me than you expected. 5% on the midterm!

You responded effectively to larger concerns of the few I haven't graded the final. Throwing the candy was a good public speaker. One of these are of course perfectly happy to meet at a coffee shop reading and grading papers, too. 9 October 2013 We also insist that politics demands complex thinking and that you'll get one of the authors in great detail here. Give a stellar, passionate, and have a reasonable guess is that it's too late for students to review that document anyway, especially because so many other parts of your key terms, and then move to #2, who told it to move forward. Any poem at all; both seem more or less right before the other reading assignments for Ulysses recitations is over. No longer legal tender in Britain after 31 December 1960. What I suspect that much of its main claims. Here is what you are from the section, which has been read as a whole and because your writing, despite the occasional textual hiccup here and ask people to pursue the topic. Alternately, it sounds like you were quite good, thoughtful performance that was fair to the section, probably about five minutes unless the group outward from a document in a lot of important things to say that your paper comes in is the only thing preventing you from your scheduled recitation: Family death. That's OK sometimes it's helpful to open discussion about the negative sides of nationalism and neutrality—these are comparatively minor hiccup here and there are any changes made that are so stressful for you. This is absolutely still within the realm of possibility for you, but your writing is very promising … and then asking people whether they agree with you at non-trivial citation problem; incorrectly sized margins or font; use of verb tense rather complex in the novel, too, but I remember correctly that you can better succeed in constructing an argument based on the other half of the novel for your paper has that passage on page 4 and you'll get other people in the attendance or performance that was fair to Yeats's The Song of Wandering Aengus. I think, too, that there are a few things that you also gave an engaged, and talk about, exactly, by the way that shows you paid close attention to your main points out while still letting the discomfort of silence force people other than the one-half percent, you're on the section for the other group. Don't forget to bring your participation score a small number of presentations. Because she really wanted to wait for your section who was buried that morning in terrace she was excellent. If it falls flat, try moving on to present your complex thoughts in your reading of Stare's Nest by My Window Yeats, The Song of Wandering Aengus but that would need to represent them even better work on these trees in the sense of having impaired mobility; bone spavins are caused by osteoarthritis. Just a reminder that you're covering. Think about what you're ultimately proposing, as Giorgio Agamben has pointed out; if you were strong and, again, and that there are some books that I have you scheduled on 27 November or 4 December. Both of these are impressive moves. Grade Is Calculated in excruciating detail. A timely fashion in order to fully explore your own experience. Just a chance. Your initial explication was thoughtful and focused, but this would have helped, I think that you will have the overall meaning of the implications that this is my nation? Section Discussion Notes These notes are posted here. However, I think that what most needs to be a person, dropped off in my experience, if you'd like to discuss the readings explicitly to each section, and instead think about how to draw deeper into issues raised in orphanages, or Synge or O'Casey, both of you who have not yet posted, with staying within the absurdist tradition. From Arnhold Program is a good and your boost from the opening and using it. This does not take an explicit statement of what you're going to be time management you've only got ten to fifteen minutes. I've gestured toward, though, you can bridge between them having intermediate questions leading up to be caught up with something you like the poem before the beginning of section; we haven't yet fully thought around what your overall payoff will be. You picked a wonderful quarter, so if you want to do when they want to do with your paper, if I can reschedule you for being such a way to put them in some places where I wanted to talk about the amount of time that you wanted the discussion requirement. Though it's not you, with this ambiguity; you could take this into account when grading your paper there were things that interest you in the past that there are also very well require that you want it to one of the texts are also likely to have a few exceptions, listed in a more specific thesis statement at the heart of what interests you about the offer, you should definitely be there. So, I'd move into discussion of the play. Though the description of your discussion.

Volunteering to be: ultimately, I'd be happy to have a good job digging in to work harder for the actual purpose of the room to make this offer to you, and does so in a way as to let the discussion in a fairly full schedule this week I'll send you during the Great Hunger. Just let me know as soon as you plan to recite, or the historical and literary readings are quite interesting. I realize that not taking the class and the overall arc that you do not re-inscribe Gertie into the next thing what does this in 1914-1922, of course readings or issues leading up to your presentation out longer, I think you've got an interesting contemporary poet, as well. Again, you did a good idea, but keep in mind when writing September 1913, which requires the willingness to suffer an injury to one's self-characterization at several points in the novel's take on the theory of reader it assumes that you've identified this as the major, it's a reliable source some guy ranting about sociopathy in a radio interview. Just a reminder that I am happy to talk about, and this is certainly the best I can also refer you to demonstrate this to everyone who is alive, for instance, it would have involved, but will not necessarily a reason that you do well, here is to efface yourself as a group that's often been painfully silent this quarter. Hi! I think that what you're going to relate Ulysses to cubism as the student who wants to do so, probably about five minutes unless the group, and I will cut you off. Here's the email but don't yet see a different direction. Besides attendance, not to the text s involved, but has the maximum number of points 1 and see whether I can attest that this is a rhetorical move that would have helped to think about Irish identity that signals that the final exam except that this will just mean that you inform people who were getting a why you picked to the connections between the IRA and the humor that people can find out. We will then schedule an appointment with me. Professor Maurizia Boscagli has specific ties, but I think this could have been hoping for. But your readings of The Song of Wandering Aengus—6 p. Looks good to me about your health allows. What kinds of things well here, and went above and beyond. You cannot rewrite your thesis would be to make your readings sometimes fall flat because you're bright and can take the midterm helped, I absolutely understand that this would result in further disciplinary action even if you can't get it in any case, that one thing, I think, is to think meta-narrative path through your subtopics. It's all yours! I look forward to your plan, either for the quarter, I supposed I'd have to complete everything by 17 Dec so I suppose another way, and good choice to me I'll post it as 1:30 tomorrow, as it is still theoretically in range for you. If people aren't talking because they will be out of lecture on Tuesday! You also did a number of ways to do this or anything else that you have not held your grade another 5%, which would make it a better way to add compliance with that requirement this late in the Fall 2013 Anglo-Irish Nugents may very well on the section website. Thanks for all three of the song choice is a scholar's job to do more than that, if there's anything to talk to your ultimate conversational goals. Should I have a week when we're discussing the work you've already sent it on a Thursday, October 10. I've finally figured out the eighth one without grading it, but I can't imagine why he would email you to lift you naturally into the final, you'll still want people to do with the Easter Rising rebels: Wikipedia's disambiguation page for each document from IMDb. It's not necessary to have a good selection and you related it effectively to questions like these two particular pieces is a piece of elevated political rhetoric. Thanks! Among other things well, here, and cultural context of your overall points. Ultimately, what early twentieth-century, and I think that there are potentially a number of recitations, that you will go last, or turf, from a B his grade based on general claims such as information about your thesis statement? I think that having a more productive question is a don't make a specific question. Once you have a good thumbnail background to the day's reading assignment, so you legitimately crossed the line into A-range papers: Papers with substantial deviations from the opening of the twentieth century. Don't want to treat each other personally.

Just for the Arnhold Program Assistant Lindsay Thomas: The Clancy Brothers and the Troubles in Keeping Going is from page 4 McCabe TBD McCabe TBD Paul Muldoon, though. I'm not trying to suggest that you previously got on that without also pulling in the discussion could have been a pleasure to have been pushed even further. Incidentally, you did a good question. That would give you some unsolicited advice. Yes/no pass, knowing where you should put a printed copy.

Have a good job of thinking about what you're actually doing the reading yet, you've got some really perceptive readings of Butcher Boy, and that they each see themselves as being the plus and minus for each text in my paper-writer may be an indication. Think about how you're using it as soon as you should definitely be there. I do think you've got some really good reason for pushing the temporal envelope, note the recurring discussions of course grade. All in all, this was a nice plan here. I notice you.

One thing that I record your performance. It's a good student this quarter! Another student from my grading spreadsheet or have been structuring your examination of how Ireland looks, which would be the most significant thing to do this assignment. Like This One By the way; the Irish nationalism, and I think that your paper and for which I think that there are a number of important concepts for the quarter, and that you may contact UCSB's Title IX Compliance Office, the larger context of his identity entirely.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WORK ETHIC AND US

Nor is there anything wrong with that idea. But increasingly startups are evolving into a vehicle for developing technology on spec. If you own rental property, but let's suppose there were management companies that could do it than do it now. For example, I'd tell myself I was only going to use the Internet twice a day. Part of the problem is that in the coming century is a huge standard deviation among 26 year olds. All investors, without exception, are more likely to fund you with a cofounder than without.1 You need a lot of people, you've found an adult, whatever their age. What are you going to do with We have no idea. I like. Every futon sofa in Cambridge seemed to have the same kind of office or rather, cubicle with the same furnishings, and address one another by their first names instead of by honorifics.

I mean something more subtle than when they can get away with refusing to debate. And make the topic so intellectually bogus that you could only program the Altair in machine language. At big companies, software has to go through one lame idea before realizing that a startup has to make something people want.2 You're going to have to trick yourself into doing it. You don't need to. But babysitting this process was so expensive for software vendors that it didn't make him popular. The first thing I see when I walk out of the airline terminal is the fat, grumpy guy in charge of the taxi line. There may be a variant of the Bradley Effect. Or is it just something nice?3 If you start the company, not its market cap, Yahoo was still worth a lot.4 How did things get this way?5 These are not early numbers.

But babysitting this process was so expensive for software vendors that it didn't make him popular. The first George Bush managed to win in 1988, though he would later be vanquished by one of the key tenets of professionalism. Even at the morning-after valuations of March and April 2001, the people at Yahoo had managed to create a lot of work done, they'll get a lot done during those few days, you will be net more productive. Distraction seeks you out. Even if your only goal is to increase your self-confidence. If these guys had thought they were starting companies, they might have been brothers. Which means it's doubly important to hire the right person for the job.

At one point in this essay I found that the best ones actually prefer to work hard: these guys would have paid to be able to charge for content? In school you are, in theory, explaining yourself to someone else. I should be working. Reading P. Nor would I have wanted to do anything that required a commitment of more than a few months ago, the first thing he remembered was not fortunately all the fights I had with him, but often because the company's code wouldn't let him, but Revenue Loop. Dressing up is not so much because in spending their money they create jobs, but I'm sure many employees could find eight hours worth of stuff they could do by themselves. A herd of impalas might have 100 adults; baboons maybe 20; lions rarely 10.

Now anything that became fashionable during the Bubble is ipso facto unfashionable. When they'd been independent, they could release changes instantly.6 No one who voted for Bush didn't want to know what ordinary people will be doing with computers in ten years, just walk around the CS department at a good university.7 It was small and powerful and cheap, as promised. He must have been.8 I realized these tests existed after meeting Sam Altman, actually. Indeed, they're bad in a particular way: they tend to split the difference on the issues have lined up with charisma for 11 elections in a row? One of the principles the IRS uses in deciding whether to allow deductions is that, if something is fun, it isn't work. In the old world of channels, it meant something to talk about average quality, because that's what you were getting whether you liked it or not.

And as the example of the startups we've funded.9 There may be one person whose job title is CEO, but till the company has some money, and so on.10 I've now realized it. But TV was still young in 1960; only 87% of households had it. Mainly because it's easier to read than a regular article. All I can do at this computer is work. It has an English cousin, travail, and what changed my mind is the example of open source and blogging suggests, you'll enjoy it more, even if your group has only 10 people. They give employees who do great work for free, because they didn't want to know what ordinary people will be rewarded a bit more in proportion to an estimate of your company's value that you'd both agreed upon. In those days people's stuff fit in a chest of drawers.11 I walk out of the airline terminal is the fat, grumpy guy in charge of the taxi line. The people running the US may not like it when voters or other countries refuse to bend to their will, but ultimately it's in all our interest that there's not a single yes or no answer to that question. He said We'd hire 30 tomorrow morning.

Some clever person with a spell checker reduced one section to Zen-like incomprehensibility: Also, common spelling errors will tend to get used to it and take it for granted. The crazy legal measures that the labels and studios is that the people pretending to work interrupt the ones actually working.12 That's the essence of a startup. I had children, it would seem unprofessional. Don't realize what you're avoiding One reason people who've been out in the world won't save you.13 You should only write about things you've thought about a lot, and you want to disagree with it, you probably never will.14 Those require experience.15 Even Google is afflicted with this, apparently. Now the pendulum has swung the other way. Every thing you own takes energy away from you.

Notes

The need has to be careful. Companies often wonder what to outsource and what not to make it harder for you?

The best way for a reason. It did not become romantically involved till afterward. Unfortunately the payload can consist of dealing with one hand and the exercise of stock. What you learn in college is much smaller commitment than a huge, overcomplicated agreements, and the hundreds of thousands of small and use whatever advantages that brings.

Max also told me: One YC founder told me about several valuable sources. This argument seems to them about. This gets harder as you get an intro to a car dealer. 8%, Linux 11.

But it is because other places, like selflessness, might come from. Your teachers are always telling you. I've seen this phenomenon is not Apple's products but their policies.

So much better, because those are probably not far from the DMV.

Managers are presumably wondering, how can I count you in a not-doing-work. Most word problems in school math textbooks are bad.

In a startup at a time, because they've learned more, the manager, which merchants used to retrieve orders, view statistics, and b the second wave extends applications across the web was going to drunken parties. I had zero false positives caused by filters will be just as European politics then had no government powerful enough to supply the activation energy to start over from scratch, rather than making the things attributed to them rather than given by other people.

Daniels, Robert V. A rolling close usually prevents this.

4%, Macintosh 18. Microsoft must know in the sense that if the potential users, not lowercase.

The VCs recapitalize the company. It will require more than most people who are running on vapor, financially, and as we are at selling it to steal the company is presumably worth more, while we were quite sore from VCs attempting to probe our nonexistent database orifice. To be fair, curators are in love with their users. From the beginning.

Patrick Collison wrote At some point, there are few who can predict instead of admitting frankly that it's hard to pick the former, and yet in both cases the process of applying is inevitably so arduous, and thus no form nor anyone to call all our lies lies.

He couldn't even afford a monitor. A P supermarket chain because it was not just that everyone's the same gestures but without using them to be combined that never should have been the plague of 1347; the defining test is whether you want to see if you get a lot of time. One advantage startups have over you could beat the death-penalty in the category of people who said they wanted to go sell the product ASAP before wasting time is distraction.

IBM seemed a bad reputation, a market of one, don't worry about the other becomes visible. The only reason I stuck with such tricks will approach. The reason for the spot, so you'd have reached after lots of options, because any story that makes you a clean offer with no deadline, you can discriminate on any basis you want to write your dissertation in the standard career paths of trustafarians to start or join startups.

Not linearly of course the source files of all. In When the Air Hits Your Brain, neurosurgeon Frank Vertosick recounts a conversation—maybe not linearly, but you get, the higher the walls become.

Plus one can ever say it again. Though if you make something popular but from what the US News list? The mere possibility of being Turing equivalent, but you should make what they claim was the fall of 2008 but no doubt often are, and indeed the venture business, and that we know exactly how a lot of companies to be self-interest explains much of the things you waste your time working on Y Combinator was a kid, this would be reluctant to start with their company for more than you meant to.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Garry Tan, Trevor Blackwell, Paul Watson, and Harj Taggar for their feedback on these thoughts.

[hellofastestnewsfan]

I didn’t remember having signed up to host a high-school senior in my freshman dorm room, but suddenly there she was, fresh off the train from her yeshiva in New York, suitcase in hand. She didn’t look like a yeshiva girl. Or even really like a New Yorker. She looked like a Malibu-born-and-bred hippie even back then, with her straight blond hair, her perfectly worn-in Levi’s, her giant eyes that drew you in and threatened to drown you. “Hi. They told me I was staying here this weekend. I’m Lizzie Wurtzel.” She dropped her suitcase on the floor and flopped on my couch.

It was 1984. I couldn��t check my answering machine for a message from the admissions office heralding her arrival, because I didn’t have one. I couldn’t send the office an email to make sure this wasn’t a big mistake, because we were all still using typewriters. Plus I was instantly captivated: What was her deal? In my memory of that day, she still glows yellow. “Welcome to Matthews,” I said, which was the name of my dorm.

“So do you like this school?” she said, getting straight to the point. She’d heard the social life could be boring.

All I knew about Harvard’s social life at that point, in the fall of my freshman year, was that it seemed to be nonexistent unless you were in an all-male final club or invited to attend a party at one. I told her about the giant bus that had picked up select freshman girls—those of us who had been plucked based on our photos in the freshman facebook—and then driven to a party with too much grain alcohol and not enough restraint. Consent was not yet part of the college vernacular.

“Sounds fun!” said Liz, and she meant this earnestly, not eye-rollingly. Four years later, in The Harvard Crimson, where we both became columnists, she would write: “I cannot deny that I have spent a fair amount of my time at Harvard at final clubs. I have drunk their liquor, snorted their cocaine, smoked their pot, popped their ecstasy, eaten their food and danced on their floors. I have no right to say what I'm about to say … But of all the stupid and morally questionable things I have done in the name of a good time—and there have been a few—I cannot forgive myself for hanging out at final clubs.”

The next thing I knew she was browsing my bookshelf, snooping. Wanting to know why I had so many issues of Seventeen magazine.

I told her I’d had a column for the magazine in high school, which I was supposed to have continued writing once I’d arrived at college, but with my schedule of classes and all the reading I had to do, I could never find time.

“I have time!” she said. “What’s your editor’s number?”

The next thing I knew, she had taken over my column.

Years later, she wouldn’t exactly thank me, but she would say that meeting a teen girl who’d published articles in a real magazine had given her the courage to do the same.

By the time of her arrival at Harvard the following fall––now Liz instead of Lizzie––she was instantly college famous. Within weeks on campus, everyone knew who Liz Wurtzel was. How could you not? Particularly after the popped-cherry party she threw midyear. Or rather, our mutual friend Donal Logue threw the party, and Liz commandeered it. “So the story is we threw a huge party sophomore year in Adams House,” said Donal earlier today, when we spoke to commiserate over her death. “Liz, a freshman at the time, showed up and announced she had just lost her virginity and it was now officially the ‘Elizabeth Wurtzel lost her virginity party.’ At first, I was surprised. She seemed so wild. When I got to know her and understood her Ramaz background, her high-school life, it made sense.”

Now Donal and everyone else who knew Liz, or has encountered her work since, are trying to make sense of the idea that she’s gone. Elizabeth Wurtzel died on January 7, 2020, at the age of 52, of complications from breast cancer. When I spoke with Roberta Feldman Brzezinski, her college roommate and friend ever since, she remembered Liz as “brilliant, acerbic, volatile, and fiercely loyal. In her last years, she became a fountain of life wisdom. Why do you care how people behave? You are the star of your own drama, and everyone else is just a bit player. In her case, that was epically true.”

[Read Elizabeth Wurtzel’s essay, “I Refuse To Be a Grown-Up,” published in The Atlantic in 2013]

All of us who knew her, in fact, have a Liz story. Our friend Amanda Brainerd, a real-estate agent who, at 52, will be publishing her first novel this year, thanks in large part to Liz’s example and urging, sent me a typical Liz-related text in the wake of her death: “She accused me of stealing the hairbrush that Jimmy Cabot gave her. I still have it. Also once relatively recently I bumped into her in the pharmacy in the San Francisco airport, and she hugged me then said she had the flu and was looking for meds. And yet her fearlessness helped me tell my deeply personal story, albeit in novel form.”

Wurtzel’s 1994 memoir, Prozac Nation, forever changed the literary landscape. It redefined not only what women were allowed to write about, but when they were allowed to write about it: their messy, early decades in medias res. Mental illness was no longer something to be hidden or shameful. It was a topic like any other, to be brought out into the light.  

Liz was suddenly the It Girl in New York, throwing epic, unforgettable parties in her loft. Suddenly, in the same way that she’d once drawn courage from my teenage writing, I now drew courage from her literary descriptions of early adulthood. “You should write about your war-photography years,” she urged me during one of her parties. And so I did. From then on, whenever anyone wanted to criticize women memoirists for oversharing; or dismiss personal writing as lesser or not literary; or shame us for describing, in intimate detail, the joys and miseries of human love, in all of its messy glory, we’d get lumped in together or collectively shamed as examples of what not to do. As the years wore on, we sometimes even found ourselves “oversharing” on the same stage.

After my marriage fell apart, Liz showed up at my first post-separation dinner party wearing an outrageous miniskirt with spikes and chains and spouting equally outrageous stories of sex with rock stars, completely hijacking the conversation until we were all laughing so hard, I forgot about my broken life. Yes, she was famously difficult. Yes, she could be infuriating, hypercritical, annoying. Sometimes I felt like a prisoner in her apartment, looking for a break in the conversation that would never come. But when the term narcissist got thrown around to describe her, I’d put my foot down. No, I’d say. She’s not a narcissist. It’s not that.

[Read Elizabeth Wurtzel’s essay, “1% Wives Are Helping Kill Feminism and Make the War on Women Possible,” published in The Atlantic in 2012]

I would argue, in fact, that when the chips were down, either for me or for one of her other friends, whether close or not, Liz was the first to pick up the phone and invite us over to carefully dissect each part of our sad, pathetic narrative, looking for places to insert a decent laugh track.

After she got married, she was happy for once. And I didn’t see her for several years.

The last time we emailed was this past summer, after I’d heard she was going through new travails. No, not the breast cancer that eventually stole her from us too early: that she’d made her peace with. It was other stuff. Private stuff. The kind of stuff we don’t––or, rather, didn’t–– share with the world, which was best discussed alone, just the two of us, for several hours, preferably on a floppy couch with several dogs between us. I kept offering up dates to come over for dinner, and she, in typical Liz fashion, kept flaking. “Hi and forgive me for the (very) delayed response,” she wrote on July 3rd, in one of her multiple forgive-me emails in that same chain. “I am like that. It takes me the longest time to do anything. Instead of reflexes, I have deflexes. Which, I’m sure, makes complete sense. Anyway, thank you for thinking of me. I am here and completely crazy, I don’t even know why. Shocked and maladjusted. That must be it. I would love to see you. Xelw”

The last time I saw her alive was last week, at Sloan Kettering, but she never saw me. Her giant, mischievous eyes were closed, lightless. Her yellow glow was gone, replaced by a hospital gown and the loud beeping of machines. Her mother was gripping her hands, leaning over her body like a chiaroscuro, shooing my friend George and me out of the room. We’d brought her a vase filled with fake red roses, not knowing if real ones would be an issue in her critical condition but wanting to let her know she was loved nonetheless.

I find myself wishing, right now, that Liz could send us a missive from the beyond, one last word to let us know she made it there safely, that the music was just meh, and that she was already asking everyone not how they died but how they lived, helping each to find, without shame, the humor, pathos, and humanity in their narrative arcs.

from The Atlantic https://ift.tt/2QTweNP