#anyway. thesis h

[tadpal]

also when thinking about casting age i think it is important to consider casting conventions bc it's okay to be like okay this actor IS the age of the character / historical figure but casting conventions means that 20-26 year olds often read as older teenagers and any women with slightly visible lines can be any age from 30-70. and i find that when people are complaining casting age people will go omg but the actor and it's like but it doesn't exist in a bubble.... especially when you have two actors who are the same age irl and the same age visually and in the styling who are supposed to be wildly different ages in the text it's like. okay if your cast doesn't make sense in the wider context of film casting then at the very least it has to be internally consistent and intentional.

[femvaylin]

Whelp I guess I'm back on Tumblr

[yikesharringrove]

steve and billy teaching in the same school!! there's these teachers in my school and they work right across the hall from each other. they're always yelling into each others classrooms.

she teaches english lit 101 and he teaches gov 102

"Harrington!"

Some of the kids snickered quietly when Mr. Harrington jumped at the shout from across the hall.

He stared blankly at the last word he had written on the board, the black Expo mark wiggles from where he had jumped at the yell of his name.

He turned around, sighing exaggeratedly at Mr. Hargrove standing in the doorway.

"Kids, excuse my coworker here." He crossed his arms around his chest. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can Mr. H."

Steve rolled his eyes as his husband swaggered into his classroom, leading a line of ninth graders with him.

It's not the first time Billy's interrupted his class with a question about some inane bullshit that launched Steve into an over-excited rant for the rest of class.

Steve's tenth and eleventh graders were already closing their textbooks, knowing their teacher was just about to be insanely distracted for the rest of class.

"The birds n' I are reading The Crucible."

Fuck.

Steve's pretty sure Billy's kids pay him to bring them across the hall for these impromptu lectures.

"Witch hunts. I get it."

"Yeah, you know. Anyway, I'm giving some context to the publishing of the book. The Red Scare in the United States, well, the second Red Scare, as well as the rise of McCarthyism coincided with the publishing of the play."

Goddammit.

Steve's fucking master's thesis was on all about McCarthyism (more specifically, how the second Red Scare was directly linked to the Lavender Scare.) He cited the stupid play in his research.

Billy knows that. They were already engaged by the time Steve began his master's program.

Fuck this guy, for real.

Steve quietly closed his power point presentation on interest groups in America.

"Fine. Mr. Hargrove's class, find a seat. My class, your packet is still due Friday. I'll post the slides after class." He glared at Billy.

Billy grinned right back, his tongue poking out in that frustrating way it has since high school.

"1950s United States. What do you know?"

A few hands went up.

Even Billy raised his stupid hand. Steve ignored him.

-

"Which brings us to the end of the decade. With the early 1960s, we have the reformation in the Catholic Church, known as Vatican ll-"

The bell cut him off mid-sentence, and there was a mad scramble as the students all tried to pack up as quickly as possible, before Steve could keep going.

"My class," he nearly shouted over the scraping of chairs against linoleum. "Your packets are still due Friday! I don't care that Mr. Hargrove interrupted our time."

"And birds! The rubric is posted on the class page! I want outlines handed in on Tuesday."

The classroom door closed behind the final kid.

"You're a dick."

Billy laughed.

"Nah, you just teach that shit so much better than I do."

Steve rolled his eyes. He sat behind his desk, yanking over a stack of twelfth grade research assignments to begin grading. Billy perched on the other side of his desk.

"Y'know, you could just ask me to come in and lecture. You don't have to interrupt my own class."

"Yeah, but it's fun to wind you up and watch you go. And I think the birds like it when they see that you're passionate about something. Why do you think I always start with The Joy Luck Club?"

"Because you have mommy issues."

"No. Because Ying-ying's story makes me sob like a bitch, and the birds get to realize that I'm a real-life human."

Steve scrubbed his face with his hands, collecting himself before facing his dumbass husband again.

"Wait, you said they had an essay due. What's the essay?"

"Oh, comparing the Salem Witch Trials and the goings on of the U.S. government in the mid 1950s. You know."

"So, you created an assignment, knowing that I would infodump all that shit to your kids?"

"Yes."

"I want a divorce."

Billy laughed, leaning over Steve's desk to kiss his forehead.

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't. I love you. But also you suck."

The bell sounded to indicate the end of passing period.

Billy got off the desk, stretching with a groan.

"Would you be mad if I brought my senior class in?"

Steve glared at him in the doorway.

"What's the assignment?"

"They're presenting on the parallels between 1984 and the current political climate."

Goddammit.

"Bring 'em in."

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Hey Lily. That's not how quotes and citations work. You did pretend that part you plagiarized directly was written by you because you at no point made it clear you were quoting something else. You presented it as your own words.

Aren't you pretending to have written a thesis?

[Lily's Post]

But ah yes the brownfacing race-faker who can't even respect languages other than English is going to call me "monstrously racist". Is Riley H. really the hill you want to die on Lily? This Riley H.? Arkh Project scammer Riley H.?

Let's look at some of the highlights of that article:

Yeah definitely doesn't sound like the words of an insane person.

Anyway watch my video if you haven't already! 😘

[charcubed]

I watched Sinners in IMAX a few days ago.

I saw it after a long work day and basically had a religious experience.

My friend and I talked about it in the parking lot for an hour, and then I got home at 11:30pm and fell asleep with my phone in my hand at 1AM while writing down my thoughts about it in a doc (at the request of another friend). I took a half day off of work the next day to sleep in and wrote for 4 more hours, then finished cleaning up the doc a couple days later.

So here's about 4,000 words (?!?!) of my thoughts on this incredible fucking masterpiece of a movie.

Certainly not expecting anyone to read this but I do want to put it here for myself :) Because this is how I have fun for some reason!

Disclaimers:

I’m not Black so I’m obviously discussing topics outside the realm of my experience / culture and could be completely off the mark on anything. Apologies in advance if I am. I also assume I’m not the first to say any of this analysis.

These are my initial thoughts and interpretations before deep-diving or Googling or reading interviews about this movie! (That's my rule.) Just from my brain’s first watch and my limited knowledge of history and sociology.

---------------

-I cannot fucking wait to rewatch this movie with subtitles someday because I know for a FACT I missed some things.

-I liked how Stack drove the red car and Smoke drove the blue truck :) so cute. I was like yaaayyy, hammer home this visual separation so I can get a sense of them as individual people before we keep going, thank you <3 so many good framing and color and lighting choices throughout this movie that foreshadowed things too!

-Lowkey I totally get why people probably want sequels and spinoffs of this universe to learn more lore, but I felt very content with where it left us. The themes/subtext are so strong and so well-executed that the story feels fairly complete in that regard to me because it had things to say and said them well. Not to say the metaphors couldn’t be continued in more storytelling and worldbuilding, obviously, and I’d eat it up if they did decide to do it… But I also think what we got feels fairly satisfying to me.

-However: WHERE IS MY CHOCTAW NATION VAMPIRE HUNTERS SPINOFF. GODDAMN!!! Also love how we get them for literally 3 minutes and they embody every aspect of this movie’s messaging perfectly. Insanely cool shit

Okay anyway

-The opening intro makes such a bold claim about how the music we’re about to hear that’s so incredibly beautiful. It talks of music that transcends time and holds so much power it attracts outside dark forces. And then… when Sammie first plays and opens his mouth to sing… Stack’s reaction is our reaction in the audience, because that claim is immediately upheld as believable. You immediately believe the folklore’s validity because of his skills. Astonishing feat. Holy fucking shit. God I love blues music

-The opening sets up the unsubtle thesis, but then Slim’s story in the car (and its beautiful sound design!!!) after they see the slaves take encouragement / heart through music underscores it all. It felt like a powerful tool to further set up a grounding for the supernatural we were about to see play out, and a reminder of its intended metaphors. Slim’s brother was a blues player who was lynched for the crime of simply existing in his Black joy and trying to get to make a bigger life for himself, and (as Annie later tells Smoke) money was no true power that could save him. In fantasy and reality, when people of color are just living with authentic joy by enjoying their own unique culture and music and lives, it attracts white supremacists who want to gleefully, hatefully leech from or destroy all of it.

-And then Ryan Coogler really was like, “Just in case you missed this movie’s unsubtle messages, we are going to be loud.” The way the vampire fight isn’t the final violence or the point… God. Instead, we end on the justified KKK slaughter. The real klan, the actual reason all of this happened because they set it up, the start of it all and the white supremacy that fuels the darkness. It says, These are the true monsters, and don’t you fucking forget it.

-But, our plot’s main monster is REMMICK. He’s no Southern white man. He’s specifically Irish! I fucking love that they did this. So much nuance here. Remmick has been isolated from his own people, heritage, and language through colonialism and the rise of the Baptist Christian church. Cornbread tells him (and the 2 Klan members…) that there are plenty of other spaces for them and their banjo music, and while of course he’s right – Black people (and POC in general) deserve their own safe spaces of expression, and too often white people are trying to encroach on those – for Remmick, there’s sadness here too. Those other white spaces are not his spaces either. He’s Irish and Celtic; they’re not his culture. He’s adrift and has no place, disconnected from his home, Othered by being an Irishman and a vampire, and the loss of his own culture and family has him desperately seeking attachment to others’ – but in the worst way. His fate is what he now violently forces onto others. While he ostensibly hates the KKK, he aligns with them indiscriminately in search of connection and his own survival, and he essentially helps them achieve their goal of destroying Black people – a mirror to how, in history, Irish people benefitted from white supremacy for their survival at the expense of Black people. (And a mirror, of course, to how white people broadly try to steal from Black culture daily.) Remmick’s message is basically “just assimilate and be free,” simultaneously asking them (especially Sammie) to assimilate into his culture for his sake because it’s what he needs, yet assimilation is clearly its own form of entrapment and death. It’s a tragedy that it was what Remmick was faced with as an Irishman, but it’s a larger inexcusable tragedy that he turned around and decided to perpetuate the same cycle of violence onto others in alliance with white supremacy.

-Of course, we see this most in the contrast between the music ensembles (and holy shit, SHOUT OUT TO THE ASPECT RATIO CHANGES IN THESE!!! Religious experience!!!). Sammie’s “I Lied to You” blues music is transformative and joyful, inspiring multicultural connection and appreciation that honors history and genres. It’s filled with warmth and life, and is perhaps even a hopeful depiction of the true melting pot of America. But Remmick’s “Rocky Road to Dublin” song with the vampires he’s turned has everyone washed out, looking and sounding homogeneous in a sinister way, blending together in the perfect terrifying depiction of what assimilation does. Individuality and different cultures are gone; there is now only this, powered by the violence of whiteness. Remmick’s supposed position being “We believe in equality” is of course a farce, and though he’s not motivated by racism (like the KKK), he has no qualms with aligning with its results. More importantly, his enforced assimilation in the name of supposed equality brings to mind the harmful modern adages of “I don’t see color” and other similar positionings which erase differences in culture rather than honor them. Add to that the moments where Remmick showcases having the memories and skills of people he’s turned, who are now all “connected” to each other but in a way where they’ve lost all individuality. When he speaks Chinese, it’s a moment of horror because it’s a language he didn’t learn for genuine connection but rather stole for cultural appropriation, and then he specifically uses it as a tool of violence (and threats of sexual assault!) against Grace.

-ANNIE. I find it fascinating how she kind of embodies the movie’s critique of the Christian church and evangelism as a tool of white supremacy to placate Black Americans and encourage or enforce assimilation. Annie practices (to my knowledge) hoodoo, occult magic from African culture and a form of spirituality that Christians would obviously deem evil and sinful. But here, her mojo bags and ancestral knowledge are the only things that keep anyone safe. (Notably, Christian crosses did nothing for protection.) She’s another layer to the concepts of being in touch with your culture and ancestors… and she chooses death rather than turning/assimilation or losing her sense of identity. I couldn’t help but think about the history of African slaves jumping overboard from ships because they chose to die on their own terms rather than live in enslavement.

-SLIM. He’s the Black elder who’s seen and experienced and survived horrendous, evil things. Yet despite it all, he’s the comedic relief of the movie. While Slim drinks to repress the trauma (which is objectively not the most healthy decision and it’s constantly pointed out), it doesn’t compromise his connection to his music or to his people. Despite everything, he’s still filled with joy and good humor and wisdom – something that feels very true to life in regards to the fortitude of so many Black elders. And when push comes to shove, he puts his life and body on the line to be ripped to shreds (not assimilated!) by the destructive forces coming for his culture and his people in an attempt to protect them. I fucking loved him.

-MARY. She’d be considered Black by the One-Drop Rule / Jim Crow laws, and she’s grown up in this community, but… she’s not really Black. She feels Othered by that, yes, and it was a natural continuation (to me) to know that was going to result in her becoming a vampire in the plot. Of course there’s a level of sympathy to be given to her and her situation, in the sense that she’s also a victim of segregation, as anyone in an interracial relationship was. She just wanted to live with the man she loves but society wasn’t structured to allow that. But at the end of the day, she still had safety in the ways she was able to move through the world as a white woman — and power. (Stack tells Sammie not to look at her at the train station; if white people claim a Black man looked at a white woman the wrong way, it can turn into a lynching.) It’s notable that Mary is able to go speak to the white people/vampires with less perceived risk to her in ways none of the Black people could… and then she’s also able to be metaphorically turned to their way of seeing things. It’s not an accident that she’s the first turned, then them letting her in and Smoke fucking her is what kickstarts their collective downfall. Mary was a “safe” white person for her Black family all their lives, until abruptly she wasn’t. A too true-to-life tragic possibility.

-PEARLINE. She’s a bold, unapologetic Black woman connected to her culture who chooses her own freedom and authenticity vs Christian traditionalism. A sinner through “infidelity” – a word which can mean being unfaithful to a partner, or unfaithful to religious/Christian belief. And she dies because of it.

-[Side note: super interesting to see the scene of Pearline’s musical beats being timed with the violence of Smoke and the other men killing a guy who was threatening the haven of solidarity and community they’d built. A commentary on being distracted by in-fighting while the real enemy and evil of white supremacy is on the move]

-GRACE. The embodiment of how, when shit is going down, POC solidarity can crumble. At the start, we see her and her family being on “both sides” with the white and Black stores, and able to cross between those 2 stark worlds/realities with ease. “We didn’t sign up for this,” Grace says, when the evil white people come for the Black people; the fun and the culture, but not the fight. Then she makes the selfish and individualized decision to let the evil in at the expense of everyone else. And yet… Her name. Grace. Does the story want us to grant her a little bit of it? I’d argue Smoke gives her grace, because he includes her and her husband in his fond and motivating memories of the earlier parts of the day. Is what Grace does defendable? No, but perhaps it’s meant to be understandable. In the moment, she’s not thinking of saving her own skin or uselessly trying to save her husband; she’s thinking of wanting to protect her daughter and the rest of the town, so instead of choosing passivity, she opts to protect them by addressing and destroying the monsters head-on so they can’t continue their evil mission. But unfortunately, in another example of lack of solidarity, she goes straight to destroy her husband and her fight stops there regardless of everyone else’s fight. Her vindictive revenge turns into mutual destruction because she burns up with him. And she’s perhaps also an example of how when someone is so focused on being combative with a person who broke their tradition they forget to focus on what they still have to protect.

-Speaking of names… lol. CORNBREAD. Obviously there was intentional comedic relief happening in the scene where he’s pissing in the woods and monsters are hidden around him whispering “Is that cornbread?” lmaaaooo but also… Not just silliness! Cornbread is historical food for survival and resilience that has roots in several different cultures. It stems from making something from very little under the forces of oppression and enforced famine, and it’s what the Indigenous people, Black Southern Americans, and the Irish all made. Something that should be or could be a source of connection and a way to let each other in (as he was the doorman!), but instead becomes another tool of violence and of a right vs wrong way to be.

-SMOKE. Violence as protection, and a burden to be shouldered for tenderness and love. He killed his father to protect Stack. He killed Annie because she asked him to. He sent Sammie away to face and kill the KKK men by himself, knowing he might be killing himself in the process. I think of the scene where he’s dying and Annie in the afterlife is watching him while holding their child. As Smoke unloads bullets into the dying klan member, she doesn’t flinch at his violence, and neither do we as the audience. It’s righteous and justified, and in the very next moment, he holds his daughter softly. The violence stands in contrast to his connection to his brother and lover and daughter, but it’s not antithetical to it or a threat to it. Defense of Black culture – and Black masculinity itself – is not inherently violent. Smoke is not his violent father; he broke that cycle too. He is tender and loving, and it’s the reason for his protectiveness and informs his violence that’s directed outward in defense of his family, and especially at the vampires and white supremacists. There’s also something to be said for how Smoke has these violent skills and weapons because he was a soldier in WWI. He served a country that treats him and his people as less than human. And Grace even tells him, “Aren’t you a soldier?” Yes, he was. He shouldn’t have to be at home. And yet, this too is a war, with him and his people being constantly besieged when all they want is peace. Along those lines: At first, Smoke thought that money could be a form of power, to the point of nearly slipping into valuing it more than community when it came down to payment for drinks at the juke joint. But he internalizes and learns especially from Annie that money can’t save you; money didn’t save Slim’s brother who was lynched, and the twins throwing money at a Klan member for the juke joint didn’t stop them from pulling up to their door. Smoke comes to fully learn that All we have is family, community, and our traditions, and we can’t let them take that. Perhaps that’s also part of the reason why he couldn’t kill Stack in the end, instead killing Remmick (as he killed their father) to give Stack his best chance at freedom.

-SMOKE & STACK. The older brother looking at his now-wayward younger brother who suddenly feels like a different person. The twin who looks at his mirrored self and doesn’t recognize who he sees anymore. Who is Stack now? Did Smoke fail him? But there’s something in Stack that is still him, even though he’s forever changed, and ultimately Smoke can’t destroy that. From one sibling to another, it’s the thought of “I can’t abide by or agree with what you’ve become but I can’t destroy you either.” There’s no me without you in the sense that we’re forever tied, but also in the sense that we were instrumental in making each other who we are, for better and worse.

-“ELIJAH MOORE” VS “STACK.” Names are powerful. Smoke’s real name is used in the end as a nod to the connections to his history and roots, and also to his truest self, which he reunites with just as he reunites with Annie, their child, and spirituality in death. Contrast this with Stack, who is going by his nickname in perpetuity – a half name that’s forever cut off from Smoke as the other half, and a disconnect from his old self he’s buried. In the end credit scene, STACK is seen on his ring and visually tied to stacks of money under his hand, aka empty power at high cost. It’s a sad reversal of Stack’s prior thoughts on community and people being more important than profit, when he and Annie were united at the juke joint in pushing back against Smoke’s pursuit of “American dollars.”

-SAMMIE and “This Little Light of Mine.” My goodness. At the start of the movie, Sammie’s preacher father wanted him to sing gospel as a way to lead others in the church, but he never gets to in the context/timeline of the movie. We only hear the choir singing it in the opening instead without Sammie’s involvement. But then, the final credits scene: Sammie has his guitar, which we know doesn’t exist anymore because it’s the guitar he used to fight off demons (literal and metaphorical), and now he’s singing it as a blues song. Did he sing it in church at an earlier point before the events of the movie? Who knows. Doesn’t matter. What matters is this: Sammie’s preacher father tried to give him an ultimatum. Put down the guitar; put down the blues music and the dancing and the sex; put down the sinning. It all attracts darkness, so come back to church and return to the Lord. Be pure. The Christian church, explicitly used as a tool of oppression that benefits white supremacy. But even after the horrors and trauma Sammie experiences – some of which he even draws in through his music (and metaphorically his “sinning”), which is not his fault – Sammie won’t let it go. He can’t. It’s who he is, and it’s his culture and connection to his ancestors, and there’s nothing sinful about any of it. The music, the dancing, the fucking, or anything else. It’s all beautiful, and the embracing of it all then necessitates (because of his father’s ultimatum) a level of rejection of the church in order to continue to live. But despite all of that… The church (and perhaps some redefined aspect of faith) is still a part of him and his culture too. He carries it with him, which is a relatable notion for many people who were raised religious and either chose to walk away or were forced to because of the inherit ultimatums in its restrictions. And so: Sammie had been told to lead and use his music to shine his little light all around the world. It may not be for the church or in the way his father wanted, but by God, he still went out and did just that. In his way, on his terms, without forgetting where he came from.

-Sammie stands in church at the start of the movie. His pastor father has been pushing, Give me the blues guitar. Rejoin our congregation. Sing gospel. Sammie stands in church and it’s intercut with flashbacks of Remmick attacking him. Give me your music. Join our clan. Sing Irish folk songs for me. And yeah, Sammie’s grip on that blues guitar stays real tight.

-[Side note, mostly kidding: all vampire stories could do with a bit of queerness. As merely a fun exercise, if I was choosing to make one aspect of this movie queer in a way that naturally further services the themes… I’d make Pearline a man. Have Sammie be a “sinner” in another dramatic sense by making him queer. What if on the best day of his life in the juke joint, he connects with another man through music and then fucks a man? Much to think about. But there’s a lot going on in this movie already of course, in a specific historical context. And people would’ve gotten too distracted from the various core messages about race and culture (because no one can be normal about seeing queer stuff and understanding intersectionality). But hey, that would’ve hit! And would’ve fit. Just an interesting and extremely unnecessary what if in the privacy of my own mind.]

-STACK (& MARY). Still alive, but dead inside. How good is the life they lead? Stack, when trying to convince Smoke to join the vampire clan, referred to the assimilation they were experiencing as a form of freedom because of the (tangential-to-whiteness) power. But not only is that freedom untrue and filled with conditions, it also comes at a high cost. Eternally separated from their family, divorced from culture, their old selves and lives dead and gone, with no one but Sammie left to remember who they really were. Frozen, adrift, unable to move on or grow. But here’s the thing: was it their fault? Both Mary and Stack’s turnings were nonconsensual. Their disconnection from and erasure of their culture was nonconsensual, and they became Different before they realized what was happening. Remmick is killed and they’re free of his influence and control now, but where does that leave them anyway? They’re still ostracized and left out in the cold, and can’t be let back in unless someone lets them in, which no one is inclined to do – except for Sammie. In Stack and Mary, we see the cost of leaving your cultural roots behind, or (more accurately) having them taken from you violently, forcefully, or through the inescapable encroaching influences of colonialism and white supremacy. As foreshadowed by Sammie’s question to Mary in the juke joint: what are they now? They’re something Other, trying to make their space in the world, and dressed not dissimilarly to the genres of music seen when Sammie’s blues transcended time. So maybe they’re trying to make their own spaces work. But in particular… Stack can’t fit with the white humans, and he can also never go home. Yet he and Mary long for home and for culture, and make an attempt to reconnect with it – which, incredibly, Sammie allows. Sammie is now (visually) the elder who lets the wayward young people back in. He literally embraces Stack – and I think it’s key that he doesn’t embrace Mary. Stack and Mary may be together, but the ways in which they’ve been changed and the disconnect they’re experiencing is undeniably different, because Stack is Black and Mary is not. Its relevance can’t be ignored. This moment and this culture is not hers in the same way. Sammie takes a last parting shot at that point and hammers the themes home by changing the lyrics of his “Travelin’”: I don't know why in the hell I'm here, because the woman I'm lovin', you know she really don’t care. Fully justified? Slightly unfair to her trauma? Maybe mostly the former and a tiny bit of the latter, and heartbreakingly understandable regardless.

[itchyandtwitchy]

I fear I am back and must inquire more about Husband’s allergies if you have time 😀

Reversing the roles to talk about Husband (Professor is here too, dont worry). A little background- I dont actually have Husband as a teacher, I'm working with him on a research project for my thesis and dissertation. He's from a super tiny town in Greenland and moved to Ukraine for college where he met Professor, and the rest is history.

Obs under the cut

Actual snz time! When I tell you this man is allergic to everything, I mean that; nature, animals of all sorts, perfume, everything. He claims its because he grew up in a wasteland of ice but I think its because he wants to tortute me personally. You'll notice that torturing me is a hobby of both of these men because how can these two even exist??

When I started working with Husband, it was very casual meetings at a bar a few miles from campus. We would just discuss our personal research and what we wanted moving forward as well as some more personal discussions. I mention this only because there is a story here, I promise. One evening, we're drinking and talking and we somehow end up getting these obnoxious champagne things (they were good though). Anyway, he takes a few sips and we're talking when he goes 'oh, thats bubbly-' and turns to sneeze like six times into his elbow. I sat there stunned and ask if he wants me to send it back to which he goes 'absolutely not, this is delicious' and drinks MORE. By the end of the night, I have a very sneezy tipsy professor who fancies himself a comedian.

At some point, we both agree to go home since he cannot stop sneezing in these little fits. I offer to call him a cab and he gives me a weird look, 'thats what husband's are for'. So thats how I discovered my Russian Professor and thesis advisor were married.

Here's where I'm gonna get a little raunchy since I'm assuming you want more details. Holy buildups, this guy with gasp like a dying fish for a solid fifteen seconds before actually sneezing or losing it (which happens disgracefully often). Not even sharp staccato gasps either, just soft gasps that sound frankly nsfw with how vocal and desperate they are. Then, for all his theatrics, he crumples forward with at least four or five tiny sneezes like 'HAH-'tsch, 'itsch, 'tsch-'tsch'. Again, just like in my H/aikyuu fic because I'm weak for kittenish sneezes.

It's just another way that he contrasts Professor and his harsh stifles. Not being in a class with Husband does mean I dont see him everyday but I definitely see him in more relaxed climates. IE- when the allergy meds he drowns himself in are wearing off. He will always sneeze in a few fits without fail every single time we meet up to work on something. For as much as Professor teases him for having allergies, he is actually very sweet. Ive seen him pull allergy meds out of his bag for Husband, dust down his office for literal hours if its dusty or pollen got in, and just be generally accommodating.

There's this really awkward habit that Husband has for fanning his face with both hands when he needs to sneeze. It's such a hot visual but there have been times where his hands were full and that's even better. Since he cant fan himself, he'll go over to Professor and gasp out 'help' or something dramatic. Professor will make a jab at his misery but uses his own hands to fan Husband until he can actually sneeze. First time I saw that? Deceased. Goodbye cruel world.

[yumiyue07]

Hate That I Want You

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

POV: Vampire!K-idol x fem!reader Genre: Academic rivals to lovers | Dark romance | Slow burn | University AU Tags: vampire au, enemies to lovers, academic tension, forced proximity, mutual obsession, secret identity, emotional damage

You: just a hardworking scholarship student, trying to survive your molecular medicine degree without strangling your arrogant academic rival.

H/N: the top of the class, annoyingly perfect, dangerously charming… and secretly a centuries-old vampire.

You hate him. He finds you amusing. You refuse to lose. He’s already playing a different game. And now? You’re stuck working together. Late nights. Shared silence. Heated glances. He swore he wouldn’t fall for a human. You swore you'd never fall for him. Too bad fate doesn't care about promises.

Enemies. Rivals. Obsession. And he's getting closer to wanting one thing above all: To make you his.

He could ruin you. Or he could be the one thing that saves you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

Part 1

The alarm screamed like it knew my life was a mess. You groaned, buried your face in the pillow, and wondered, briefly, what it would be like to just not care.

But you did.

You smashed the snooze button with the desperation of someone already late for their own funeral. Again. Three alarms ignored, four textbooks splayed open like wounded birds across your floor, and your thesis draft blinking accusingly from your laptop. But none of that compared to what hit you when you glanced at the time:

8:37 a.m.

“Crap…”

You launched out of bed, tripped over a stack of textbooks, and elbowed your closet open. The new semester just started, but somehow, you were already drowning. Welcome to Royal Lunaris University, where students dress like they’re going to a gala, stress like they’re going to war, and sabotage group projects like it's an Olympic sport. And it didn’t care about your sleep deprivation.

You pulled on jeans, a clean sweatshirt, and threw your hair into a messy clip. There was no time for makeup. Not that you ever bothered much anyway. While the other girls glided to class in blazers and lip gloss, you wore dark circles like war paint. You’d rather spend that time reviewing protein synthesis pathways or editing the fantasy novels that still live in a secret folder on your desktop, titled Someday.

The folder full of fantasy scenes you wrote between study binges. Someday, you’d finish it. Someday, you won’t feel like an impostor in your own life.

You grabbed your ID, your phone, and the protein bar you forgot to eat yesterday. Then you were out the door, running down the stairs with a lab coat flapping from your backpack and resentment burning in your lungs.

If cities could breathe, Astraris would inhale ambition and exhale pressure. The city was full of glittering windows and people who never seemed to look tired. You wondered if anyone else here had to skip meals just to afford the chemistry textbook.

Probably not. (Three skipped meals = one chemistry textbook. The math never lied.)

The morning skyline shimmered with mirrored towers and low-hanging clouds, the kind that clung to rooftop cafes and business schools alike. Rush hour had spilled into every crevice of the metro, disgorging flocks of students with designer backpacks and executives who wore exhaustion like an accessory.

Somewhere between all that movement stood the Royal Lunaris University, wrapped in steel, glass, and a reputation sharp enough to slice through mediocrity. It was somehow beautiful in the kind of way that felt unfair. Tall silver buildings. Cherry blossom-lined walkways. A clock tower that looks like it belongs in a fairytale instead of a science-driven university.

You adjusted the strap of your tote bag as you crossed the stone plaza, your fingers clenched around your student ID like it might disintegrate at any moment. You kept your head down, earbuds in but music off, just to pretend you weren’t listening to the world judging your every step.

Second year. New term. Same butterflies. You felt like an impostor every time you stepped onto campus. But today, you were too late to care.

“Y/N!”

A familiar voice pulled you back to earth. Saora, your only real friend here, materialized like a glitter bomb in human form with a cup of sakura iced latte in each hand and glitter on her cheekbones. Fairy-like in every way, she looked like spring incarnate in person.

“You forgot your brain fuel,” Saora said, offering you the drink.

You accepted it with a grateful smile. "Lifesaver."

Saora looped her arm through yours as they walked up the wide staircase into the East Wing. “Let me guess…Advanced Cellular Mechanisms first thing?”

Y/N groaned. “With Professor Kwon.”

Saora gave her a pitying look. “Good luck. May you survive the Devil’s class... and the devil himself.”

Y/N furrowed her brows mid-sip. “What devil?”

Saora just smirked and floated away to her fashion lecture, leaving only the ghost of her laughter and the creeping sense you’d just missed something vital.

~~~

The classroom was already packed by the time you pushed the heavy doors open. Neatly arranged rows of desks, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a faint scent of cologne and coffee defined the space. You scanned for an empty seat, heat crawling up your neck as everyone turned to glance at the latecomer. Twenty pairs of eyes judged your stumble through the doorway. Twenty pairs…except one.

And there he was.

H/N.

Tall, leaned back in his chair like he owned the whole damn row. Sitting at the far end of the third row, notebook closed, arms crossed, an expression halfway between boredom and mild amusement. His black shirt stretched over shoulders that had no right being that broad. Sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms, exposing a silver watch and veins that had no business looking that good. One leg sprawled into the aisle, claiming it, while the other bounced with restless energy.

(World domination looked good on him…dammit.)

You knew that look. He always looks bored, like this is all just a game, and he’s already won. Of course, the only available seat was next to him.

His head turned lazily at your entrance. Storm-grey eyes raked over you, drinking in your flushed cheeks, your death-grip on your bag. His lips tilted into that infuriating smirk.

Challenge accepted. You braced yourself and walked over. The tension that always burned between you was like static electricity.

“You're late,” he murmured as you sat down, voice low enough that only you could hear. “How unlike you.”

“And you’re still annoying. Some things never change.”

His lips curved. “Missed you, too, sweetheart.”

You didn’t answer. Just slam your bag down in the seat beside him with a little more force than necessary and pull out your notes. The ones you rewrote three times last night. The ones he probably didn’t even glance at.

You stabbed your pen into your notebook. “Don’t you have someone else to torment?”

He leant in, just slightly. You hated that he smelled good. Sweet, clean, like expensive cologne and something darker underneath. Dangerous. Like storm clouds gathering over the university’s perfect skyline.

“But you’re my favorite.”

Professor Kwon’s lecture blurred into white noise. All you could hear was the tap-tap-tap of H/N’s fingers against his thigh. All you could feel was the heat of his gaze tracing your profile as you stubbornly stared ahead.

Worst part? He wasn’t even trying. And you were still losing.

You’ve known him since freshman year. H/N, mysterious, unfairly good-looking, always top of the class by a sliver of a point. Always one seat ahead. One answer faster. One smirk more smug than necessary.

If you got a 96 on an exam, he got a 97. If you asked a great question, he’d ask one better. If you finally reached the top of the curve, he’d already be there, sipping coffee and smirking like he’d been waiting for you.

Magnetic, where you were meticulous. Effortless, where you clawed for every inch. The golden boy who turned lecture halls into stages and professors into doting fans. Even the custodians smiled when he passed, as if he didn’t track mud over their freshly mopped floors with those stupid, expensive boots.

You’ve never seen him flustered. Never seen him try too hard. And somehow, that made you hate him more.

And that smile… (God, that smile.) …sharp enough to cut glass when he caught you staring.

“Problem, sweetheart?”

You’d grit your teeth. “Just wondering how someone so mediocre gets so lucky.”

He’d laugh, low and knowing. “Luck’s for mortals.”

A joke. Obviously. (...Obviously.)

And you?

You were the scholarship kid from a tiny town. The girl with a dream too big and a bank account too small. You studied harder, stayed later, slept less, and yet he still matched you blow for blow.

It was not fair.

But you saw right through him. Too smooth. Too confident. Too… unnatural. Something about him has always felt off. You just couldn’t prove it. And it drove you insane.

Midway through the lecture, you were just starting to focus again when the professor’s voice broke through. “And for your semester project, due Week 10, you’ll be working in assigned pairs.”

A low groan rumbles across the room.

You sat up straighter, anxiety flaring. This project is worth 50% of your final grade. Fifty. Percent. You sat straighter, jotting notes with the urgency of someone trying to earn her future.

“No swaps allowed. You’ll be expected to collaborate extensively,” Professor Kwon announced as he turned to the board.

One by one, names appeared in glowing digital ink.

And there it was:

Y/N … H/N.

Your heart sank. The air left your lungs in one sharp exhale. No. Absolutely fucking not. No, no, no.

The room erupted in whispers.

“No way.” “Those two? They’re going to murder each other before Week 3.” “Or hook up. Or both.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks before you even turned your head. You stared at the board like maybe blinking would change it.

“Lucky me,” he murmured. His knee brushed yours. You jerked away like you'd been burned. “Looks like fate has a sense of humor.”

You turned to glare at him. “Fix this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”

“Of you?” A hollow laugh. “I'd rather retake this class in summer school.”

“Liar.” His smile showed too-white teeth. “You've been waiting for this. Admit it.”

The accusation hit like a slap. “Waiting to babysit your lazy ass through a project? Hard pass.”

H/N leaned in. Close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “Then why's your pulse racing?”

Damn him. Damn him for noticing.

You wrenched backward, chair screeching. Heads turned. Professor Kwon's glare pinned you in place.

H/N just stretched, all lazy grace, and whispered:

“Relax, sweetheart. I don't bite...” A pause. That look in his eyes. “...Unless you ask nicely.”

You gritted your teeth and stared at the projection screen like it held the secrets of the universe. Maybe if you focused hard enough, you could astral-project out of this hell.

~~~

After class, you tried to slip out unnoticed. You made it exactly three steps before his shadow fell into pace beside you.

“Try not to look too excited,” he said, matching your furious stride effortlessly. “It’s just a project.”

“You and I don’t even speak,” you snapped, refusing to look at him. The cherry blossoms outside seemed to mock you with their tranquility. “Why would they pair us?”

“Probably because we’re the top two in the department.”

Casual. Clinical. Like, he was commenting on the weather rather than your entire academic rivalry. You hated that he was not wrong. Your grip tightened on your bag strap. “Then you’ll be fine doing it without me.”

You quickened your pace. His longer legs kept up without effort.

“I didn’t say I wanted to work with you,” he said, unbothered. “But we'll need to get past this whole enemies thing or whatever this is if we want to survive ten weeks.”

“We’re not enemies,” you bit out. “We’re… rivals.”

He paused, cocking his head. “Cute. You think you’re a threat.”

Something about his tone pissed you off more than anything. So calm. So sure. Like this partnership was just another puzzle he had already solved.

“Well, I don’t need you.”

“Good.” His shoulder brushed yours as they turned a corner. “That makes two of us.”

You stopped walking. He stopped, too, half a step ahead.

You whirled to face him. The movement sent your bag swinging violently between you. “Listen, genius. I don't care how many professors worship you. You don't scare me.”

He leant closer, enough that you could see the flecks of silver in his eyes. “You should,” he murmured.

The words made your pulse stutter. You didn’t even know why. You swallowed, stepping back. “I don’t care how charming you think you are. I’m not impressed.”

“No?” His smile was slow, dangerous. “So the staring in class was just admiration?”

You almost choked. “I was glaring.”

“Still attention.” He shrugged, the movement making his shirt pull across his shoulders. “Still counts.”

Around you, students flowed like a river around stubborn stones. The world narrowed to this: the too-bright gleam of his eyes, the way your pulse hammered against your ribs. You were too close.

“Anyway, if you try to coast through this and leave me with the work…”

He blinked. Once. Then raised one brow. “Do I look like someone who coasts?”

You faltered. Just a little. He didn't. That was the infuriating part. While you burned midnight oil, he made excellence look effortless. Made you feel...

Reckless. Seen. Alive.

You swallowed hard.

Somewhere beneath the loathing, something far more dangerous flickered to life.

“Friday night. Library. Don’t be late.”

You turned, slowly. “And if I am?”

H/N tilted his head, that infuriating, calculated gesture that made your stomach flip. His smirk was all lazy arrogance, but his eyes...

Something primal glinted in those stormcloud irises.

“Then I’ll have no choice but to come find you.”

His tone was playful, but something darker flickered in his eyes.

You didn’t flinch. “Try me.”

He laughed, low, rich, amused.

As you walked away, your pulse still racing, you could feel his eyes on your back like a brand. He wasn’t just the top of the class. He was danger dressed in Armani and a smirk that could ruin lives.

~~~

You didn't see him again until morning.

Lie.

He haunted your thoughts like an unwelcome symphony, every note perfectly designed to unravel you. Not because you wanted him there.

Another lie.

But because he slipped under your skin with surgical precision. No grand gestures needed. Just:

A single raised brow

That voice dripping like honey over razor blades

The way he made excellence look effortless while you bled for every inch

The worst part? He didn't even try.

While you lay awake replaying every barbed exchange, he probably slept soundly, untouched, unbothered, winning even in his dreams.

You hated him. You hated how much you wanted to beat him. You really hated how your pulse stuttered when he said, "find you."

~~~

H/N’s POV She walked away like she always did, chin absurdly high for someone who'd just lost another verbal sparring match. That ridiculous human pride of hers, clinging on even as her traitorous pulse thundered.

Thump-thump-thump. So loud. So... alive.

H/N let his smirk fade when she turned the corner.

Idiot.

That's what she was. Nothing more. Just another mortal playing at being clever.

Then why had he cataloged the exact shift in her scent, from lavender calm to electric adrenaline?

And since when did he care that she was the only one who met his eyes like an equal rather than a prize?

His fingers twitched at his sides.

Pathetic.

Hundred of years of existence, and this scholarship student with a too-sharp tongue and tired eyes... interesting. Not special. Just... different enough to notice.

"Try me."

The challenge in her voice had stirred something ancient in him. For half a second, right there in the hallway, he’d imagined it, crowding her against the lockers, fangs grazing that stubborn jaw.

Would she still glare up at him with those fiery eyes when fangs pressed to her throat?

Would she taste like defiance or fear? Or maybe even…

His phone buzzed. H/N exhaled sharply through his nose.

She'd be late. Definitely, deliberately late.

Good. Let her have her petty rebellions. They made the eventual victory sweeter.

Because the game wasn’t fun if he didn’t give her a head start.

To be continued....

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

♡ Author’s note Hello lovelies,

I’m back with a new story...one that’s been tugging at my heart and haunting my thoughts ever since ENHYPEN dropped their Make You Mine concept. This time, we’re diving into a world of tension, obsession, and slow-burning emotion, where one secret could change everything.

Expect emotional highs, quiet longing, stolen glances, and maybe... a few bite marks. 🖤🩸 Let yourself get swept up, I promise it’ll be worth it.

I can’t wait to hear what you think.

Thank you, as always. 💖

Love, YumiYue 🌙

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

Please like, share, and follow! ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

Tag list: @reallysparklychaos

Follow me on: 📸 Instagram /🎵 TikTok: @yumiyue07 📝 Wattpad: @LunaVerse_YumiYue

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fan fiction inspired by ENHYPEN’s song “Bad Desire”. All characters and events are fictional and are not intended to represent real people or events.

© 2025 LunaVerse - YumiYue07. All rights reserved. Please do not repost or reproduce this story without permission. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

[asrisgratitudejournal]

Doktor

ALHAMDULILLAHHH your girl is now a Doctor! Memasuki era: “Ms. or Mrs.?” “Doctor” lolololol.

Duh aslinya banyak banget yang mau dibahas dan diceritain di sini dari kebodohan prep dan gimana Allah menyelematkanku, keberjalanan viva 3JAM, sampe post-viva dan apa yang kurasakan sekarang. Sama semalam somehow keingetan obrolan aku dengan Mas Rezky beberapa minggu kemarin karena dia lagi pusing nyari supervisor PhD (yang ini agak random). Tapi barusan banget tuh aku merem-merem mengantuk sampe TIDUR DI KURSI!!! padahal lagi main Duolingo, saking dinginnya ruangan dan laper dan emang ngantuk juga aja kali ya. Barusan dari jam 1 nontonin youtube aja si Eurija (Jang Woo Young di channel ootb), lucu banget ni orang tolong super naksir. Sama sebelumnya nonton Netflix episode 1 Screwballs, spinoff-nya Hongkimdongjon di Netflix. TERUS baru tahu recently kalau di mac tuh GABISA DOWNLOAD EPISODE Netflix buat ditonton offline!!! Payah btul.

Ok sekarang berhubung udah lumayan bangun, mari kita ketik apa yang ingin diketik. Bikin outline dulu:

Pre-viva: ngelantur dan baru nyentuh tesis H-2

Iyah jadi sebetulnya udah tahu kalau aku harus segera kembali me-review itu thesis setebel-tebel apa tau dari minimal seminggu sebelum viva lah. Vivanya kan Rabu yah. Eh dia tu sampe Jumat minggu sebelumnya masih aja sibuk BIKIN MODUL KULAP yang masih Mei!!! Dan gaada yang nyuruh juga. Emang penyakit distraksi dan procrastinating aja ini mah. Yaudah kupikir pas Jumat sore itu: weekend deh kalo gitu akan kubaca (sampe bawa pulang printed thesis). Kenyataannya Sabtu–Minggu AKU TEPAR karena kena FLU, 2 hari betul-betul bedrest aja bahkan nggak baca buku atau ngelukis atau ngapa-ngapain? Lupa jujur Sabtu–Minggu ngapain aja.

Senin kayanya deh baru beneran buka thesis dan dari BAB 1 sudah menemukan typo dan keanehan numbering figure (Figure 1.2.-nya nggak ada WKWKW, dari Fig 1.1. langsung loncat ke Fig.1.3.). Ada Figure yang warna hijau dan kuningnya juga nggak keluar… aneh banget. Anyways. Begitulah. Sama mulai mikirin teknis juga: ruangan di mana yang internetnya ok dan cepat dan smooth.

Selasa mulai mindahin semua layar ke ruangan seminar (karena ternyata di situ ada router dan di situ lah internet paling cepat dan smooth). Di hari Selasa itu juga ku baru mulai belajar yang sistematis. Mulai coret-coret di papan tulis summary thesis, mulai cuap-cuap lagi latihan verbally ngomongin ni riset (setelah 2 bulan off dan UDAH LAMA banget gak mikir in English, speak in English, and specifically mikirin ni riset). Alhamdulillah mayan dapet banyak di hari Selasa itu, walaupun masih banyak hal-hal krusial yang belom kucover.

Rabu dari jam 11 ku udah mulai lagi DAN DI SINILAH periode penting yang kubersyukur banget aku GOT OVER some parts di pagi ini. Jadi aku list hal-hal apa aja yang perlu kubaca (mostly kepikiran pas teraweh malem sebelumnya lols), diantaranya: semua R2R dari paper 1 yang kena reject 2x itu, karena pasti banyak banget yang dicover dan crucial di situ (kenapa sampe kena reject 2x karena emang SUSAH banget ni DATA ambil kesimpulannya). Going over the R2R made me rememeber again what was weird, what has been I improved in the manuscript, what’s the most challenging part in working with this specific cores. DAN betul aja pas viva kayanya 50% waktu hampir banyak abis di paper 1 ini (walaupun udah published). Sama salah satu hal yang ku-list untuk dibaca lagi adalah: cara kerja LUMEX(!) ku hapalin in 20mins sih semua AAS (Atomic Absorption Spectroscopy) itu… dan bener aja ditanya. HAMDALAH.

Betulan aku bersyukur sekali hasil belajar pagi itu sangat berguna huhu.

Viva: LAPER dan tapi examinersku BAIK HATI SEMUA

Viva! Mama papa dateng jam 14.30 keknya. Asar solat di Musola atas dalas. Jam 16.30 teng mulai. Nungguin Lawrence agak telat karena dia agak bermasalah sama booking ruangan. Udah deh langsung ngobrol kita.

Di awal Bob udah ngasih disclaimer tujuan viva ini apa: “we’re not here to grill you, we’re here to have a productive discussion”. Ku langsung lega banget dengernya (walaupun ku juga udah tahu sih, karena di interview transfer of status dan confirmation of status juga bentuknya kaya gitu, cuma ini lebih lama aja). Ada part udah di last half leg lagi bahas Hg phase terus tiba-tiba kita masuk bahas “gas law”. Aku yang “yes… following ideal gas law…”. Lawrence: “don’t worry Asri I won’t ask you what gas law is and ask you to write the formula… this is not viva in 10–20 years ago” sambil ketawa. HUHU. Sangat baik. I mean, not that I don’t know what ideal gas law is, tapi just the fact that they were being SO NICE amat sangat touched me.

Terus yaudah beneran vibe dan atmospherenya amat sangat santai dan causal dan nice. IT HELPED ME A LOT WITH THINKING. Bob juga baik banget (as usual). DAN baiknya Lawrence tuh: kadang ada pertanyaan dia yang ngetes kan (bukan kadang sih, emang hampir semua pertanyaan dia ngetes, jadi dia udah tahu kurleb jawabannya di area mana atau apa, terus mau ngecek kalo aku tuh nyampe ke sana gaksih atau kepikiran itu gaksih). Nah di awal-awal tuh kan AK LAPER BANGET YAH. Itu literally mulai setengah5 sore jam-jam bego-begonya  puasa tuh, jadi di awal aku MISSED BANGET. Ditanya kalimat pertama abstract maksudnya apa aja jawabnya mutuh mikir 10 DETIK. Terus Lawrence yang BANTUIN ngasih clue, mengarahkan aku ke jalan yang lurus kalau sudah straying, terus dia selalu me-rephrase jawaban aku dan confirming apakah aku sudah berada di area jawaban yang benar atau belum… kalau belum juga dia yang “oh iya gapapa emang susah buat nyampe ke sana don’t worry”. DUH pokoknya baik banget deh.

Pas kupikir-pikir lagi pertanyaannya Lawrence juga emang hal-hal yang gaakan bisa kuprediksi anyways sih, betulan udah ke level yang “aplikasi dari finding kamu ini ke mana, gimana formulasinya kalau mau bikin model, parameter apa yang harus kita punya, apa constraintsnya”. Betulan pertanyaan yang came from experience, cuma bisa dateng dari orang yang udah ngerjain ini lama banget. Tapi… pertanyaan dia tuh yang ku masih bisa paham coming from-nya dari mana gitu, jadi jawabannya juga masih bisa dicari/ditrace ke arah mana.

Yang agak lebih susah malah ternyata pertanyaan-pertanyaan dari Bob, karena BASIC banget beneran dia nanya yang “oh emangnya Hg gabisa di carbonate?”, buat ku dan Lawrence agak you don’t say karena both of us are already in the deep forest, while Bob di luar.

Oh FYI, jadi vivaku pengujinya 2: Bob dan Lawrence. Bob professor internal examiner dari Oxford, dia sehari-harinya ngerjain carbon budget and weathering, kebanyakan metals yang dipake Rhenium, Osmium isotopes, dan nggak terlalu familiar dengan Hg. Versus Lawrence, sekarang assistant prof di UV Amsterdam, dulu thesisnya sama Tamsin juga dan dia yang pioneering use of Hg proxy jadi dia sangat sangat well-read in Hg. Walaupun sekarang Lawrence juga udah pivoting dan memperluas works dia di other metals juga sih, dan kayanya judul title dia sekarang sebagai assistant prof juga berhubungan dengan global carbon cycle.

Yang ku amat syukurin juga adalah: aku udah pernah ngobrol sama 2 orang ini sebelumnya. Jadi minimal merekapun udah tau aku gitu kan, background aku gimana, aksen aku ngomong Bahasa Inggris gimana. Sama Bob ku pernah demonstrating field trip Dorset, jadi 10 hari ku selalu sama-sama dia siang dan malam (sama Stuart juga sih), terus kalau malam kita nge-pub bareng juga ngobrol ngalur ngidul. Di dept suka ngobrol juga pas papasan di tangga walau basa basi. Ku juga mayan dekat sama istrinya Bob (Sarah) karena dulu Sarah sempat jadi outreach officer di dept dan aku suka banget ngisi ikut-ikut outreach. OH IYA JUGA YA. Ku bahkan udah sempat ketemu anak-anakny Bob LOL.

Ketemu Lawrence di Lyon pas Goldschmidt, ku diajak lunch bareng sama Tamsin, Isabel, Joost, kita makan salad sambil bahas data. Kayanya waktu itu Lawrence proposing some ideas terus nanya feasible gaksih data ini buat kita kerjain. Aku yang anak bawang di meja itu waktu itu cuma bengang-bengong doang, walaupun Lawrence juga sempat nawarin sih dia punya data core Devonian yang udah matured/baked banget dan mau di-interpret sama dia signal Hg-nya. Ku betulan udah lupa banget sama data itu dan gak in touch lagi sama dia afterwards lol.

Tapi iya. Ku bersyukur banget minimal ku udah ngerasa familiar(?) sama examinersku ini jadi nggak terlalu nervous. Bayangin kalau aku ketemu examiner yang ku belum pernah ngobrol sama sekali… akupun gaktau what to expect… Thanks banget Tamsin dan team for choosing Lawrence to be my examiner huhu.

OH sama di awal juga ditanya sih “gimana covid impacting your PhD?” ya kubilang aja technically jelas ada pushback, termasuk di bagian gak dapet tabung propane, tapi yang paling gede jelas: PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPACT.

Walaupun mayan lega dari awal mereka udah yang ngasih huge compliments (yang di akhir di-emphasize lagi): “IT’S an impressive thesis, Asri, we really enjoyed reading it.” (MAU MENANGIS RASANYA).

Terus yaudah pas diumumin “passed with minor corrections” udah senang banget dan apalagi pas dibilang “it’s very minor corrections, probably half-day work” makin girang lagi ALHAMDULILAH YAALLAH.

Post-viva: anti-klimaks ngerasa “hah terus? Udah gitu doang?”

Yaudah beres viva tu gabisa mikir selain “LAPER BANGET”. Oh iya jadi vivanya mulai 16.30, ku kemarin udah minta arrange sama Bob “dari jam 18 boleh gak break 30 menit buat buka?”, terus kata Bob kalau mau 40 menit juga gapapa. Jadinya 18–18.40 break buat buka puasa dan solat Magrib. Itu aku cuma dapet nyemil 1 lemper, 1 ketan, sama 1 sus cake Holland Bakery dibawain sama Mama. Itu pas break jam 18 betulan baru banget beres diskusi Chapter 2. Bahkan itu di situ setengah jalan-pun belum sampe awalnya kupikir. Untungnya tapi 2 chapters experimental results setelahnya nggak dikulik se-ekstrim si chapter 2 ini. Jadi yaudah beres pas 20.00 teng. Awalnya si Bob bilang “kamu leave dulu aja Asri nanti 20.03 masuk lagi”. EH PAS BANGET dia ngomong gitu fire alarm di Oxford BUNYI (posisinya Bob di Oxford dan Lawrence di Amsterdam). Jadilah dia cabs. Terus kata Lawrence leave dulu aja kita, tapi kamu standby di email ya biar kalau dipanggil bisa langsung masuk.

Karena ku laper banget, ku langsung mencari NASI selepas itu. Mama papa tarawehan di musola gd A. Belum sempat makan udah dipanggil buat masuk. Jadi ada nasipadang di depan mejaku pas diumumin result.

[Lanjut menulis di rumah jam 23.51 di kasur karena tadi pas nulis di ofis udah keburu jam 17 terus harus buru-buru pulang supaya sampai rumah sebelum azan Magrib]

Terus udah lupa mau bahas apa lagi. OH. Yaudah, beres diumumin selamat-selamat tu jam 20.20-an. Langsung foto-foto sama Mama Papa. Oh. Diselametin dulu deng sama Mama, kalimat yang keluar pertama kali: “selamat ya Kak… Alhamdulillah selesai. Dah sekarang bisa fokus semoga segera ketemu jodohnya”… dikira selama ini diriku tidak fokus mencari jodoh . Anyways, mayan kecewa aja sih, betul-betul di momen itu yang “YAH Udah secapek ini 4.5 tahun masih belum good enough dan satisfactory enough diriku ini untuk Mamaku sendiri…” tapi yaudah mau gimana lagi, ku gakbisa mengubah mindset Mamaku juga kan. Apparently memang buat dia aku tidak cukup menjadi diriku sendiri 1 orang dengan gelar Doktor, harus ada pasangannya, baru dia bisa fully bahagia, baru dia bisa tenang. There is nothing I can do about it anyways… (shrugging) (acting cool) (dalem hati menangis dan sepertinya harus konseling lagi karena tidak mendapat validasi dari orang tua sendiri. SETELAH MENDAPAT GELAR DOKTOR DARI UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD).

Iyah.

Yaudah habis foto-foto, makan nasi, beres-beres, pulang. Kayanya keluar dari gedung A tepat jam 21.00.

Bob langsung blast email ke mailing list departemen ngabarin ke SEMUA orang subject emailnya: “Dr. Asri Indraswari”. Tamsin langsung ngemail selamat, Joost juga, tapi karena udah malem banget udah ga pengen liat screen laptop lagi jadinya baru kubalas email-email mereka besok siangnya. Grup PPI Oxford ramai karena ada Bli Kris dapet blast emailnya juga dan ngeforward screenshotan email Bob ke grup. Grup UI rame karena Mas Felix yg ngescreenshot. Adewunmi langsung nelpon whatsapp JAUH-JAUH DARI CANADA ngucapin selamat. Udah deh sampai sekarang masih ada euphorianya dikit dari postingan di sosial media (aku belum post di LinkedIn dan Facebook).

Ku kayanya baru bisa tidur jam 2.30 deh malam itu (dan bangun lagi sahur 03.45). Sampai rumah langsung mandi, Isya, teraweh, terus yaudah di kasur aja chat-chat dan ngereply-reply DM orang.

Terus pas di kasur yaudah yang kubilang sesuai heading di atas. Diny ngechat terus ku dengan sadar ngetik “agak anti-climax yah, beres-beres tu kayak: lah? Udah? Gitu doang? Terus?”…

Tips untuk mencari supervisor PhD

Duh tadinya mau kugabungin di sini tapi ini udah 6 pages A4 di word panjang banget ceritanya wkwkwk. Akan ku buat separate post deh ya mungkin besok (hari ini, udah ganti hari). Intinya tapi outlinenya seperti ini:

Jangan pilih prof yang terlalu big name (karena resiko di-abandon-nya besar sekali karena dia super sibuk), case in point: spvnya Listi flatmate aku dulu

Tapi jangan pilih prof yang masih merintis masih muda juga (resiko untuk dia ambis dan breathing on your neck sangat tinggi, jadi gaada freedom karena di-micromanage)

Jangan pilih prof yang miskin (nanti susah ngapa-ngapain, gaada fasilitasnya, kita harus ngerjain semua sendiri from scratch)

Kalau bisa pilih prof yang mayan banyak kolaboratornya dan kalo bisa cukup internesyenel (nggak dari S1, S2, S3 di kampus ituuuuu aja terus). Ini lebih ke memperluas network dan opportunity dan research facility juga sih.

Lah jadi panjang ini masuk ke halaman 7. Yaudah intinya tapi gitu.

Mau numpang ngeluh di UI BANYAK BANGET DEH NYAMUK. Ku digigitin sampe sekarang jadinya garuk-garuk terus. HIH.

Kututup postnya di sini. Sekian dan terima kasih.

00.08 rumah Kemuning (last half part) dan 16.30 ofis UI (first half).

[herelivesahobbit]

GALADRIEL X SAURON YES HE'S AN EVIL CONTROL FREAK DEATH LORD BUT I SHIP THEM ANYWAY THESIS STATEMENT

its not about shipping in the sense of like ooo they should marry and have babies and live happily ever after, its not even quite about the popular and enjoyable seduction/corruption trope undercurrents to which I am NOT immune (although of course those are there in heaps) - no what cinches it for me is the push and pull between dark and light, between good and evil, two diametrically opposed powerful beings with a core of something in common that creates a reciprocal and powerful attraction/repulsion.

So if the Ring that we see in LOTR is Sauron's manipulative, seductive, corrupting influence distilled and magnified, Sauron here at present is embodying all of that, THIS is that energy, in a hot humanoid form lol. The way the Ring works, the way its almost bored and sleep mode in the Shire and mostly just kind of toys around with the lesser beings (as per it), and then gets super excited being around anyone powerful and worthy, doing the Most to grab attention, of course always with the goal of enjoying a contest with a worthy adversary before breaking them down and bending them to its will...its very coaxing and cooing and insidiously gentle kind of but also evil...don't tell me there's nothing sexual in that, there is...its so them...the Ring IS sexually coded and so it makes sense that Sauron is sexually coded and obsessed with "winning" over the most powerful players in the game and of all the people tempted by the ring in LOTR, Galadriel was the MOST dangerous because she truly could have WIELDED that power to max effect (SHE WAS THE ONE T B H), and the Ring KNEW that and it tempted her anyway....SO WHAT DOES IT MEAN HMMM...ive connected the dots ive connected them...

anyway there's a lot of Sauron/the Rings seductive dynamics from canon they are expanding on with Sauron x Galadriel here and its delicious to see it being portrayed by two hot people and THATS WHY I SHIP IT.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Seeing in The New York Times the photograph of Helen Keller in the Observation Tower of the Empire State Building, I [Dr. John H. Finley] wrote her asking her what she really “saw” from that height. This remarkable letter written by her came in answer and was published in The New York Times Magazine. It will be agreed by all who read it that, as she said, she “beheld a brighter prospect than my friends with two good eyes.”

January 13, 1932 Dear Dr. Finley:

After many days and many tribulations which are inseparable from existence here below, I sit down to the pleasure of writing to you and answering your delightful question, “What Did You Think ‘of the Sight’ When You Were on the Top of the Empire Building?”

Frankly, I was so entranced “seeing” that I did not think about the sight. If there was a subconscious thought of it, it was in the nature of gratitude to God for having given the blind seeing minds. As I now recall the view I had from the Empire Tower, I am convinced that, until we have looked into darkness, we cannot know what a divine thing vision is.

Perhaps I beheld a brighter prospect than my companions with two good eyes. Anyway, a blind friend gave me the best description I had of the Empire Building until I saw it myself.

Do I hear you reply, “I suppose to you it is a reasonable thesis that the universe is all a dream, and that the blind only are awake?” Y—es—no doubt I shall be left at the Last Day on the other bank defending the incredible prodigies of the unseen world, and, more incredible still, the strange grass and skies the blind behold are greener grass and bluer skies than ordinary eyes see. I will concede that my guides saw a thousand things that escaped me from the top of the Empire Building, but I am not envious. For imagination creates distances and horizons that reach to the end of the world. It is as easy for the mind to think in stars as in cobble-stones. Sightless Milton dreamed visions no one else could see. Radiant with an inward light, he sent forth rays by which mankind beholds the realms of Paradise.

But what of the Empire Building? It was a thrilling experience to be whizzed in a “lift” a quarter of a mile heavenward, and to see New York spread out like a marvellous tapestry beneath us. There was the Hudson—more like the flash of a sword-blade than a noble river. The little island of Manhattan, set like a jewel in its nest of rainbow waters, stared up into my face, and the solar system circled about my head! Why, I thought, the sun and the stars are suburbs of New York, and I never knew it! I had a sort of wild desire to invest in a bit of real estate on one of the planets. All sense of depression and hard times vanished, I felt like being frivolous with the stars. But that was only for a moment. I am too static to feel quite natural in a Star View cottage on the Milky Way, which must be something of a merry-go-round even on quiet days.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the Empire Building so poetical. From everyone except my blind friend I had received an impression of sordid materialism—the piling up of one steel honeycomb upon another with no real purpose but to satisfy the American craving for the superlative in everything. A Frenchman has said, in his exalted moments the American fancies himself a demigod, nay, a god; for only gods never tire of the prodigious. The highest, the largest, the most costly is the breath of his vanity.

Well, I see in the Empire Building something else—passionate skill, arduous and fearless idealism. The tallest building is a victory of imagination. Instead of crouching close to earth like a beast, the spirit of man soars to higher regions, and from this new point of vantage he looks upon the impossible with fortified courage and dreams yet more magnificent enterprises.

What did I “see and hear” from the Empire Tower? As I stood there ’twixt earth and sky, I saw a romantic structure wrought by human brains and hands that is to the burning eye of the sun a rival luminary. I saw it stand erect and serene in the midst of storm and the tumult of elemental commotion. I heard the hammer of Thor ring when the shaft began to rise upward. I saw the unconquerable steel, the flash of testing flames, the sword-like rivets. I heard the steam drills in pandemonium. I saw countless skilled workers welding together that mighty symmetry. I looked upon the marvel of frail, yet indomitable hands that lifted the tower to its dominating height.

Let cynics and supersensitive souls say what they will about American materialism and machine civilization. Beneath the surface are poetry, mysticism and inspiration that the Empire Building somehow symbolizes. In that giant shaft I see a groping toward beauty and spiritual vision. I am one of those who see and yet believe.

I hope I have not wearied you with my “screed” about sight and seeing. The length of this letter is a sign of long, long thoughts that bring me happiness.

I am, with every good wish for the New Year,

Sincerely yours, Helen Keller

Top photo: Times Wide World Photos/Letters of Note Bottom photo: Associated Press

[deathofacupid]

games // part one | peter parker

(the spacing is so weird... don't worry about it...)

masterlist to this here!

tw: underage drinking, angst kinda, mentions of sex and underage drug use, making out, y/n

just y/n

that's all i can say

kinda trash but whateverrr (i didn't really proofread-)

will probably have multiple parts that aren't that long?? idk

this one's 1.1k+ words

peter's p.o.v.

y/n stark had never fallen in love. she had everything she needed, all the money, right in the palm of her hand.

yes, she was smart. one of the top students at midtown high. her grades spelt that out. so why wasn't she doing anything with herself? why didn't she put effort into the things she did? why was she always making questionable decisons? smoking? drinking? parties? drugs and one-night stands? 

because she didn't care.

she didn't care simply since she would take over her father's company, anyways. no college or anything, simply a one-way ticket to be the c.e.o. of stark industries. that was her life plan.

plus hook-ups on weekends.

most nights were spent partying, drinking, and doing drugs. and the longest she'd ever dated a guy was 6 days (more or less).

to say the least, she had a reputation.

peter knew that, so he wasn't quite sure why he let himself fall in love with her, even though they'd never talked.

he glanced over to her figure that was slumped over her desk slightly, as she bit her lip in concentration. peter felt his heart beating a little faster.

"-once you finish that, turn it in. though," ms. cartwright paused, "you may, actually probably will, have to work with your partner outside of school to complete this. choose your person carefully, and don't forget, you have 'til wednesday. go ahead and find a partner."

"really, ms. cartwright? a project? aren't you supposed to be the cool teacher?" y/n quipped, not really meaning to make it sound like a joke, but some people, including himself, chuckled.

but peter's mood dropped again as he sighed, because he didn't have any friends in this class, so he prepared himself to plead the teacher to let him work alone.

suddenly, someone sat down next to him, making peter look up.

"hey, parker." his eyes immediately widened.

"oh! uh, h-hi, y/n."

she nodded briefly, "wanna partner up?"

"with- with me?" he asked, looking around.

"um, yes?" y/n raised an eyebrow. "who else?"

"right, right." it was awkward for a second, and he wanted to break the silence so bad. clearing his throat, "so i was thinking that we could do maybe... something for thermodynamic properties of atomic defects for quantum technologies? a model paired with a thesis, or, like, prediction for, uh, it, or," he looked up as he was writing to make sure she was still listening, "and add some sorta... emitter?"

"that's... actually really smart. maybe workshop on the defects part though, but i think we can make it work. let's blow them away, parker."

peter couldn't stop the grin that made it's way onto his face.

a girl was talking to him. a pretty girl. one that wasn't aunt may or mj. sure, yeah, it was for a group project, but still. 

it counted, he decided.

the rest of class was spent brainstorming, and then he felt a little sad once the bell rung and she had to leave, before that, though, y/n wrote her number on his paper, adding a little heart.

"wanna meet up after school? we can work on it and get it out of the way."

"yes, please!" he said, a little too happily, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "um, yeah, th- that's cool. i guess."

y/n laughed, and he decided it was the prettiest sound ever. "solid, babes." he froze momentarily, but he knew she didn't mean it sexually. but he still blushed, and y/n caught that but said nothing for his sake.

"'kay, see you then. text you the deets."

only aunt may ever used the word "deets," but when y/n said it, it sounded... cool, and it made him want to start using it, too.

he couldn't wait to brag to ned.

now who's the female-less dweeb?

his next period was lunch, so he could tell. ned. everything. peter was honestly still surprised that out of everyone in the whole classroom, she picked him.

unless she's using you for answers, a little voice rang at the his back of his head.

he shook it away. why would she need his help? or answers? y/n was equally smart, if not smarter.

right.

she came to me because i'm not 100% of a loser. i'm worth something as peter.

peter sat down at his normal seat on the lunchroom, right by ned.

"god, ned, you'll never believe it! ned, bro! guess, guess!"

"uh... the water fountain doesn't make the hallway smell like farts every time someone uses it because it's fixed now?"

"that... that was specific."

"hey, man, i gotta get water from somewhere."

"okay, well, either way, no."

"ooh! you- you... i don't know. just tell me!"

"alright, alright. get ready. are you ready now?"

"yeah! say it!"

"100% ready?"

"yes!"

"i got," peter started, pausing for dramatic effect, "a pretty girl's number!"

"really? no way!"

"and, and, it's not just any pretty girl! it's y/n! yeah! y/n stark!”

"no. way. oh my gosh, peter! that's insane!"

"i know, i know, i know!"

"so? now what?"

"what do you mean?"

"like... are you gonna meet up with her?"

"uh. maybe? i dunno. i've seen her at the tower, like, once."

"won't mr. stark," he shrugged, "not want you dating... his daughter?"

peter paused, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "i... don't think we're quite there, ned," he answered honestly.

he decided not to mention the fact that it was for a group project.

peter spent the rest of lunch tuning out ned and day-dreaming about her. and then when he got home, he stared at his phone. maybe he was waiting for a text from her?

it didn't matter. 

why would she willingly do that?

then another thought popped into his mind, was she waiting for him? 

that's stupid. there's no reason for her to wait. if she wanted to talk to me, she would've done so. 

but what if she is? then i should message her. 

wait, no, i can't look desperate!

maybe-

shut up conscious!

he felt so silly, stressing over such a small thing. but then again, this was high school. practically everything you said or did mattered. finally, he decided he'd text her first. 

peter: hi. it's|

the cursor blinked in front of him, mocking peter. he erased it and tried again. 

peter: hey, it's|

or did "hi" sound better? no, no, hey was cooler. but he didn't want her to think it was hey, because it wasn't hey. it was just hey. 

well, now he had another problem. "hey" didn't look like a word anymore. it looked like hay misspelled. peter dragged a hand down his face, frustrated. 

peter: hi y/n i'm hopelessly in love with you and overjoyed that you picked me to be your partner marry me now? please| 

that was most likely not better. 

he settled for, at last;

peter: hey, it's peter. when do you wanna meet up? 

delivered at 5:31

[hollywoodsargeant]

What are your favorite Logan and/or Loscar pics?

++ do you have any where Logan is actually smiling with his teeth? I love his smile so much but everytime he sees a camera he does exactly this face :)

i love getting these asks. yes i want to talk about logan for an unnecessary amount of time. yes i will show you pictures of him. this is the greatest day of my life. ik you did not ask for commentary you just asked for pictures but the commentary is included for free thanks for coming

i have so many logan pics… easy answer is they’re all my favorite which is real but i won’t be annoying. also applies to loscar. let’s go. i will give both logan and loscar pics and YES i definitely have some where he's smiling with his teeth i will include (+ if you have not seen my thesis yet i have some real insanity about his smiling tendencies)

anyways. here u go

okay first is this picture bc it's been in my favorites album forever and i think. this is the third time i've been asked for my favorite logan pictures and i always include this one. great merch shoot all around i owe my life to whoever decided it was a good idea to put him in a sleeveless shirt

something about this fucking polo shirt man... i remember seeing a video clip of him walking into the paddock and being like omg the fucking polo shirt. and i took some really horrible quality screenshots. so the actual photo of him is great for my business... and this is monaco fyi

bahrain press con loscar... there r many images from this press conference that i enjoy but here's the two of them gayly staring at each other. and thank god for oscar piastri in shorts great for my business (i want to bite his thighs)

my friend described this once as "the picture where oscar has fully given up" (implied on acting straight) and i think about that a lot

more recent loscar. spectacular work. i love this picture so much it's my banner or whatever on here... and it includes some logan smiling with his teeth. more oscar giving up. really good all around thank you whoever decided mclaren and williams should be paired up here again there are other images from this fanzone thing that i love but this one is my fav

kyle... logan kyle... my favorite florida boys... another one that i'm like. i can't not include it. this one is my banner on twitter (NOT X) and i still love it to tiny little pieces. even if logan is in ultimate Smiling For The Camera Mode i just think he is neat. hockey guy. also hearing kyle talk about this night amuses me bc he called logan a superstar

so. yeah i don't know. something something hometown boy... florida man... special helmet et cetera. he clearly just got a haircut before miami and it's really apparent in all of these shoot photos ANYWAYS this is my favorite picture from his helmet shoot. this or the one of him and benny and benny's wife that is not from the shoot actually it was just on benny's instagram but it makes me smile

his suit does him well. Next

h. for one he looks very impeccably like a ken doll in the first one then the second angle where he's smiling with teeth... very important. i love him so very much i will put him in my pocket goodbye forever

more of him laughing w alex for Reasons. his tendency to touch with the back of his hand... especially while laughing... let's not get into that. bonus austin 2022 bc i am still amused by the fact that alex was against logan in that head2head for some inexplicable reason. it was never acknowledged. latifi just was not there

I JUST THINK HE'S CUTE.

peak logan smile. he's so perfect. Goodnight. actually here's a bunch of random shit i like:

i hit the image limit. thanks man

[obscurecurse]

this isn't even about thesis it's just about my art practice. yeah that's right we're calling it a ""practice"" now. i'm so pretentious these days. architectural historian in training.

it was bad for me to discover the ennis house at this point. lol. it's not talked about as much as his other work, but frank lloyd wright dedicated an insane amount of time to experimenting with concrete. the thing about concrete (if you're not in the trades) is that there are standards for it, professionally - and you can have it mixed and delivered by a concrete mixing truck, orrrr you can mix it yourself on site. but it's actually kind of like baking. like it's just a recipe comprised of different powders and aggregates. a lot of engineering schools will make you try out your own recipes to illustrate this. it's a very interesting material. i think part of why i love brutalism is i understand how complicated and advanced it is. frank had his own technique called "desert masonry." the textile block houses were something else he experimented with. he thought standard CMU/concrete blocks were The Uglist Thing in the world, so he pulled from organic forms to make his own custom blocks. there's issues with it. they LEAK. this system, his proprietary system, is bad to make houses out of lol.

but they're called "textile blocks" because there is rebar woven in between them, like a textile. here's a piece where the system failed and you can see the steel threaded through. THE WARP AND THE WEFT. i used to do professional fiber art restoration so when i tell you i was having a religious experience to discover the meaning behind the name.

there are different modules, to turn corners, and such. they're very pretty and remind me a lot of breeze blocks, which actually come from asia. frank was notoriously asia-pilled. (he loved japan, but it wasn't just japan.) i think the thing i want to impress upon you here is that, ennis house was completed in like 1920. "breeze blocks" as a common feature of american mid-century modern did not happen for another 30 years. this system was experimental. it was extremely ahead of its time.

anyway i found a modern company that does reproductions of the FLW blocks for the purpose of restoring his historically protected designs

i think this summer i'm going to start my own journey of concrete and start making planters/small sculptures. my aunt worked in artist reproduction of stained glass for decades. the high-art reproduction thing is in my blood. so maybe to start i'll find a system like textile blocks to make renditions of. or come up with H or 3-infused breeze blocks?

the other thing i have to tell you is that tadao ando, another famous architect who works in concrete, has his own proprietary recipe as well. like if you're committed to this material you experiment with it extensively. the "materials science" research is my favorite aspect of boutique architecture throughout history. don't get me going on the johnson wax headquarters experiment. for me, this is all part of a bigger journey.

[fchsadfa]

Project "Who are you" has begun.

Everyone say hi to JJ, who jumped on my lap just as I was running out of thread and about to get up for more, so I had to write this post and let her cuddle instead of disturbing her. Thanks JJ

If you're wondering why the stitches on the two cuffs are so different in quality, it's because I thought it would be funny to use my left hand for one and my right hand for the other. Because you don’t get better without trying.

I'm answering the challenge prompt of "tell us something about you" by stealing one of my dad's ratty jean jackets from the scrap heap and added visible mending and patches and making it my own.

Project task list (under cut):

[Summary so you don't have to click read more: brainstorming ideas, turning those ideas into a prioritized to-do list, getting weirdly existential (if that's even the right philosophy) and rambling. Somehow it is now after midnight??? GOODNIGHT]

Put "MAKE BAD ART" big on the back. Optional: "What is bad art? I think that would be art that nobody likes, and I don't think that exists" small around the MAKE BAD ART (and now I'm driving myself crazy bc I could SWEAR that's paraphrasing a quote about "bad music" by Vampire Weekend frontman Ezra Koenig and I can't find evidence of the original???) Optional bc 1. There probably is art that nobody likes. Not even the artist. 2. That's... not how I would define bad art. 3. Kinda undermines the message of MAKE BAD ART ?

DIY folk-punk band patches. I know the bands I want to do, you'll find out if and when I make them. I feel fairly confident that the bands would be cool with me making my own patches, because I'm never going to see these bands in concert because most of them don't even exist anymore! And also DIY is very punk rock. Anyways I know I like their music and their band names, but I want to do some background research before I commit to putting them on the jacket. Just in case they're idk secretly Republicans or something (lmao unlikely)

Lots and lots of structural mending. Pretty much every hem is split at the fold of the fabric. There's holes (some still have the warp threads, and I can use those as a guide for new woven patches right? I guess I'll fuck around and find out)

"What's more punk than the public library" patch

It would be extremely funny to pair my iron on Sagittarius patch with one that says "Myers Briggs types are horoscopes for people who think they're too smart for horoscopes"

I gotta make a "I put the BI in ambiguous" patch. I GOTTA. Less for me than as warning for other people. If you're attracted to me that makes you queer. Sorry.

Crying Club member patch. (Inside joke from art school, also it's cool to express your emotions)

??? More embellishments as I think of them/ find time and space to fit them in. Like flowers n shit. Oh hell yeah pansies!!! Little shisha mirror or just shiny sequins? (Is it cultural appropriation to put shisha mirrors...) A little black cat (Kitty Genovese...) A wolf (Anaïs Mitchell's song Tailor "and no one taught me how to cry who am I how to cry for what I wanted in the night who am I? Who am I) Heart on my sleeve! 4-H motto of learn to do by doing.

Brainstorming ideas: fast. Turning ideas into reality: slow as hell. Brainstorm big dreams and then figure out the easiest way of making them come true. For instance, I already hate how many of my patches are word based (despite how much I love words). Can I convey the same ideas using images? Should I play around with linoblock, will that give a better result than hand embroidering words? Is linoblock any faster than embroidering, if you're only intending on making 1 single print?

Okay prioritizing the to-do list:

The MAKE BAD ART. Probably as a patchwork patch (to pay homage to my mother's quilting) and also so I can unstitch it and move it around later. But it's the central thesis of my answer to the challenge, and since it's about a week until the meeting where we're supposed to show and share I need to get something done. Subtasks: a) measure jacket back b) source fabrics for patch c) draft design on patch backing d) fuck it, machine sew appliqué. I don't have time to hand sew this one. e) handsew the patch onto the jacket though! I don't know where the denim needles for my sewing machine are, and I want these stitches to be easily altered. Also that sexy sexy DIY aesthetic

The structural repairs. This jacket is WORN OUT. No subtasks because if I start cataloging how much work this is going to take I'm gonna cry.

Before making any patch designs, making an overall design plan. Figuring out size and placement, colours and composition. ART. But also not stressing too much about making it perfect because the whole point is MAKE BAD ART! And there's at least two other ragged jean jackets that I could fuck around with, even if this one fits me the best.

Oh god this jacket is going to be a STATEMENT. Several statements that hopefully make a cohesive whole. "What is a man? A miserable pile of secrets". Or maybe a slap dash happy collage of interests and aspirations and jokes. "Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing" hmm okay maybe there is some essential core of humanity and all these frivolous fripperies are vanities of vanities but like. I'm not stripping my soul bare for an art prompt for a group of people I barely know? Maybe answering the question of "who are you" with a smoke and mirrors show of things that I want you to think of me reveals a fundamental insecurity and empty hollowness inside but idk man, the way in which I choose to answer a question is part of the answer?

Wait hang on didn't I learn a theory in a psychology class that identity is formed by relationships. I am who I am in relation to YOU. Is that why I'm struggling with the prompt of "who are you" so much?! "Who are you"- what are you, a cop? Who wants to know. Who are YOU. So yeah, I feel good about answering the question by including bits of where I came from (like literally, my family. My dad's jeans/ genes) and by fostering connections into the future by symbolic things that people can connect to. It's a conversation starter. It's the mortifying ordeal of being known, baby!

[cinamun]

Now, by no means do I endorse teen sex, but teens are going to be teens and I raised two of them and I've never shied away from these topics with them. I was explicitly honest. You have to be, especially today. I didn't want them to do it not because they weren't 18 but because they weren't mentally mature enough to handle that responsibility. Teenagers think the world revolves around them and their worlds crumble at the slightest agitation. Everything is a big fucking deal at that age. Especially if you've been sheltered or have some privileges. The patriarchy started this shit by tying their worth as men to their wallets. Instead of just being kind and decent humans. We didn't set the standards, they did. Listen, truth be told my standards weren't as high as Indira's. Looking back, I wish someone would've pulled me to the side and told me. If they want to run game, make them pay. Only broke men get salty about the game anyway. Is it right NO, but it is what it is. And while I'm being honest, I would absolutely let Bishop fold me up like a pretzel. He can pull these dreads and do a little choke on the neck too. H's fine and looks like he smells goodt, I'd run my fingers through those curls and let him make me holla. Then leave whatever 5-star hotel we be staying at and block his number. Sometimes you just want to fuck the ain't shit nigga and then get the hell on.

"Sometimes you just want to fuck the ain't shit nigga." -Rich

Y'all sign up for a tee shirt in the back room. They're $25 dollars, come in black and white and sizes XS-XXXL. All funds received will go to restock the wings and cognac.

For my thesis I wrote about brain development and how the brain isn't fully mature until age 24. And the LAST to develop is the area of the brain that understands consequence. As Hope Diamond taught us, that's the prefrontal cortex. So while all these horny ass teenagers are running around cortex-less, fuckshit is BOUND to happen. Sometimes you get lucky and find a guy who sticks to his word and holds you accountable on top of the roof of the wrekka sto on prom night (and then you have twin babies with him). And sometimes you have to learn the game early because the patriarchy taught these niggas that you have a price and as long as they are hypermasculine with deep pockets, you belong to them (a certain OC whose name rhymes with windya).

Coming with the factuals as per usual, sis!

[callipraxia]

Thanks for answering my other Ask!

I haven't read it yet, because I wanted to get this other planned Ask out first, but I am going to try to read ur Answer soon! And once again, thank u for answering it.

Anyways, just wanted to say: "From the first seven pages of the School Year Fic manuscript,"

"ut oh, it felt good to work again! So, rather late in the month, I have decided to make so bold as to set myself some 2024 writing goals:

1: Finish my three unfinished experiments (“A Year of Living Magically,” “Tracey’s Journal,” and “The Unexpected Memoirs of Fiddleford H. McGucket”). If successful, then never, ever touch first-person PoV ever again.

2: Complete and begin revising a typed draft of the still-untitled school year fic.

2a: think of a decent title for the school year fic

3: Finally write that essay about “Little Gift Shop of Horrors.”

4: At least finish the reading for the Ford essay, and decide what the thesis of that thing is even going to be at this point.

5: Start a new series. Working title is “Cipher’s Rejects.” I have a first volume worked out in my head and beyond that, my ideas begin and end with a couple of song lyrics, so that should be fun."

Good luck with all these and that I am really excited for these and/or any other GF and/or etc. plans u may have.

(Though, no rush. Like, I can wait and stuff. Motivation can be fickle and writing can take awhile. And etc.).

I am esp. excited for "Cipher's Rejects" just based on that name alone, and the school year fic sounds like the kind of fic I would really love.

Also gonna try to check out ur non-revised and/or etc. Ford essay u posted, that should be fun.

Seeing some recent reblogs talking about Ford and Bill (and others) - which were interesting and fun to read - certainly show the Ford essay(s) will be fine. Like Ford beng kind of trigger-happy (and angey and stuff). LIke in TBOB hiim going on rant about how Rudokoph should have burned down the North Pole to ground or something like for making fun of his deformity (man, people REALLY made fun of ur six fingers, huh, Ford. The poor dude. Though, this reaction is knd of extreme. Funny though, and very Ford honestly).

Or something I always think of (one of my favorite lines and/or scenes from one of my favorite episodes) where Ford pulls out a gun super right away, saying "Your math is no match for math!" (lol). So funnily trigger-happy. Tbf though, this could have worked, but in this case it didn't. Luckily, Stan was able to think of something and help save everyone.

And the talks about Bill being kind of a spiteful ex (lmao) and Ford trying to get Ford to destroy and rule and stuff everything with him.

Anyways, all those talks by you and others were interesting, and I am quite certain the Ford essay; both current and the revised one, will be interesting.

Last of all, that reblog of a post talking about how the Dipper that lost Mabel to Smile Dip hurt me. Like, such a mundane, and a very real feeling kind of death (even though Smile Dip - It is Smile Dip, right? - is kind of out there), and just how much guilt and how destroyed Dipper would feel from this.

Like, The Society of Blind Eye Dipper basically, Soul Dipper, Amulet Mabel (in my mind Amulet Dipper also exists too out there. Considering all the canon timelines and/or universes and fan stuff, it is very likely, at least.. Also, Reverse Falls is real - close to canon/basically canon in my heart - to me. I love it), Gnome Queen Mabel, Digital World Dipper, etc., etc. already got me, and were so dark and depressing, and got me so interested and stuff.

But seeing someone talk about that universe and/or timeline too also made me realize how dark and depressing that one was too, and how much story potential it has too (along with the others. And/or stuff based and/or inspired on the others, but not exactly those universes or something and/or etc.).

Alright, done with my Asks (for) now with this!

See u for now! And have a great whatever time it is for ya. ^^

2/2.

I was...perhaps a touch over-optimistic at the start of the year/after one good day, but I did write half a chapter of the 'Unexpected Memoirs' the other day, and I've had several essays this year, one of which was pretty popular. Slowly, slowly, I claw my way back, lol. Thanks for the support! 

The Rudolph Rant somehow managed to pass through my head without making much of an impression the first time I read it, but I've become a bit obsessed with it since then. It's a moment that tells us so much about Ford's state of mind at the time...and, although it's probably mostly a joke, it could also hint at just how close he might have been to tipping over the edge into villainy. Bill’s great mistake there may (this thought is still only half-formed) have been *over*-identification – either he didn’t/couldn’t quite accept that Ford was, after all, a person separate from himself (and therefore liable to act and react in ways Bill wouldn’t have), or Bill had some kind of Ledger-Joker-esque complex where he deliberately wanted to break everyone down to seeing the world his way, or at least do that to everyone who he takes into his gang, but either way, it may have been the key miscalculation in his strategy. If he had been able to see past that...well, I’m not sure it would have ultimately been very good for Bill anyway, on the millions-of-years scale at least, but if he’d played on Ford’s existing desires and rationalization superpower instead and presented taking over the world as a way to do a good thing, he probably could have slippery-sloped him into pretty terrifying territory in a relatively short period of time.

That was both clever and gloomy of the Death-By-Smile-Dip OP, and it makes a degree of sense. Officially, Smile Dip was expired candy, but it reads pretty clearly as Mabel doing a frightening quantity of psychedelic drugs...plus, if I’m not too far mistaken, the dog she was hallucinating is locked up in the same ward as Bill in the end, and that has odd and unsettling implications in-universe as well. I hadn’t considered that last bit until I typed this, but now that I did...if I’m right and the dog in the Theraprism is the same as the dog in Mabel’s Smile Dip hallucinations, then death might actually have been a good way from the most horrifying outcome she could have gotten out of that experience...I’d reblogged the post because I’d started rambling about whether or not all the angry alt-Pineses were actually dead (since there’s lots of ways the Pineses could have not ended up with the same outcomes which technically didn’t kill any of them), but erased that after I wandered by accident from there and into the multiple levels of horror that could be involved with Mabel the Gnome Queen...ended up concluding that GQM was actually probably luckier if she was dead. Not that this would probably make her any happier about it/about her alt-selves and the alt-Dippers who either escaped or got rescued (since a plausible backstory for GQM could easily involve the gnomes killing or permanently disabling Dipper during his efforts to rescue her).  

...Yeah, I’m not writing that, so if anyone else wants it, steal away and just drop me a link when you post it.