#i still want to do my passion projects but i guess not in this economy

[virgodreamseer]

job hunting but the establishment is Good Omens' Hell?

I can't draw to save my life, hence the face emotes :/ my Good Omens hyper-fixation is still going strong.

[csuitebitches]

Family money/access to wealth seems like the #1 determinant of success.

Yes and no. I’ve seen spoiled brats grow up and suffer because their parents didn’t teach them things properly and they couldn’t handle the family wealth, which either led to the family company being led by professionals or bankrupt. I’ve seen grounded rich kids grow up and expand their family’s empire. It’s all a part of your calibre to have ambition.

A boy worked as a security guard at a prestigious conglomerate. He didn’t speak a word of English, he only spoke his native language. He hailed from a small village in an Asian country, and provided for his family.

However, his boss, the main security head, had a feeling that he was smart. And when a prestigious financial company came knocking on the company’s door for some hiring purpose (my memory fails me exactly why they’d visited the conglomerate), the head security took the opportunity to talk to HR. He asked him if the boy could give the exam that the financial company gave for hiring candidates.

HR thought that the security head had lost his mind.

“Are you insane? He can’t even speak English!” argued the HR.

“Sir, please, if you just give the boy a chance, just to give the exam… I’m sure he’ll do well,” pleaded the security head.

The HR thought for a second.

“Very well,” he decided. “The boy may give the exam. Let’s see if he’s as smart as you say so.”

The exam had two components to it. One was a theoretical test and another, a spoken interview.

The boy aced the theoretical test and was only one of two people from all the candidates to do so. But his lack of English failed him in the spoken interview.

Still, he had impressed the financial company’s panel. They told him that they would hire him, under various conditions - one of them being learning English in a mere four months.

For four months, the boy toiled and toiled, until he grasped English. The company was ready to pay for the English tuition expenses. And in four months, when they were satisfied with his level of fluency, he joined the company.

•

When I was 16, I began working. One of my first internships was at an education firm. A very kindly man mentored me and I learned a lot under him. He was passionate about education, especially educating backward, rural communities and previously had worked in a prestigious financial company. I was surprised to hear that he had left such a big job at the finance company to come and work in education. He said that the stress, burn out and lack of empathy wasn’t worth it. He told me how he would have to fire people in the most unsympathetic way possible - the company would provide him with a script, he would have to recite just that and watch the other person’s face fall. He couldn’t take the pressure that his job had anymore and felt stuck in his life. He wanted to create impact on people.

I learned plenty under him, and he was always ready to take me to business meetings and trips. He didn’t treat me like a child or as a teenager with unbalanced ideas - he would listen to my suggestions as a whole and give me genuinely honest feedback on it. I grew as a person under him.

My father later told me about my mentor’s backstory. You should have seen my face. There isn’t a single thing that gives away that he came from humble origins - his English impeccable, his knowledge vast, the way he dresses and carries himself with confidence - everything screamed “privileged upbringing” to me. I would have never guessed that he came from a challenged background and had to literally work his way up.

My former mentor now does social work. Him and his brother have created a project where they provide rural children who struggle to feed themselves with food.

The more calamities that exist, the more opportunities will come up. To survive in today’s world, you need to be able to solve problems. In an economy where we can see tiny start ups disrupting massive family business legacies, and with so much access to information and the net - if you don’t take advantage of every single thing you have to climb up, then you don’t really want what you truly want.

[treethymes]

On the surface, Takahata-san also likes to argue and has a passion to convince others, but he is very different inside. Miya-san has something sweet in him, and in the end, it comes down to (for him) "what's good is good, though it's not logical." In the case of Takahata-san, he is consistent. He is a person of logic. I heard that Yasuo Otsuka-san once said that Takahata-san is walking logic, and I'm logic riding a bike. -laughs-

I guess I should be able to get along with Takahata-san better (than Miya-san), but, film-wise, I sympathize more with what Miya-san makes. I feel that a part of Takahata-san is a bit cold. He is like a person who doesn't get hurt or feel failure fundamentally.

He doesn't say what he wants to say up front like Miya-san does. He looks like a warm guy, but once something happens, he totally changes. It's like he gets a totally different personality. When he denies someone, he denies everything about that person, including their personality. I think of him as a Stalinist. -laughs- Miya-san is a bit like a Trotskyist, but for me, they are both men (ojisan) of 1960s Anpo, having very intimidating tendencies. Especially, it's really something when they intimidate the young staff members. It's totally different from their everyday smiling nature. They get totally different personalities once they are in a project.

In short, in the 1960s way of saying things, if the end is just, the means don't matter. I think that for them, making a movie is still a kind of extension of the union movement. Making strategy, organizing people, and purging traitors-- it's the same. There are agitation and intimidation characteristics to any popular movement. Basically, it's a thorough organizing to carry out the top's will.

I think Studio Ghibli is (like) the Kremlin. -laughs- The real one is long gone, but it's still sitting in the middle of the field in Higashi Koganei. But in a sense, there is a reason for it's existence, meaning, I think it plays a certain role by existing. Just like those steel-like athletes could not be produced other than in the communist countries, a certain kind of people can not be produced by the principals of the market economy.

There should be a type of animator who can be fostered only by Ghibli, where the level of staff is really high, from in-between to painting. So, it can be valued in the sense that it cultured (such staff members) purely, but if you ask me if it's totally right, I'd say I don't think so. I think they should be disbanded immediately. -laughs- I think it would be more meaningful if those who grew up at Ghibli would go outside.

However, there are things that only Ghibli can do, and if it disappears, the tradition would disappear. But that's a relative value, and as for an individual value, I think they should be disbanded immediately. It's the same with the question of whether it got better after the Soviet Union was disbanded, but I think for creative work, anarchy is at least better than freedom under a state power.

It's like Miya-san is the chairman, and Takahata-san is the head of the party, or the president of the Russian Republic. Producer [Toshio] Suzuki is definitely the chief of KGB. But the things that are made and the reality of the organization which makes them are two totally different things. People who think such cohesion is good flock there.

What do other animators think of Ghibli? As far as I know, they basically respect Ghibli. It's half love, and half hate. A general response would be: it's a tremendous place, but I don't want to go there. Because they control you too tightly (at Ghibli). For example, (they tell you) come in at 10 in the morning and go home at 10 in the evening, and you just keep on working for one or two years. At my place, no one comes in till evening, and no one knows who is doing what. And (the project) ends within 8 to 10 months cause I get bored. This is a more common way (of making animation).

I myself have been invited several times, but the biggest reason why I don't want to work at Ghibli is because the control is too tight. -laughs- And there aren't many good food places around Ghibli. I can't tolerate poor eating. Those two are not interested in eating. One instance shows all, they push their ideology, or rather, their constitution to everybody. (They say) it's best if you come into the studio in the morning and go home at night, not because they think so, but because they can't do otherwise.Well, it's (like) the military or a (political) party, and for some, it's a good order, but for some, it's an intolerable fascism. However, it is certain that only by such mountains of tight control, such movies can be made.

A movie director always has a conflict inside of him, between the need to do what he wants to do and how far he can force others to make sacrifices. Because he can't do anything without others' help. Everyone has a different strategy, but I think all these differences come from ideological issues.

Those two aren't moralists. The lack of ethics is common among men in the 1960s. They definitely think that if there is a validity, or a "just cause" (nishiki no mihata), they are allowed to do anything. In a sense, that's the thing I most hate about them, and that's what keeps me from liking them in the end.

For me, it's better if the end and the means match, though it's almost impossible. To cope with the reality, they use intimidation and refuting. I trick (staff members), or in nicer words, I try to find common interests (with staff members). I try to accept certain things even if they are against my will, or I try to think I'll get payback for that sometime later.

Some anime magazines and manga magazines praise Ghibli as the best animation studio in Japan, or in the world, and say such things as it's the conscience of the Japanese anime industry, but that's all a lie. -laughs- Anyone who's been there even once would know that. Well, I'm not going to deny everything (about Ghibli), but if you worship them like that, it will only make people (at Ghibli) miserable. And indeed they are miserable, so I'm hoping they would stop (worshipping them). Someone should criticize them somewhere. Though to do that, you really need forcefulness and resolution.

Mamoru Oshii (May 17, 1995, at Production IG in Kokubunji)

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 ⌨

kenma kozume x f!reader

editing video tutorials for a urinalysis company wasn't exactly your dream job. luckily, your former coworker has a solution involving a certain youtube sensation.

"The background music feels a little…corporate, don't you think?" your supervisor asked, clicking the space bar to pause the video. Your desktop screen froze on the image of a lab technician placing a dipstick into a cup of urine, and — though you'd eaten lunch at your desk several times before — your appetite was suddenly gone.

"It's a tutorial for an at-home urinalysis test kit," you said matter-of-factly, pushing your blue-light glasses to rest on the crown of your head. "It doesn't exactly call for an award-winning soundtrack."

"I know, but we want our customers to really feel as though our test kits are an experience — something they can't get from any other place on Earth!"

Your supervisor talked about urinalysis test kits like most people did a trip to Disney World. With a sigh, you said, "I guess I could toss in some lo-fi music. That's trendy nowadays, right?"

"Now that's what I'm talking about," your supervisor said, standing from your desk chair and giving you a big thumbs-up. "Keep making creative decisions like that, Y/N, and you'll be promoted to senior videographer in no time!"

"Wow," Kuroo drawled when you later told him about the positively glowing feedback you'd received. He took a swig of his beer and gave you that classic, shit-eating grin before saying, "I guess you could say urine the big leagues now, huh?"

"Don't mock me," you said miserably, raising your empty glass towards the bartender for a refill. "When I left my videography internship at the JVA, I really thought I was going on to do bigger, better things. Instead, I'm writing captions on how to pee in a cup and color-correcting b-roll footage of urine samples. Did you know that pee could be amber? My pee has never been that dark!"

Eyes trained on the little beer he had left, Kuroo made a face and gently set his glass down on the bar top. "So it isn't the job of your dreams. That's okay. You'll use it to get a leg up somewhere else!"

"Easy for you to say. Your department loves you. They'll probably have you running meetings before the end of the year."

A valued employee of the Japan Volleyball Association, Kuroo had essentially turned his economy supply services internship into a full-time job within months of being recruited. You'd met him on a commercial video shoot featuring several of Japan's leading volleyball players — many of whom Kuroo had contacted personally to partake in the project. His passion for volleyball and unprecedented networking skills made him instantly likeable among the higher-ups, and though you were interning for different departments at the time, you became friends within a matter of minutes.

"How do you know all of these people?" you asked Kuroo the day of the shoot, still in awe from the handshake you'd just exchanged with Hinata Shoyo from the MSBY Black Jackals.

"Who — Chibi-chan?" Kuroo asked, jutting his chin towards the athlete who'd ambled over to the craft services table. "I played him back in high school."

You wondered what other kinds of insane connections Kuroo had. Knowing him, he probably had the Prime Minister on speed-dial.

"Speaking of meetings," Kuroo started, plucking a wasabi octopus off of the plate sitting in between you. "I want you to schedule coffee with a friend of mine sometime next week."

"Oh, no," you said behind a mouthful of food, raising a finger towards your former coworker in protest. "Look, I know you've been trying to set me up with your high school best friend for forever now — but I've told you, I don't need any romantic charity."

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to set you up on a blind date with Kenma," Kuroo chuckled. His words did nothing to erase the growing suspicion on your face. "My friend Kodzuken is looking for a full-time video editor for his YouTube channel, and I thought I'd put in a good word for you."

"Kodzuken?" you asked, nearly choking on your octopus. You'd never personally watched any of his YouTube videos or Twitch streams, but you always saw his screen name pop up on the top of the Twitter trending page. "You want me to become a full-time video editor for a wealthy influencer?"

"I wouldn't call him an wealthy influencer — that's like, the least interesting part of his personality," Kuroo said. "He's been swamped doing all of the video editing by himself, and I remembered the videos you made while we were both JVA interns. I think you could do it."

"God..." you breathed, looking your former coworker and friend in the eye. You could tell he had something mischievous up his sleeve the moment you sat down for dinner. "How are you even friends with someone who has that many followers on social media?"

Kuroo merely shrugged as he raised his glass to his lips. "We went to high school together."

"Of course you did."

"So, you'll do it?"

"...I don't know," you said truthfully, wringing your fingers in a nervous twitch. Ever since graduating college and starting your full-time job, you had trouble keeping up with what was popular nowadays. Sure, you enjoyed decorating your Animal Crossing island on the weekends and sneaking in quests on Gensin Impact during your lunch break. But editing for a YouTube channel with millions of followers? How did you know that your editing style wasn't completely out of touch with what Kodzuken was looking for? Wouldn't he prefer one of his avid followers edit his videos instead?

Upon seeing the doubt clouding your expression, Kuroo said, "Trust me, it's better that you're not a fan. If anything, it'll make things more organic between the two of you."

"I suppose," you mused, plucking the last of the wasabi octopus from the plate and popping it into your mouth. "You really think I could impress someone like him?"

Something glimmered in those eyes of his, but all Kuroo said was, "You better. Unless you want to edit urinalysis videos for the rest of your life."

Kuroo's words resounded in your brain as you sat at the coffee shop just down the block of your office the following week, adjusting the skirt of your lucky interview outfit and watching the door in an anxious anticipation. You'd taken the past few days to spruce up your creative portfolio and binge watch Kodzuken's YouTube videos, hours of Twitch stream highlights, trendy challenges, and meme reviews swimming in your brain.

He edited all of this himself? you'd thought in disbelief. No wonder he was in need of an editor; the man must've been burnt out.

The door jingled not a moment later, and you lifted your head to see Kodzuken pushing his two-toned hair back with a pair of sunglasses, perching them on the crown of his head before scanning the café and meeting your eye. He donned a hoodie and sweatpants as he did for most of his videos — and though you'd watched him through your computer screen for the past week, there was something inherently different about seeing him in the flesh. There was something softer about his demeanor. More approachable.

"Kodzuken? Hi! I'm Y/N — it's so nice to finally meet you," you said by way of greeting, extending your hand out as he approached. An easygoing, if not slightly confused smile bloomed across his features upon hearing your name.

"Nice to finally meet you, too," he said, an amused breath escaping his lips as he shook your hand. "Though, I find it a little embarrassing when people call me that in real life. My actual name is Kenma. Kenma Kozume."

You froze, your hand still intertwined in his as the syllables rolled off of his tongue and into the space between you. You tilted your head slightly as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Kenma.

Kenma Kozume.

The same man Kuroo had been trying to set you up with for ages.

Realization dawned on both of your faces as you exclaimed, "Wait — you're Kuroo's best friend from high school?"

"You're the JVA co-worker he keeps telling me about?" Kenma volleyed back in response. You both became acutely aware of the fact that you were still holding hands. Pulling back, Kenma rubbed the back of his neck, hints of pink beginning to color his cheeks as he said, "Ah, I'm sorry about this. I had no idea. When Kuroo told me I had an interview scheduled for a potential video editor, I didn't think it'd be..."

He trailed off, the sight of you in your pencil skirt and blouse making his face go from pink to red a whole lot faster. Kuroo was right; you were pretty.

Meanwhile, your thoughts were racing a mile per minute as you tried to recontextualize the entire person that was Kenma Kozume. When Kuroo first proposed the idea of going on a blind date with his best friend, you'd brushed off the idea without a second thought. But now that you'd actually seen him — what with his nervous smile and tired eyes and perfectly placed set of dimples...

Kuroo's words sprung forth from your memory. "I wouldn't call him a wealthy influencer — that's like, the least interesting part of his personality."

You suddenly realized that you had been staring at Kenma for far longer than necessary. Eyes retreating to the floor, you tucked a strand of hair behind you ear and muttered, "I am so going to kill Kuroo for this."

"You and me both," Kenma chuckled in response. He jerked his thumb towards the counter of the coffee shop. "Would you maybe want to plot our revenge over a cup of coffee? We can look over your video portfolio while we're at it."

Grateful for the change of pace, you both ordered your drinks and settled into a booth in the back corner, passing your iPad back and forth as you showed Kenma the videos you'd produced for your college thesis and JVA internship. You found him laughing at the informal interviews you'd edited for the MSBY Black Jackals, and you explained how certain editing choices could be used to enhance the comedic effect of a joke — a zoom-in here, a green-screen effect there.

"You can even use graphic overlays and keyframing to — " you stopped short, suddenly realizing how much you'd been talking. Kenma merely listened to you from across the table, a small smile having formed at the corners of his lips as you said, "I'm rambling too much, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Kenma replied in earnest. "It sounds like you really enjoy what you do."

"I do," you reassured him, glancing down into your coffee cup. "I currently make tutorials for a healthcare diagnostic company — which basically means I edit videos explaining all the ways you can pee on a stick. It's a stable job, and it pays well, but..."

"It's not exactly your passion?" Kenma answered. You nodded amusedly. "That's kinda how I feel about editing in general. I mean, I love streaming and filming videos, but editing has never been my strong suit. Plus, I don't like staring at my face for hours on end."

"Well, that wouldn't be a problem for me," you answered quickly, a blush creeping onto your face as soon as you realized what you had just said. "I just meant that, you know, since — "

"It's okay," Kenma said, the humored expression in his eyes enough make your face grow even warmer. "I mean, I would hope you'd prefer to look at me over some fake pee on a stick." His brow suddenly furrowed in distaste. "It is fake pee, right?"

His question caught you so off-guard, you began to laugh — Kenma's smile only deepening as you did so. And when you both settled into a comfortable silence, he lifted his coffee cup to his lips and asked:

"So, when can you start?"

Your jaw went slack at how forward he was. No call-backs? No grueling technical rounds? Was he absolutely sure about this?

"I-I mean, as soon as you'd like me to," you responded, straightening your back and folding your hands across the table. "Do you have a video project in mind?"

"Well, I already finished editing this week's video, and I was planning on filming an unboxing video this week..." Kenma set his empty coffee cup on its saucer and scrunched his face in thought. "But since we both intend to get back at a certain mutual friend of ours, I think I have a better idea."

Two weeks later, Kuroo received a notification from you with a link to Kodzuken's newest YouTube video. Titled "Best Friend Destroyed by Fire Noodle Challenge," the thumbnail featured Kuroo sporting a swollen tongue and bloodshot eyes while Kenma sat next to him, completely unbothered. Below the video, a text message appeared:

Payback for the set-up — and a thank-you for the new job.

Kuroo burst into laughter.

©miyasmagnolias, 2022

[misskittysmagicportal]

All You’ve Got Is Gold Part 1

FandomAU!: Billy Delaney/Cormac McNamara x Female OC

Warnings: Slight NSFW, mostly steamy fluff.  Guys this ended up being long as fuck.  And it’s really only chapter one. Or Part 1.

Jeanie leaned over the bar at Ewan's to pour herself another whiskey, ignoring the bartender as he chastised her. "C'mon lass, don't the wee ones file in to the grounds tomorrow?"

"Wee?" she gulped around her swallow. "Ewan, they're pubescent. You know me though, I like to have a bit of a glow every new semester. That way the parents think I'm truly invested in the well-being of the brats." Jean waved her glass around in the air. "Ok, not brats. Most of them are well-behaved and genuinely interested in learning. Not like the little bastards in America. I'd have 40 to a classroom back there. Saint Fergus barely has 40 students in the entire school."

Ewan took it as a sign and gave her a generous pour one more time, "Heard you cannae keep any professors for the pay. But your husband-"

"EX. As of last spring," Jean corrected.

"EX-husband found some new blood in a few of his University students."

"Aye," Jeanie imitated the Scottish brogue with perfection. "They're all in the corner over there with Dr Purves now."

She had half a decade to assimilate to the culture of the small, boring town just outside of Aberdeen where she followed Gordon and married him without any family or a job. He became head of the Physics and STEM department at the University of Aberdeen, working on projects and female students alike. Jeanie, having abandoned her Master's in Education, was really only qualified to student-teach at a local boarding school. Before long, lack of interest and the economy drove the numbers down to four or five dozen and a position of Headmistress open. At least it was a place to live and an existence that kept her mind off everything else.

"I would say don't look now, because here comes one of his students, but my darling who can keep their eyes off him." Ewan pointed behind his friend with damn near literal hearts in his eyes.

Jeanie glanced over her shoulder as a young man, early 20s? She couldn't tell. But he approached her at the bar. Her first glance became a double, and nearly a stare. Embarrassed, she whipped her head around quickly and blushed in Ewan's general direction. "Sweet Virgin Mary," she exhaled under her breath.

"I normally go by Delaney, but I suppose in certain company Mary will do," a soft Irish lilt.

Jean slow blinked as the bartender broke into a cheshire grin. She took a deep breath and turned towards the man now beside her and held out her hand. Blood pulsing in her ears because.. he was stunning. "Brave of a Celt to set foot in the land of Picts. Even braver for him to be in the presence of the biggest asshole in all of Scotland."

"Well from what I've heard she's more of an Ice Queen than an asshole," he squinted before smiling brightly. Green eyes sparkling in the low light of the bar. "Your.. partner put me up to it anyways. You know, say the bit about the ice. Sorry," he blushed but still held on to her hand firmly. "I've heard you're rather pleasant from the others. Just aloof as it were"

"EX!" Ewan and Jean exclaimed together, and the young man blinked responsively. "No sorries. Cold-hearted bitch is what some of the 6th years call me when I confiscate their illegals. Headmistress Jean Turner, but the two friends I have call me Jeanie. Drink?"

"Just one? I'll take 5. I have to catch up with the others." He hooked a thumb at the group of obnoxious men groping the female students who hung off of them as if they were celebrities. Taking what he was offered, chugging it quickly and shuddering. "Billy. Delaney it is. Well occasionally."

Jeanie and Ewan watched as he basically pounded every shot placed in front of them. Squinting off and on, as if he was trying to adjust to the ambiance. "Is it hot? It's hot in here. God I hate people. Those people. I will never fit in with the misogynists and knobs who prefer rugby and football to actually learning about the world." He pulled at the collar of his sweater before taking it off and draping it over Jeanie's chair. He wore a striped tee shirt underneath "Sorry. Sorry. I've got my nose in tech and books and maths algorithms most days. I forget how to socialize, so I really just want to blend in with the norms."

"You.. are.. fit." Ewan sputtered.

Billy snapped back to attention, his mind having drifted off to the same group Jeanie's eyes kept staring at. "What?"

"He's saying you are fucking fit, mate" Jeanie gaped.

"My body? I'm not really certain about that. I'm rather spindly wouldn't you say?” he shrugged while his cheeks flushed profusely. "My arms? Is it my arms? I swim. Clears my head from all the clutter." He was rambling now.

Jeanie and Ewan started laughing. "Relax! we're taking the piss, love. Your every move is being scrutinized. Now why abouts did Dr Purves send you over here? Surely he has fucking with me on his mind. Not unusual, humiliation has always been the name of the game."

Billy made a gesture that resembled adjusting non-existent glasses. He immediately dropped his hand and pulled a tenner out of his pocket. "To melt the ice, Gordon said. He gave me ten quid to hit on you."

"One of his students. What a lovely parting gift. I guess you're worth the loss of the house and the car," Jeanie stood back slightly to properly size him up.

Billy bit the entirety of his bottom lip, furrowing his brows, "I reckon you're worth more than a tenner to sleep with."

Jeanie blinked a few times, head tilted to the side to make sure she heard correctly. "SEX?!" she laughed, unable to help herself. "I don't exactly know what all of this," she waved her hand down his body, "would be doing even in the vicinity of sleeping with this," pointing to her own.

Confusion came over his face, "Am I supposed to be.. Is there something wrong with you that I don't notice? I, I can be kind of oblivious to loads. I think, really, Gordon goaded me into coming over here for my benefit as much as his amusement. I don't have too much experience, but you seem quite lovely you know. Your hair is," brows furrowed again but in thought, "Nicely red in this lighting. Reminds me of my friend from Ireland. Hannah."

Jeanie pinched the bridge of her nose as Ewan audibly guffawed from beside her. "Saints preserve us," the Scotsman said between gasps for air. "Donnae if you are taking the piss now, bloke, or are you really this bad at pulling birds."

Billy grimaced, the entirety of his face beet red. "Honestly, I never make it this far. I guess they usually pull me and I let them?" He started to fan his face, "seriously,,how fucking hot do you keep this pub?" His forehead bent forward to rest on the metal and wood counter of the bar.

Ewan covered his mouth and ruffled the curly head in front of him. "What a wee babby, Dr Purves sent into the lion's den. You just drank half a bottle of my best whiskey and mortified yourself in front of my favorite woman in this whole country. Maybe you ought to drink some water and have a sit for a few. We'll give you something to take to the bell-end in the back."

Jeanie and Ewan's eyes met, and she bit back a smile before leaning over to wrap an arm around her husband's latest protege. "Oh Ewan, I don't think it should be only a story. Why not give the evil genius a bit of a show. Right now he can see Mr Delaney is headed towards a spectacular crash. Im embarrassed. Mr Delaney's embarrassed. You're without very expensive whiskey. Gordon will never let anyone live this down for the semester."

She put her mouth near Billy's ear, "Ten quid is worth SOMETHING. Don't you think? Just look at me." He obliged quicker than she expected. Emerald eyes gazed upwards at her while the heart banged wildly in her chest. "What comes next?"

"I reckon I ought to put my arm on your waist. Right?" his voice now low in her ear and a hand slipped around her hips to draw her as close as possible.

No further guidance was needed as the liquid courage kicked in. Billy stood up and took Jeanie's face in his large hands before he drew her into a rather passionate kiss. Hers instinctively buried in his hair, their tongues dancing as the thought he hustled her entered the back of her mind. How was it that just a few minutes ago he looked ready to vomit at the thought of trying to come on to anyone, not just her. Now he was kissing her like they were Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. Jeanie’s back slightly arched as Billy dominated her personal space with his height, a hand dangerously on the curve of her backside.

Ewan held his own face, eyebrows lost in his bangs as he watched the two of them go at it for well, he lost time. Glancing up he noticed just about everyone else in the pub was watching too. Gordon positively green with envy and turning purple with anger. Ewan saw him lean to a colleague and mouth, "That wasn't the fucking deal."

"Job done you two," he cleared his throat and practically shouted to break them up.

Jeanie's mouth was cold as it kissed the air. Billy had stumbled backwards a bit, mouth turned down ever slightly in a whoops motion. He walked, swayed really and floated by every single patron, including the group of men he came in with earlier. Fingers pulled at his bottom lip before he passed a devilish grin over his shoulder in Gordon's direction.

Jeanie and Ewan gobsmacked, but pleasantly amused, looked at one another. Mischief in their eyes as Jeanie noticed Billy's sweater draped over the bar. "Mr Balderston, I think I have a grad student to visit this week. It seems Mr Delaney might need his sweater because the Scottish nights get awfully cold."

Orientation came and went, and the students seemed to settle in quicker than normal.  Quite possibly because this was the lowest attendance in the school’s 150 year history.  They had been in danger of shut down, but Jeanie was informed that first Monday by the Board of Directors that an anonymous group of donors had decided, against their wishes, to purchase the school.  Even if no students came back the following school year, or they were down to only 15 or 10 or 5, Saint Fergus would remain open for unknown reasons.  

To say she was relieved was an understatement for Jeanie.  Much needed repairs were being made, and someone had come to put together a state of the art security system.  Which really confused the faculty and dwindling staff.  Who would steal anything from this junk heap?  Even their books were falling apart.  Except they weren’t.  

By the end of the first week, the girls in their dormitories and in the hallways were abuzz with brand new Literature and Maths books.  They were suddenly interested in Oscar Wilde and Pythagoras.  Jeanie watched as three 4th years sat in the windowsill and audibly cracked open their copies of “The Happy Prince,” stars in their eyes.  

“Have you ever seen anyone as good looking as Dr McNamara?  Honestly, I don’t know how I’ll pay attention to anything else but that voice,” she held her book against her chest.

“Oh c’mon Siobhan.  It’s all about the eyes.  I don’t think I’ve seen anything like them.  Proper green.  If he sticks around, I’ll tell Daddy to talk to all of his barrister friends. Get them to enroll their kids here next year.” 

The third girl was clearly in a daydream out the window, “All I heard today was blah blah blah ‘important in oratory history of Ireland’ blah blah.  Lemme tell you, he can give me an oral exam any day.”

Jeanie cleared her throat and the students jumped nearly a mile high.  “It would do you girls a kindness not to sexually harass our newest teacher at Saint Fergus.”  The smallest hint of a smile on her lips.  “Honestly, how is it that I'm headmistress here and have no bloody clue who this mysterious Dr McNamara is?”

“Well rumor has it, Miss, that he bought the school.  Dr Purves hired him for a project at the uni, and he asked to be right in the thick of the school.”  Siobhan shrugged.

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh he’s installing the security system and having a new science laboratory built,” the daydreaming girl chimed in.

“I thought it was a grad student that was teaching here this semester?  Have any of you heard the name Billy Delaney?  I’ve been looking for him the last week or so, but I can't find him in Aberdeen housing.  I’d like to return his sweater.”  Jeanie’s face flushed pink, and the girls all cast a knowing grin in her direction.

“Has Miss got a crush herself?” Siobhan teased.  “There’s no student teachers this year, but did you say Billy Delaney?”  

“Yes.  Does that name sound familiar to you too?”  

The girls stood and handed Jeanie paperback books one by one.  A stack of them, young adult novels that had grown incredibly popular the last few years.  A stone wall with a glowing green and gold light graced the cover.  “A Green Pool of Light: Emerald City to Oz  Book 1” blazed across the top in that standard stereotyped font that represented all things Irish.  The daydreaming girl, Aila Jeanie would come to find out, opened her copy and ran a finger down the page.  “Yeah, he’s like a gender bent Hermione in these books.” 

Jeanie frowned and flipped through the pages.  The girls all started to laugh, not mean-hearted but in the way kids do at adults when they become lost in the world of anyone under 20.  “That’s Dr McNamara, Miss Turner, and he’s living in the Boys Dorms.”

Jeanie blinked a few times, too many times in disbelief.  The girls dissolved into hysterics and headed off to their next set of classes.  Things maybe just got a bit easier but harder at the same time.

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

Jeanie stared incredulously at herself in the mirror.  When exactly was the last time she showed up to any man’s room wearing only a coat and her underwear?  Or well, a sweater in this case.  She waited until the school was dark and quiet, she couldn’t risk one of the students seeing her dressed this way.  On her way to do a dance of seduction.  No, that’s humiliating.  This was all humiliating.  

What in the hell am I  even doing? She thought.  But it was too late, her legs carried her into the halls and across the floors and up into the West Wing where the boys slept. Tip-toeing quick and stealthy to the only source of light on this side of the school.  

Jeanie took a deep breath and knocked on the open door.  His back was to her, sitting with one foot up on the chair, a knee drawn up to his chest in the most awkward of positions.  His dark head was bent over an abundance of little digital boxes spread across a desk that he tinkered with under a magnifying glass.  Several computers and laptops spread around the room running codes attached to various projects simultaneously.  Lost in his work, he ignored her.

Sighing heavily, Jeanie knocked louder this time.  She raised one hand up the door frame, leaning in the most tempting pose she could muster at 11pm on a Thursday.  His head popped up, and he only glanced over his shoulder in her direction before going back to his work.  

“Well took ye long enough to find me, Miss Turner.  Wanna see what I’ve put together for the school?”  he queried without paying any attention to her attire.  

Jeanie felt the bile rise in her throat.  How in the hell was she ever going to feel better about herself when this man wouldn’t even acknowledge her?  Was it too late to just slip back down in the shadows and melt away like she never existed?  Still she took a breath and made her way to the desk and stopped directly behind him.  She bent forward over his shoulder, her hair brushed against his face and neck.  There was a nearly inaudible hitch in his breathing as she picked up one of the boxes.  Did she make him nervous?  Good, she thought and chewed her lip to prevent a smirk sneaking through.

“Well Mr Delaney.  Or is it McNamara?” She studied the box carefully and poked at it with her nail.

“Doctor” he interjected huskily.  He was nervous.  “I’ve got a PhD,” he corrected.

“Are you even old enough for a doctorate?!” she retorted.

“I’m 24, thank you very much.  I suppose that’s quite young to have several PhDs, but I don’t really keep track.  If it makes you feel better, I'm also a chef. Cooking is just science after all,” he said almost dismissively.    “Oh, That is L.I.S.A. you’re holding.  Large-scale Interface Security Application.”

Jeanie snorted; she couldn't help it.   “Do you mean an alarm system?”

“No it’s a specified security application that only I know how to program and,” he caught himself.  “Yes.  It’s an alarm system.”  He rolled his eyes and gently took the machine back from her and placed it amongst the others.

“If you're working with Gordon on some kind of secret project, why are you teaching Literature?” Jeanie launched into everything without really meaning to. “You know Dr Delaney or whoever the hell you are, several of the girls brought to my attention that there’s a character in those young adult novels written by Hannah O'Flaherty. “A Pool of Green Light?” They are quite popular with our 1st-4th years.  You're Billy Delaney aren't you?  That’s why you gave that name in the pub the other night instead of your real name.  That being Cormac McNamara, am I correct?”  She placed her hands on hips hidden in the mass of wool and cable knit.  

"Delaney is part of my last name. Hyphenated.” once again correcting the headmistress.

 "Don't see much of that in men" 

"Well it and my brain are about all my parents left me,” he moved to face his chair towards Jeanie and abandon his project. 

 "Well I bet they're proud of you, Cormac. Or Billy.  Whatever.” she waved her hand dismissively.  “You lot discovered.. what's it called?" 

"Dimensional Dark Matter Transport with the possibility of Inter and Temporal" 

"I mean, Portals. Or to put it in tv nerd terms: Beam me up Scotty" 

"Precisely!” Cormac exclaimed and stood up excitedly.  “And your ex-boyfriend-" 

"Husband" 

“Yes, husband.  Well couldn't have been good at it if he's your ex.” He bit a finger absently, staring off towards the ceiling.  Then snapped back to attention quickly,  “Well he wants to find a way to make it.. Portable. Not just in plotted locations around the globe. And my business partners, em Hannah and Brett if you will, would like it privatized. Dr Purves, he wants the highest bidder." 

"Military?” Jeanie blanched at the thought.  Then her voice drifted off, “So the books ARE real.. You three are real.  Hannah hid the stories in plain sight for the entire world to discover"  And for the first time, she noticed a framed photo on the vast desk.  A trio of happy young people: red-headed girl, pretty with large blue eyes.  A floppy haired, tan surfer type.  And a tall, lanky boy with oval glasses and severely parted hair starting to curl.  Jeanie took the frame and traced her fingertip along the glass. “Sarah, Zack and Billy.  This is like finding out Harry, Ron and Hermione are living, breathing people.  And here you are, in my school.”

"I could show you if you want but.. Miss Turner, why are you only in a sweater?" Cormac stepped back and lifted his glasses and put them back down. He took them off hurriedly as if he was embarrassed to be wearing them.  Turning once more to face her "Is.. Is that MY sweater? You're only in. Jeanie, Where are your pants?" 

"Well I planned on seducing you Mr.." 

"Doctor" -

Jeanie sighed as if she had been defeated, "DOCTOR Delaney-McNamara" 

"Well Ive mucked that up I suppose,” a deep crimson set across his ears.

" I mean you can have your sweater back,” Jeanie arched an eyebrow seductively. Pulling the sweater over her head to reveal only a pair of her nicest black panties and bra underneath.  Nothing else.

"Thank you it's quite my favorite-" Cormac’s eyes widened when he noticed the headmistress in front of him wearing nothing but lingerie.  He squinted briefly while scratching his head.  “Oh.. Jeanie. That’s..” his voice drifted off lost in shock.

Ignoring the embarrassment growing in her chest, Jeanie crossed her arms over her chest.  “Why in the hell did you take your glasses off?”

“Oh, em.. Hannah always tells me I’m far more attractive without them.” he shrugged.

“Just like how Clark Kent is only slightly, by a molecule,” Jeanie pinched her fingers together, “less sexy than Superman with his glasses" 

"But his glasses are fake,” Cormac ignored the obvious joke.  “Right now I can just see shapes. Lovely, curved shapes! but only shapes." waving a hand in her general direction again.

Jeanie sat down on his bed without the sweater, to protect her now she just decided to go with her original plan. She crossed her long legs and leaned back with one hand back on the mattress. "Ok give us a look with the glasses on, Delaney.. Mcnamara?" This was frustrating.

"No, I reckon I'll have the kids call me Cormac" his hands on thin hips as he glanced upwards in thought

"Yes, erase that line of authority between yourself and 11-15 year olds. Don't underestimate them, Billy.  Or Cormac.  Or whatever.  You are probably the smartest professor Saint Fergus has ever had, but you’re handsome.  My girls will eat you alive" 

"I wouldn't go that far!" he was exasperated for some reason. 

"You have five PhDs and can’t even legally rent a car in America yet," Jeanie pointed out. 

Cormac waved her off dismissively.  “No!  Not the smart or genius part.  That is true,” he agreed without pretension. “It’s the handsome part,” he rolled his eyes in frustration.  

“Look McNamara, I can’t tell if you’re being humble or an asshole.  Your constant squinting and inflamed cheeks are ruining my perception.”

"Inflamed.." he touched his face  "It's rather distracting. You in your.  I may realize now that's your intent. I'm not really NEW to this, uh women coming on to me. It's just not always quite so forward?"

 "Had I known you were a doctor of  Quantum Mechanics, my approach would be a little less intense. 10 quid or not, you were the one kissing me last night." Jeanie got up off the bed "Ill go, but can I take your sweater with me? The students don't need to see this" 

"Oh, em do ya have to? You're already here, and I'm sure quite lovely to look at." 

"Cormac put your glasses on" 

"Really?" he was adorably confused "I would have to take them off if we-" 

"Have sex?" 

"I didn't mean to imply- I've never really-" he nervously put his glasses back on. Then started fiddling with his hands and chewing on one. 

"No fucking way!” Jeanie sat up quickly “But you're-" 

"Oh please don't say hot." 

"Well-travelled?"

"I am not completely virginal, I'll have ye know! I've done tings. SEXY tings. I've put my mouth and fingers in places on a woman. I'm just picky about where I’d put my penis."  

Jeanie’s amused now, she can’t help it. An eyebrow raised and a laugh ready to escape because he's pacing around and gesticulating wildly now. "Are.. are you getting more Irish?" 

"MAYBE I AM!" he shouted louder than he meant to, then unexpectedly pulled his shirt over his head.

Jeanie laughed at the absurdity now. "Cormac. Or Billy, whatever you are more comfortable with." She kneeled on the bed coming to the edge of it. "We don't have to do this. I'm not asking you to justify your virginity; that your business. It’s a patriarchal construct anyways to make us feel like we have to engage in sexual activity.  Then when we do, we’re trash.  It’s a no-win situation for anyone. I LIKE you. We have all school year to get to know one another better."

“I think Dr Delaney-McNamara, but Cormac works just fine for you” his tone all at once softer and deeper.  

There was a weird electricity in the air, which very well could have been the obscene amount of tech equipment in the small dorm room.  It could have also been that the atmosphere switched so fast from mortification to that moment your body knows something is going to happen.  Jeanie’s head began to swim when she realized the young man in front of her was unbuttoning his jeans to step out of them.  

“Bloody hell...” was all she could utter before he wrapped her up in his arms.  

Jeanie’s hand on Cormac’s hip and the other tangled in his hair as they found themselves in another kiss.  Mouths dancing together.  She sat back and pulled him down so that he was laying completely on top of her now.  His skin was hot almost like a sunburn.  Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Jeanie thought maybe a literal electricity had settled in him from using the portals so often all these years. Their tongues pushed back and forth, she realized his body began to feel similar to one of those static glass balls.  The kind you press your hand against and every single hair on your body raises?  It was strange and exhilarating and comical all at once. 

The thought was fleeting though because Cormac’s lips made its way down Jeanie’s neck.  The breath caught in her throat as he bit softly before trailing to her chest.  His large hand gripped the flesh of her hip, snaking it around to grab at her backside before settling it between her thighs.  The other struggled to unhook her bra while in their current position, his annoyance eliciting a giggle.  

Managing to roll them so that she was on top now, Jeanie deftly reached behind herself to finish the job.  Her breasts free, Cormac took one in his mouth.  His tongue was warm against her skin as he began to suck and lick at a nipple and the flesh around it.  Alternating between each hungrily, hand still lost in between her thighs.  A  finger began to trace the fabric of her panties.  

Audible gasp now, as Jeanie fumbled to reciprocate any way she could.  Kissing his forehead?  or rocking her hips against his hand, she began to float outside of her body. What was she doing?  Trying to feel wanted after all of this time?  Maybe give the other adults something to gossip about over the weekend.  Attractive new professor, the benefactor of Saint Fergus, fucking the boss his first week in.  Jeanie was his boss, but also his subordinate?  Because Cormac, with Brett and Hannah, owned her livelihood now.  

“What a fine mess we’re in, Delaney,” she managed amongst the new spate of kisses.  

Ignoring Jeanie’s frank statement, Cormac took to nibbling her throat again. Exchanging now for harder bites, just enough to let her know he had the upper hand. Fingers deftly pumping rhythmically with the pulsating of her body. He found that part of her with ease. The button Gordon never could without neon arrows. 

“I walked through an alien portal at sixteen and made one of the greatest scientific discoveries none of us can talk about,” That Irish lilt heavy in her ear. “A fine mess has been the last decade of my life, Ms. Turner.”   

There was almost a reckless abandon as Jeanie unexpectedly came. She cried out; it echoed off the dorm walls briefly before Cormac clamped a hand over her mouth. Their eyes both wide before they lost themselves in a fit of giggles. 

Lying beside each other now on the bed, Jeanie felt self-conscious while Cormac absently twirled a finger in her mass of red hair. She felt his green eyes staring as she traced the infinity symbol with the tip of a nail on his chest. Their breathing patterns quickly marched in time together.

“Not sure why I have a gut feeling your timidity was a fucking game,” Jeanie spoke without a hint of anger. More like curiosity. 

“Only just a little. I am far more capable of handling people in small doses.  There's a  certain anxiety hanging around the average university student. I finished undergrad in a year and graduate school in another. Never really fit in with most people my age. I thrived in a boarding college like this one. Never more than 15 children a class. Miss Murphy let me do as I please because I kept mostly to myself, even when she and the others were strangely codependent on my brain.”  

Cormac’s eyes still trained on Jeanie while he spoke. “I didn't mind. I DON'T mind. My tinkering and projects work bloody fantastic now!” he exclaimed with pride. Those long fingers combed through Jeanie's hair. His gaze became nostalgic, “I transferred my AI tech into the lab at Aberdeen.  There's my  personal version.  She's asleep right now,” he chuckled, gesturing towards the wall of monitors. 

Jeanie grimaced, “She?!” 

“Oh yes! SILVIA! I suppose she'll become LISA’s big sister.” 

“You invented a primitive android.” her response was incredulous.

“No no. SILVIA was a lie detector I installed artificial intelligence in to play ch-..” Cormac caught himself. For the hundredth time that evening, “I suppose. Yes,” he tapped a finger against the soft dimple in his cheek. 

“You suppose!” Jeanie reeled with laughter once more.  

Cormac’s face flushed pink, “You know what I did to you was just basic anatomy that’s easily taught by reading a damn book. I reckon you'd be interested in what else reading has taught me about a woman's body.”

And so it began. 

[bangtan-madi]

546 Days Without You — One: Negative 41

Pairing — Seokjin x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Seokjin, older brother!Yoongi, producer/songwriter!MC, military au (ish), idol au (ish)

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count ��� 3.1k

Summary — Kim Seokjin is your entire world, and that world falls apart the moment he and your older brother Yoongi are conscripted into the South Korean military.

Part — 1 / 15

A/N — Hey lovelies! This is the first chapter of an estimated 15 part series. Feedback is always welcome! I anticipate a chapter of this story going up every weekend, either Saturday or Sunday. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!!

(gif not mine. credit to original creator.)

Previous — Next

Not every great love story starts with a chance encounter, and not every beautiful relationship blossoms from love at first sight. Sometimes the universe has a sense of humor as she tosses two unlikely people at each other just to see what could happen. 

Sometimes it's not love, but annoyance at first sight.

"All right, again, from the top," you state into the microphone at your desk. "This time, try to nail that middle note. I know you got it in you, Kook."

Jungkook glances up from the sheets of music that line his podium in the recording studio. From behind the glass, he gives you a big thumbs up and boyish grin.

"That's producer-speak for, 'Again...but with passion!"

You don't have to turn to know who's sneaked up behind you, speaking over your shoulder and into the mic so Jungkook can hear.

The youngest member snickers, replying, "Aish, I got it, Hyung. Go back to your own room."

"I finished recording mine!" Seokjin retorts, causing you to finally glance over your shoulder at him. "My vocals were flawless so it didn't take nearly as long as the rest of you."

Without thinking, you pop your elbow back just hard enough to hit Seokjin in the ribs. Being the dramatic fool that he is, Seokjin jumps back, cradling his rib cage as if he's just been shot. The look on his face only causes you to roll your eyes.

"Oh, you're fine," you murmur. "What were you recording anyway? You didn't say."

He shrugs. "Mostly just practice, nothing specific."

"Well, if you're done being secretive, can you go be annoying somewhere else, just for a few minutes so JK can finish his session?"

"What do I get out of it?"

You tap your chin for a moment, pretending to think it over. "My undying gratitude?"

Seokjin scoffs. "I already have that, Jagiya."

"C'mon, Jin," Jungkook intervenes. "Leave [Y/n] noona alone."

"Five minutes? Then I'm off the clock and all yours. Until then, maybe go bug my brother. I know that makes you happy."

At the mention of Min Yoongi, Seokjin's face spreads into a wide smile. He leans down, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, and says, "Okay, okay, I get it. I'll go bug Yoongi until you're done. Then I'm holding you to your word."

Attempting to hide the happiness that simple gesture brings you is hopeless, so you settle for saying, "See you in a minute!"

Seokjin flashes a wink as he reaches for the doorknob. "Don't you dare be late."

Once the oldest member has left the room, you turn back to Jungkook with a grin and wave of your hand. "You heard the man: Again, but with passion!"

After wrapping up at the studio—a task that takes closer to an hour than five minutes, like you initially promised—you turn off the lights and lock the door on your way out. Jungkook had really sung his heart and soul today, and you couldn't help the proud smile that stays on your face on the bike ride home.

You're lucky. Of this, you're very much aware. Not only are you involved in one of the most lucrative businesses in South Korea but the particular company you've dedicated yourself to for the past eight years is truly one of a kind. Big Hit has given you so many opportunities, just like all of the other five-hundred-ish employees. Your CEO, Bang Si-Hyuk who is often referred to as either Hitman Bang or Bang PD, is one of the most passionate and empathetic humans you've ever met. If it weren't for him, there's not a change Big Hit would be where it is today. The co-CEO, Lenzo Yoon, is also a talented man, but he came into the picture far later than Bang PD, around March of last year.

But your luck doesn't just stop with the company or its leaders. Your specific job is one you've always wanted. Not only do you get to manage some of the best music coming out of your country, but you get to produce and write it alongside the biggest band in the world. This is a group that includes some of the most important people to you, including your older brother by two years Yoongi, your boyfriend of four years Seokjin, and your best friends of almost eight years which make up the rest of the group.

You don't like to think of your life as fate or destiny, but hard work and a little luck paying off after years of struggling.

There's no greater example of your success than what you get to come home to. Some people might see the nice apartment in downtown Seoul and think that's what you mean by success. Nice things, nice home, nice location just down the street from Big Hit HQ. But what you mean when you say success is the person, or people, you get to come home to.

On most days, the entire band is at the dormitories a few blocks away, but a couple years ago, you and Seokjin decided to get a place to yourself so you could have some space as a couple. This is where you spend most nights, but Seokjin still splits his time between the two locations. Lately, you've noticed him spending more and more time at your shared apartment, and your heart sinks when you remember why.

The word feels like venom in your mouth, and your hands grip the handlebars tighter as you pull the bike through the front door of the apartment.

Enlistment. 

Everyone knew this was coming. It doesn't make it any easier to accept. Big Hit's had lawyers fighting against the boys' conscription for years. They've tried every argument they could think of: their impact on the South Korean economy, the fact that the Idol projects were started by and are still majority funded by the government and thus they've already served, the Hwagwan Order of Cultural Merit they were awarded by President Moon Jae-in himself.

So far, nothing has worked, but they swore they would keep trying until the very last day.

A string of uttered curse words brings you out of your thoughts and back to your surroundings. The beautiful apartment, simple and elegant as well as lived-in and homey, gives you an immense sense of comfort. As you park your bike in the interior walkway, you hear even angrier muttering from the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Seokjin stands over a set of sizzling pans. Several ingredients are strewn across the counters, and the heavenly scent of traditional Korean food fills your nose. Soft instrumental music plays in the background. 

The sight wouldn't be unusual if it weren't for Seokjin cursing at the pan that's holding what should have been mildly brazened vegetables. However, the greens are charred beyond recognition, and Seokjin's palm is clutched to his chest.

"Wow, that radish must have seriously pissed you off."

Seokjin jumps and lets out a yelp. Knowing how easily scared he is, the sight makes you giggle, much to his dismay.

A scowl quickly replaces the fearful expression. "It's not nice to sneak up on an unsuspecting boyfriend, you know!"

"You'll live," you reply, teasingly popping a small slice of carrot into your mouth. You gesture for him to extend his hand. "Let me see?"

The brunet offers his hand, and you examine his palm. There's a small burn there, nothing too nasty, but it does look like it hurt a few moments ago. You bring the palm to your lips and kiss it tenderly before moving towards the pan of burnt vegetables.

"Burning the food and then yourself. Are you feeling okay, Jinnie? It's not like you to be so careless in the kitchen. I'd expect this sorta thing from Joon, but not you." Lifting your eyes to meet his, you add, "Something on your mind?"

Seokjin's smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but not in the way it usually does. It's not playful or teasing, nor is it caring or empathetic. It's a little sweet, a little sad, and a little bit too revealing of what's going on underneath.

"Honestly? I just wanted to have a nice night with my Jagiya. No talk of the album or tour, no one or several of the guys interrupting, no one but us. And I wanted to impress you by making your favorite meal!" He runs his un-burned hand through his hair, messing with the long black ends absentmindedly. "I guess I have a lot on my mind, and it distracted me."

You remove the pan of ruined food and place it quietly in the sink. "You wanna talk about it?"

"You probably already know, Jagi."

You do. Of course, you do. What else could make the happiest person you know this distracted and frustrated?

It's just like a few years ago, and you feel your chest tighten at the thought of the friend you lost. You felt a similar sense of impending doom just before he left for the military, too. After all these years, you thought you'd forgotten that feeling, only to have it return ten-fold with Seokjin.

Shaking your head, you turn on a different playlist—something more upbeat, and turn back to Seokjin with a grin. "C'mon. I'm hungry, and you need a sous chef."

Seokjin's somber expression melts away. Reaching into the cupboard nearest him, he pulls out two chef's hats that belonged to a couple's costume set you'd worn for Halloween a few years back. Being the goofball he is, Seokjin kept both hats and forces you to wear them whenever you cook together.

Placing the item on your head, tucking your hair behind your ears, he gives his signature windshield wiper laugh at your eye roll.

"You can be my little chef!"

The reference to the animated movie Ratatouille, which you both adore, causes you to chuckle along with him.

"So does that mean if I yank on your hair, you'll do what I want?"

Seokjin's laugh becomes outrageous and uncontrolled. Realizing how your words might've sounded, a deep heat rises in your face, and you pull your sweater collar up to cover your cheeks. 

Your boyfriend claps his hands, thoroughly entertained by your reaction. "Well, you can give it a try, Jagi! I think that jus—"

"—Shut up or I'll stab you."

The laughter didn't stop for another few minutes, and the teasing didn't cease the entire night. If you're honest with yourself, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Seokjin was right; it's nice for once just to be alone together. Not that you don't adore the boys—hell, one of them is your brother—but it is nice to have a quiet night in, filled with good food and great company. Despite it just being the two of you, nights like these are never dull. You doubt there's ever been a dull moment in the man's entire life.

After the meal is finished, you decide to do your usual wind-down routine: shower, skincare, dancing on dangerously damp floors to the sound of your favorite playlist. The usual.

When you are finished, you exit the bathroom and enter immediately into the adjacent master bedroom. What you should've seen is something simple: a few pieces of furniture, various personal items, and a large mattress in the center. However, it seems as if Seokjin's taken the opportunity while you're in the shower to redecorate.

All the pillows are on the floor, in front of the mattress. Several duvets cover the floor. Throw blankets line the space, and curtains are strewn in the air above it, creating a sort of carnival-esque tent. Fairy lights are strung from the ceiling down to the interior of the space. BT21 character pillows line the exterior, creating a walkway of sorts. The whole space looks cozy and enchanting and well thought out.

He's gone way out of his way to make tonight special, you think to yourself.

You grab a notebook from your nightstand before nestling down into the pillow fort. You're unsure of where Seokjin has sneaked off to but are fairly certain he'll be back any moment. Until then, you hum gently a recently crafted melody to yourself, repeating it over and over, until you get it just right. Once nailed, you sketch the notes onto the blank music sheets inside your notebook, knowing that if you don't write it down you'll forget.

Yoongi's notification pings from your cellphone. Placing your notebook on your lap, you read the text before swiping to respond, all the while continuing to hum the newly created melody.

"You can sing like an angel and yet you still refuse to do vocals for us." Your eyes lift to meet Seokjin's as he stands in the door. "Do you like holding out on us or something?"

After seeing Yoongi respond with a smiley face emoji and a thumbs up, you turn off your cell and drop it onto the pillows. "How long have you been standing there?"

He shrugs. "Long enough."

"And...why are you staring at me?"

"So I can have a better picture of you in my mind."

You toss your notebook aside with an exasperated groan, only causing Seokjin to laugh. "You're so cheesy, my god."

His playful smile doesn't fade as he approaches the pillow fort. "Worldwide cheesy is my second nickname, you know."

"I am not calling you that. And I do not sing like an angel. So...no. Not holding out on anyone."

"But you do write your own lyrics and melodies. You don't share most of that with us, either. Except maybe with Yoongi, but that's not fair."

Seokjin plops down on top of you, his weight causing an "Oof," to slip from your lips. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and slips his arms under the small of your back.

"Are you seriously pouting because I tell my brother, my producer and songwriter brother, about my shitty drafts?"

A muffled, "Yes," comes from your boyfriend's mouth.

Rolling your eyes, you relax into the comforters and relish in the cozy and intimate atmosphere. One of your hands tangles in Seokjin's dark hair, playing absent-mindedly with his long hair. The other rests against his broad shoulders; your fingers dance along the edges of his ocean-blue sweater, the one you often steal for yourself. 

"Tonight was really sweet," you whisper after a few minutes of silence. "You didn't have to go out of your way like that."

"I wanted to. We haven't spent a long of alone time together since we started pre-production on the next album. And before that, there was the tour for Seven. I feel like 2020 has been a year we've spent more apart than together, and it shouldn't be like that..."

His sentence trails off, and you know what his somber tone is implying. It's 41 days until his twenty-eighth birthday. What should be a day of celebration will most definitely be a day of mourning. 

"There's still hope," you mumble, pulling him tighter to you. "The lawyers haven't given up yet. They're still working on getting you and everyone else an exemption."

"Yeah...you're right."

"Hold on, can you say that again? I didn't quite catch it."

Seokjin nips gently at your throat, earning a surprised giggle from you. "Watch it, Jagi."

After your laughter settles down, the peace of the evening returns along with the blissful quiet. It's not often that Seokjin is still or silent, but over the years, you both have found a rhythm that works for you. You have your obnoxious, loud, exciting times, and then there are the serene, still, hushed moments like these. Both are beautiful in their own way, but after a full day of work, this is exactly what you needed.

"I wish every day could be like today," you murmur, half to yourself.

Your brunet boyfriend moves slightly, resting his head on the pillow beside yours. He shifts you so you're curled up against his side, arms and legs tangled under the covers he pulls over you both. A yawn slips out, despite you trying to fight the signs of sleepiness. Your eyelids become droopy, and his fingers rubbing circles on your ribs doesn't help.

When a second yawn escapes, Seokjin chuckles and presses his lips to your forehead. "You can sleep, [Y/n]. I'll be here when you wake up."

Loving nothing more than to spend more time with him, you know he's right. It's been a long day, and you have another one ahead of you tomorrow. Instead of fighting him and slumber, you curl closer, pressing a brief kiss to his lips, then tuck yourself under his chin and wrap your arms around his small waist.

"Promise?"

As if to show you, Seokjin holds you tighter as he continues to run his fingers along your rib cage and spine. 

"I promise."

[the-bejeesus]

This Philosophical Hypothetical Has Been Living Rent Free in My Mind for Weeks

       So I had a thought that randomly occurred to me. And I’m going to talk about it to get it out of my head. If anyone who’s familiar with philosophy reads this, be free to tell me if someone’s already thought of this. “Hey this is just like this one thing that was talked about in my philosophy class! (Insert philosopher name) called it the (insert whacky title).” Because I’m like 100% I can’t be the first one to come up with this.

     Okay so to set up the scenario, you are essentially able to clone yourself. You’re much like Double from My Hero Academia, or Multiple Man from X-Men. But the situation is a bit more specific. Otherwise this would just be about the identity crisis Double had. So at any point you can divide yourself, and those people can do individual things. They’re not technically under your command, but they’re you, so if you want them to do a thing, they will most likely already know to do it. At any point you can decide to reunite into one person, and if you do, you get all the memories of each person you divided into. So like for example, let’s say I decide I’m going to divide myself into two. I have one of me sweep the tile in my house, and the other vacuums all the carpet. I’m going to remember both things. Not just the memory of it happening, I’ll remember what it felt like, how it made me feel, everything.

      So I get the idea of “hey, I’ll have 3 of me clean the house all day, and then 1 of me just goof off and play video games all day. Or go out and eat, or go on a date. Whatever. Just the day off.” And you know it goes pretty well. The 3 mes are perfectly willing to clean the whole house because they know that at the end of the day when they reunite, they will have all my memories of having a good day. And at the end of the day, when I become one person, I do feel alright. Sure cleaning the house was exhausting, but it was also kinda fulfilling. And the me goofing off got to enjoy the fruits of that labor. I feel pretty happy. It only felt like maybe 25% less fun than if I only goofed off and didn’t duplicate at all.

      Then the thinker in me comes in. I could set up a whole ass restaurant by myself. I’ll be the cooks, the manager, the server, the hosts, the everything. And I get to keep 100% of the profits (except the costs of the ingredients, building, licenses, etc.), cool. In a way, it’s kinda impossible to underpay or mistreat my employees. So I go through with the plan. And again, I have 1 of me just goof all day, because otherwise there’s not going to be anyone to enjoy the profits. Now for the sake of argument, let’s assume my menu is good and my cooking is good and we’re busy day 1, despite being a small business owned by no corporate entities in 2021. I busted my ass off. I mean like, 30 of me busted my ass off. It was a pain. Not fun. But hey, we made $12,000 in one day, and get to spend roughly $9,000 of it on whatever we want. And for whatever reason, the customers don’t mind that every employee is me. Maybe other people have powers, but we’re not gonna go that far into the world building. This is just a philosophical question about the self. So at the end of the night I decide to merge myself into one. The 1 me goofing off did not in any way outweigh the grueling 30+ memories of me working all day. In fact, I’m even still sweaty and exhausted.

      I’m like “ok. This isn’t working, it can’t go on. I need more of me to enjoy the day. It’ll drown out the mes that are working.” Now going back to what I said earlier, the mes that worked don’t resent me. We’re all the same. Even if they did, even if they tried to kill me, I would just unite us all into one. But they really shouldn’t be asking questions like “why am I always the cook?” Because they’ll also remember being the server, and the host, and the manager, and the neet that was goofing off. In fact, the neet me that’s goofing isn’t even apathetic to the mes hard at work, cause at the end of the day I become all of them. In a way, it’s imperative that I go back to being 1 person at the end of each day. If I do not, then maybe they will resent me and will revolt. Back to what I was saying, this time I have 30 people working as usual, but 5 people doing whatever they want. Drowns it out a little better but not enough.

      Every night I keep trying to have more mes goofing off. Some are playing video games. Some are going out eating. Some are dating. Some are at the movies. Some are working on passion projects. Some are hanging out with each other. One day I split perfectly even: 30 workers and 30 people enjoying themselves. But what I discover is that now the mes enjoying themselves are spending too much of the profit per day. Now we haven’t gone broke; it’s not like I’ve been spending all of the profit since day one. So there’s still plenty left over. But we have realized that we’re spending more per day then what we’re making. Maybe this isn’t working? I can’t bare to have less of me out enjoying my passions, but the restuarant can’t bare to have less workers.

      So I go all out. My restaurant? It’s now a restuarant chain. I’m setting up new restaurants all across the nation. All of them are going to have at least 30 people, but if it’s a busier place, they’ll take in as many as they need. (I mean if I set up a restaurant in NYC and it’s pulling in $30,000 a day, it doesn’t really matter if 30 of me or 80 of me are running it; I get it all.) Now I know what you’re thinking: “but this won’t solve the problem; it’s just on a bigger scale. You’re still gonna have the same situation where you can’t have enough of you goofing off to justify the yous that are working.” And you’d be correct, except now I’m big enough to have investors. And of course, I made sure I am my own biggest shareholder. Not just for creative decisons, but also for the profit. But the creative decisons are also a big deal. If I have majority share, I make all the decisions. And everyone that works for me is, well me. That cuts out a lot of middle men. No need for CEOs, CFOs, accountants, no need for a big skyscraper HQ. I already know the ins and outs of my restaurant. That’s saving me a lot of money.

     In fact, not only can I invest in my own stock, but I can bet on its outcome. In fact, a lot of mes can bet on a lot of things. Some of my neets, the ones meant to goof off, have gotten into daytrading, gambling. Anything that can make my profit more than what it is, so that I can have the most neets enjoying themselves the most. At this point not all of our money is earned from people, some of it is taken. I could justify not paying my cooks because I am my cooks, but what happens now that I’m doing this shadier stuff? And this is all just to make my total enjoyment of life greater than my suffering.

     And what are the consequences of having so many of me doing whatever the hell they want? I guess being philanthropic is better for the economy than hoarding all my profit, but that’s a lot of people that serve a lot of mes every day.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Lullaby

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- the first chapter in a while without smut, just some character development. Guy’s this one is so short and its kind of bleh, next week’s will hopefully be better.) (Chapter Summary- Y/n’s date with Daniel turns out not as expected and things with Keanu start evolving into more than just sex.)

Chapter1  Chapter2  Chapter3  Chapter4  Chapter5 Chapter6  Chapter7  Chapter8  Chapter9  

Chapter 10

One Week Later After Y/n had rushed out of the restaurant to find her way to Keanu’s place, she’d returned late that night to find her parents waiting up for her in the living room, beckoning her to have a seat before she could hurry up the stairs, looking disheveled enough to give herself away. If they didn’t know before, they definitely figured out by then that Y/n had not been with Jillian.

Micheal and Heather hadn’t asked who ‘he’ was though, that was the least of their concerns. What they had done was give her a lecture, one that went well on past three am, about how rude she had been, why it was imperative that she make things right with Daniel and how an occurrence like that one was never to happen again. Through it all, Y/n had only caught the bare minimum and in the end, with her desire to just flop into bed overwhelming her better senses, Y/n had agreed to see Daniel in the upcoming week.

Y/n hadn’t even remembered that she promised to have dinner with him until he called her office to give her details the day before. With not enough time to cancel, Y/n had reluctantly made her way to the restaurant, to what turned out to be......a surprisingly good date. 

Daniel was the perfect gentleman; he listened intently when Y/n spoke, he had waited for her out front at the valet and he was even perfectly polite to the service staff. He was in the middle of telling her about a project he was working on, when he stopped, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

“No,” Y/n chuckled, and she was even shocked at her own honesty. Reaching across the white tablecloth, Y/n her put her hand over his, “I promise, you’re not. I just have no idea of what you’re talking about. But your passionate, and I like that.”

“Thank you,” his grin widened, turning his palm over so he was the one holding Y/n’s hand, her fingers settled in his loose grip, “I’ve always been fascinated by planes, so much so that.....”

When he trailed, Y/n took the opportunity to finish his sentence, “You decided to start designing them?”

Daniel chortled quietly, “I was going to say I learned to fly them, but I felt like it would have made me sound like an asshole. Do you think I’m an asshole now?” He cocked a questioning brow, though a smile still pulled up his lips.

“No, of course not,” Y/n chuckled, knowing exactly how he felt; so often, she’d be reminded that she had everything at her finger tips; money, power, beauty. The things that most people worked their asses off to achieve, had been served to her on a golden platter, and sometimes, it would make her feel undeserving of it all. But her parents would never entertain the thought, and before she was eighteen, Y/n had been conditioned to remind herself that it wasn’t her fault that the world was unfair. It wasn’t her fault that she could fly to Paris and have a jet to herself while most people could only afford economy class to a few states over. It wasn’t her fault, so she couldn’t be penalized for enjoying it. Y/n wasn’t sure if she believed it, but she was sure that there wasn’t really anything else to believe. “People like us, we get things that other’s don’t, and its not fair, but its not really our fault either,” Y/n shrugged, taking a sip from her wine, her other hand still joined with his.

“I guess you’re right,” Daniel’s thumb ghosted her knuckles, and for a minute, he just stared at her, not saying anything.

Feeling his awed gaze, Y/n blushed, hoping the candle light could hide it. For the first time since the start of her date, she thought of Keanu, oddly enough, wondering what it would be like to go on a date with him. They’d never discussed a relationship outside of their sexual encounters, and while he’d said that there wasn’t anyone else, she didn’t expect things to say like that for much longer. Relationships like theirs didn’t last forever.

The thought was suddenly unsettling. Y/n, for some reason didn’t want to think of a time where Keanu would grow bored of her, or where he wasn’t the one siphoning sounds of pleasure from her lips. The thought came out of no where and Y/n didn’t like it, she didn’t want to start feeling something that wasn’t reciprocated. Trying to shake it off, Y/n cleared her throat, “So you fly planes?”

“I do, I actually own a Phenom 300,” his eyes twinkled with the makings of an idea, “You know, I’d like you take you out to see it some time, you could be my co-pilot.”

Y/n glanced away for the briefest second, dragging her deep red lips through her teeth, tying to get a handle on the giddy feeling that had just run through her. “I’d like that,” she said, meeting his gaze again. Re-assuming her confidence,  “So are planes the only thing that fascinates you?”

Daniel shrugged, “Sometimes, but definitely not when there’s something for more intriguing right in front of me.”

Y/n blushed again, exhaling quietly. She didn’t really have a response, but she was very flattered. Maybe things could work out with him after all. 

The rest of the date went by just the same, and it was nearly ten when Daniel cleared their check. They collected her coat at the front and by the time they reached the valet’s station, he was helping Y/n into it, “I had fun tonight,” he beamed, handing over their tickets to two separate attendants. 

“I did too, we should do this again,” Y/n tugged on the belt at the front of her black coat, almost completely hiding her little black dress. Briefly, she checked her phone, quickly replying to a text that Keanu had sent about an hour before, telling him she’d be at his place in a while. Not wanting to seem rude, she hadn't replied to the text upon feeling the slight vibration of her phone on the table. Besides, she had been so caught up in having a good time, that it didn’t even bother her.

Not long after, both their cars arrived; Daniel’s impressive Rolls-Royce glittering impressively in the night, just a foot in front of Y/n’s humming, deep red Jaguar convertible, the top up. They retrieved their keys and after kissing him quickly at the side of her lips Y/n was about to get into her waiting vehicle when Daniel’s words stopped her, “You’re gonna meet with him?”

Taken aback, Y/n tilted her head in question. She hadn't mentioned Keanu to Daniel, ever, how’d he know?  

Taking a couple steps closer, Daniel put his hand on the dip of Y/n’s waist, “I didn’t mean to, but I caught a glimpse of your phone when I gave you the napkin on the night we first met,” he stood nearly toe to toe with her, at least a foot taller than her, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have looked, or said anything,” he turned away momentarily.

“Daniel,” Y/n began, she didn’t want to ruin things with him that soon. But she didn’t want to let Keanu go either, “I-”

“I’m not going to ask you to stop seeing him; its not my place to anyway,” finally, he looked at her again, wetting his lips before going on, “But I am going to do my best to win you away from him. You’re amazing Y/n, and I have every intention of being the kind of man you deserve.”

With that, Daniel leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, “I should let you go,” he winked, “Good night, Y/n.”

Still wondering if she’d just gotten plopped into some sort of romance movie, Y/n was still blinking the sensation away, watching as he moved over to his car, standing near the open door, “Goodnight Daniel.”

It was past two am when Y/n finally untangled from Keanu, shuffling out from under the comfort of his sheets, and his embrace, to go gather her clothes in a reluctant attempt to leave soon. He’d only been back in a L.A for a couple hours by then, having returned to New York after leaving late the week before. Y/n didn’t know why he’d decided to use his weekend off to fly home, but she wasn’t complaining.

Keanu laid in the bed, propped up by pillows; his hair a mess from Y/n running her fingers through it so many times and naked with the exception on the covers draped just above his modesty. His was the probably the only one on the street with lights still on, not that either of them cared. For a minute, he watched her move, Y/n’s hips swaying gently as she shifted around; collecting her stuff. Her hair was a mess too, but not unattractively so and he found himself admiring every curve that he’d had the privilege of touching.

He didn’t know why, but lately, since she’d told him that her parents were trying to set her up with Daniel, jealously had jabbed at his chest. It was completely irrational; Y/n wasn’t owed to him, they weren’t even a couple or anything close to one.

But maybe he wanted them to be?

No, it couldn’t be that.

But maybe-

No

“You know,” Keanu flipped the covers off, pulling on a pair of sweat pants and stopping Y/n before she could get back into her dress, “You don’t have to leave.”

Scoffing, a hint of a smile tugged at Y/n’s lips. They were deep red when she’d first gotten to his place, but by then, barely a stain of her lipstick remained. “You don’t want me to stay,” she huffed, though, when Y/n shifted to start getting into her dress, Keanu’s calloused fingers loosely circled her wrist.

Okay, so maybe it was that.

First, she gazed at his hand holding hers, then Y/n regarded Keanu through her lashes. There was that feeling again; the swirl of confusion. The buried longing for him to see her as more, the thing that secretly pleaded for him to not let her go and finally, the sinking disappointment things would eventually come to a crushing halt.

“Yes, I do,” with his encouragement, Y/n let her dress fall to the floor again, “Just spend the night with me.”

Sighing, Y/n debated pulling away, but couldn’t really bring herself to do it. She wanted to stay. “That’s not what we do,” she swallowed tightly, letting her hands skim his arms, “But I guess one night can’t hurt.”

Keanu smiled faintly, his arms circling Y/n’s waist, pulling her to him. Lately, he found himself reveling in those quieter moments with her; the sex was good, in fact, it was great, but just being with her was just starting to be more than enough for him. He wanted more of that, and parts of him was saying that she wanted it too, “What would say if I told that I was jealous?”

“Of Daniel?” She furrowed her brows, leaning into Keanu chest, craning her neck uncomfortably to maintain his gaze.

“Yeah,” he breathed nervously, “So?”

What would she say? 

“Why?” Y/n chortled awkwardly, “We’re not even.....you know,” sighing quietly, Y/n’s fingers toyed with the ends of Keanu’s hair, “Ke, what we’re doing, it’s great; but its complicated and-”

“So lets uncomplicate it; let’s go on a date.”

Y/n scrunched her nose, “Together?” 

“That’s how dates work,” Keanu grinned, “Please say yes,” he kissed her forehead, “I know you’re seeing Daniel, but I want us to give this shot,” and I know that I’m better for you, he wanted to add, but opted not to. He’d put himself out for Y/n, but it was up to her in the end.

Hugging him tighter, Y/n pressed her cheek to Keanu’s chest, “I’d like that,” Y/n had hoped she’d sound more enthusiastic, but the possibility of dating Keanu, even if it was what she wanted, only seemed like it would make things more complicated. 

“Good,” Keanu kissed the top of Y/n’s head, breathing her scent. When they pulled away, he still held her in his arms and Y/n stood on her toes, trying to push every unsettling thought out of her mind as Keanu’s lips locked with hers.

As she kissed him, the rest of the night melted away and just like that, she wasn’t about to start dating two men at the same time. She wasn’t trying to please her parents and herself all at once. And in the end, no one would get hurt.

Right?

Right. 

******

Tagging- @bahpometwolf666  @harrisongslimited​  @a-really-bi-girl​  @paanchu786​  @sdaff2

[donnerpartyofone]

how have you been lately?

i guess i’m doing ok. i’m doing better than a lot of other people, for sure. it probably wouldn’t surprise anybody to learn that i thrive under quarantine conditions--if nothing else, i no longer have to make awkward excuses to avoid touching people! i also had the incredible luck of being invited to collaborate on a screenplay with an old friend of mine, for what will be his fourth feature, so i have something to do all day every day, that i love doing, that is best done in my own apartment. i desperately need a *real job*, but i still have some savings, so i’m trying to just keep steady with my applications and not get distracted by how dire the economy is. it doesn’t help to obsess, and my obsessions are much larger in scale, in that area; like i spend a lot of time thinking about whether i should devote a lot of energy right now to researching relatively painless and efficient suicide methods and procuring supplies for them in case an imminent death by secret police or the collapsing environment or war threatens to take place before i just die of whatever i was going to die of without all that. like this is a very real thought to me that becomes more and more detailed as days go by without appreciable change. but i manage to prioritize my immediate real-life issues, most of the time, and not have a nervous breakdown.

during this time when i finally have the space from other people that i crave, and i also have some amazing projects to work on--something that hasn’t happened in many years, if ever, really--i’ve been reflecting on how depression has affected my life. i’ll be 40 next year, and it’s only in the last 5 years or so that i began to feel like my quality of life was somewhere near decent. the common wisdom about the effects of depression is pretty easy to grasp: you miss opportunities because you don’t believe you can succeed; you alienate others because you think you don’t deserve to be loved; your health suffers because you hurt or neglect yourself. but the real shit, that people don’t usually point out, is that depression absolutely destroys time. it just erases the years of your life that you could have spent doing something, or even building up to doing something.

when i was a kid, and then a teenager, i didn’t develop any dreams or ambitions because i was completely preoccupied with feeling pain and trying to avoid more of it. when i got to college, i didn’t know what to do because i hadn’t developed any goal-setting abilities, which would have been an offshoot of the dreams and ambitions and just the ability to DESIRE anything at all, so i wound up with no control over my major and i barely graduated, after 5.5 years or something. when i finally got out, i didn’t have a basis on which to build any kind of career, and basically every job i’ve ever had was a matter of lucky coincidence and the convenient needs of other people. i had almost no positive sexual experiences in my life, largely because i didn’t know how to WANT anything and i didn’t have the ego to defend myself against things i DIDN’T WANT, and so i woke up one day when i was about 30, at the end of a long abusive relationship with someone who made a career out of hating me, realizing that my teens and 20s--those years about which we are all so precious and jealous--had just evaporated without producing a drop of pleasure. i mean i was never ever “hot”, but i could have been enjoying myself, if depression hadn’t eroded all of the time in which that was most possible. the biggest achievement of my life (besides my miraculously great marriage of course) was a nearly decade-long stint at [redacted evil megacorp], for which i was convinced i should be extremely grateful, but which corroded my morals and mental health and made me start drinking at a really threatening and publicly humiliating pace; i had to quit just to avoid having a nervous breakdown. i have a variety of things i like to do--drawing, writing, cycling, studying film and art and etc--and all i can think about is how far along i could have developed my involvement in any of those things, if i hadn’t been so extremely busy feeling pain for most of my life. i’m still depressed but i think i have improved, and i’m trying to just stay involved with the things i’m learning to enjoy, instead of obsessing over how much better they would all be if i could have my 20s back, or my teens, or the years when i was a little kid and just beginning to learn to conceptualize what i wanted from the world, and what i would need to do to achieve it. all those years are gone; i’ll never be competitive with someone who is comparably intelligent or passionate about my interests, but who was feeling good enough during their formative years to actually do something with their life.

i don’t consider 40 that old (and in any case i’m much happier than i was 20 years ago), but in terms of professional development, or development as a self-styled expert in something, or even just development toward internal and personal satisfaction regarding your own self-determined achievements, i’ve lost 2-3 decades of the time in which those things can germinate. it kills me, but i just can’t let myself obsess over it. i can, though, tell other people: if you are depressed, get help, whatever help you can afford, as quickly as you are able. i’m not going to tell you that “it gets better”, because whatever IT is may not ever get better, and i’m not going to tell you how many people love you because i cannot possibly know about that, and i am certainly not going to tell you that your problems are all related to distorted self-esteem or loneliness, which is so common in the popular rhetoric about depression and which i find so incredibly condescending and reductive and ignorant. but i can tell you concretely that depression destroys time. it is an occupation that, for many or most of us sufferers*, is mutually exclusive with the occupation of developing your personality, your skills, and your ability to create a vision for your life. depression is not all about the pain you feel now; it is very importantly about the years that you will awake one day to find missing, years in which you could have done something--anything--with your time on earth.

*i realize that some depressed people are enormously prolific because i guess that’s just how they cope, and i sure wish i had THAT kind of depression--i don’t understand it any better than i understand how heroin addicts have incredibly productive creative careers--but as things are, i can at least speak to people who have MY kind of depression.

[bdgthinks]

The Two Sides of “The Two Sides of Singapore, As Seen By A Food Delivery Rider”, As Seen By A Food Delivery Rider

https://medium.com/@bdgthinksShort pre-amble: Just as how the original Rice article is just the opinion of one writer, what I’m writing below is likewise, just the opinion of mine alone. Also, my opinions are based on my experience working with Deliveroo while Yusuf worked for Grab Food so there may be some differences between the pay structure, zone distances and other company-specific policies.

I was clicking past Instagram stories yesterday afternoon, about to take a nap, when I saw a friend share this recently posted Rice Media article. Part photo journal, part commentary on the gig economy, Singapore’s class divide, and how income inequality is growing more apparent as we adapt to the ever-evolving Covid-19 situation? Sign me the hell up. 

All images courtesy of Ricemedia.co, Yusuf Abdol Hamid, or myself

20 minutes, a few raised eyebrows, and many heated texts later – I reluctantly abandoned my plans to nap because I read some many things in this article (which I highly recommend you read first before reading on!) that I disagree with profoundly. 

Before I start, I want to offer my appreciation to Yusuf (the narrator), Boon Ping (the editor/author), and Rice Media for publishing this piece that will help many understand the oft-overlooked issue of social/income inequality in an engaging and accessible manner. My misgivings towards some of Yusuf’s opinions notwithstanding, the general sentiment towards this article is extremely positive and has done what I believe every great article should do, provoke thought and inspire critical thinking towards the status quo! 

A smattering of positive feedback to the original article 

What I appreciated most about the article is encapsulated by joce_zhang’s comment, that it’s an important reminder to be kinder to people – regardless. 

 However, I couldn’t help but find it slightly troubling that Yusuf and Boon Ping (the editor) seemed to have oversimplified these issues and reduced the stakeholders to caricatures: the rich as the Monopoly Man; and the tireless ‘seen by many as a dead-end job’ delivery couriers as a Dickensian orphan, counting pennies and agonizing over whether they ‘deserve’ a Zinger. 

I worry that one unintended consequence of this article is that some ways social inequality is highlighted may lead to reinforcement of the divide rather than dissolution. 

During my Summer holidays in 2018, I became attracted to the idea of working part-time as a food courier cyclist as in my mind I saw it as being paid to just cycle and listen to podcasts. Since then, I’ve been an on-off Deliveroo cyclist during the shorter holidays or whenever I needed a little bit of extra pocket money. 

In past the two years, I’ve earned exactly $4081.63 from making deliveries (inclusive of bonuses) and dividing it by a conservative $15/h rate, I’ve worked for around 272 hours or about 700 deliveries. split about 60/40 between private properties and HDB flats.

And I guess it’s also partly because of my different experience working in food couriering the past two years that made me feel so much discontent while reading Yusuf’s article. In these 400-odd deliveries to private residences (or heck, in any of my deliveries), I don’t recall having once been treated unnecessarily rudely, aggressively or dismissively by any of the stakeholders I interact with in the job – restaurant servers and managers, condo security management and customers alike. 

What I have experienced actually are customers that have tipped me for my efforts - especially ones who live in fairly inaccessible areas, and (during this circuit breaker period) offered me a snack or a cold drink to drop off their deliveries; security guards who ask me how my day was and if I’ve had my lunch or dinner; and restaurant staff who invite me to have a seat in the restaurant while I wait for my order. 

Some treats from kind customers 

Even when I had made a mess of the customer’s order from their order roiling around during a bumpy 15-minute bike ride (entirely my fault of course!), I’ve never heard anything more than an entirely deserved ‘tsk’ at the disappointment of having half of their pho soup ending up in the plastic bag instead of the bowl – and even then these tsk’s are far and few between! 

And it is (again, solely from my own personal experience) where I felt that Yusuf could have been cherry-picking the worst examples from his own experience to make a point. While service industry personnel are no doubt severely underappreciated and that should be improved as a whole, I feel that such blatant incidents are the exception rather than the rule. 

My point is: the world isn’t binary. Heck, even up to a year ago I was still echoing Yusuf’s entire argument and ranting rather colorfully about the injustice and discrimination of it all. Who are YOU to tell me which lift I can and cannot use? 

In the pursuit of delivering a commentary on some really important social issues, I feel that it fell short by over-emphasizing the ludicrousness of the elite and failing to consider the many other factors that contributes to this problem. 

For one, I thought that the annoyance projected to security guards seeing themselves as ‘a barrier between the riff-raff and their diamond-encrusted residents’ was a bit uncalled for – painting a picture of the fearsome guard – in employ of the up-in-the-air bourgeois hiding in their ivory tower, assailing an innocent courier who had the audacity to think that he had the right to take the same elevator as the residents? 

But then… when we consider that most lift lobbies are a good distance from the security guard posts where the guards are stationed, it doesn’t seem so unreasonable for a guard to have to raise his voice to get his point across, right? 

Being fortunate enough to live in a condo myself, I’ve sometimes felt unease in the duality that security guards experience every single day: faithful bastions in keeping residents safe, spending their days patrolling the lush, landscaped gardens and expansive feature infinity pools, but never once stepping foot into the houses they loyally guard.

And at the end of the day, clocking out to return home to an environment I assume is much less luxurious. 

So why then, do Yusuf and Boon Ping deign to foster an us vs them divide, arbitrarily placing one occupation on one side of the line and another on the opposite?

How about the incredulousness towards the guy who orders a stupid $11 Dal.komm latte every day, or the Grange Road resident who only orders a single scoop of Haagen-Dazs ice cream? 

Like I said, caricatures that highlight and reinforce the rich-poor divide.

Cherry-picking prevents the reader from seeing the single cups of coffee that I’ve delivered from Common Man Coffee Roasters to Tenteram Peak, the eight egg tarts from Whampoa Hawker Center to Toa Payoh. Or my dad, who lives a one-minute walk from the hawker center but still chooses to order through Grabfood because he paid for a subscription service that offers 50 free deliveries for just $10? 

All these customers lived in HDB units. 

As a courier, there’s nothing I appreciate more than collecting an order to find out I’m being paid $5 to cycle one block away, or reaching the restaurant to find out that a customer only ordered an easy-to-transport wrap instead of say, twelve packets of chicken rice – I’m getting paid the same amount anyway. 

So yes, they’re paying our salary, so thank you. 

Juxtaposition is also good and all for making a point, but is it truly accurate and representative? 

The word exclusive is used a lot by Yusuf - but are those who live in a smelly HDB with the pee smell in the corridor exclusively nice, and the expat who lives in the Ardmore Park condo with the super high ceiling exclusively mean? Is it wrong to live (or aspire to live) in an exclusive private property? These are questions to be stimulated, not answers to be given. 

There’s so much to pick apart, but my goal isn’t to say: I’m Right, You’re Wrong, it’s just that say that There Are Two Sides to Everything. 

A brief aside on ‘fulfillment’ 

While I love my part-time job – paying me upwards of $20 an hour to keep fit and listen to podcasts, I’m entirely cognizant that while I’m privileged that it’s a side-hustle, a side-gig, a part-time job to me; it’s also a livelihood to tens of thousands of hardworking people out there. 

Where I could turn off the app and head home when I decided I’ve earned enough in the week to eat at a new restaurant I’ve been eyeing or if it was too hot in the afternoon, most other people working my job can’t – if not, the lights may not turn on the next day. 

In a comment to an earlier draft of this piece, a friend shared that it’s a privilege to be able to separate your social identities. I think it’s also a privilege to have the choice of perspective. We exercise when we’re healthy, as a hobby, or a passion. Deliverymen don’t see it that way. There is no ‘good to do’, there is only ‘must do’. 

At the end of the day when the world starts to recover from Covid-19, you’re going to start getting photo and videography gigs and transition back to the white-collar world. 

As for the security guard and domestic helper at Ardmore Park, the server at the Grange Road Haagen-Dazs, and the tens of thousands of for-hire drivers and delivery couriers? There’s no ‘back to normal’ – this is their normal. 

In a discussion post on Yusuf’s article, a redditor referenced Maslow’s hierarchy of needs:

In the blue-collar normal, where every day is a struggle to meet the needs of financial safety and security, maybe fulfilment isn’t really an aspiration for most. In an article calling for empathy, I feel the quality slightly lacking in my reading. 

A few months back I began my education into inequality in Singapore with Teo You Yenn’s seminal This Is What Inequality Looks Like. In it, the title of one of her essays especially stood out to me: Dignity Is Like Clean Air. She describes, like Yusuf does, that many blue-collar workers in the service industry always feel invisible, that people don’t respect them, that it makes them feel small. I’d like to add on to** Dignity Is Like Clean Air** with the caveat: Segregation Is Not Necessarily Dirty. 

Going back to the ‘fucked up service lifts at the back for the smelly people, the non-residents and stuff’, how about we just call a spade a spade?

In restaurants, servers and chefs who have their meals there usually sit at tables near the kitchen (or even in the kitchen itself). 

In airplanes, consumers have the choice to pay a much higher premium for more leg room and a more gourmet selection of food. In fancy hotels, bellboys and concierge staff have to wear stiff suits – there’s usually a dress code for guests to enter certain areas. 

So, is it really that unfair, for someone who’s had the means to pay for the privilege of living in luxury, to not really want to share a lift with someone who might smell unpleasant from having spent hours cycling under the hot sun? 

The service lift provides the same functionality – no one’s saying that couriers are ‘lesser people’, we’re not being asked to walk up the stairs while the ‘masters’ take the magic moving box. It wasn’t created to separate the ‘undesirables’ from the ‘desirables’ like a pre-Rosa Parks bus, and it’ll be unhealthy to think of it as such – even worse to let it fester. 

To package my views into a neatly categorized box – When I’m Brandon the Deliveryman, it’s perfectly fine for a guard to request for me to take the service lift, but when I’m Brandon the Guest attending a dinner party at the same condo, no one is stopping me from taking the resident lift right? 

Different day, Different fit, Same me 

I still think that it’s incredibly fucked up that some employers make their helpers take a separate lift though. 

But in delivering the core message – is it more helpful to frame your reflection as ‘why do some people treat their subordinates with such contempt and how can we as society hope to change it’, or to just resent the fact that ‘rich people like that la’ – and laugh and pretend we’re friends. 

I guess what I’m most frustrated with about the article is that it had the potential to be so much more. It occasionally flirts with the possibility of going deeper into one issue or the other but ultimately ends up being a reflection of one privileged dude’s brief foray into an industry that many of us often take for granted. 

And because there are so many issues at play, people often fall into the trap of distilling extremely complicated issues into dangerous sweeping statements, which eventually does very little for the problem in question. 

Another frustration I often have towards the discourse towards social issues is that they often fail to carry a call-to-action. Okay, I’ve checked my privilege, I’ve understood that my successes in life is partly a byproduct of the wealthy family I was fortunate to being born into – now what? 

A good rule of thumb that I’ve been trying to implement into my life recently is to think about the net positive or net negative an action has onto society. And hence: 

To the fortunate: While it is important to understand your privilege and not take things for granted, you also don’t have to be ashamed of it. Every dollar you spend goes into the economy and is earned by someone else. So, what can you do to influence a net positive? 

Be kind to everyone, be kind to everyone, be kind to everyone. 

If you can, have the moral courage to call out undesirable behavior – especially if it’s someone close to you. But if you can’t – it’s okay too. Start with yourself. The world could do with less ‘you should do more’ and more ‘thank you for what you did’. 

This is not exclusive to tipping service staff or offering couriers a cold drink (although it is always really welcome!). Offer a kind word to anyone you interact with. Ask the office or school janitor if they’ve had their meal yet, wish your security guard a good morning/good evening when you pass them by, clear your tray when you’re at a fast food restaurant and smile and thank the servers if you pass them by. 

I promise you - these little acts of kindness will go a much longer way received than it takes you to give them. 

To our everyday heroes: Your intrinsic self worth is by no means defined by how an asshole treats you. You are so, so, so much more important.

You are somebody, you are somebody, you are somebody. 

In this essay, my intention is to extend the net positive that Yusuf and Rice has already generated while minimizing the net negatives it may unintentionally create by framing the issue as ‘us vs them’. 

I hope that it will be seen as an addendum to Yusuf’s original piece instead of a correction. To build up on the important issues that **each and every one of us **should acknowledge and then go one step further to see how we can resolve them. I hope that reading this has provoked more questions than it gives answers. I hope that we don’t see the world as black-and-white but how things can move to a more palatable shade of grey. 

Of course, my thoughts, beliefs, and assumptions here could be (and probably are) wildly ignorant and myopic, and I still have so much more to learn. So please confront me, dispute me and tell me where I’m wrong and what I don’t know. 

If I have to leave you with just one takeaway, I hope everyone remembers to be kinder to people – regardless.

(You can also find me at https://medium.com/@bdgthinks!)

[itsclydebitches]

How do you feel about derivative art? I'm guessing you approve since you're big into fanfics. Is art that's derivative as good as original art? Could a well made video critique of a film be better then the film? Or a fanmade rewrite be better then the original book? And yes I know nothing "original" exist, but that's not the same thing as art that is obviously derivative. And the big question. Should artist be allowed to make money off derivative art?

For me it’s an all around “Yes.” I’ve read fics leagues better than published novels. I’ve seen fanvids far better than films. Granted, when you get into the subject of visual media you run into things like finances and access to technology. Anyone can craft a story with words, but only a few have the budget and tools required to re-create the sort of Blockbuster films we’ve grown used to. But why in the world would that very specific style be the only “good” art out there? Obviously it’s not. If anything, we value limitations in our art. Six second vines shot on cell phones are adored and can lead to lucrative careers. Films like the Blair Witch Project want to mimic an armature cinematography, like these people really were just shooting what they could while running for their lives. Amateur does not in any way equal lesser. To say nothing of the fact that fans have shown time and time again that a passion for the material and a huge amount of work ethic is more than enough. As the recent Loki logo abomination attests, all the money and resources in the world doesn’t guarantee taste---or success. Outsiders to fandom love to criticize the “horrible” fics they found when they dove into AO3 for all of ten minutes, but fail to acknowledge that you’re just as likely to find a terrible book when you pull one randomly off of B&N’s shelves. If derivative art is somehow lesser than we need to re-evaluate the comics industry. And every formulaic western, rom-com, police procedural. And every great author (there are a LOT) who wrote “classics” based off of other’s characters and worlds. Art is art. Mainstream art is in no way superior to fan art, no matter how much people still want to convince us of that. 

The money question is, admittedly, waaaaaay more complicated. For me though it’s still a “Yes” simply because of how fandom functions. That is, we need the canon. Even if it becomes outdated, or is considered offensive, or is absolutely terrible compared to what the fandom has now produced, people will STILL consume that material (and more importantly buy it) in order to get access to all the good fan stuff. I’ve simply never bought into the argument that derivative works are a threat to the livelihood of the original piece because they depend on that piece. All my friends are in a fun discord for TV Show X. They’re producing all these fics I want to read. I’ve heard that Show X is actually pretty bad, but I’m going to watch it anyway because that provides me with the context that produced all this other stuff. It’s the foundation, the blueprints, the golden ticket to get inside the fandom. Will every fan do this? No, some do bypass the canon and just dive right in, but the majority of them will. Meaning that rather than posing a threat to the original author’s livelihood as most people assume, fanworks help keep mainstream content alive. Adding a price to that doesn’t change anything. If someone offers me a fic for free I’m gonna tackle the canon book first. If someone offers me a fic for $10... I’m still gonna tackle the canon book first. Either way the author gets paid and are likely to get more if fans use their work as an entry point into the fandom. “I wouldn’t have read/watched your stuff at all, if it weren’t for the fact that I want to read the stories my friend is now producing.” Giving that friend some rent money is the least we can do. 

(There are obviously other arguments against making money off of derivative works, two of which boil down to “It’s against the law”---which funnily enough we create and control and can change if perspectives change---and “They’re my creations and I don’t want you messing with them, let alone making money off them.” I’ve got a lot of feelings regarding that one and in an effort to save a bit of space I’ll boil it down to a very unkind response: Too bad. Transformation is at the heart of human interaction with art. If you didn’t want that you shouldn’t have given it to the public in the first place. Authors don’t get to police how fans interact with their work: “I love it when you take the time to write me glowing reviews! .... oh, but not when you write another story. Please continue making awesome fan posters that promote my work! ... but not one with those two characters kissing ew.” Authors don’t get to dictate how fans interact with the art they’ve put out there; how much of it is active and in what ways.) 

We also have to consider that we’re already in a world where those lines are irrevocably blurred. Why does E.L. James or Anna Todd get to make a fortune off of their barely changed fics? Why do artists get to sell their fanart but fic writers are still largely terrified of lawsuits? Fans are already making money off their work---always have, really---and I doubt that’s something we can reverse. Whether or not it continues to grow is the real question. 

Personally, I wouldn’t want to see derivative works commercialized, not because fans don’t deserve to earn money for their labor (we do), but just because that would irrevocably change fandom dynamics. We’re a gift economy and we’re built on that. Fandom has always been about progressive acts: be it writing about queer identities, providing accessibility accommodations decades before mainstream art did, or (and this is the kicker) helping to level out class differences. Meaning, mainstream art is often for the rich and the elite. Broadway shows are insanely expensive and impossible for most to get to. Movies prices have skyrocketed. Every company is creating their own streaming service, requiring that you pay three or four $20+ monthly subscriptions instead of just the one. It’s all about money and fandom is one of the few places where we still exchange art for praise and more art, rather than a paycheck. Fic is free. Fanvids are free. You guys want a cute drawing of this couple? All you have to do is send in a prompt ask and I’ll draw it! Sure, I’d also love it if you paid for a commission, but I’m going to keep creating free drawings on the side. When was the last time we saw a mainstream author go, “Please continue to buy my last story, but in the meantime here’s a free novel I’m putting up on my website. Hope you enjoy!” I mean yes, we do get things for free (especially when it comes to many games, apps, and some short stories), but not like in fandom. There’s a culture of giving that I never want to lose. Are we already doing commissions and con sales? Yes. Do we often ask for donations and payment? Yes. Should we be able to continue doing so without fear of legal action? I think so. But I don’t want a general sense of “I should be allowed to earn money off of this” get turned into “Well if I can earn money off of this why wouldn’t I?” I never want our work to exist fully behind a wall where the key in is your credit card number. Fandom is unique in its, “I made this thing because I wanted to and I shared it with you because I wanted to do that too, no strings attached” and that, I think, is worth protecting. 

[gemmayim]

Interview with Colin, a librarian in Walthamstow library in 1980s

I had an In-depth interview with Colin, who worked in library in Walthamstow for 5 years in 1980s to better know more about libraries and books in the past. 

Question: It has been a long time since you worked in library, is there anything that you still remember and feel important to you?

I still remember clearly the reason why I quit my job in library. In 1985, the library in Walthamstow started to introduce computers to replace the card index system for borrowing and returning books and the trend started in most libraries in London since 1980s.. I needed to help with making the barcodes and the admin for that back then and I could feel that my job was going to be replaced by the computers. What I don’t like most about computerisation is that it took away the connection between the public and the staff. It was an important way for people, especially elderlies who live by themselves to meet people.

Question: How would you run a library?

I think libraries nowadays have become souless because there is a lack of interaction between users and the staff. If users need to interact with staff when they borrow/ return books, it creates a community. I used to make friends with the users and staffs in the library. People would say hello to me on the streets in Walthamstow because they knew me from library. I really enjoyed interacting with the children there.

Question: Who are the regular users of the library?

Elderly women, who are around 60-80s, visited the library more often. They normally borrow romance book like Mills Boon, which is some kind of slashy, tame romance stories. Jacky Collins is another popular choice among the elderly women. Some of the elderly women would ask his friend in the library Linda to find erotic romance fiction for them. I guess if the users can find books on the computer system, it would be more private when they want to find books that are more personal.

Question: Was there any event in the library that you really liked or disliked back then?

We didn't usually have events in the library. Sometimes there were talks given by some author, like Michael Rosen. I remember we had a Children's Book week to encourage kids to read more book, and I wore a clown costume and promoted the event with a girl who was wearing a teddy bear costume. That was the only book week for children in the 5 years that I worked there. They did have book weeks for other groups but it didn’t happen that often.

Question: How was the reading culture in 1980s?

Reading culture was much stronger back then. When I was young, I regarded the libraries as churches because of the silence and the atmosphere there. Staff would tell you off if you spoke loudly in the library. And I think the attitude changes over time.

Question: What’s the difference between the reading culture in the past and nowadays?

I think, in the past, we only had radios, magazines, one channel on TV and maybe records to listen to music and no other kinds of entertainment in the media. Nowadays, we have computers and the internet that offer different kinds of entertainment to us and I think that definitely affects the use of libraries, less people go to the library nowadays.

Question: Was it common that people stole books from the library?

I don’t know how common it was but they used to have agents knocking on people’s doors if they haven’t returned the books to the library after a certain time. They probably called reprocessing officers, who worked for the council for collecting rent or other kinds of duty. After the book were overdue for weeks, the library would send the user a warning letter/ reminder and if it was overdue for months, the reprocessing officer would then go knock on their door to collect the fee and the book. I remember there was a time that a reprocessing officer went to the user’s house and found that the room was full of books that were borrowed/ stolen from the library.

Question: What do you think about books in general?

I love the feeling of a paperback and I treat books with reverence. Even I own the book, I treat it as if it is not mine and with utmost respect and very carefully.

I think books exercise a lot of power and transport someone to have a variety of feelings. It conjure different feelings and emotions and it is magical how words take readers to different parts of the world at different times, having different experiences. Books set light to our imagination and there is no limit to the way you think and feel.

Question: How do you get your book?

I normally buy books in bargained bookshops, or charity shops like Oxfarm

Question: How will you treat your book after reading it?

My sportsbooks accumulate at home and find it difficult to give books away to someone who are actually interested in it. And I am reluctant to give away my books because I am quite attached to my sport books. I do give them away to my friends, but only occasionally

Question: Is there any story behind a book that you really like?

In 1960, I was about 9, Arsenal bought a player George Eastham and I was very excited because I thought George Eastham would greatly improve the team a lot. Then Geroge wrote a biography about himself and I managed to get a copy through a supporter club, which is a signed copy written “Best wishes, George Eastham” (see the photo)

Question: Do you think the signature gives more meaning to the book?

Yes, I think so.

Question: What do you think about books in a digital world?

I feel sad that books are taken over by the internet, but the internet can make it much easier for people to find information and from an environmental perspective, the internet is better because it takes much more energy to print and produce a book than posting it on the internet.

Takeaway and Afterthoughts:

I was very intrigued to hear Colin’s story of working in the library in Walthamstow, especially his perceptive of library being soulless after computerisation. Despite his personal resistance to computerisation of the library system, he is actually open to the changes of the society and agreed with the advantages Brough by technological advancement. Yet, if library is actually becoming soulless due to the lack of human interaction, if we need to repurpose and rejuvenate library in our society, what more should we do to make it more accessible with a “soul”? How can we bridge the distance between individuals when they come to library? And how can we attract people to go to library again?

Out of curiosity, I searched on Google to see if there is any existing project that try to bring library alive again and found that a library in Ireland, dlr LexIcon, actually become a local attraction and important community centre since they renovated and reopen in 2017. 

Shared by a librarian and event programmer from dlr LexIcon in an interview, 

“Regarding challenges or opportunities for the future, I would list the following; the changing concept of the library model, upskilling of staff and the public to embrace the evolving culture of libraries, technological developments and digitalisation, a recovering economy, employment support and adapting and supporting changing demographics in the area i.e. older people, immigrants, young families etc.”

“Our current ambition is to connect and empower people, inspire ideas and support community potential”

“We couldn’t do what we do without all the teamwork and passion. Bring in writers, musicians, storytellers, digital curators in-house as they bring new life and energetic perspectives. We are always trying out our spaces in different ways and it is amazing how many people will come and look at an exhibition that has been on display for a while if you just move it to a slightly different location.”

Source: https://princh.com/how-can-a-new-library-connect-and-inspire-communities-dlr-libraries/

From the look of it, no radical or outrageously innovative changes made in the library, but as Colin mentioned in the interview, they strive to promote the connection and empowerment in the community. If connection and empowerment are the key ingredients to rejuvenate a community and is there a “smarter” way to do it? Also, does human interaction have to be happened in library? if library is just being renovated into a community centre, and physical books are not the main characters anymore, why do we still keep it as a book library? What is actually the right question to ask if changes has to be made?  These questions reminded me of the tool library project Lara mentioned in the lecture and the discussion in our first group meeting, Of course! More than books! But Tools and resource! 

In that case, back to the main topic about books and library, do library really need physical books anymore?

[mortaljin]

Anonymous Love

Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: A curse word or two. Genre: Literally this is just fluff. This is pure fluff and the boys being dumb. High School!AU Pairing: ?? x female reader

Summary: One sticky note turns into two, two into four, and then four into dozens. Who in their right mind would confess their love for you, anonymously, via sticky-notes? Why do your seven best friends have shit-eating grins on their faces?

A/N: this plot line is so dumb, but it’s cute nonetheless. Hmpf.

You look beautiful today x

The blue ink that was soaked into the sticky note baffled you; four words and a simple letter left you awestruck at your locker. Slowly, the sounds of shoes against the tiled floors of your high school faded as everyone left for their ventures home. With a swipe of your thumb over the note, the ink smeared and began to stain your skin. This note is fresh. You glanced left towards the arts corridor only to find it empty. When you looked right towards the science corridor, you could hear three sets of voices coming from that direction. Three boys rounded the corner and the sound of genuine laughter filled your ears.

“Y/N!” Kim Seokjin, one of your closest friends, broke from the trio and jogged slightly to envelop you in his daily hug.

“Hi, Jin.” A wide grin, one that wouldn’t have been there three years ago when you entered as a freshman, spread across your face as the other two were now close. “Hoseok, Jimin, what are you guys up to?”

“The same thing we always do, you know!” The sarcasm in the roll of Hoseok’s eyes did not match the energetic smile playing on his lips at the comment.

And you did know. Like clockwork, Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok were no doubt making their way to the dance room. To others, the dufflebags filled with changes of clothes, and miniature speakers would suggest a work out at the gym. You knew though, that for the final year, the two boys in front of you were beginning their dance season; it wasn’t rare to catch you, or anyone else for that matter, sitting on the sidelines watching the duo practice. Unfortunately, you would often find yourself annoyed by one of your favorite songs being played on repeat for hours on end, causing you to lose interest in it quickly. You also often found yourself to be the one the tired boys run to for massages. Telling people you helped them out for the free food they would buy you after their practices would be a lie; you would give them all the shoulder massages in the world, out of the kindness of your heart, if it meant they would feel better the next morning. But they didn’t need to know that, of course.

“Have you two already picked out a song?”

“That’s what today is for, I suppose. We’re headed to the room to throw around some ideas.” It almost seemed like Jimin’s eyes sparkled with hope as he spoke of the upcoming season, and you couldn’t help but smile at their passion.

You said goodbye to the two, watching as they cheerily walked through the double doors leading out of the building. Seokjin had remained fairly quiet during the conversation, only giving a hum here and there in acknowledgment. When you glanced back up to him, you realized why his replies had died down: in his hands was that yellow sticky note that had been folded and pushed inside of your locker.

“Oh, that reminds me,” you say as you take the note out of his hand, “this note was in my locker today. It wasn’t written too long ago, seeing as the ink was still fresh.

“Looks like someone has a secret admirer,” Seokjin wiggled his eyebrows in a flirtatious manner to which you scoffed and shut your locker.

“I highly doubt that, the guy probably meant to put it in the locker next to mine. We all know how pretty she is.”

Eyebrow quirked, Seokjin gave you a look that screamed “bullshit,” but you only waved him off before you were the one walking out of the building.

The sticky note wasn’t something you had expected to see, not on your 5th period desk anyways. When you entered the classroom, over half the students were already in their desks; some were patiently waiting for the last ninety seconds to pass by for the teacher to begin class, and others were wrapping up their gossip about whatever it is they gossip about. The note hadn’t even caught your eye until you were sitting in the seat.

Meet me in the danceroom after school? -Your secret admirer

You ran your thumb over the note once more, smearing the ink in the process. This became the habit now as this was the eighth note you’ve received. Most of the previous ones had been compliments that made your heart race and your cheeks flush what could only be a deep scarlet. The most recent one before today’s note though, had been a little more flirtatious and… personal. You had tripped one afternoon during gym class, and although you weren’t one to easily get embarrassed, you knew word had travelled quickly when some of your friends were throwing themselves at you in worry outside of the gym. The note that you found in your locker a couple classes after the incident was written in its same blue ink on the same yellow paper. I’m sorry you fell today, I can kiss you it and make you feel better. -SA

That note definitely left you liable to a heart attack, and you had promptly gushed to Jeon Jungkook the moment that you found him. Wishes of wanting to know who he was already had no trouble spilling from your giddy lips.

“Be careful what you wish for, Y/N,” Jungkook’s words from two days ago were now flowing through your mind as you tried to picture the person behind the mysterious notes.

“Hey, Yoongi?” It seemed like the school had blessed you this year, because you had one of your seven best friends in each of your classes.

“What’s up, buttface?”

 Perhaps they did so on purpose to keep the eight of you separated.

“Rude. Anyways, did you see who left this sticky note on my desk?”

“Nope,” he said the word with a loud pop of his lips before fulling turning to you. “Is it another love note?”

“Of course it is, but this time he said he wanted to meet me!”

Yoongi is the kind of person to usually dismiss the little things like this; he often whines to no end when it was your turn to pick out the film for movie night because you always choose a romantic one. He’s not against love or anything, he just doesn’t see the hype about it. So, when he found out you had a secret admirer, he was the first one to write it off as childish. This time though, as you gushed to him about your secret admirer he copied your excitement with an equally dumb grin.

“It’s about time lover boy got the balls to see you!”

With that exclamation, the teacher called for class to begin. You tried so hard, you really did, to pay attention to the PowerPoint in front of you. The historical words could not, however, grasp your attention long enough before you were fumbling with the sticky note on your desk. Trailing your eyes around the room, you let your eyes settle on the back of the heads of a few of the boys in your class. Jackson is super cute, but he’s never talked to me a day in his life, you huffed as you moved onto the next one. Yugyeom is a total sweetheart and so attractive but, does he even know how to talk to girls? You giggled in your seat as the teacher droned on and on about the economy of four hundred years ago. Leaping from boy to boy, your eyes finally landed to the one next to you. With your head on your hand, you gazed at Yoongi for just a few seconds. His hair seemed to have a little more texture today than usual and you made note to scold him for over bleaching his hair. If he wasn’t one of my best friends, I would have no qualms with him being my secret admirer.

“And don’t forget we’ll be choosing partners tomorrow for the project!” The teachers loud voice signaled the end of class, and you had to blink a couple times to make sure it really was time to leave.

Yoongi snapped his fingers in front of your face and finally you broke out of your trance. The two of you walked in comfortable silence before you thought to ask about the project you had missed.

“Y/N, you’re gonna be my partner again right?” But Yoongi beat you to it.

“It depends, what project are we doing again?”

“Were you daydreaming about your crush that hard?” You knew right then that Yoongi would never stop teasing you about the whole situation.

“Yes, but I’d hardly call it a crush, I don’t even know who he-” your sentence was cut short as six pairs of feet came into your line of sight.

“What’s this I’m hearing about a crush?” Namjoon was the first one to speak up as they approached the two of you in the hallway.

As always, Namjoon’s blonde hair was coated with just the right amount of hair gel to get it to fluff up perfectly when it had been slicked back; the sides of his head were much shorter than the rest of his locks and it gave him an edgier look. You always asked why he put so much effort into his hair to which he would always reply, “it’s not like these uniforms do much to make me look good.” That was a lie if there was one, because Namjoon seemed to be the only one who didn’t drown in the awkwardness of the mandatory clothing.

“It’s not a crush,” another one, Kim Taehyung, shouts as he pulls the sticky note from your hand. “Y/N is finally going to figure out who her secret admirer is!”

The note was being passed around as the seven boys threw out their guesses left and right. It was Seokjin that seemed to have the same idea as you when he too suggested Yugyeom, the boy who always tries to talk to you, but somehow never can.

“It’s gotta be him, we all know he’s in love with you!” As Seokjin said this, you noticed Hoseok and Jimin being hardly able to contain their fit of laughter.

“I’m worried though, what if it’s someone that I’ve never even talked to? I feel like I at least know this person leaving the notes.” The bell rang to let you know that you had a minute to get to your next class, so you said your goodbyes and prepared to walk away. “I swear it’d almost be better if it was one of you boys, at least I already know I enjoy your company.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked away, the sounds of their giggles and laughter fading the farther away you got. The more you thought about it, the more you hoped it would be one of the seven boys. Not only were your seven best friends undeniably attractive, they knew you like the back of their hands. This was, however, highly impossible, so you made it through the rest of the day getting antsier and antsier as the day drew to a close.

Faint music could be heard from the other side of the dance room door, piano music, you thought. At this point, your palms were almost sweaty from how nervous you were; you probably had checked a mirror ten times in the last five minutes, and you were constantly smoothing down the non-existent wrinkles in the skirt of your uniform. The second that you began to turn the handle, the music stopped. You couldn’t back away now, so you slowly opened the door to its full width and stepped inside. With your gaze still lowered, you turned to shut the door behind you. When you turned around and lifted your eyes, you were expecting to meet only one pair of eyes.

Instead, you were met with seven.

“O-oh,” you stuttered when you realized the boys had been using the danceroom. “I’m sorry guys, I didn’t know you’d be in here!”

Your face started to burn because how dumb could I have been to think that my secret admirer would reveal himself. It wasn’t until Jimin had abruptly came to your side that you were able to lift your gaze again.

“Come here,” he murmured as he gently tugged on your wrist. You, confusingly, let him bring you to the others; Taehyung brought out a chair for you to sit on, and they created a semi-circle in front of you.

“What are you guys doing here? Did you see the guy that I was supposed to meet?”

You looked up at Jungkook, initially, who was nervously chewing on his lip, before glancing around at the others. No one seemed to be able to hold your gaze, and you were beginning to burn with embarrassment.

“Oh no, please tell me you didn’t,” you paused trying not to panic as “realization” hit you. “You guys did this as a prank didn’t you?”

You had let your voice raise a little, to which the boys’ eyes had widened. At the thought of your seven best friends pulling such a cruel joke on you, you felt your eyes well up with tears. Before you got the chance to blink them free, gentle hands were sitting you back down in the seat you had angrily jumped from.

“No, Y/N, we’d never pull a prank like that on you.” Jungkook’s soft voice had you calmed down easily, but it didn’t erase your confusion.

“Then what’s going on. Why are you guys here?”

A short silence filled the air as you let your gaze settle on Yoongi; he was tonguing the corner of his mouth and you knew there was something he wanted to say.

“It’s us.” Yoongi finally sighed and decided to speak.

“What?” You sat there dumbfounded as you tried to decipher what he had said.

“Well not all of us,” Namjoon had piped up.

“It’s one of us,” Jimin finished, and you turned to look at the quiet boy who was blushing indefinitely.

“So, let me get this right,” you took a deep breath trying to word everything properly, “one of you has a crush. On me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Seokjin was laughing at your denial of the fact.

“Well yes, you guys are my best friends!”

“One of just wants to be more, is all.” Taehyung was serious as he talked.

“Well who is it?”

“That,” Yoongi had a mischievous grin on his face, “would ruin the fun. You have to find out yourself.”

“What am I supposed to do?” You threw your hands up in exasperation, “go on dates with my seven best friends to figure out which one likes me?”

Once you saw the shit eating grins plastered on all seven faces, you outwardly groaned as you put your face in your hands. They are going to be the death of me. When you were done shaking your head, you stood up and stared at Namjoon.

“You,” you aggressively pointed your finger at him, making him gulp under your rough stare, “are buying me dinner tonight since the seven of you want to make things difficult for me.”

7:02 PM. Jungkook: Y/N!

7:03 PM. Y/N: What now?

7:05 PM. Seokjin: What are you wearing for your date with Namjoon?

7:05 PM. Jimin: What are you wearing tonight?

7:05 PM. Taehyung: Wear that blue dress tonight!

7:06 PM. Hoseok: Don’t let him kiss you!

7:07 PM. Y/N: Omg. Pls stop guys.

7:07 PM. Y/N: It’s not even a date, he’s just buying me dinner. Something you guys have all done before??

7:09 PM. Yoongi: It’s different this time!

7:11 PM. Seokjin: You never answered my question! What are you wearing tonight?

7:12 PM. Jimin: Just show us!

7:15 PM. Y/N: Not happening. Just ask Joon tomorrow, he’s here anyways.

Your phone buzzed a few more times, but you didn’t bother to read them. Turning the vibrations off, you quickly grabbed your purse and met Namjoon where he was still insistently knocking on your door. He greeted you with a closed mouth smile that perfectly displayed his dimples. For a second your heart fluttered at the sight of him so attractively casual. Maybe having your seven, too-hot-for-their-own-good, best friends show up at your door won’t be the end of the world.

“Ready for our date?” You teased, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Thought you said it wasn’t a date?” He laughed as he dramatically held his elbow out for you to hook your arm through. You gave him a smirk as he led you out of your house and to whatever adventure he had planned.

A soup shop. Namjoon took you to the same soup shop that all eight of you always frequent; the blinds on the windows still provided the same amount of light that they always do; the fixtures above the table gave off the same yellow glow; you could still smell the same delicious scent wafting from the kitchen. The only difference was there was only two of you this time, not eight.

Like any other time the two of you are alone, the air is only filled with laughter and chatter. From the way he sticks his chopsticks in his mouth to be a makeshift walrus, to the way you ask each other the same mind-boggling questions, nothing is different. Namjoon has always been one of the easier ones to converse with, and you were thankful that tonight was no different.

His hair was still styled the same way that he had done this morning for school, but he replaced his uniform for dark jeans rolled above his ankles, a grey shirt, and some converse. Namjoon looked good, really good, but you could tell that minimal effort had been put into the whole ordeal. You observed Namjoon and his mannerisms, none of which suggest anything other than a platonic relationship between the two of you.

“Joon,” you sighed as you pushed your now empty bowl away from you. “It’s not you, is it?”

“What makes you say that?” You watched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and quirked a brow at him. “Okay, fine, you caught me.”

“I knew it,” you giggled.

“What gave me away?”

“Joon,” you rolled your eyes, “you were the first one I became close to out of the seven of you, and I know how you get when you like a girl, and it’s certainly not this.” You gestured to your surroundings.

“Good point.”

“Why can’t you just tell me who it is?” You sighed again as you impatiently tapped your fingers against the tabletop. Namjoon simply shook his head, causing you to ask another question. “At least give me a hint?”

At first Namjoon didn’t budge, but the cuter your face got and the more you pleaded him with big eyes, the sooner he crumbled.

“Fine, I’ll give you a hint if you go out with Yoongi next. He’s been dying to try that restaurant over there,” he pointed and emphasized with the utensil in his hand, “and I definitely do not want to eat there."

“Deal.”

The remaining couple days of the school week dragged on. Between the seven boys and the notes you were still receiving, it seemed like your life had turned into a romcom. They were smart though, and went to extreme measures to make sure you couldn’t figure out who the secret admirer really was: after they saw you checking their homework to compare it to the love note, your notes started coming in different handwriting each time. And each time someone complimented you or said something remotely flirtatious, all the others joined in so as not to single anyone out. Save for Namjoon, of course.

“What do you mean you told her it wasn’t you?” Seokjin had playfully whined as he set his food on the table next you the next day at lunch.

“It was just too obvious. Besides, now this lets her focus on the rest of you.” That remark had all the chattering boys shutting up in an instant, leaving you in giggles.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you looked over your outfit once more. Being one step closer to figuring out which boy had been crushing on you had left excitement boiling in the pit of your stomach. Waiting for Yoongi to pick you up had you slightly more nervous than you had been with Namjoon; you knew nothing of how Yoongi handled his crushes, so there was no telling how you could figure out if he was the one or not. Wondering what he would be wearing tonight had your thoughts running over the different outfits you’ve seen him wear. You could only pray that he’d wear the black jeans with the holes in them.

7:36 PM. Taehyung: sweeeeetheaaaart

7:38 PM. Y/N: I get petnames now?

7:39 PM. Seokjin: Only if you want them

7:39 PM. Jimin: Where are you and Yoongi going tonight?

7:40 PM. Hoseok: They’re going to that new place across from our soup shop.

7:41 PM. Y/N: I can talk for myself guys

7:43 PM. Namjoon: Hardly, she won’t stop telling me about how excited she is for this date.

7:44 PM. Y/N: This isn’t a date either, Namjoon!

7:45 PM. Namjoon: Sure, that’s totally why you haven’t been sending me snapchats about your outfit.

7:46 PM. Jungkook: Namjoon gets to see the outfits but we don’t? :(

7:48 PM. Yoongi: Wait your turn kid, I’m outside Y/N!

7:50 PM. Seokjin: You’re not even gonna go to the door? She’s definitely gonna think you’re not the one!

You sighed heavily and went to the door. Upon opening it however, you were met, once again, with an attractive boy with a shit eating grin on his face. Yoongi’s hand was half raised in an interrupted knock, and his gums were on full display. The sight of him looking so happy was enough to make your heart skip a beat, but even more so when you realized what he was holding. He was holding a small bouquet of a variety of flowers that just screamed romance.

“I hope these are okay?”

Are you an idiot? Is what you wanted to say to the silly question, but you opted for something with a little less teasing.

“They’re perfect, thank you.”

Once the flowers had been secured into a vase, you were off for date number two. Instantly you could tell that there was something different with your time with Namjoon and the present moment. While you and Namjoon talked like the old friends you were, Yoongi seemed to have put a little bit more effort into the whole ordeal. He wasn’t wearing the torn jeans you knew and loved, but they were dark and hugged his hips perfectly nonetheless; his shirt hung loosely from his chest, causing you to steal a glance or two at his collarbones when he shifted in his seat. Your gaze travelled from his face to ears, noting the way the earrings hung from his earlobes.

“Yoongi?” As the two of you settled into the booth you had been led to, you couldn’t help but voice your observations. “I haven’t seen you wear those earrings in weeks, why’d you change them out?”

“I uh,” his face turned red at the question and he looked away timidly for a moment. “I remember that you had said you really liked them when I got them a few months ago, so I put them back in for tonight.”

It was then that a couple butterflies tried to escape from your stomach, but you drowned them with your drink. Food was ordered and brought out, and the usual comfortable silence you loved him for filled the air. The entire dinner seemed to be filled with shy glances and accidental foot bumping under the table, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different in the way he looked at you tonight.

After leaving the restaurant which, thankfully, turned out to be heavenly, the two of you walked around the quiet town. Yoongi had his hands in his pockets and yours swung freely at your sides, occasionally brushing his arm. You had been discussing something with a passion; hands were repeatedly thrown into the air in annoyance or excitement. Hardly noticing that Yoongi had unfisted his hands from his pockets, you jumped a bit at the contact that his hand made with yours. If holding your hand was meant to shut you up, it certainly worked.

The hand holding didn’t stop as you made it back to your house; Yoongi only broke the grasp when he opened the car door for you, but the moment he had finished turning the car on and pulled away, his fingers locked themselves between yours once more.

I definitely wouldn’t mind it if it was Yoongi sending me love notes, you giggled at the idea and that had Yoongi giving you a concerned sideways glance.

“Why are you laughing like a crazy person over there?”

“Just thinking,” he hummed in response and you knew that he wanted you to elaborate. “Is it you? I mean you’ve definitely put in the most effort so far.”

“You’ve only gone out with two of us so far,” he laughed as he pointed out the fact, and your heart threatened to fail as his wide smile softened. “But no, I’m not gonna tell you if it’s me or not.”

“This isn’t fair, can I get a hint?” 

Yoongi was silent for a minute or two as he pondered the request. Pulling into your driveway, he put the car in park and shifted in his seat so that he was facing you. For the briefest second, the situation seemed soft and flirtatious, and for an even briefer second you thought he would lean over at any point and kiss you. Which, he did, but only on the forehead. There was no doubt in your mind that you were now a giddy mess.

“As far as your hint goes,” he softly spoke as you started to exit the car, “let’s just say I’m a better candidate than say, Hoseok or Jimin.” He gave you a wink as you shut the car door, watching until you made it inside. The second you got your front door open, he was off like a light.

10:42 PM. Y/N: Well tonight’s been interesting

10:43 PM. Seokjin: Spill the beans!!

10:43 PM. Taehyung: Was the food any good?

10:44 PM. Jimin: Did he bring you flowers? He said he might bring you flowers!!

You stared at your phone as the messages in the group chat grew in number. It was hilarious seeing them ask about the date, even when they knew everything already. Surely, they knew what Yoongi had planned.

10:48 PM. Y/N: The food was great! They had these delicious lamb skewers!

10:48 PM. Y/N: And yes, he did bring me flowers.

10:50 PM. Y/N: Here’s a picture of them, aren’t they pretty :)

10:53 PM. Jungkook: Good job, hyung, I bet Y/N was a blushing mess the entire night

10:55 PM. Hoseok: Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll wow you even better than Yoongi did when you go on a date with me.

10:57 PM. Y/N: Actually, that’s the other thing that made this night so interesting

10:58 PM. Seokjin: ???

10:58 PM. Namjoon: which is??

11:00 PM. Y/N: A little birdy told me that it’s not Jimin or Hoseok :)

11:02 PM. Jimin: OH, COME ON, HYUNG

11:05 PM. Hoseok: really Yoongi?? You toLD HER??

11:08 PM. Yoongi: No comment.

11:10 PM. Y/N: I never said it was Yoongi that told me that!

11:10 PM. Namjoon: Y/N, you don’t get your hint now :(

You kept watching as the two boys bickered with Yoongi at the information you had gathered on the date. It was an absolute riot to see them get so worked up over the game being spoiled.

11:15 PM. Y/N: Besides, I don’t kiss and tell ;)

11:16 PM. Seokjin: wait, WHAT

11:16 PM. Jungkook: DID HE KISS YOU?

11:17 PM. Jungkook: HYUNG WE SAID NO KISSING.

11:20 PM. Yoongi: Again, no comment.

11:21 PM. Y/N: Goodnight boys :)

Apart from the fact that you, at one point, had seven attractive boys pretending, and not, to pine over you, the best part about the situation is all the free food you were getting. It seemed as though all your meals had been, both from the sake of friendship and for romance, taken care of. Such as right now for instance: three days from your last venture, and a week and a half from your time with Yoongi.

It was Jungkook’s turn to catch your attention, and it was completely adorable how he planned on doing it. You were sat at the dining table at his home, patiently waiting for the dinner he had decided to prepare. Upon arriving, he instantly told you that it wouldn’t be as good as Jin’s cooking, but that he had gotten lessons nonetheless. The smell of meat and vegetables that had been seasoned with spices, that you couldn’t name, wafted into your nose from the kitchen.

Your fingertips drummed against the wooden table as you let your mind wander back to the date from a couple evenings ago. More importantly, the awful movie you had been forced to watch replayed in your head.

“It’s not you, is it, Taehyung?” You asked the question the second the two of you had stepped out from the movie theatre.

“Oh come on, the movie was that bad!” Taehyung waved his hand as he whined, moving your connected one with it. “Okay fine, it was bad. I know, I’ll let you pick the movie next time.”

“Good. But that’s not why I said it wasn’t you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well for one, you can’t properly hold my hand, and there wasn’t an ounce of nervousness radiating off of you.”

“What if my hand just doesn’t fit well in yours?” The excuse was dumb enough that even Taehyung was grimacing over it, “or what if I’m just super confident?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you rolled your eyes and stopped so that he would face you. He looked at you with confusion written across his face and you stepped closer. “Forgive me but,”

Your voice trailed off as you used your free hand to grab the back of his neck and bring his face closer to yours. The second his lips collided with yours, you had your answer. Taehyung emitted a noise that definitely did not sound like pleasure, and you broke from the action with a smirk on your face.

“What was that for?” He stared at you as if you were crazy, and you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Taehyung did the same.

“Well,” you shrugged, “neither one of us enjoyed that kiss, so it’s safe to say you’re not the one with the crush.”

Taehyung had given you a playful smack on your arm, cursing the fact that he was going to get an earful from the other guys; no doubt that the other six, crush or not, would ever let him live it down.

“It’s not as good as the one that Jin makes, but I think it still tastes good anyways.” Jungkook’s sweet voice had brought you back to reality.

You dug your fork into the food he had placed on your plate and brought it to your mouth. Jungkook looked at you intensely so that he couldn’t miss your reaction. You decided not to pass up the opportunity to mess with him.

“Oh my god, Jungkook.” You made a disgusted face as his eyes widened with horror. “You didn’t even cook the meat properly!”

“Seriously?” He was out of his seat in a second, grabbing the fork of meat from your hand. The moment he saw that it was, in fact, cooked perfectly, he returned to his seat with a scowl. “You’re the worst did you know that?”

“Uh no, I’m the best. That’s why you boys keep feeding me, remember?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, down the side of his neck, and across his cheek, a mannerism that you learned long ago stemmed from nerves.

You had brushed it off at first, but as you ate your food in what was neither an uncomfortable nor comfortable silence, you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Jungkook!” You said almost too loudly, causing the poor boy to jump in his seat.

“Holy shit, I’m right here, you don’t have to yell so loudly!” His hand stayed clutched to his chest until it seemed his breathing had slowed down enough for him to speak again. “What is it?”

“Why are you so nervous? None of the other boys have been like this, is that the giveaway that you’re the one sending me love notes?”

“Actually, the opposite.”

You cocked your head in a questioning manor as you waited for Jungkook to spit out whatever it is that he has to say. Eventually, he did.

“No offense, Y/N, but it’s not me. Don’t get me wrong, you’re super pretty and nice and I love you, but I-” He could have rambled on and on with his apology, but you decided to cut him some slack.

“Kookie, stop it.” You laughed as you heard his heavy breathing, lungs burning for air after talking that fast. “What was the point of learning how to cook then?”

“Well,” a red hue crept up to his cheeks and he had to bite back a large smile. “I really want to impress Amy with some cooking skills before I ask her to be my date to prom.”

“Awe,” you cooed as you had ticked off the fifth boy from your list.

“Besides, I knew it wasn’t you anyways.”

“Hyung is going to kill me,” he groaned.

Pulling out your phone, you sent a quick text to the group chat before Jungkook convinced you to let him kick your ass in video games.

7:00 PM. Y/N: Looks like there’s only two of you left in the running. I’m coming for you next, Jin ;)

You waited patiently, hidden at the end of the corridor. Thankfully, your teacher had believed that you had fallen ill during class. This gave you the opportunity to be on the lookout for whoever your mysterious lover could be. The clock read that there were only a few minutes left until the bell rang to let the classes out for lunch, and you began to worry that your secret admirer was never going to show. You continued to think this until you heard the faint sound of a classroom door opening on the other end of the hallway. Ducking behind the lockers, you waited until you heard the sound of a locker opening. The loud clank of the metal locker rang through the hallway, and you could hear the sound of footsteps walking the way they came. Peering out from your hiding spot, you watched as a head of dark hair, accompanied by a shorter one of blonde, left the building.

Without hesitation, you sped to your locker; the combination lock that you protected it with hadn’t been shut properly, letting you reopen your locker with ease. The sticky note fluttered to the ground from its place on the inside of the door. It was a pink sticky this time, but the blue ink still smeared when you touched. Your heart thumped loudly because you finally figured out who was behind all the love letters.

11:55 AM. Y/N: Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. Meet me in the danceroom for lunch?

11:56 AM. Seokjin: What do you mean we have a winner? I haven’t even taken you out yet!

11:58 AM. Hoseok: It’s about time you figured it out, he hasn’t stopped talking about you for months.

A chuckle left your lips because Hoseok was still trying to hide the identity of the mysterious crusher, but it didn’t matter, because you knew. Perhaps you had known from the beginning, or perhaps it had just finally clicked in your head, but after your observations today, there was no doubt in your head. You made your way to the empty danceroom and patiently waited as the seven idiots piled into the room. The look on their faces was comical; a variety of nerves, humor, and annoyance washed over their faces.

“Well come on,” Jimin said as he shut the danceroom door and joined the others in front of you.

“How’d you figure it out?” Hoseok finished.

“Wait, she hasn’t even guessed who it is yet, what if she doesn’t know who it is?” Yoongi had a smirk on his face, and you knew you were about to floor all of them because you were one step ahead.

“It’s funny that yohu’re the one saying that, Yoongi.” The others laughed as his face turned bright red, “seeing as you’re the one leaving me the notes.”

“I-I, what?” He started to stutter a little in embarrassment of being outed like he was. “What makes you s-say that?”

“Oh, let’s see, at the end of every date, yours included, I’ve been told it wasn’t them.”

“But you never went out with Jin?”

“Well, I was supposed to, but I made a beautiful observation this morning.” You held out a pack of pink sticky notes and tossed it to him. “Besides the fact that I was in class when you asked for the pink sticky notes from the teacher last week, you aren’t very smart. I have one of you in all of my classes, you do realize that you’re the only one that owns, let alone uses, blue ink pens, right?”

“What if the others had borrowed one?”

“Well that brings me to my next point,” you were standing in front of Yoongi now and you were almost worried that he had stopped breathing. “You’re the only one that knows the combination to the lock I keep on my locker.”

“What if-”

You had been waiting for the moment since your first date, so you took the opportunity to deflect his what if statements. You gave him a soft kiss, and he instantly melted into your mouth. As if on instinct, a large hand settled onto the small of your back, fisting the material of your shirt in the process. When you pulled away, Yoongi looked awestruck as his lower lip hung in a pout.

“Are you gonna confess that you like me, now?”

“Only if you kiss me again,” he murmured as he used his free hand to cup your face.

The second kiss was a little messier, and it had the other six boys hollering in excitement. You could feel yourself being jostled slightly as the boys clapped their hands onto Yoongi’s shoulder. When you pulled away the second time, Yoongi was giving you the same wide smile he had when he picked you up for your date.

“This is cute and all, but can you still let me feed you later, Y/N?” Jin’s question had you arching your brow and had Yoongi tightening his grip around your waste. “I had planned on using the ingredients in my fridge for dinner tonight and they’ll be bad by tomorrow if I don’t!”

“Of course, Jinnie, you know I never turn down free food.” You gave the boys a wink as they all laughed, they knew it was true.

[whenthelaughingstops]

Fear and loathing in lost vagueness.

So my ex is now in Germany and the Czech Republic for 2 weeks. I am single dad for that time which is kinda nice. My former in-laws, god bless them, are also watching the kids for a few nights of those weeks while I perform a couple club shows. 

I didn’t realize this, but knowing she’s on the other side of the planet has made me realize how much I think and worry about the possibility of running into her. It hasn’t happened yet (at least not to my knowledge), but I always have this fear that I will run into her while I’m either out running errands, at a restaurant, or hell maybe even on a date (who knows?).

The possibility is lessened knowing that when I have the kids, I’m usually doing dad stuff either at home or very specific places and vice versa for her. However there are times when the kids would be in daycare, she’s usually out doing whatever she wants during the day (she doesn’t work) and say I take a day off work (which I sometimes get a day off in lieu for having worked an on-call week). 

I’ve thought about this a lot, which is really why I stick to the same places. I’m usually either at the gym, at home, at work or at the comedy clubs (which I hope she wouldn’t dare step into).  I realize I’m pretty predictable. I also realize I have no clue what places she’s usually at. I mean outside of her parent’s place I have no idea what she does or where she goes most of the time. 

When we were together, she was pretty predictable, in the sense that she was at home and never wanted to leave. If we had a night off from the kids, it was usually for some sort of special event or planned outing. Later in the relationship, when the kids started going to daycare full time, I really don’t know what she was up to during the day. I would ask and it would be answered by “Oh nothing, just some shopping and I mostly stayed home”. Now I imagine she spends her days either going to the gym, yoga and aside from that, who the hell knows? What about her evenings without the kids? I’m guessing she’s out there living the time of her life. 

I really don’t know why I focus on this. Maybe it’s because I feel guilty for enjoying the little time I have to myself? Maybe I’m a little resentful that she gets to enjoy her time much more than I do? Maybe I secretly want her to be miserable? Maybe I want her to realize that I have a much greater struggle than she does having to pull a full-time job, part-time dad and part-time comedian?

This fear of running into her while we both happen to be out and doing our own thing bothers me, maybe because I still don’t know how I would react to seeing her happy. Living her life as if she has nothing to worry about. I guess I’m still trying to get over the resentment and anger I still feel towards her. This is something I’m still working on, and it mostly sucks because I have to interact with her pretty often. I don’t have the option of completely disconnecting and cutting her out of my life. I can only hope that this will get better as I move on with my life, but damn does she ever make that difficult. 

In terms of everything else, I’m doing pretty well. I’ve really started getting into this groove of managing my life and my happiness. I’m probably the healthiest I’ve ever been physically. Mentally, I no longer feel like I’m in that fog. I realize now that I’ve been coasting along, waiting for the next bad thing to happen, and being ready to just take it with as much expected indifference as I’ve been taking most everything in my life. However that hasn’t happened. Here I am, I am standing yet moving forward, reluctantly.

I’m not sure I would describe what I’ve been feeling lately as a depression, but more like a numbness. When all this started I had a passion that was driving me. I was going to make changes and through anger, and bitterness I was going to drive myself to change my life and thrive. Now as that anger and bitterness has subsided, I find myself just going back to feeling numb. I still get things done however. I am constantly moving forward. Either through comedy, my love life, my project car, my career, my fitness, I am doing the things I need to do. However I am just wondering what’s the point of it all? 

It comes and goes in waves, I get bursts of inspiration followed by long drawn out nothingness. Monotony. I envy people who can just straight focus on their passions and live in it. Myself, I don’t have that option. I work, I parent, I manage a house, I do all the things in life that, again... I need to do.

Comedy really seems to be my only real creative outlet at the moment, and the more I do it the harder it gets. I kinda miss the naive times when I was just happy to get up and maybe make people laugh. Now I need to make them laugh harder and more often... I need to kill on stage. I need to get so good that people see me as a real comic. I’ve often heard it described as the imposter syndrome, where you always think that you’re never good enough and you somehow tricked them into liking you on stage but really.. it was all tricks. My logic tells me, anything a comic does is all just tricks. However I still can’t believe I’m funny yet. How I see myself performing on stage before a show versus how I actually perform (I often record my sets on audio and review it) is vastly different. I am so critical of myself, every little detail, word, inflection. How is it that joke didn’t land? How is it that joke killed as before and now it fell flat? 

I need to write more, I need to practice more, I need to get more stage time, I need to go back to LA, I need to find a better punchline, I need a new tag, I need a full 15 minutes.. it’s crazy the shit we put ourselves through. 

However I’ll often go to shows, sit quietly and watch, as I see other comics do their thing and I still love it. I root for my friends to do well, I observe and analyze as a seasoned comic gets on stage and kills effortlessly, I laugh when a joke gets me cause I can see the brilliance, the timing, the economy of words, the bait and switch. I’m not sure I love the comedy as much as I also love the camaraderie that comics have. We all get up there and do one of the most soul crushing, riskiest art forms and all comics respect other comics to some degree. Despite all the bitterness and jealousy and in-fighting and drama, all comics do something that most people never dream or dare to do. Which is get up on stage, bare their souls in hopes that you laugh. Sometimes we fail and other times we succeed, but it’s how consistent we do it that makes us a true comic.

I am honestly honoured that I can walk into any comedy club, be among comics and hold my own. To stand amongst my peers and people know me, they respect me and we can all share in that experience of what it’s like to try and be funny. It’s one of the only things that I feel makes be happy and sad at the same time and that is perfectly fine with me.

[lazymilkshakecolor]

A sequel to “A Stolen Moment” please? Maybe wherein they send letters to each other, and scenes of their friends teasing Boruto and Sarada because they miss each other. ❤️

Boruto practically bolted from his seat when he heard a messenger hawk peck at his window.

He opened the window and took the letter that was attached to the bird's leg, and he gently unwrapped it to reveal the neat handwriting of the girl that has been on his mind for the past seven months.

Hey Bo, everything is fine here, I met Mitsuki in Kumo last week, he was with chouchou, they looked kinda… cozy with each other, so please keep an eye on them and help Mitsuki  with figuring out the obvious, cause he could be a little dense in that department.

How are you? Mama and papa and uncle? My hawk can only carry one letter at a time so I couldn't send them anything, could you wish Mama a happy birthday for me?

Anyways I'm going to Ame next, and as always if you need anything you just have to send a hawk.

And, there was an ink blot next, signaling that she hesitated with her writing, I really miss you, and I hope I can see you soon Bo.

I miss you too, he thought as he ran his fingers on the letter, the letter that Sarada was holding a couple of days ago.

He hoped she doesn't get sick, it's pretty bad weather in Ame… Amekagure, she's going to be in Amekagure by now, and isn't her birthday in three days?

Boruto got up and packed his bags, intent on traveling to Ame.

Ten minutes later he ran outside, towards his dad's office, where he would have to get permission to get out of the village.

''Hey Dad, I need to go to Ame.''

''Well good morning to you too Boruto.''

Boruto rubbed his head sheepishly.

''Brat.'' Naruto said, as he pulled out a departure form from his desk and started filling it out.

Boruto waited fo his father as he filled out the paper, a minute later he handed it to him.

''Tell her I said hi, and ask her how's the ramen collection going.''

Boruto's eye twitched, if their's one thing he hated that his dad passed on to Sarada, it was the freakin' ramen obsession.

''Yeah, see ya in about four days.''

Naruto sighed before a slight smirk appeared on his face, he has noticed that his son has been exceptionally cheery these past couples of months as if a weight has been removed off his chest and he does recall Sakura mentioning that his son has spent the night with Sarada the night before she left.

''At least they stopped being in denial.'' He muttered as he got back to his paperwork, dreading the hour Shikamaru would come in and start lecturing him again because of paperwork.

.

.

.

''I'm afraid Konoha would be unable to help you with your funding problem, but we can spare some medics and supplies, which will get the workers more healthy and thus more productive, and maybe that will boost your economy and you won't require funding anymore.'' Sarada said, looking at the village chief.

''Ahh, all is a blessing young lad, thank you for your help.''

Sarada chook the man's hand before leaving the small conference room.

She couldn't wait until she got back to her inn room in Ame, she was currently on the outstricks of said village, making progress on her political mission of helping the smaller villages that still haven't recovered from the previous wars until this day.

So far, in seven months she has recommended help for seventeen villages, and her efforts were paying off, as a week ago she got a letter of thanks from the chief of the tree village, thanking her for the implantation projects she has launched for them and getting them funding for food supplies that will last them until they can grow the plants and trees that were burned during the war and later by bandits.

A gust of wind blew, which prompted Sarada to pocket her hands in the cloak her father got her before she took off on her trip.

The warmness of the cloak around her hand reminded her of the warmness of Boruto's hand as he held it during that night.

Sarada's ears reddened a little as she recalled that night and the words they uttered.

''Welcome Sarada-san.'' The Inn keeper greeted.

''Hey Todaka-san, is your son better now?''

''Ahh yes, much better, that reckless brat will never learn to stop jumping and climbing.''

Sarada smiled at the old women, ''Don't be so hard on him ma'am, all academy students are like that.'' She herself had few bones she didn't break over her ninja career, it's a good thing her own mother was a medic.

''What are you going to do, ninja will be ninja I guess, thank you again for healing him.''

''You're welcome.'' She answered before she turned around and headed to her room, she stopped in her trakes for a moment when she sensed a chakra presence in her room, but she continued walking normally, while putting her hand on her sword, ready for anything.

She put the key in the keyhole, when she heard shuffling inside.

They must be really inexperienced, she thought as she thirsted the door open and thrust her sword towards the intruder, only catching a glimpse of blonde hair before her sword met his own, his sword looked strangely like her father's old sword, the one he passed on to Boruto, wait…

''Boruto!'' she said, pulling her sword off of him and sheathing it, Boruto who was stunned was stuck in his position, with his sword raised up to eye level.

''Nice welcome…'' he said before he sheathed his sword.

''what are-?''

''You said you missed me.''

Sarada stunned still for a moment, before wrapping he arms around him tightly.

''You came here just for that?'' she muttered against his chest.

''Partly, I also wanted to wish you a happy birthday.'' He said, lowering his head and kissing her forehead affectionately.

She didn't answer, instead settling into his embrace, content with staying like that.

''If you don’t step away  a little I won't be able to reach for your gift.''

Sarada backed away a little, her hand swinging his left arm excitedly.

He reached with his right hand in his pouch, from where he pulled a white and blue kunai, one of five present in the world, he got this from his friend, Kagura, who confiscated it from a bandit that found it hidden in the dirt, and the bandit, not knowing what it was truly worth tried to sell it for cheap when Kagura found it.

''Where did you get this?!'' she said, grabbing the kunai from his hands and inspecting it.

''That's a secret.''

Sarada too happy with her gift didn't object and just thanked him.

''But you know, there's one thing that can do that's better than this.''

''What?''

Sarada didn't respond, instead standing closer to him and looking up as a blush rosed to her cheeks.

Ohh, ohh she wants a kiss, he thought, he was about to lean in when a thought occurred to him.

He leaned down, and stopped a hair from Sarada's lips, feeling her breath on his lips, Sarada moved her head forward to touch his lips with hers, but he leaned away immediately, jutting his index and middle finger out and resting it on her forehead.

''Maybe next time Sarada.''

Did he… did he just pull a dad on me? Sarada thought, remembering the numerous times she saw her father do something like that, but she wasn't a patient women like her mother, that's why she pushed him back so the back of his knee smacked against the bed board and he was forced to descend on it

''Wow!'' Boruto exclaimed as his back smacked against the top of the bed, ''Sarada what-''

The words caught in his throat as he saw her climb over him, eyes burning with barely contained passion.

''Don't try those tricks on me Bo…'' she said before she leaned down and kissed him, hands moving wildly in his hair as his hands rested on her waist.

''I missed this.'' She muttered before kissing him again and again.

Boruto remembered Mitsuki teasing him about a month ago, about how Sarada would definetly be the dominant one in their relationship, something Boruto denied at first, but could only see it as true now.

Not that he minded, he thoughts as her hands grabbed both of his arms.

[narrowtriangle33-blog]

Quotes that accurately describe White Trump Voters.

"It’s not just that he’s white. White people sneer at, mock, ostracize, and generally hate on other white people all the time. It’s that he DELIVERS RACISM and THAT is the priority to his base. This is what gets me when writers and thinkers wring their hands in befuddlement, like Nichols is doing, about how Trump’s base can “vote against their own interests.” They’re not! They’re prioritizing the babies in cages, the “shithole countries” remarks, the deadly Charlottesville clashes with literal fucking Nazis, etc OVER health care, transitioning the economy away from fossil fuels, education, assistance to the poor, and whatever other liberal agenda items one would think would be natural, rational fits for the Cleti everywhere.

These people are absolutely voting in their own interests, and getting exactly what they wanted out of the Trump admin. He has been a tremendous success in their eyes because he has delivered racism since Day 1, and that’s what they want out of politics."

"This, They will never -ever- admit it, outside of trolling on the net, but Trump has done more to support their views and find great joy in it then any GOP member before.

He’s all but given up on the dog whistles, once he found out that the media will simply ‘tut-tut’ and that delights his base. Even when he does something that will fuck them over, they overlook it because he continues to advance their agenda with huge leaps. Most of the never-Trumpers discovered early on that going against him can lead to getting primaried and Mitch is content to let Trump do whatever the fuck he wants with limited disagreement, because he’s busy installing GOP goal friendly judges everywhere.

The DNC’s response has been to avoid rocking the boat as much as they can by offering up Joe with a bone thrown to black people with a possable black woman VIP. (If that even happens), but the chances are high that Trump will get another four years to continue to do as he likes. And what will the Dems do? Protest and throw shade and offer limited resistance that won’t slow down Trump for a second.

People don’t like to even entertain the idea that Trump will win, but without a huge number of people turning out against them, what else can they expect will happen?"

"My father HATED John Wayne with a burning passion that I remember from age 3-4! He loved Westerns but he would spend the entire movie foaming at the mouth at all the racist tropes and outright historical lies of each one of them! Honestly, although he loved thoughtful rap, I think he idolized Chuck D for simply uttering his infamous lyric!

Now that I’ve reached a certain age, I find I love Westerns too - but not John Wayne, Clint Eastwood or any old ones. I like the newer ones that speak to what deplorables white cowboys were: The Revenant, Bone Tomahawk, Hostiles and the like. They’re still white-centered and white-washed but any modern thinking person can see that the cowboy image should stand for nothing but a savagely cruel, thieving, raping murderer (and we’ve been consistently lied to)."

"Does Trump accept responsibility and look out for his team? Not in the least. In this category, he exhibits one of the most unmanly of behaviors: He’s a blamer. Nothing is ever his fault."

"This is nothing but rose-colored bullshit. Anyone who’s ever spent more than 5 minutes working in corporate life knows for the most part this isn’t how white men behave. Those offices are full of extremely mediocre men who are very confident and have nothing to back it up with other than their bluster, egos, and the generational wealth that allows them a leg up over others. That generational wealth allows them to go to the diploma mills that open doors for them. Admitting mistakes or even admitting just not knowing something in that environment comes off as weakness to them. They spend most of their energy trying to project the image of confidence and control, which is why they’re quick to rage when things don’t go their way. A good example is the douche bag running Quibi that gave that horrendus interview a couple of weeks ago. He was asked a couple of questions about why his company was failing while other streaming services are thriving, and where they might have went wrong in their business model. He didn’t accept responsibility for shit. He went into his hurt little feelings and attacked the interviewer, and tried to make the questions seem like they weren’t valid.

On steroids this white American exceptionalist world view is called patriotism. It manifests in the idea that we as a country can do things counter intuitive the rest of the world just because we’re the USA. More mass shootings by far than any other country? USA! Other countries have cheap/free education through college? So what, USA! Biden even displayed this during one of the debates when Warren pointed out the same disparity in our healthcare compared to every other developed nation. Guess how he responded.

I feel like I started rambling a little but what I’m trying to get at is that whiteness, toxic masculinity, and patriotism are so intertwined that its beyond the author of that Trump think piece."

"Funnily enough as the article and subject matter were in regard to racism in the US I didn’t feel a burning need to mention Indigenous Australians but to answer your question they are pretty much in the same boat as black Americans. Did anything I say imply otherwise or were you just fishing for an argument?

"Stupid as it is, “You’re a manly-man, right? So why is your manly-man leader such a cowardly little pussy?”

That’s not what he projects and that’s not what they see. They see him using aggressive and accusatory tones and language all the time and it makes him look tough."

They fall for the “Emporor Has No Clothes” routine because they never look at him critically. They buy the bullshit on the surface, and don’t see that his words never match his actions. He said on tv several times that if anyone in the country wants a Covid test, they can get tested. Ask them how many people they know whose jobs don’t require it, have actually been tested. He down played the death toll of this disaster every step of the way. Remember when we were supposed to be in church for Easter? As long as he lies with confidence, they’ll follow him to hell."

"I’m definitely tired, and frustrated, and everything else. I keep holding my nose and voting, and that only adds to the exhaustion and frustration because very little if anything seems to change, and in some ways we keep repeating the mistakes of the past. I’d never advocate for doing nothing, but trying to engage and challenge the average Republican-voting dipshit to think critically, and not keep supporting people and policies that perpetuate and exacerbate the problems this country has??? No thanks. If you’re not black, I so encourage you to take up that mantle, but for me as a black dude in this country I can’t. Talk about shooting the messenger. Plus, to keep it a buck, this is mostly white people’s mess, if not all. They need to fix it.

Honestly I feel like racism festers because most white people just look the other way. The racism of their peers/friends/relatives doesn’t impact them personally so they’re probably just people to be avoided. Why rock the boat when you can just avoid an uncomfortable topic? Joe might forward you Fox News and OANN stories, and racist FB memes, but he’s fun at Bills games. Well what if Joe is also a cop, or in a management position over minorities? You can bet money he takes those views you overlooked with him to his job. The PoC he interacts with won’t have the benefit of seeing him at Bills games, or might not even have the benefit of being seen as equals."

"People get so caught up in the blatant, mustache-twirling racism that they don’t see the subtle pervasive way it spreads like a cancer. For every Trump there are dozens Joes, and along with the Joes are the real problem: The people who ignore the Joes. The Joes and Karens go on to commit all kinds of microaggressions that Poc pretty much have to tolerate, and in Joe’s and Karen’s minds that’s just the way the world works. I deserved to get followed around Joe’s store. I came in wearing a hoodie and Adidas so I couldn’t be up to any good. Karen felt threatened when I walked into the building she lives in, so she felt justified to call the police, never mind the fact that I live there too. This is how deep this shit runs. It’s not just politics. Racism isn’t just baked into politics. It’s part of the flour the US was baked with.

So I appreciate you if you’re willing to call these fools out. I’m glad somebody is because I’m not wasting my breath. They won’t hear me anyway."

"I mean if Tom Nichols was in front of me and read this steaming pile of shit to me I would’ve slapped him silly and said the reason that people that look like you excuse all of his fuck ups, failings and mistakes is because well HE LOOKS LIKE YOU!!!! The question that none of these mouth breathing chud monkeys seem to want to answer or are incapable of answering is would you excuse any black, Hispanic or Asian man that had his resume? We know the fucking answer.

When this bloated piece of unseasoned chicken shut down the government in January of 2019 hurting his all white, poorly educated base the most a quote from a voter in Florida was burned into my head forever. She said upon not getting her government subsidized check (I mean they have no issues with the government helping them, it is those pesky brown people that are lazy and entitled) “He is not hurting the people he is supposed to be hurting.” Let that sink in. A voting US Citizen thought it was the job of the sitting *president to hurt people. That says it all. Their allegiance isn’t based in anything other than anger and hatred of those that they deem less than them. Fuck him and them and may they both rot in hell."

"“He is not hurting the people he is supposed to be hurting.”

That spontaneous, bewildered, stream of consciousness utterance by someone who doesn’t think critically but has an indwelt recognition of like-mindedness IS the Trump voter exemplified! A racist who found themselves too poor, too old and without the power to demand or protect the status quo and just wants to stick it to their perceived enemies while retaining ‘something’ for themselves.

That sentiment has fueled every waking thought, worry and action of an American white since the founding of this country.

So, it’s not just every Confederate flag waver, every neo-Nazi and every flyover state’er; it’s every aggrieved American white who had to accept the changing world around them; there’s no reasoning with them nor changing their minds.

My fear is that I’m becoming inhumane like them because I was soooo happy when he cut her Meals on Wheels and didn’t cut her Social Security check."

"I think you nailed this right on the head. All through the article, he keeps pointing out what we already know except for one thing. After all, why would white people elect someone who is so far outside of what they claim to be/stand for? He’s not conservative in any real way. Yet conservatives stand behind him. He’s not a Christian in any practical sense by his actions. Yet Christians say he’s sent by God. He’s not a good businessman, father, or even person. Yet here we are. The only answer that makes sense in any real way is that he is proof that to many people, any white man can do the same or better than even the best black man, woman, or POC in general. There’s always a backlash to progress both real and imagined. Trump is it."

"Also, a lot of the characteristics Nichols thinks represent the opposite of idealized masculinity are actually representative of masculinity as it is performed in this country. From my experience with men who lean into their masculinity, it is about performing dominance by antagonizing people, all in the service of making shallow, insecure men feel better about themselves.  Trump is a domineering asshole, which is what too many men think being a man is all about."

"It is fascinating how unbelievably brainless racists are. Many of the commenters and you Damon have pointed out the stupidity of racism. I mean this seriously, racists have absolutely abandoned intellect, progress, humanity or desire for real greatness that could manifest through equality, in order to hold onto the despicable delusion of superiority based solely on a human having more melanin than another. The sheer simplicity of the trick doesn’t even seem like it should work; but alas, all roads merge at Slave Rd. The dimwitted aptitude it takes for a person to actually believe stealing humans, beating, burning, assaulting, selling their children on auction blocks, splitting families (and more brutalities)...... all for greed born out of sheer laziness, and again stupidity is mindblowing. You literally must turn your brain off to be a racist, and you see it now. Millions of white people, with switch STILL off, courtesy of their forefathers, have continued down this same disastrous, nose-spite-ing road. There’s a lot of white people walking around with black kerchief’s, hiding the draining blood and a ragged hole where their nose once occupied, holding a tight grasp of their hate. Their greed. Trump finally allows them to remove that blood soaked kerchief with pride for all the world see their disfigurement. It’s stunning that there is pride where instead, their should be pure shame for then and for now."